You know you kicked your weekend off right when you come home at 1:00 a.m. Friday morning reeking of cigarette smoke and fried food, having just sang along to “Good Old-Fashioned Loverboy”, met a drunk guy who gave you incense, ran into 5 old friends at Red Door, and cussed like a bunch of sailors with your girlfriends while talking about relationships, adulthood, and religion. Girl’s nights are overrated. A pint of ice cream and a movie is fitting sometimes, but on Thursday nights, I’d rather hang out with the fray down at Dino’s. I just feel the need to record that here so that the next time I’m tempted to eat a pint of ice cream, I’ll just head down to Dino’s for french fries instead.
my old man November 20, 2009
Today my old man turns 52. He celebrated by going to Akron, Ohio, Tuesday night to see Steely Dan play. I think that makes the 5th time my parents have seen Steely Dan in the past three or four years, and that pleases me. I hope when I’m 52, I’m still going to shows. Last weekend they went “down Youngstown” (as his Pittsburgh dialect directs) to see their friend’s band play. I think it’s funny that they were doing the same thing by the river in the Mahoning Valley that I was doing down here by the Cumberland: Watching friends play music. I called him Sunday to see how the show went.
His response: “Oh, Meg, it was fine. To tell you the truth…ah, nevermind. I can’t say that. Yeah I can. I can say what I want, ’cause I’m old. I can play way better than those guys.”
He’s probably right. Growing up, old Chuck wasn’t allowed to play the guitar. His father had toured Las Vegas with a band for a few years, and his mother blamed their poverty on her late husband’s musical aspirations. She thought if my dad started to play, it would ruin his future. When he was 14, he owned a mini-bike, which he rode all over town. To school, to his job, to his friends’ houses. He loved it. But, apparently, the day he saw some make or model of a Les Paul in the window of a guitar shop, he knew what he had to do. He sold his mini-bike and bought it.
He taught himself to play, and from age 14 until now, he still plays when he’s angry or sad or tired or happy. He likes to play for me on the porch swing when it’s raining outside. He likes to play in the kitchen when my mom is trying to usher him out the door to a family obligation. He likes to crank up his amp and play in the basement after a Saturday of fixing cars and cleaning the garage. So, I think it’s fitting that he would go see Steely Dan play to celebrate another year on this earth. It’s always been all about the music for my dad. When my brother started a band at age 26, instead of judging him or complaining that he is wasting his time, Dad drove to Columbus to see one of his first shows.
He called me at midnight, near the end of brother’s set. “Holy shit, Meg, they’re good. Jesus Christ, this is what I always wanted to do. I love when you kids do what you want to do; I never, ever just did what I wanted to do.”
That makes me want to cry a little bit. Happy Birthday, Dad.
This dog could be the single best thing that has ever happened to me. November 17, 2009
Now I understand why people lose it when their pets die. I just spent three hours doing yard work with Baby Hogan lying on the porch step watching. Now we’re cuddling close while I knit/blog/write web articles for $20 a pop.
In other news… November 17, 2009
Jake-slash-everyone-I-know threw me an early birthday surprise party this weekend, and it was AWESOME. Seriously, nothing will keep you going after a three-month stint where you bought a house, moved, got robbed, helplessly watched everything in your new house break, lost your job, and spent 3/4 of your nights lying awake and feeling pathetic than coming home from a sushi dinner and seeing 30 people you adore standing in your backyard.
Well, nothing except seeing all of those people and then realizing one of your best friends put off graduate school responsibilities and drove 8 hours to be there. And then seeing your brother and his girlfriend pull in after a 6-hour drive from Columbus with a bottle of The Stump Jump in hand. Old friends from college, new friends from coffee shops, co-workers, family members, fellow churchgoers — they were all there with beer in hand. I will never, ever forget how I felt when I stepped out of the car and a crowd erupted in a cheer.
That’s why one of my categories on this blog is “It’s just that my friends are better than yours.” I needed to see all of those people in the yard; in a weird way it makes me feel like I’m not alone in this. And somehow, it validates my reason for being here. All 40 of those people are why I slough through the bullshit and keep moving to small places in this strange city instead of heading back to the blue-collared towns I’m so inherently familiar with. Sometimes you just get to realize why you are where you are.
Whiskey pines November 17, 2009
Last weekend Jake and I sought refuge from the stressors of yard work, freelance aspirations, church obligations, and answering the phone calls of 1,000 people we love and cherish, and we took off for the Blue Ridge Mountains. Our good friend Tom Wills let us have reign of his property for the weekend, so we packed up baby Hogan and a ton of awesome food, and spent the weekend reading, watching movies, sitting by fires, running through leaves, lying in the sunshine, and scribbling in our journals. It was perfect. The weather this year, I think, is an omen from the Universe. I think it’s telling me (and all of us) that thinks are looking up.
There’s not much to say November 15, 2009
Other than the fact that Jake Larson threw me a surprise party and 40 people showed up, including brother and Kori and Courtney (!) and my night ended like this at 2:30 a.m.
What I’ve Been Doing Lately November 13, 2009
Lately it’s been about burning candles and making things. Apple pies, homemade soups, bread, lace scarves, a new hat, art from unwanted flea market finds. It’s been about sitting on porches and besides fires. Drinking cheap beer and hearing heartfelt stories on my back patio. It’s been about smashing my face against Hogan’s and walking the perimeter of my yard in the morning sunshine. A cup of coffee before work, and a long conversation when I head home. Sitting in living rooms and coffee shops with my girlfriends, knitting and confessing our unseen girlishness to each other. Meeting new people and re-acquainting myself with the faces that surface every six months or so. It’s been about the New Yorker and Flannery O’Connor and Middlesex.
I’ve been lightly fingering new skeins of yarn and looking with a skeptical eye at old men’s shirts, wondering what they could be. It’s been about thrift store finds and antique stores and pictures of crimson and citrus-colored leaves. Chocolate chip scones in the morning and spaghetti squash with coriander in the evening. Sunshine. A lot of sunshine, even when it’s raining.
I lost my job (sort of) and then I got my life back. And I’m not naive; I’m just calm. And I don’t care that I have a mortgage, because I’ve paid my bills and others’, too, on much less before. I’ve lived with fewer things and a colder house and a blander diet.
In short: To quote The Smiths: “Don’t feel bad for me; I want you to know that deep in the cell of my heart, I really want to go.”
In which I make you all angry November 11, 2009
To whom it may concern (although, I feel that the following information is relevant to everyone):
Everyone is busy. I don’t care what your occupation is. I don’t care if you are a CEO or an entry-level account manager, or a marketing specialist, or a parent, or a clerk at Macy’s, or a cashier at McDonald’s. You are busy. And I am just as busy as you are. Your friends, whom you think could not possibly feel the same pressures that you do, feel their own unique pressures and they feel just as stressed out as you feel. They have just as many obligations, and they have just as many sleepless nights. You are not the exception.
This is my formal request to everyone to stop whining. I get to whine right now, because this blog is my domain and you all are reading it because you are suckers. Seriously, though, stop whining. If you are tired, take a nap. If you are stressed out, light one up, take a walk, or finish the task that is stressing you out. If you hate your job, quit it. If you are being taken advantage of, speak up. If your friends are horrible, drop them. If you lost your job, stay up all night every night and find a new one. Take a step back. Nothing is beneath you, because remember as I told you before: You are not the exception. If you’re broke, cancel your cable, sell the crap you don’t need, and downsize.
Please don’t comment here and tell me you have already downsized as much as you can, because that isn’t true. If you still have a cell phone, a computer, two weeks’ worth of clothes, furniture, or a vehicle, then you are lying. I would wager that you have at least one of those things.
Most of all, I can nearly promise you that unless your family member is dying, or you are a true martyr like Mother Theresa, nothing that is making you busy or stressed out is that important. In the off chance that it IS that important and you will get fired or die if your work isn’t completed, stop wasting your time and do it. Stop over-thinking your life. It is passing by every second while you whine inwardly about how busy and stressed out you are. And since this is one of the prettiest falls we have had in a long time, I suggest you stop wasting your time.
Regards,
Megan
P.S. That letter was written solely to myself, though I talk to most of you, so it probably applies to all of us. I hope you enjoyed.
P.P.S. I do stay up almost all night every night looking for a new job. It’s actually getting to be quite fun.
a message to the king November 6, 2009
Dear King Obama
Thank you for sending me $8,123.46 in tax credit money. I will be investing this money wisely. Of course, I won’t invest wisely until I treat myself to sushi tonight, and buy a new digital camera in December.
Love,
Megan
P.S. I think you’re a good man. Keep your head up.
In which I want to know November 5, 2009
I just wrote a long post about how perplexed I am about Nashville’s obsession with feeding Africa, even though we have a disproportionate amount of homeless people for our size. But I deleted it, because some things are too cynical, even for me.
But still, I want to know why George Bush was lauded for sending tax dollars to Africa, and Barack Obama has been demonized for wanting to create a better healthcare system, so poor people can go to the doctor. That’s what I want to know.
And I want to know why the churches down the street from mine don’t want to partake in feeding the homeless. Or in fighting for legislation that could make housing more affordable, rehabilitation more accessible, and education more obtainable. That’s what I want to know.
I want to know why some people my age are fine with buying all their clothes from Urban Outfitters, who has employed tons of sweatshop workers in Bangladesh or wherever to sew for pennies, but they’ll train for a marathon to feed African children. Or why it’s perfectly acceptable for white collar bank executives to steal from the government — to steal from investors — but it’s stereotypical and anger-inducing for someone in the ghetto to hold up a liquor store.
I want to know when the double standard goes away.
