The Luck I've Had

In the past week, I held a modest gathering to thank my closest comrades for helping me through a vulnerable time, signed a lease on a gorgeous apartment with one of my favorite roommates ever, bought a hilariously dorky car that will hopefully get me reliably to all the places I want to be (with help from my dad, whose vocal and tangible support over the last year or so has been especially touching), and drove my charming bandmates and all our gear in said car to our first out-of-town show, where we were received warmly and paid more than enough for gas and road snacks.

Maybe it comes of being a Capricorn, but I tend to focus on the things I don't have, the problems I need to solve, the stuff I have yet to accomplish. I make lists, I pine, I analyze, I wear myself out.

Today I heard a Smiths song and laughed out loud with joy. (The Smiths have that effect on me quite a lot, actually.) As much as I relate to Morrissey's yearning, most of these lyrics don't apply to me. I have dreams all the time, and a lot of them do come true. Then I'm on to the next, bigger dream, almost without pause, the goat scrambling up the cliff. So it was nice to reflect for a moment, as Moz crooned longingly, on the sweetness of my life, which often feels like so much struggle and worry.

There's still so much I want, for myself and those around me, and stopping to see what's been achieved through the collective efforts of those I struggle alongside makes me want to keep climbing. Also, I want to find Morrissey and hug him.

Seventeen by The Smiths

Please, please, please let me
Get what I want. Lord knows it
Would be the first time.

This wagon is flaggin'.
(During our road trip, someone discovered his boxers were too long for his shorts.)
(Not me.)

OMG

On Sunday night I saw my friends' band play, and I'm really pleased that I've seen them enough times now that I get their songs stuck in my head. Also, I had the urge, on more than one occasion that night, to throw my hands in the air in a gesture that I associate with my evangelical Christian upbringing.

From infancy, I was surrounded by fervent, ecstatic prayer and song, often accompanied by tambourines, speaking in tongues, jumping, clapping, and raising of hands. It moved me greatly, until one day (around age 12) when it didn't, and I haven't looked back. Until the other night.

I didn't give in to the urge, even though I totally could've made it look rock-n-roll rather than holy roller. But I am still trying to put my finger on just what it was that made me want to reach out, reach up to something bigger than myself, hold my arms up to receive, or maybe surrender.

Short Poem for a Tall Spirit

How do I praise now?
How do I touch my heart to
Something that's not God?

Ooh, let's play a game. Rock concert or tent revival?

_____________________________________
Answers: 1. Rock. 2. Jesus. 3. Rock. 4. Jesus

No Better Man Still Alive

This post starts with a confession. Tonight it was thunderstorming, and I sat on the couch drinking bourbon by myself and watching the Pearl Jam 20th anniversary documentary.

OK, there's more to it. In high school, I loved Eddie Vedder so much I wanted to be him *and* fuck him. Remind me to find you a photo of myself with long, straggly curls, cutoff Army pants, and Doc Martens--my sophomore year uniform.

Probably because of shame (and/or Netflix), it's taken me a few years to get around to watching 20. Also, I was nervous. Maybe like meeting up with a crush 20 years later and having to take a good look at them--and yourself--in the light of day, as it were.

But then the opening scene has Eddie on MTV wearing eye makeup and an outfit he'd borrowed from D'Arcy Wretzky of the Smashing Pumpkins, and I knew I was going to fall all over again. And I felt better about my continued appreciation for Ten seeing him perform those early shows in his Cramps and Sugarcubes t-shirts, or seeing "Fugazi" Sharpied on his arm for the Headbanger's Ball interview. Plus, there's the epic Vedder-Cornell bromance to warm one's heart.

Temple of the Dog fan fiction, anyone?

So it seems I've unearthed another root, one of those early experiences that shape your identity and inform your boners for decades to come.

To be fair (to me), I couldn't follow the last half of the movie (I vaguely remember Neil Young? Ticketmaster?) and don't talk to me about any Pearl Jam albums since Vitology. But somewhere in my heart (slash pants) it will always be 1991.

Poem for Two Decades of Flannels

"Don't call me daughter"
Eddie Vedder in a bra
Grunge is my gender

Sons of Death

Last night I had the extreme good fortune to see a great Vermont band with a very cool history. Rough Francis is three brothers from Burlington who got together initially to cover Bad Brains. Somewhere along the way, they discovered their father's band, formed in Detroit in the 70s with his two brothers, called Death. Rough Frances started covering them, and then writing and recording original music, with their first album coming out a year ago (which you could maybe get from Riot House if not your local record store).

All this I learned from my current mystery bandmate earlier this week (more "mystery band" here). I am now even more excited to watch A Band Called Death, which has been collecting dust in my Netflix queue.

Haiku for Intergenerational Afropunk

Rock is in their blood
From Detroit to Burlington
Long live Death and Sons

At SXSW. Photo by Greg Beets.

Earth, Wind, and Fire (and Ice)

Last night, a friend was talking about winter and how it's been so freaking hard. They were explaining how it's particularly bleak for certain signs, like fire signs ("Help, it's cold!") and even water signs ("Help, I'm stuck!").

Leaving on foot, I was struck by the feeling of my relatively thin-soled motorcycle boots (compared to my snow boots, which I've lived in for months) on bare pavement. I thought about my own earth sign and how I might be adapted or not to moving on frozen ground buried beneath ice and snow. I'm looking forward to connecting to my source again.

Haiku for an Earth Sign

Walking on water
'Til the ice melts, now I feel
Ground under my feet.

One of Us

Before coming to this tiny New England town, I couldn't have guessed how welcoming and restorative it would be after more than a decade in major cities. As much as I can claim any geographic place of origin, it was rural and suburban Minnesota, which I experienced as oppressive and depressing. Cities provided the noise, distraction, and adrenaline I needed to feel safe and alive. But I still felt isolated, in love with something I was not a part of.

Friday night, after a screening of Rock-n-Roll High School, I helped lead a Ramones sing-a-long in a church-turned-theater, the pews filled with friends and assorted weirdos belting out "Sheena Is a Punk Rocker" at top volume. It was one moment of many over the last two years that have felt like my life come full-circle. You don't even know in how many ways.

I might grow restless here and find my way to broader horizons, but in a world where connection and community have been so hard to come by, I'm content for now to just soak up the love and wear a mullet wig at every opportunity.

Haiku for February 7, 2014

In a former church
I finally feel at home
Gabba gabba hey

Circa 2002, Chicago. Foreshadowing.

Rock/Stars

Last night I slept on the day bed (in case my mattress is what makes my shoulders hurt all the time), which is near a large window with a view of the town I live in, and the mountain that stands above it, and the sky above that. And in those long, lonely minutes before falling asleep, I had the following thought.

Haiku for February 3, 2014

Someday I will stop
Thinking about my damn self
And dream about stars.

Finding My Root

Last summer, in wishing Prince a happy birthday via haiku, I credited Purple Rain with helping form some of my early perceptions of masculinity. I watched it last night after not having seen it for many years, this time looking for clues about myself via the movie's portrayal of gender and sexuality. I made the following observations:

This is what I think a grown man's bedroom looks like.

This is how I think men who love women dress.

And this is how I think they dance.

This is what I think flirting is.

Also this.

And this is the most romantic five minutes in cinema history.

Haiku for a Tiny, Purple Role Model

He's not a woman,

Not a man. He is something

You won't understand.

This is my life.

I must be doing something right.

Creeping Charlie FTW

I got nothing new,
But let me just direct you
To this comment.

<3

I love rock-n-roll. And Halloween.

See my previous post wherein I bemoan the struggles we underwent in coming up with the Ultimate Cover Band for Halloween. See below for how entirely we nailed it. 

If you're in my town tonight, I fully expect to see you at the show.

Haiku for My Halloween Cover Band

Do you wanna touch?

Do you wanna touch me there?

Yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah.

(Not pictured: my band mate, also Joan Jett.)

Vampire Practice*

Tribute bands are one of my favorite things in this world. I was in one, once, as a long-term project. Get me drunk, and I'll tell you about it.

I also love a good cover (and a good cover music radio show).

So why is it so difficult to come up with the ultimate cover band for the Future Collective Halloween Cover Band Show?

Well, I could explain why, but instead I'll just leave you with this haiku and this classic music video from 1979.

Haiku Cover

The times are tough now
Come on in and cover me
Just getting tougher

*The other night, when I told my roommate and her friend I was having "band practice" at the house later, they both heard "vampires" instead. Seems about right.

I'm too busy for this blog.

Today's haiku brought to you by Right Said Fred because I still have a lot of packing to do.

You know what I mean
I'm too sexy for my shirt
So sexy it hurts

Do these bikini models with cameras make me look straight?

Silent Shout

Haiku for Happy Poking

My band is so loud
We just got our set shut down
Before it started

Talk about pop music

Haiku for June 10, 2013

"What is that?" she says,
Listening to Madonna.
"That is not a note."

HBD to His Purple Highness

Haiku for June 7, 2013

Watching Purple Rain
Taught me how to be a man.
Happy birthday, Prince.

Also, thanks, Mom, for making Prince movies part of my upbringing. Little did you know...

I'll Have to Say "I Love You" in a Song

Life is killing me
Let's not chat about despair
I want a new drug

Analog time warp

Last night I was working on a mixtape. Is a sentence that I haven't said in at least 15 years.

I was saying "boo-urns"

Haiku for April 6, 2013

Ken Burns likes to talk
Even when it's not his turn
Makes good movies, though

When in doubt wear goggles

Last night I played a set as part of Deep Frost Slow Thaw, one of five bands in the show whose members were randomly assigned. My friends all said we sounded great, and those who are not necessarily my friends said we looked great. (Our uniform was short shorts and swim goggles.) And we sold five copies of our tape, which is really just recordings of our practices on one of those old rectangular cassette recorders with a built-in microphone. It's so lo-fi it's not even fi. It's like sub-fi.