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June 28, 2006

A Question of Protocol

This morning I stepped off the train behind a man most likely making his way to an office, just like the majority of my fellow passengers. He was maybe early 40's, short, squat, balding - pretty nondescript. I was reminded slightly of Edgar (RIP) on the television show 24. He was wearing a blue long sleeve button down shirt and black pants, and you may be wondering why I noticed so much about him. Well. He had a mento - or something like it - stuck to his butt.

I kind of stared at it for a second as we all did the fast walk to our respective places of business and then noticed everything about this person who was at some point going to get extremely embarrassed. What was my position here? I mean, he probably sat on it on the train, so I was most likely the first person to spot it. Should I have sidled up to him and muttered "Excuse me sir, you have a mento stuck to your ass"? It's a difficult dilemma. I was relieved when he veered in a different direction because it was pretty uncomfortable and how do you not stare?

So, should I feel badly about not saying something? Poor guy. I wonder how he found out. Or has it just become gradually more and more mashed into his pants because he didn't notice it and everyone who did felt the same hesitation that I felt?

I asked myself what I would prefer if it had been me: To discover it upon
arrival at work (either by snickering co-worker or on my own) and reflect on how stupid I must have looked, or to have a complete stranger inform me while surrounded by scads of other complete strangers, become utterly mortified and have my face burn until noon? I think I would choose the first. If I'm utterly friendless and have something stuck to me (face, ass, foot, whatever), I'd rather just be blissfully unaware.

It was a favor, my not telling this guy. Maybe. What it really comes down to, is I didn't want to be the one that had to initiate any public red-faced mortification. It's uncomfortable to be around uncomfortable people, and I'm pretty standard in that it's not pleasant for me to be the cause of all that awkardness. Although we really could blame the Mento.

Posted by heidi at 5:39 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

June 20, 2006

baby i was never cool enough to get a job in a record store

here's something you may not know about me - i really love walking around downtown. and it doesn't really matter the size or the shape of the city, if there is a downtown i'll be there with my face pressed against the glass of local shoppes - or perhaps enjoying a malted beverage at the five and dime. i don't know what it is about this whole process that i find so appealing - but one of my favourite places in the whole wide world is downtown hollywood, fl. which is kind of absurd - because if you've ever been to hollywood you would know that there really isn't anything noteworthy downtown - just a bunch of random shoppes and scads of homeless people. but then when you take a closer look you find there are few hidden treasures to be had - the cafe that served as robert de niro's ice cream shoppe in the movie cape fear. the pawn shoppe with the totally bad ass guitars - and of course the used bookstore that never ever seems to close...probably because people tend to get lost in there, which might have something to do with the fact that there is no rhyme or reason to the categorization of books; just shelves and shelves of things that can only be found by happy accident...but now i'm getting carried away talking about hollywood. i'm also getting homesick...

what i really wanted to talk about was the little record store i stumbled upon this afternoon in maryville, tn. i rolled into town an hour early for my afternoon appointment so i thought i would stroll the streets looking for buried treasures. and suddenly it appeared before me, standing open armed and shiftless like a long lost lover who tries in vain to pretend that they are not happy to see you: roy's records and there in the windows were these lovingly hand crafted signs announcing the store's closing along with a thank you letter to all the customers who have shopped there for the past 40 years....40 years! how could you not walk into a place like that. and i have to say it was so amazing. the dim lighting - the musty carpet...and yes it was a record shop and there were bins filled with 45's and lp's from every era and genre imaginable along with some smaller bins with cd's, cassettes, and eight track tapes. but they also sold sound equipment and instrument cases and guitar strings - ancient record players and super eight movie projectors...

it's hard to describe the feeling you get walking into a place like that. it's like this sudden rush of overwhelming happiness - and at the same time it feels like your heart might be breaking. it really made me sad to think that roy and alma were going to close down that shop and then one day it just wouldn't be there anymore...forty years is a long time - especially when you think about some of the music that must have passed through those doors when it was fresh and new and nobody had ever heard it before. i had this sudden compulsion to empy my bank account and buy as much as i could afford - i never did get around to doing that which is probably a good thing but the thought did cross my mind.

it seems funny to me that places like that effect me the way that they do. how can i be nostalgaic for little mom and pop shops when i grew up in a giant city replete with megastores and chain restaurants - when every record i ever purchased as a teenager came from the specs music store at the mall across the street from our church. the very same specs store that never seemed to want to offer me a job in high school - and if you don't think that was absolutely soul crushing i'm here to tell you that it was...

maybe it doesn't matter that i grew up never knowing the experience of a record shop like roys because i've never not been swept up in the robust romanticism of pop music and all that it entails - the way it sits there on the shelf gleaming with promise and great artwork and songs that might tempt to finally kiss that girl, or pick up that guitar in the back of the closet and learn how to play...and maybe there will be a lyric hidden in there somewhere that will tell you something about yourself that you never really realized before...i worry about the generation that is coming up now and those that will follow - that maybe they'll miss some of that magic - because technology has made music into a few kilobytes of data that can be broken down and stored on a hard drive or an i-pod somewhere waiting to be shuffled into existence. not that i'm anti-technology - my computer is filled with downloaded music. but there is something in me that will always treasure that moment perched on the edge of the bed with a lyric sheet unfolded across my knees lost in the moment of hearing a song for the very first time. i don't know that there's anything better than that in this whole wide world. i'd trade all the first kisses and chocolate ice cream in the world for that feeling. i love music.

Posted by young_christopher at 5:38 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

June 7, 2006

Why Don't You Get How Cool This Is?

Is there anything more disappointing than being the only person in your little social world that’s excited about something? You see I went to a Radiohead concert. My first one. It was…human words cannot describe the greatness. We were in the second row about 3 seats to the right of Thom Yorke (although somehow I ended up half a seat closer, mashed between my husband and a great towering beast of a guy who barely budged aside from the head bobbing) and I freaked out like everyone else and thought my throat would tear out. I could have wept when the first notes struck for "Paranoid Android"…but the concert’s not what I’m here to discuss.

We got the tickets well before the concert, and of course there’s that initial giddiness that fades once you realize you’ll be waiting for weeks. If you’re a Radiohead fan you surely understand how difficult it can be to score a ticket – let alone when it’s in a smaller venue, which it was for us. So the next day I get to work and express my glee to my co-worker who has “heard of them” and she nods and immediately informs me about how she’ll be working (sign language) at the Dave Matthew concert in Fenway Park like it’s the most awesome thing ever. I can’t say I hate the guy - I was never much of a fan, but I expressed a modicum of appreciation of the “coolness” of that and turned away with my soul slightly crushed. Other co-workers attempted interest, but when asked to describe what kind of music they play, I just kind of gave up.

Friends of ours in town were appreciative. It was a relief to give voice to the wonder of the acquired tickets and have people who got it. But even then, they weren’t going and what can you say, really more than “I’m so jealous!” and order another a drink?

Worse than the co-worker moment was the day of experience. I went to church and sang in the choir and as we mingled between services, I was asked of my Sunday plans, and my heart brightened and I nearly yelled “I’m seeing Radiohead at the Bank of America Pavilion!” I got the fake-interest nod. We talked about concerts we went to in college. She had never really been into Radiohead (she like Everclear once upon a time), but allowed me to gush a bit, and then – it hurts to recall – some others tuned in to our conversation, inquired and shrugged. Actually shrugged and the words “I don’t know what you’re talking about” emerged. But…how? Now these are people who leave me in the dust once they start talking composers and classical music. I know the big dogs, of course – and historical inaccuracies be damned, I loved me some Amadeus – but being a classical voice major doesn’t mean you’re musically illiterate in other genres does it? If so that might be the saddest thing ever. Even people only vaguely acquainted with anything rock-like should certainly have heard of Radiohead? They’re inescapable, really! But there it was.

I’m going to go ahead and confess that I felt really cool in a way because of that. I think I like good music, but I’m not always discovering the latest and greatest, and I don’t know nearly as much I should. Or own all the albums that any true music lover should own. But I found myself surrounded by people who didn’t just know less than me…they didn’t know anything. You could argue that I shouldn’t feel smug in the least since they also don’t really care that they don’t know anything. They’re not in the least concerned with the fact that I had second row seats at a concert of one of the Greatest Bands Ever. But they should be. They should understand how cool that is, and since they don’t I can only shake my head and feel superior and cast a bit of my elitist pity their way.

Posted by heidi at 10:53 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

the case for neko

a few months back i was talking with a former lover lamenting the lack of truly great female singer songwriters in today's musical soundscape. before we proceed we should probably note that in my definition a truly great female singer/songwriter is not only gifted vocally and lyrically but also kind of burning hot. yes, i really am that shallow. probably because i've seen too many album covers with sexed up hotties promising me a good time with their sensuous curves and their dangerous hip-hop beats. but clearly i would never choose any of them to sing me to sleep at night.

and i think that's a pretty important question to ask yourself: if you could choose one person to sing you to sleep for the rest of your life who would it be? my answer has always been natalie merchant. and yes it's true she's a bit of an oddball and speaks with an absurd accent, but that voice is just so pure and so jaunty....like a thick glass of chocolate milk on a warm spring afternoon.

but we're not here to talk about natalie. what i really wanted to say is that in recent months i have found myself falling head over heels in love with the music of neko case. which wasn't easy at first, because when she was onstage at the new pornographers show she looked well worn and frumpy...and honestly, she kind of reminded me of...well, i probably shouldn't name names...you never do know who reads this stuff. but every time she opened her mouth to sing i was just blown away. she just has all this power behind her vocals - and it's so pitch pefect, it's almost otherworldly .

so after that show i went out and picked up neko's most recent solo album fox confessor brings the flood and i have to say she really could give natalie a run for her money...the way she sings baby during the chorus of the needle has landed ...it's absolutely devastating. and she plays all of her own instruments to boot and it sounds good which is very impressive - current miss thang imogen heap could learn a thing or two about restraint from neko. sorry imogen but it's true.

but back to my fantasy - maybe, i could get natalie and neko together to sing a lilting lullaby some night when i can't seem to get to sleep...but what song would i request? probably something by reo speedwagon or perhaps metallica's enter sandman ...no, it would definitely be islands in the stream that might be more appropriate...i'm getting sleepy just thinking about it.

Posted by young_christopher at 12:48 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

June 3, 2006

the consequence of dancing

so last night there was a bit of a farewell bash for a friend that's leaving town forever. and it was going to be one of those low key hang out in someone's back yard type of deals and for the most part it was - but here's the thing i've noticed alot since i've been attending house parties as a young adult. they never seem to last. inevitably someone will get the itch to ditch the party and go out out - a sentiment that spreads like wildfire and before you know it driving assignments are being doled out and people begin piling in cars for the downtown party caravan.

this is exactly what happened last night. never mind that there's a keg full of beer and chips n salsa just begging to be enjoyed. it's much more self validating to be able to talk about going out somewhere as opposed to confessing that you hung out with some friends at a house party. not that i'm complaining, because i'm always up for anything - but i generally feel bad for the host(s) of these house parties because they get to deal with stale food at the end of the evening and the idea that their house was rejected for a trendier venue.

anyway, enough of the inner monologue - when we arrived at the bar sometimes known as roberts there was a good crowd and the band was lively, and for some strange reason i felt compelled to dance - which is something that i never really do, but i was feeling rather grand (not drunk mind you - just grand) and it's hard to resist the opportunity to cut a rug with the sisters malone - especially a slow dance to gram parson's hickory wind. because seriously, it's not often you walk into a country bar and hear gram. which is an outrage, but it's kind of the way it is.

at the end of the evening, after the bar had closed and i'd ingested all the pbr my body could contain - we made the long walk back to the car - and i noticed something oddly askew about my right pant leg...it seemed to be flopping around rather flimsily - like those giganto jeans the goth kids buy at hot topic - so i though maybe the seam had ripped out a bit - something relatively simple to remedy - but when i took the pants off back at the house i realized the rip was up the middle of the pant leg. how that is even possible i'll never know - but they were my favourite jeans in the whole wide world. well worn and broken in just right and button fly to boot. and now they are no more. and i have no idea how they will ever be replaced. i guess that's what i get for dancing. in a bar.

Posted by young_christopher at 12:57 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack