Joy to the World...

...Christmas is over! I would like to take a moment to personally thank our sponsors, Woodford Reserve, Anderson Valley's Winter Solstice, Samuel Smith's Winter Welcome, Anchor Steam's Christmas Ale and countless other breweries who made this year's 2007 Holy Mother of Christmas Holiday bearable. It was touch-and-go for a while there, but we've crossed the finish line with nary a drop of bloodshed. Now it's on to 2008!

Christmas Time Is Here

Full disclosure: I am facing what the corporate world optimistically refers to as a "challenge" when it comes to keeping a "positive attitude" about the holidays.

Friday, as I was weaving my way out of downtown through all the idiots who don't know what those silly lines in the road mean or how to use a turn signal, my brother called to say he'd be at my house earlier than expected. All I needed was ten minutes. Ten minutes – to myself – for what I like to refer to as an "attitude readjustment." In this case, it meant blowing straight past my husband as he held the door open for me upon my arrival home in a beeline for our bar. I had envisioned a bloody Mary, but I was too impatient to actually mix a drink. Two Makers on the rocks later, I was feeling a bit more relaxed, though my mental state was surly, at best. The three of us, my brother, my husband and I, planned to carpool to Indy to stay the night and attend a family Christmas party the following day.

There are a lot of nice things I could say here about spending time with family during the holidays. Some of them would even be true. But at this moment in time, I simply lacked the energy it takes to fake that I am having a ball! and really looking forward to it!

We packed up the car and headed north. My brother offered to drive, for which I was extremely grateful. I've done a lot of traveling lately, and on each trip, I am either driving or playing co-pilot. It was with great relief that I filled up my flask and piled in the backseat. By the time we reached Indy, I was feeling loose and warm, and my flask was empty.

I managed to keep my mouth shut for most of the visit, though there was a moment where I nearly lost it. A relative, who shall remain nameless, but I will tell you she is a relative by marriage, was discussing her new job as an interior designer. She was bragging about a client who just spent $30,000 on – get this – curtains.

Let me give you a minute to digest that.

Thirty THOUSAND dollars. On curtains. And before I could stop myself, I shouted, "How could you live with yourself?!" It is Christmas, for Christ's sake, a time when we're all (ok, maybe not as many people as I'd like to think) acutely aware of global poverty, and these people just spent $30,000 to cover their windows.

But I digress. All things considered, the trip was a success. The boys were all, "Well, that wasn't so bad! Things could have been way worse!" And they're right. But that didn't change the fact that immediately after we piled into our respective places in my car, I requested a stop at the nearest liquor store, where I purchased a pint of Makers and proceeded to nurse it the entire drive home.

I'm a Big Kid Now

As I sit at my desk at work, drowning my frustrations of the day in chocolate, I have decided to compose two lists in an attempt to alleviate my cluttered mind. This time of year is filled with commitments and preparation for those commitments, in addition to your daily responsibilities, and I often find myself feeling guilty for all the things that I cannot do because I am too busy or too overwhelmed and instead must distract myself with sleep or television, because it is all just too much to face some days. And for reasons too long to go into, and likely unnecessary for you to know in order to relate, I equate these things to either successes or failures in my quest for adulthood. (Perhaps the bigger question is, why am I on such a quest to begin?) So list number one:
Ways in Which I Am Failing As An Adult
1. I can't remember the last time I ran a vacuum in my home, mopped a floor, cleaned a window or dusted anything.
2. I can't remember the last time I actually filed something, instead of creating yet another pile of paper on the floor.
3. I have less than $200 in my savings account.
4. Let's not even discuss what I have not saved for retirement so far.
5. The list of people who I need to visit and/or send a birthday card to is too long to list here.

Ways in Which I Am Succeeding As An Adult
1. My bills are paid.
2. I have bought approximately 1/3 of my Christmas gifts already and it's only December 4, a record for me.
3. I have actually been using my day planner and subsequently have been acutely aware of how little time I do have, which, theoretically speaking, means I'm budgeting my time.
4. I have made sleep a priority in an effort to keep my health up. (Ok, so maybe I use it as a scapegoat for getting things accomplished, but when I start thinking about all the little things that I need to do, all the clutter and disorganization physically and metaphorically, I begin to feel warm and drowsy and like my eyelids have little weights in them. And how can I face the day without the proper amount of rest?)

More on this later.

Or not.

It's A New Day

Six months have past since last I blogged. My band took it's first 9-day tour and dozens of weekend trips to play shows. I had my gall bladder removed. I discovered I have a double kidney system on one side. My husband got poison ivy from head to toe. Three times. I put out my first full length record. We had a privacy fence built.
It's been an interesting time. It's been a very busy time. It feels good.

Hot Pants! –I mean, Hot Brown!

In Kentucky there's a sandwich phenomenon known as the "hot brown." For those of you unfamiliar with this south-of-the-mason-line cuisine, let me describe. First, make a club sandwich, minus the ham. Just turkey, bacon, tomato and bread–one slice only, please. Then dump a truckload of gravy on top. You're gonna need a fork.

I confess that until 20 minutes ago, I've never had the desire (guts?) to try one. But my job offers catered lunches 4x a week, and beggars can't be choosers. (Trust me, catered lunches aren't as glam as they sound. Especially if your taste for meat is limited. You have to be completely open to eating whatever they bring, because there is no choice in the menu...not unlike communism.)

Initially, my brain said, "This is wrong, but it tastes d-lish!" Then my stomach said, "Who said the Carnival Cruise could drop anchor here?" I have a crispy cool salad sitting here, which I was totally planning to eat, but for which I have no room now. It's unfortunate, because the veggies would've canceled out that gravy, I'm sure.

I Know It's Only Rock n' Roll, But I Like It

Sure, work sucks. My debt is too high. My pets are getting old. And I can't seem to keep my plants alive. But inside there's a little voice saying one word over and over again, like a mantra: tour. In just two weeks, we'll take off 3 weekends in a row to play out of town, then a weekend home, then a 9-day tour of the southeast. I think the weather should be fairly good at the end of April, aside from rain. Temperatures should be just right for playing with my cousin's water toys down near ATL at the lake he lives on. There will likely be a night or two of camping, communing with nature after shows, and I imagine I will feel more like me and less like a robot following a system of commands. The best part of what will surely be a much needed, spiritually uplifting experience is being able to share it all with my p.i.c. I feel like a grade A ball of mozzarella telling you, but the truth is, it's just.fucking.awesome.

You're Going Down, In A Blaze of Glory

Maybe you've noticed a reoccurring theme with the titles. I like to reference lyrics and song titles. I wanted to call this entry, "Fuck You, Smokers" but I refrained. You're welcome.

Last Friday, I went to some friends' house and they're pretty heavy smokers. They were drinking too, which I know from experience can make you feel like you need to smoke more. But you don't. Because after the 10th cigarette, (again, I also know from experience), you aren't getting anything off it except a little hand-holding comfort.

They were doing the kind of smoking where you light one up after another (also known as chain smoking), leaving most of the cigarette burning in the ashtray like incense. Cigarettes, incidentally, are not incense. (But like incense, they emit thick smelly fumes and make you stink like a college-going, driving-my-parents-SUV hippy.) Despite the fan and the humidifier they generously supplied for the comfort of their guests, (or maybe there's only so much they themselves can take), B & I left there feeling gross. In fact, I woke up the next day with a heavy feeling in my chest, and by the end of the weekend, I had a full blown case of bronchitis.

Monday I went to the dr. Thank goodness B had the day off work & could drive me, because I was in no shape to be operating a vehicle. I told the doctor about my visit to their house and guess what? She thinks this totally contributed to my bronchitis.
Surprise! Smoking really is bad for you.

If I sound bitter, it's because I am. I had to do a show this week that I absolutely couldn't cancel and I had to sing through this crud. The thought that I could have possibly avoided this by not being around the heavy smoke is frustrating. Truthfully I didn't even think about the fact that my friends are big smokers and they'd probably smoke in their house. Alot of smokers prefer not to.

And before you get your panties in a wad, let me just say that I fully realize I was in their home and no, I didn't tell them it bothered me. We're just getting to know them and I like them alot and I didn't want to be rude. (That's what this forum is for.) And besides, have you tried telling people who smoke that it bothers you? Or been on the receiving end? Christ, you'd think you were asking to fuck their husband.

Louisville is facing a smoking ban, obviously to much resistance, since this is, after all, tobacco country. I can't believe how many people still smoke cigarettes. Well, I can since the shit's harder to kick than crack, but I'm talking more about the folks who are casual smokers. It's so bad for you and makes you feel so awful in the long run, why bother? Full disclosure, in case this wasn't apparent, I used to smoke. I smoked for about 5 years. And even as a smoker, I couldn't stand second-hand smoke. I lived with a group of guys my junior year of college who did the whole leave-the-cigarette-burning-in-the-ashtray-like-incense thing, and it bothered me then. Smoke it or put it out.

I know smoking has become taboo, but it also feels like just admitting that it bothers you brings up a venomous debate about human rights. I am all for everybody doing what they want. But when your doing what you want affects my health, I get a little bitchy. Even at your house.

I Wonder If We Can

I finally finished Bob Gruen's John Lennon, The New York Years. It's remarkable how easy it is to relate to John, given his fame. His self-consciousness and sensitivity to the things around make him seem more like the rest of us. I'm impressed by his tenacity to become a better, healthier person, especially during the last few years of his life. The tragedy of his sudden murder was only magnified by how hard he worked to turn his life around.

Gruen doesn't come across as arrogant or boastful in his writing. He doesn't speak for John, or his family for that matter, but he speaks about him the way you would someone you really care about. It seems like everybody wants to write a book on a celebrity, and so many have been written about John Lennon that it's got to be tough to come up with an angle to make your book stand out. Gruen was John and Yoko's personal photographer for about a decade, and probably every famous photo of John that you can think of was taken by him. Since they were also friends, Gruen was around for more intimate, everyday moments. One of my favorite photos is of John and Yoko walking down a pier at dawn. A day or two before the picture was taken, Nixon won the election, and John took it exceptionally hard. They left the studio and went to a party, where John walked right up to some woman, in front of Yoko, took her into another room and began loudly having sex with her. I can't imagine how horrible Yoko felt and how uncomfortable Bob and everyone left in the room was. By the time the photo was taken,
John had sobered and was obviously making amends. Having this back story, though, deepens the effect of the photo.

There is an underlying tension through the whole book, because you know eventually you will come to an account of his death. Bob chronicles the years in New York with personal stories and major events and is careful not to fast forward or foreshadow his death, or talk about John's past beyond those years he knew him, which I think lends him more credibility. In fact, he does such a great job staying in the moment that when I finally turned the page and saw the 2 glossy, solid black pages with only the words, "December 8, 1980," I had to stop and collect myself before I could turn to the next page. I realized I had arrived, and it felt sudden, abrupt and unforgiving.

The New York Years also gave me a more profound sense of how much John and Yoko cared for each other. Everything I had heard about Yoko before, everything I had assumed and judged and condemned her for, seemed so contrary in the context of their lives together. They were obviously very in love, in spite of, and maybe because of, all they had been through together. In my opinion, they're one of the greatest love stories of all time.

Reading this book put me in the moment of falling for John and losing him as if it just happened. It was an easy read and the photos, along with their back stories are incredible. I began reading The New York Years in late September, while recording my first full length record. I came across a copy of the book in the studio, and I read it here and there, during down time and between takes, and I finally got to the point where I had to have a copy of my own at home. It's been a source of inspiration over the last 5 months, and now I've finally finished it, along with the record.

Get a Haircut and Get a Real Job

As if the extreme cold and darkness of winter doesn't make it hard enough to get out of bed in the morning, my super cute husband and sweet lil kittehs were all bundled together in our snuggly down comforter this morning. Somehow my sense of responsibility prevailed, and I managed to leave for work. Now that I'm here, if I totaled the amount of time I have had nothing to do today, I could have left at lunch. And B had the day
off too. I could have been back at home, in my p.j.s, curled up with him in a pile of pillows with a cat under each arm and a dog on either side of the bed. Thanks alot people. I hope it was worth it.

Baby, It's Cold As Shit Outside

If this blogging thing were a horse race, I would have been the dope
that didn't make it out of the gate. But never mind that.

This weekend I went to St. Louis. I spent some time in a wonderful little bar called Lemmons, a gritty and comfortable pizza joint with friendly staff. Unfortunately, I didn't have much time to explore the city much further. I did get to eat at the IHOP though, which is a rare and delicious occurrence. Hopefully we'll get to check it out more soon. As we left the city, I nearly wrecked the car trying to take photos of the arch by hanging my cell phone out the window while I was driving. It wasn't one of the smarter things I've done, but we lived to laugh about it. On the way home, we also tried to play Riddley Riddley Ree, I See Something You Don't See, but it turns out there ain't shit to see on 64. It was a beautiful drive though, despite the frigid temperatures. The skies were bright and clear. Perhaps this was an omen for the good things to come, like the Colts winning the Super Bowl. (Sorry Chicago, just cuz your city's bigger doesn't mean you play better football.)

Speaking of frigid temperatures, today is apparently the coldest day on record in 4 years for our city. Naturally, this sent my mother into a panic. Despite the hour-long conversation we'd had 40 minutes earlier, this sparked a callback and another 20-minute conversation, in which I was told to cover our car engines with a blanket, held in place by a brick
(you know, because I have bricks lying around)
and to leave a stream, not a drip, of water flowing from the faucet overnight. There were already all kinds of school closings and delays, and people should not go out unless they ABSOLUTELY HAD TO, and she'd already called her work to say she wouldn't even think about leaving the house before 8am.
Wanna know how cold it got? Minus 5 with the wind chill. If that's what KY is worried about, maybe someone should call Minnesota and let them know they better just shut down the whole state for a few months until this winter things passes. I hear it's pretty nippy there.

Begin the Beguine

This is attempt two at keeping a blog. My first attempt included only one post, months ago. My plans to blog were foiled by the site restrictions at my last job. If I can't blog at the office, then when? In my free time? Because after 9 hours of staring at a computer screen in a gray cube, occasionally I crave actual human interaction. Or maybe it's not so much about the humans as it is the soothing benefits of shuting off all electronic media.
There's something about the availability of cell phones and email that makes people think you should be accessable at all times. I started a new job 3 weeks ago, and one of the first warning signs I noticed was that not only is there a phone list at everyone's desk with their office extensions, but it also includes each person's cell phone number. Perhaps this is a common phenomenon for you, but it startled me. Are they planning to call me alot? Does this mean they expect I should be available outside regular office hours, upon demand? Because one of my favorite features about my cell phone is the ringer volume control. It can be turned off. And I take advantage of that. In fact, my ringer is almost always on vibrate because the sound of a phone ringing is enough to make me want to claw my way up to the ceiling.
There's nothing more annoying than people's phones going off at the most inapporpriate times; in the movie theatre, in the bathroom, in a meeting. It's an obsession. Some people feel they have to answer every phone call under any circumstances. If I call you, and you are peeing, please don't answer your phone. Bathroom acoustics are easily distinguishable, and I don't need to be there for that. My call can wait. Which leads me to another wonderful cell phone feature, voice mail. Everyone's doing it! I'm pretty sure it's free these days, or next to it, and you can just leave me a message. Better yet, don't bother. We've all got caller id and I will see not only that you called, but the date and time and how many times you've called. So there's no need to keep calling.
And while I'm on a roll, let's talk about how often you can politely call someone. I have friends and family members who, when they call and you don't answer, will hang up and call you right back. Some will continue to do this half a dozen times, only minutes apart. Ringer on or not, isn't once enough? What if my ringer IS off? Then you calling 80 times isn't going to change the result. I do not hear your call and I will not be answering. The truth is, the more you call and annoy me, the longer I'm going to take to call you back. Not because I expect it will teach you a lesson, (because let's face it, this is obsessive compulsive behavior and I have no professional help to offer you) but because it provides me with peripheral sense of freedom and being in control of my own destiny. It's the small things, people.

And we're off.