A Synopsis of Recent Events

I’ve been sort of blog-stymied lately, due in part to lack of time and energy, but also due to a bottleneck of subject matter. This was so much easier when I was milking the clock for the government all day.

(Unnecessary disclaimer: I actually worked a lot at my government job. In between commending valedictorians, though, there could be a lot of dead time. It was in this dead time that I looked for jobs and developed my mad blogging skillz.)

I have a lot going on, and when I can’t write about it as it comes because I’m flitting about with a green apron on all day, it all gets to be too much at the end of the day, so I just don’t bother. I haven’t had a lot of time for processing it all, actually. And then, of course, there’s the fact that I can’t seem to think about much besides that album I bought this week. You know–that one.

So, to recap the week:

Apartment hunting Monday was a pretty despondent, but ultimately triumphant, experience. I’m going to be teaching in a little town called Ripley. I’d had all these visions in my head of a cozy little apartment (or even a house, as the cost of living over there is just absurdly cheap) a few blocks from my little school in said little town. I’d move in and there would be plenty of kindly townfolk bringing pies, and I’d make my home there and walk my cat around the modest town square and be known as the eccentric, but lovable and dedicated, new schoolmarm.

Well, first of all, the school isn’t so little. I’m not sure how many students there are, but there are enough to facilitate the need for six English classrooms. I was overwhelmed by the facilities and resources available–as I mentioned before, I’ll be getting my own Mac (!) laptop, and all students have plenty of access to technology at pretty much any time. Thus far, it looks like I’m the one who’s going to be getting the enlightenment. So…guess I’ll save the Dead Poets’ Society bit for when I move to a New England boarding school (which I really would like to do someday, but that’s another blog).

Secondly, they don’t want my cat. I made a gazillion phone calls to a gazillion properties in the area. After wading through the disproportionate amount of Section 8 complexes, I found a few decent-looking properties I might not have minded living in. The conversations with the leasing offices, though, always went fine until I asked about pet policy. All but one–literally–ended with the words “NO PETS.” That one that didn’t–well, after looking at it, I’m not sure my cat would have wanted to live there anyway.

This, along with some paperwork at the Board of Ed., took up all day and into the afternoon. As a last-ditch effort, we drove up the road to Dyersburg. It was as if a whole new world had opened up. For there, I found pretty apartment complexes near convenient areas that still had the reasonable (and after living in Nashville a year, I realize, dirt cheap) rent rates. Long story short, I settled upon a two-bedroom in the historic district and a couple of blocks from the gorgeous old-South courthouse and town square. I absolutely love it. And I think Dorian will, too .

Dyersburg is still a small town, so that fantasy will still be met. I just won’t have to go without several of the amenities that I admittedly like to have as a transplant from the big city. (And yes, I know I’ve only been here a year, but doggonit how this town gets under your skin.) The more I thought about it, too, I realized it would be good to have a life outside of school–maybe my yard won’t get TP’d as much if the kids would have to drive 20-30 minutes to do it. Plus, I will have more choices of a congregation to attend, and hopefully more people my age to meet and befriend. It puts me further away from Memphis for my big-city fix, but as I’ve mentioned, I’m scared of that town anyway. Which of course means I’m going to be making the hour-and-a-half drive every so often to overcome that fear in the name of barbecue.

Moving on. This week has been filled with good times with Nashville friends. My heart has been very full with them as I approach my move date. Wednesday brought sushi with peeps from the legislature for lunch downtown (aside to John H–I thought about seeing if you wanted to get coffee afterward, but weenied out at the last minute; curse my introversion). It’s so happymaking how you can develop a rapport with people in four months’ time. I’m gonna miss those folks.

That night, as mentioned in the previous entry, was Hannah’s show at Bongo Java. I was moved for her at how many of us from the store showed up to support her. Another barista even joined in on an amazing Aqualung cover. Afterwards, we went down the street to PM, where we sat around a table, they drank wine, I drank Diet Coke, and we just laughed and relaxed. I think it’s likely that I will find friends to drink Diet Coke and relax with in my new, grown-up, stable existence. I’m ready for it and excited about it.

But…I’m also in full comprehension that I’ve been in almost a dream land this past year, meeting and making friends with some of the most interesting characters, and that there will never be another time and place like this has been for me. It is right, though, that I’m leaving it as it is, and not when the music’s over and everyone is passed out on the couch. As I leave it now, everyone is young and pretty and laughing and hopeful, with open arms to whatever life is going to bring next. I needed this, as I jumped into a very grown-up job way too early in my life and never got the chance to wonder what it was I really wanted.

Okay. I’ve had some other good talks and experiences this week, but that’s the gist of me right now. So much of what is happening now, I realize, are things I won’t really be able to write about until later. And I love that thought–that the verdict will be in later and I don’t have to worry about it; that people I’m missing right now might be back in a matter of time; that hopes will be fulfilled, and hurts will be healed. And that Easy Tiger will get better and better with each listen. You really should buy that album . Happy Friday to you.

Hannah Westphall

Sigh. Nights like tonight, as well as days like today, are reasons 1-42 (approximately) why I’ll miss Nashville soooo much.

I’m going to take time out from this mad, obsessive Easy Tiger listening experience to plug my girl Hannah Westphall. Tiny, beautiful, and talented in myriad ways, Hannah is one of those girls I’d hate if she weren’t so amazingly, genuinely kind and funny. I first met her when we worked a shift together at Starbucks–the shift that ended up being the notorious, MySpace-blog-inspiring, “no, thank YOU” shift. Though I didn’t know Hannah, well, at all, after the mean lady drove away, she declared that she had my back and if the store manager needed any confirmation of my innocence in the matter, to tell her to come to her. I, of course, was greatly moved and knew I’d love working with her from then on.

What I didn’t know is how great a singer/songwriter the girl is. Tonight, several of us from Starbucks went out to see her play at Bongo Java. With just a guitar and a microphone, Hannah took the stage on a stool, which she carefully mounted, she noted, so as not to flash us all. To overcome her nerves, she started out with a stirring “icebreaker” song–Beyonce’s “You Must Not Know ‘Bout Me.” Let me tell you, you haven’t heard that song until you’ve heard it played acoustic by a pint-sized white girl with a twinkle in her eye.

That’s how she did everything–with a twinkle in her eye, a crinkle of her nose, and lots of charming self-deprecation. It was obvious on a couple of songs that she wasn’t comfortable with the guitar accompaniment–no matter; she just shrugged and laughed at herself.

But her voice–her voice! Right down my alley. For the most part, she stays in a soft, soothing, and sweet-without-being-sappy tone. This fits perfectly with her wistful, knowingly-innocent lyrics. Every once in a while, though, she lets herself belt it out, and it’s very effective. I bought her CD, and once I can wrench myself away from that other one I’ve been talking about some lately, I will definitely be giving it a listen.

Maybe you can convince her to let you buy one if you visit her MySpace page. Also, check out her amazing photography. It’s just sick–sick, I say–how talented she is.

Did I Mention You Should Buy Easy Tiger?

I picked up my uber-cool clear-orange vinyl copy of Easy Tiger yesterday at Grimey’s before I went to work. At Starbucks, I bought the CD (the discount, you understand) and kept changing the store playlist so that that’s all that was piped over the system.

I don’t even know how to talk about it.

I already have so many emotional attachments to certain songs from this album that finally hearing the studio version all the way through was like a gentle validation. I first heard “Rip Off” and “Two Hearts” last year at the Ryman. I love both, but “Rip Off” is the one that has stuck with me–lyrics about “people who want to fix themselves” and how “if I’m being honest with you, and it seems like I’m being cruel/at least you didn’t get a rip-off” were pure articulations of where I was in my life at that time. Hearing them now, almost a year later, was a full-circle experience.

What I’ve read about these songs is that a lot of them are from the times between other ones of Ryan’s albums. From the sound of this one, maybe he’s coming full-circle as well. I was sort of overwhelmed driving home and listening to it, so I don’t know how to give an adequate review of the album. It’s too early to tell, as I have years of attachment to Heartbreaker and Cold Roses, but I’m not prepared to say Easy Tiger is not Ryan Adams’s best album yet.

His voice and his songwriting have never been better. The Cardinals have always been tight, but they’re seamless and full of heart on this album. Ryan manages to be raw and heartbreaking, but also mature, at the same time. This is where I get frustrated with myself for not having the writing ability or the musical knowledge of a music critic. I just know what the songs from this album have done for me thus far, and that’s remind me of people I love, heartaches, and healing.

Okay. Woefully inadequate, but that’s all for now. That’s why Ryan writes the songs and I don’t. Buy it.

P.S. Check out the time on his watch on the cover. *irreverent snicker*

Happy Monday List

1. I found an apartment! It’s twenty-something minutes from the town where I’ll be working, but it’s in a much bigger town with a beautiful square, and my apartment is in a gorgeous historic district downtown. More on that later.

2. The laptop computer that my new school is going to furnish me is a Mac! I had planned on switching over and almost bought one last year, then I found out that I get a laptop through my school system and abandoned the idea, figuring it would be a PC…nope! Coolest school ever!

3. EASY TIGER. COMES OUT TOMORROW. Y’all go buy it.

I’m all headachy from driving since the buttcrack this morning, so I’m going to bed.

You Can Uncover the Kids’ Eyes Now

Because I just had my blog rated, and it turns out it’s kid-friendly now.

(Well, except when I talk about Starbucks, and that makes people want to cuss. Otherwise, any corruption is of your own doing, apparently.)

Now Playing in Holly’s Head: "Two" by Ryan Adams

This is a Ryan Adams performance of his new single, “Two,” from his album, Easy Tiger, that will be coming out next Tuesday (buy it!). It’s from the show I “saw” (a debatable term, considering the dim lights, as you’ll see in the video) in Louisville May 19. Though the video is pretty much worthless, the audio is great–every song that night (all eight of them, sigh) was just stellar. His voice is getting better and better. And I’ve rarely been more impressed with a band than I am the Cardinals.

I heard this one on the radio today. It’s getting some airplay locally lately, and it’s just killing me. The lyrics paired with his vocals just simply ache. It’s a theme he visits often, and that I’ve mentioned before–the sort of resigned sadness of being lonely and yearning, knowing you’re not really fit to be with anyone, but having that one person (or that idea of a person) that deep down you know you’ll never stop hoping for. This particular song reminds me of a more mature (but still charmingly naive) version of an old Whiskeytown song, “Easy Hearts.” Looks like our boy might be growing up, at least in some ways.

The song ended today just as I was pulling into work, already late. Otherwise, I might have had to have driven around and done some overthinking and perhaps some shedding of tears. I don’t think my life has ever been more hopeful–every day I’m more and more thrilled about the new opportunities set before me. I am very at peace, or at least rapidly approaching it, with the way things are now. But this song…it pulls out the bit of me that is lonely–that is trying to heal from a recent broken heart (and all the ones before it).

I’m fractured from the fall
And I wanna go home
It takes two when it used to take one

And that really is okay. I’ve lived my life for a long time thinking that if I were to be happy, I had to be completely happy…or else, well, I just wasn’t happy. But that kind of thinking denies the beauty of how life really is a process, and how heartaches really do help you reach into the corners of yourself that you wouldn’t explore otherwise. I’m glad Ryan always seems to be immersed in that process and to be exploring.

This line, though, is the one that stabbed me today:

If I could, I’d treat you like you wanted me to, I promise.

Love just isn’t always right. That I have learned in more than one painful way over the past couple of years. You can want it so much, and want to give it so much, but all you can give sometimes is the promise of good intentions.

And that’s okay, too. Somehow, hidden away in most of even his saddest songs, Ryan hides a tiny, fractured, weary hope. And I can hide the same thing inside myself.

So You Wanna Be A Starbucks Customer?

Every time I start to compose this in my head, I start to get all snarky and snide, so I’m going to try to be really understanding and polite (kind of like how I wish certain Starbucks customers would be more…but anyway) as I write this. I just thought I’d try to make an ongoing list of helpful hints regarding ordering and barista treatment at your local Starbucks. I won’t be working there much longer myself, but I’d like to leave a legacy to others who work at Starbucks now and into the future.

First, some do’s and don’t’s:

DO know what you’re ordering. If you don’t know the difference between a latte and a cappuccino, ask. Baristas are trained to answer and should be happy to do so. By the way, the main difference is the milk–for a latte, you get shots of espresso with mainly steamed milk and a little bit of foam at the top; for a cappuccino, you get shots of espresso with a free pour of highly-foamed milk, which makes the cup really light. This fact prompts some people to exclaim, “but there’s nothing in there!”

DON’T, if you don’t ask the questions and thus don’t get what you were expecting (see above), immediately assume the barista is mentally challenged and proceed to take your bad day out on him or her. Let the barista know your drink is not what you expected it to be and what you had actually wanted. We’ll remake it at no extra charge. If you are polite (and, sadly, even if you aren’t, most of the time), you’ll come out on the winning end of the situation, and you can give the cappuccino that doesn’t taste like the ones you get at the Mapco to that guy at work who listens to NPR.

DO ask for any modifiers as you are ordering–not as the barista is making the drink or when you get to the drive-through window to pay. If you need your mocha made with nonfat milk, tell the person taking the order. It is NOT cool to just casually bring it up as the drink is being handed to you–”that’s made with nonfat milk, right?” It’s also just plain in your best interests–you won’t have to wait on a whole new drink to be made.

DON’T use your own faux coffee-shop slang. No one who works behind the counter at Starbucks calls a Frappuccino (tm) Blended Coffee a “frapp“…and neither should you. (Better yet, just don’t order one…but that’s another tip.) No one has said “skinny” for “made with nonfat milk” since about 1999. And to the the guy who once ordered a “blueberry muff” from me at the drive-through…it’s REALLY not that hard to pronounce the second syllable, I promise.

But there I go getting snarky. I’m sure I’ll have more to add later, but I’ll end with probably the biggest pet peeve of most baristas–at least mine, anyway. First, let me say that, just like you, a barista is usually a reasonably intelligent person who knows how to do his or her job and how to use the terminology of said job. So, when you order a drink with a gazillion modifiers, and the barista repeats back to you,

“that was a decaf triple-grande soy no-whip white mocha, ma’am?”

replying with,

“no! I told you, it’s DECAF!”

is not very nice. It also makes you sound stupid.

I’m just sayin‘.

The bottom line is this: we’re all just trying to do our jobs and to be friendly while we do them. No one is out to get you by sabatoging your drink. In fact, though it can be pretty stressful, especially at high-volume stores, most of us are happy making people happy and genuinely enjoy what we do.

Yes, I know $5 is a lot to pay for a cup of coffee (believe me, I’m reminded of it a lot)…as I recall, though, you still have the option of not buying a $5 cup of coffee. I heard the Mapco a couple of blocks down the street has great cappuccinos for MUCH less.

Nashville Skyline Rag

The Nashville skyline is perfect at night. Just…perfect.

Today, for the first time, I felt some real pangs in my heart about leaving this town. My sister and I just took a day to play in some of my favorite spots, as well as one spot I was determined to hit before I moved–the Loveless Cafe. Those were some good greens.

Ah, I started to make a list of things I’ll miss, but at this hour I couldn’t do them justice. Just wanted you to know I’ll miss you, Nashvegas.

Icky Thump

I believe in rock and roll. I will never have to doubt it as long as the White Stripes are making music.

Today at work, my friend Kristen was imploring me and another friend and coworker Chase to enlighten her as to why we’re so obsessed with the White Stripes.

“If you took rock and roll, and boiled it down to its absolute essence,” I said, “you’d have the White Stripes. They’re guttural. They’re raw. They are rock and roll.”

Chase, who is actually knowledgeable about music and is a musician himself, was able to expound using technical and historical terms.

We did this for several minutes on end, Kristen lamenting that she just hasn’t “gotten it” yet but really wants to because so many people she respects think the White Stripes are the best thing ever…until it dawned on me that what we were doing was, in the words of a cheesy old song, trying to tell a stranger about rock and roll.

I said, “Kristen, stop thinking. Just listen.”

See…the White Stripes aren’t cerebral. They’re visceral. The music seeps inside you and then explodes outward, and there’s nothing you can do. It’s nothing you can plan to “like” or “respect” or “get.” You either feel it or you don’t.

And bless your heart if you don’t.

As I drove home listening to my brand-new copy of Icky Thump today, they proved me right. I didn’t get out my mental music-critic pen and paper to take notes…I just laughed, and got chills, and looked incredulously into the heavens, wondering how these pasty kids from Detroit had somehow become American music.

So no, this isn’t my review of Icky Thump, or my list of reasons you should love the White Stripes. It’s my way of saying to you, stop thinking–just listen.