The Coastal City Badass

NPR nerd alert: http://michelenorrisfacts.com is the liberal elite answer to the Chuck Norris facts of yesteryear. Check it.

Today's theme seems to be nerdy obsessions. I'll try to come up with a hat trick. Birdwatching? Problems with keeping my glasses on my face? My athletic ineptitude? The possibilities are endless!

Confirming fears that don't pertain to Billy Crudup's naked body

Right, if you're not a Watchmen fan, just skip this one.

The leaked scene of The Watchmen film was rather disappointing, but will likely translate somewhat more flatteringly to the big screen. Yes, Malin Ackerman as Silk Spectre 2.0 was a hot-if-uninspired choice, but I'd rather see her navigate the Sally J/Doc Manhattan lines with grace and butcher the action scenes than vice-versa. This will be a sweet-looking, ahem, visually astounding film no matter what. It's the stuff between the explosions, the political messages, the subtext, the cinematography and editing, that will make this film either kick-ass or an overwhelming disappointment.

Honestly, I'd have rather seen it made into a mini-series. I'd steal cable for that.

Also, if you want to see the leaked scene, go through Blogtown, PDX. Worth it for their splash illustration.

My kingdom for tickets...

"San Francisco non-profit City Arts & Lectures has enlisted good folks
from around the music world for a series of conversations and
performances it calls "Talking Music".

The list of music-makers taking part in the series over the next
several months includes John Darnielle (the Mountain Goats), Neko Case
(herself/the New Pornographers), Will Sheff (Okkervil River), Stephin
Merritt (the Magnetic Fields) and Laurie Anderson. Each of these
"Talking Music" events feature the musicians "in conversation and
song" alongside a literary light acting as host. Merritt has been
paired up with his Gothic Archies partner Daniel Handler (who also
writes the Lemony Snicket books), while Laurie Anderson is "in
conversation" only (no music) with Our Band Could Be Your Life scribe
Michael Azerrad.

All "Talking Music" events will take place at the Herbst Theatre in
San Francisco's Performing Arts Center."

(kiped from Pitchfork)

Meg, you'd best hit this up.

Things I've learned in the past week

Cops love to talk.

Saying, "I hope that's a coffee stain" in the world of inpatient drug treatment is apparently a pretty good line.

I can, given enough time, sew a hat. It can, given enough determination, be fairly cool-looking and durable.

Getting paid to chase a Jack Russell terrier around is perhaps the best part of this job. Especially if someone's playing Nick Drake at the time.

Petropolis by Anya Ulinich is damn good, and taking book recommendations from NPR is three for three. I really enjoy her word choice - it's playful and unusual. "...icy acne on the sidewalk..." still sticks out in my head. The characters have already broken my heart with their guilelessness and earnestness and I'm not yet halfway done.

I tried to pick up a comic book today (Tank Girl 2) and simply couldn't do it. What that means, I don't know, but it's troubling.

Get Smart - hell yeah. This kid watched the show on Nick at Nite like crazy and can't hardly wait for Steve Carrell to bring his amazing and Anne Hathaway to bring her not-quite-disconcerting doe eyes to one beloved waste of hours of my childhood.

The jury's still out on the new job. I mean, I can tell that it's going to be challenging in all the ways my previous gig was not, but I miss my AHMRT coworkers and the strange feeling of safety that was almost familial.

Speaking of family, my mother visited and my grandfather died in the same weekend. Not really coping, not really clear.

music?

Anyone know of any good bluesy, folksy Americana type artists? (J, I'm looking your way...) I need recommendations.

The house front is moving more slowly than I'd like -- it's looking like we won't move in until next weekend at the earliest. Frustrating. I'm sick of making excuses as to why I'm not moved in already and I'm growing weary of the long-term houseguest situation.

In less whiny news, I get to see the New Pornographers tonight! I've had my ticket for about three months now -- can we say mailing list? The full line-up will evidently be playing -- Neko and Dan inclusive. Needless to say, I'll be at the front of the crush, dancing and screaming.

Fixed up my bike a little today. New stem and seat post -- the thing actually fits me now. The operation took a lot longer than I'd have liked. To the tune of an hour and a half longer, but I'm not terribly patient. Or adept with a wrench apparently. At any rate, it's taller and road-ready, if a bit in need of some tweaking.

Cafes in SE Portland have been conspiring to play music that will maximize my moodiness. The sudden cloudy turn has made it even more clear that not only does everything in this town (and the world?) revolve around me, but the whole operation is trying to make me grumpy. Not possible when a sweet, long-awaited concert is on the horizon, I'm afraid.

Last tidbit: a photo of mine has been published. See!

The catering gig (50 people, most of them trashed by 9:00) went off well. I've never poached so many goddamn pears in my life.

My job is difficult to get the hang of, since there are so many nit-picky details involved in filing patent applications. Who knew? Coworkers are super-cool, though, and I love my daily bike commute. I made a friend on the path on friday; we talked about shoes.

I missed Musicfest NW largely out of my own flakiness. Rilo Kiley is coming back soon, though, and Mirah plays on Wednesday (I think) so I'm happy to save my dough. Also: NEW PORNOGRAPHERS! SEPTEMBER 16! Somebody had better join me on this one.

Today is a lovely sunny day.

Posting will continue to be light until the weather turns. It's not that nothing is going on, rather, my interest in this blogamadoo wanes for the moment. work email can be given on request. It gets checked every other moment from 8:30-4:30 Mon-Fri. Sadly. Mrrh.

Like most of the spiritually bereft, I take my occasional off-putting, mystic dreams rather seriously. This perhaps misguided approach to the intangible is neither consistent nor rewarding, but it is how I roll. Last night, my grandfather took my on a guided tour of my life at present. He was beatific, shrouded in a white glow that extended to everything he touched. This got a little bit irritating, but I was awfully intrigued by his demeanor – that him-but-not-quite-him thing that dream people do – so I didn’t mention it. He was not encouraging, not judgmental, not bossy; in fact, Papa eschewed the entire gamut of support and advice I’ve so far received from Baby Boomers and Greatest Generationals. That I’m very, very lost only heartened him. He got angry, though, which I’ve rarely (if ever) seen; when I turned inward to self-pity, he called me out. Not for the reasons I tend to scorn self-pity, either, but because in doing so I essentially disregarded the love and care that had brought me to the present moment. To feel sorry for Poor Me was to ignore all of the people I am so very, very lucky to have near me.

My family is more or less intact, functional and okay with the homo factor. Adam and I talk as much as our personalities and timetables will allow. Unforgettable people in every region of this country and in several far-flung lands drop lines to say hey. Sometimes it frustrates me when folks don’t call me back or when the blog appears for want of readers. That’s immaterial, though. Short term. I am incredibly lucky. One, even one as spiritually bereft as I, could say blessed. Thank y'all. It's a terribly impersonal forum, but I feel like writing is the most accurate and articulte way to get these thoughts out and the blog is, well, very convenient. Had I the will to subject you to it, I'd give an alphabetical run-down of why everyone in my life is awesome. (A is for Areli, whose love for Narbles and NPR is forever and inspiration... and so on.) I'll put it all in my will. Read it at the wake in an Erica Voice.

My mother sent me a book in the mail, saying it reminded her of me. For all the awkard nuances of our relationship, my mother and I can be on the same wavelength from time to time. My jury’s still out as to whether or not getting this book – Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert – in the mail with a maternal note constitutes a moment of communion or of awkwardness. So far, I could take or leave the book, but in places the tone of the thing sounds an awful lot like my Perfect World columns. It’s a syntax thing; it must be. The upshot: my mother may or may not think I’m having a spiritual crisis – not that I’m affirming or denying that, but still – and may or may not think that I should write a book about it and market it to the Oprah’s Book Club set. Does anybody else’s mother do this? Does anybody else over-analyze their parents and themselves like this? I need to get out more.

The Bicycle Thief is not the greatest movie to watch while unemployed, although I don’t have kids or any Italian whatsoever, so there’s still a remove. (Shit, I think my bike's unlocked, actually.) Reading Cormac McCarthy while pining for the dramatic landscapes of my own Heimat is likewise a bit of a downer, but in that artsy sort of way. Would that I could write like that, or even half as well.

Spent a good chunk of today with power tools and gardening materials. Making myself useful to my hostess today involved making breakfast (pancakes), using power tools (skill saw), breaking up garden brush (rosemary and an old Xmas tree), and sweeping. Windows are next.

Tomorrow: LSAT studying, waiting by the phone for news of houses and jobs, calling family in Helena so as not to totally gate-crash. Email both sets of grandparents, cousin. Take Multnomah country food handler’s test. Buy a day planner. This shit’s getting ridiculous.
Tuesday: Tri-met job fair and Q center volunteer meeting. Call parents? More LSAT. Buy a day planner for reals. Windows?

SWL ISO job

I hope my present unemployment (no word from the temp agency, which is irritating beyond measure) doesn't start to reflect poorly on these applications for houses I'm trying to fill out. New Seasons is hiring. Hell, I could telemarket. Another damn tyranny of options situation over here.

The move was more or less smooth, the last nights in Eugene festive. I'm excited to settle into independence up here, but getting there is not exactly going to be a breeze. Unemployment and homelessness are still uncomfortable and unresolved.

Although I suppose I could be a little easier on myself considering I've been here for all of two days now.

Also: read the latest Harry Potter. My only comment until anti-spoiler fury dies down: favorite passage is on page 644. You'll know which one I mean. I giggled for about ten minutes picturing Maggie Smith in there.

I'd forgotten a few things

Topping the list of late: why I stopped buying Tom's of Maine deodorant in the summer, what warm weather does to me (mania for the outdoors and consequent sunburn, desires for charred meat, that sort of thing) and the realization that I do, in fact, have muscles. Many of them are sore. I've had the new bike less than a week and I've logged something like 30 miles. Considering the (sad) shape I'm in, not bad.

Testing the waters on this one: Law school. Down the road a piece, natch. Civil rights and labor law specifically. Thoughts?

If I didn't mention it before, my days in Eugene are officially numbered. Moving Day: July 20. Sometimes that feels too soon, other times too late. Which probably means it's as good as any date.

Reading! So much reading. Chewed on some major Faulkner for a while, but I've since moved on to Ragtime. I think this is my fifth or sixth attempt on that one. Determination!

inconvenient!

This final set of finals is seriously cutting into my leisure time. I'm trying to finish Absalom, Absalom! over here.

the week 5 shuffle

My brain is, in fact, melting. Burn-out manifests itself so forcefully these days, I occasionally smell smoke. Midterms have not treated me kindly, and I'm really, really ready to be made tired by something that's not an essay or some crap in German. Graduation is so close...

Thanks to M, I went to the Decemberists show gratis (hooray for elephant guest passes!) and saw quite the audience participation spectacle. Maybe it was the substances, but I didn't find the show terribly engaging even though Colin Meloy was inciting dance rebellion and working the crowd with something like desperation. Also: giant whale. Maybe it was the profusion of prog rock/jam band moments -- I'm into the D-rists and I'm into Emerson, Lake and Palmer,* but I didn't expect to see the two meet sonically at the Macdonald last night. It wasn't good or bad, just something I hadn't anticipated; I couldn't quite lose myself in the thing for some reason, and I'm trying to figure out why. Not having heard any of the new album (except the omnipresent Valencia song) couldn't have helped.

Breaking from thesis right now. For those of you in Eugene free at 11:30 on tuesdays, come to my defense. May 22.

And women are nothing but trouble.

*What? I don't believe in musical skeletons in playlist closets. Cribbing from M, the phrase "guilty pleasures" implies guilt. So there, music snobbery.

Kid E's first conference

This whole weekend has been a lesson in staying my own awkwardness. Never terribly adept at conversation when meeting new people (see also: my father), I've run the gamut of venues at which to "network" -- conference rooms, bars, hoity toity restaurants, beaches, fire pits. While my "network" has only minimally grown -- just as well -- I've made somewhat minor strides in chatting with strangers who intimidate me. Like Jonathan Lethem. Who sat at our table and was largely engaged with the musical obscurefest going on round that neck of the woods. I got some good shots in when conversation turned to Batman, but get a bunch of geeky and PUBLISHED academics together and set them loose... fangirls like me have trouble keeping up with the sheer force and quantity of the "when I met Tina Weymouth" variety. See M for a more comprehensive account of the nerve-wracking drive(mart) and other more eloquent bits.

That said, I'm having a blast. A mass geek-out? Hells yes. I'll even submit a paper once I get up the nerve. I mean hell, there was free beer at one point.

Likewise, hanging out with old friends and friends of old friends has lead to some escapades such as hanging out on a beach listening to a didgeridoo jam session on 4/20 and wandering about Discovery Park, trying to avoid childrens.

Moral of the story: the Experience Music Project is the ugliest building I've ever seen. The Science Fiction Museum's space croissant is bitchin', though.