A crying shame
Battery died. Post was lost. It might have been brilliant. (It wasn’t, but it might have been.) It’s gone. You’ll never know.
I want to go back
Last week, there was a blogger/social media conference in New Orleans, and a lot of the bloggers I read were there. Dooce just posted a picture from her trip, and I want to go back! To New Orleans, not necessarily to the conference (although I would probably really enjoy one of those). I want to go right now.
Right now!
Time to crash
The caffeine wore off. Or maybe I’m coming down from the sugar high. Whatever it is, I’m all of a sudden super tired and so very glad tomorrow is Friday.
Also, I would like to move here.
Too much caffeine
What made me think it was a good idea to have tea for breakfast and a cup of coffee when I got to work (yummy delicious flavored coffee with too much sugar) and then another cup right after lunch? I’m jittery. Tapping my fingers, clicking pens, jiggling my knee… Anybody need anything auctioned off?
Where would I put a giant dry-erase board?
Is it possible to go through a day without a to-do list? (I started with “get through life”, but that’s too big.) Seriously, though, one day. There will always be something, right? Typical (and very very basic) work day to-do: shower, go to work, do work, come home, make dinner. At a minimum. There are always things like go to the bank (didn’t do that today), plant the new trees that arrived today, pick up the contact lenses when they come in, buy new running shoes, call a deck guy, clean the house, exercise, feed the dogs, make your bed, clean up after breakfast (and many many more, of course, with hundreds of variations for those with kids). What would a day without a to-do list look like? Maybe if you slept outside (no need to get out of bed or let the dogs out) and were fasting (for spiritual growth, let’s say, so no need to prepare meals or clean up after them). Your to-do list could be as simple as 1. Wake up. 2. Go to sleep. Would you have to add 3. Watch the clouds float by? Nah, that’s optional. Doesn’t need to be on the list.
On the other hand, who really needs a list to get through the usual parts of the day (like shower, go to work, do work, come home, make dinner)? So maybe I’m not even talking about a to-do list. I mean, I don’t make a list to get ready for bed every night. (1. Pull hair back. 2. Wash hands. 3. Take out contacts. 4. Floss. 5. Brush teeth. 6. Swish with disgusting medicinal mouthwash for recent tooth thing. 7. Wash face. 8. Wash with other face stuff. 9. Dry face.) I just do it. In that order. Every time. I don’t need a list to remind myself to eat breakfast or turn off the burner after the water boils for tea.
Where am I going with this? Is this about goals? About direction? About being a teensy bit obsessive?
Maybe?
My break is over
I have really enjoyed my few days stuck at home. Really. Except for one field trip on Sunday with John, I haven’t left the house. I’m not saying I want to do this every day (I’d feel much better if I could go to my fun classes at the gym or run), but I kinda like not working. And I was SO productive. I finished one book, read two more, and started a third, spent countless hours cataloging the internet (kind of), watched several movies, including one today…what movie did I watch today? Seriously. I even liked it. Hang on.
The Recently Watched section in Netflix tells me I watched Desk Set today, a movie with Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy that I really liked, except for the dumb ending.
These are from several days ago, but you should watch them anyway.
Adorable ticklish baby penguin (Watch to the end. It’s short.)
And this is beautiful. My favorite part is near the beginning, when the movement of the clouds looks like ocean waves.
The Mountain from Terje Sorgjerd on Vimeo.
Rediscovering bookmarked blogs
A few days at home with orders to rest and what do I do? (Besides read, watch TV, watch movies, and commune with newborn puppies via puppy cam, I mean.) I go through my bookmarks. Have some links.
We’ll start with a little geography. The first link is to a couple of maps that compare the latitudes of North American and Western Europe cities. I knew they are farther north than we are, but I did not know that London is farther north than a lot of major Canadian cities. (I like maps.)
The second link is totally awesome and comes from the blog of a British woman who is raising her children in California. She found a video (watch the video) that explains the difference between Great Britain and the United Kingdom and England, Scotland, Wales, etc. Liked the video (the guy talks faster than I do), really like the blog.
My bookmarks are listed alphabetically (can’t remember if that’s automatic or if I did that), and these two both start with A, so you can see I didn’t get very far. It’s a start.
Hopefully, this was the last punch in the mouth
Sorry about all the short posts lately. I have the attention span of a gnat. Also, my face hurts. Although not as much as I was afraid it would. This whole procedure sounds more painful than it has turned out to be. Thank the whatever from high atop the thing. Seems like it would have been fairly simple, right?
- Yank the molar that’s causing trouble.
- Put in a fake tooth that will forever and ever behave perfectly and not throw parties that require calling the cops and then rehab.
Not so simple. Fake teeth don’t have roots. They have screws. Screws that have to be longer than the roots because, I don’t know, they just do. And in order for the new fake tooth to be sturdy, the screw has to be completely surrounded by bone. Can’t have the end of it sticking out in space. It wouldn’t be as sturdy. (What space? Right, the space in the sinus cavity above my teeth and behind my cheek.) The solution is to fill in some of the space with bone. I didn’t ask where they got the bone. Maybe I should have. Anyway, that’s what they did. My sinus cavity is not as big as it once was, and I have a screw sticking out of the hole where my molar used to be. Once it heals completely (about four months), I’ll get a nice new fake tooth.
In the meantime, I get several days on the couch. I’ve watched movies (Whale Rider – good, Saint Ralph – good), lots of TV (catching up on Scrubs and The Good Wife), started watching Harry Connick, Jr’s latest concert DVD (In Concert on Broadway – my good buddy Geoff Burke is in it! Very exciting. (I realize that seeing him play from 3 feet away for an hour and than talking to him for a grand total of maybe 15 minutes at the bar does not a best-friendship make (wait – I haven’t told you about that yet), but don’t think I won’t use every connection I can think up to get backstage the next time Harry is in town. Besides, he was cool. And really good.)), and played on the internet. A lot. And I finished my book (The Forever War). It was very good (as expected). I’d been looking for it in used bookstores everywhere I went, but couldn’t find it, so I finally bought it new. I’m glad I did. The latest edition has a foreword by John Scalzi, who has quickly become my favorite contemporary science fiction author. And blogger.
I’m rambling, so I’m going to quit here and soak up some of this sun before it dissolves into more torrential rain (yesterday was CRAZY with the rain) and read my book on the deck.
Practically crying
…from laughing so hard. I’m seven pages into Damn You Auto Correct!, and the cumulative effect is killing me. Pics of ship phone!
Breaking News – the puppy cam is back!
You didn’t really want to be productive any time in the next few months, did you? Of course not.
This is what the internet was invented for. Puppy cam!
Never underestimate the power of sleeping in
I’m not allowed to have breakfast this morning. No food, no water, no nothing for six hours before my little procedure (tooth-related, no big deal, but I’m going to be knocked out ’cause who wants to be awake during a sinus lift?). I figured I’d sleep in a little, play on the internet, read, whatever, and then go. Sleep in a little turned into sleep in a lot. Woke up just before 10. And now? Time to go. Am I hungry? Not in the least.
Shouldn’t have said that. I’m a little hungry now.
Taking a swipe at the Lone Star State, just because
This is why I don’t have any interest in living in Texas. The school textbook thing really bugs me.
Tell me I look good and I’ll love you forever
I have a problem. It’s called food. I love it. I’m back on the PAY ATTENTION, STUPID method of watching what I eat. As of yesterday. This weekend was full of distractions. Anyway, I know what my scale is telling me (ugh), and I know what my mirror is telling me (eh). I’ll get there. In the meantime, I’ll take what validation I can get. I walked into my Kukuwa class last night, and this very nice woman (tiny, petite, adorable) came over to me and told me I looked slimmer. ! I love her. Meet my new best friend. (Sorry, Bridget.)
Flatter, as a verb, is kind of funny. And appropriate. Flatter is exactly what I want to be. In most places.
I found this funny
Starting to feel better (I’m slowly winning (or losing less) my annual fight with pollen). The Bloggess pointed me to this. Thought I’d share.
Still have to work next week
The government didn’t shut down. Yay? I mean, yay! Definitely yay. Definitely yay because it’s less selfish. Just because I would LOVE to have a couple of free days off (even if they are without pay) doesn’t mean that everyone this affects is in my position. But the irrational (and not as nice) part of me wants to whine.
The rest of me wants to whine because we have to do yard work tomorrow. We’re going to cordon off the holes the dogs have been digging, cut the grass (that will probably be first), weed, and rescue the damn rose bush again.
Really good wine and a hungry raccoon
These are the wines Mom, Mindy, and I had at the Grapevine Wine Bar in New Orleans. The first one is a sauvignon blanc from New Zealand. Grapefruity. Found it at Wegman’s for $16.99.
The second one is a pinot gris from Oregon. This one tasted like apples (but not like apple juice) and was Mindy’s least favorite (but I really liked it). I found this one at Wegman’s for $12.99.
The third one is a viognier from Argentina. I don’t remember what it tasted like, but it was GOOD. Wegman’s doesn’t carry it. I’ll check Total Wine next time I’m out.
Last, watch this video, courtesy of The Daily What. It’s not long, it’s super-cute, and the tiny bit at the end is John’s favorite part.
Do you know what it means…
…to miss New Orleans? [Written Wednesday night, March 30th, edited today.]
Honestly, I haven’t left yet, but I imagine I’ll know pretty soon. These last two nights have been among the best ever. Everyone I know is missing out. Last night, I went to Preservation Hall and met Shannon Powell (drummer for Harry Connick, Jr, for six years (not anymore) and on what I consider to be his three best albums), and tonight I saw Mr. Powell play at the Palm Court Jazz Cafe with some awesome New Orleans musicians AND Jerry Weldon and Wendell Brunious, both of whom have played (and do play) with Harry Connick, Jr. Jerry Weldon plays tenor saxophone, and I swear I recognized his tone (not his face) the minute he started playing. Have you heard him play “A Nightingale Sang on Berkeley Square”? I have, at least a thousand times. I’d recognize that sound anywhere. (Branford Marsalis plays it on the album, but Jerry plays it on The New York Big Band Concert video, which I unfortunately only have on VHS. That will change soon.)
Here’s how it went: Last night, Shannon told me he’d be playing at the Palm Court tonight at 8. I made plans with a coworker (that would be Crazy) to go there for dinner. She got waylaid by our clients, so I went there by myself, still expecting her to show up once she got rid of them. (She never did.) I walked in the door a little before 8, and when the hostess asked me if I wanted to sit at the bar, I said (a little excitedly), “I’m here for the band. And the food.” She laughed a little (at me, I’m sure), and gave me a table for two right at the edge of the stage.
That's my table. And my second hurricane.
The band came on, Shannon popped over to say hi, and they were great. At the first break, I stopped the bass player (Richard Molton) to tell him how much I enjoyed his playing (he was really good). He said he hadn’t been playing this kind of music lately (since Katrina), and he felt out of his element. I told him it didn’t show. He asked me if I was local. I said no, and he said he thought I knew Shannon. (!) I explained. Nice guy. Then I left him alone to take his break. Shannon came by to say hi again, sat down at my table. (Wait – it gets better.) He said, “Your favorite trombone player is here.” “No…” He nodded. “Introduce me?” He did. We walked over to a table near the back of the restaurant, and I met Lucien Barbarin, hilarious and fantastic trombone player for Harry Connick, Jr. SO cool. I went back to my table and texted Corey, “I just met Lucien.” His response: “This is epic. Get pictures!” Pictures! Of course! I went back to Lucien’s table and said something like (I’d had two hurricanes, so I’m not sure exactly what I said), “Excuse me. I’m sorry to interrupt you again, and I know this is a bit fangirl-ish, but could I get a picture of the two of us?” He’s a gentleman and all-around nice guy, so of course he said that would be fine. I handed my phone off to I don’t know who (maybe Richard?), and got my picture of me and Lucien.
My dark and blurry picture of me and Lucien
And then I got a picture of me and Shannon.
Great hat
I have a picture of me and Richard, too, but it’s way worse than those two. We’re backlit and you can barely make out our fuzzy faces.
The band went back on for their second set, but this time, they had a few people sit in. Wendell Brunious on trumpet, Jerry Weldon on tenor saxophone, and some guy whose name I didn’t catch on guitar joined in. It’s amazing to me that these guys can sit in with a band used to playing together and pick up on all the arrangements. Or, if they don’t, everyone can handle it. They’ll all figure it out, play well together, handle any hiccups, and the audience will never know. Professionals. So cool.
Did I mention the singer? Topsy Chapman, who was fantastic, did “At Last” and I nearly cried.
After the second set ended, I told the trombone player how much I enjoyed his playing (that might have happened after the first set – he looked like he was having SUCH a good time), I talked to Richard the bass player again (found out he’s been playing his second best bass since Katrina because his first one was destroyed after sitting in something like nine feet of water), said goodbye to Lucien and Jerry (Lucien hugged me!), talked briefly with the younger guys who were with Lucien (both playing in Harry’s orchestra – one subbing for a couple of weeks, one who’s been with him for ten years – oh my god!), and then Shannon offered me a ride to my hotel. We were walking out with him and his trumpet player (not Wendell). I told him that wasn’t necessary, he didn’t need to drive me home. He asked me if I’d rather walk. ‘Not really.” (It was late and it would have taken me at least half an hour.) So he dropped me off at my hotel. I have the date and time of his next gig (tomorrow night), and I will be there.
I was there, it was awesome, and I will tell you about it very soon. But first, a couple more pictures from that night.
That's Jerry Weldon (you know, the guy with the saxophone). Lars Edegran is in the back on piano (he was at Preservation Hall the night before). I never caught the names of the other two guys.
The whole band, with my empty table (and third hurricane) up front.
That's a classic Jerry Weldon move.
I’m with the band
John told me a number of times that I should go to Preservation Hall, so Tuesday morning I looked up the website. I recognized the name of the guy playing that night (because I’m a big Harry Connick, Jr fan and a bit of an obsessive nerd, I happened to know off the top of my head that Shannon Powell was the drummer for his big band in the early nineties (We Are In Love is possibly my favorite album)), so I planned to go after work. First set started at 8pm. Unfortunately, I had to get through the whole day first. I invited my coworker, who I’ll call Crazy (the only other person on this trip who actually works for my company – everyone else we worked with that week works for our client agency), and we got invited to dinner with one of the clients. I didn’t particularly want to hang out with anyone from the agency after working hours (I was hoping to relax. I didn’t want to be on anymore.), but I didn’t have a not-rude way out just then. Anyway, she wasn’t interested in going to Preservation Hall. I could handle dinner.
Dinner was uneventful, even boring, especially because Crazy bailed on me. It started pouring down rain (like flooding rain – we could have swum down Canal Street), and she called to tell me she was staying in. I had an teeny umbrella that barely kept my head dry, but nothing was keeping me from Preservation Hall that night, so I met my client coworker outside her hotel, and we ran through the rain to the Palace Cafe. Got drenched from about mid-thigh down. The food was good (I had andouille crusted fish – spicy and delicious), the conversation was boring, and as soon as I dropped client coworker back at her hotel, I headed out.
If you’ve never been, Preservation Hall (at least where the band plays) is this tiny little room with dirty wood plank flooring, a few wooden benches in the middle of the room (maybe four) and along the walls, a row of cushions up front, and some standing room in the back. The entrances to the room are on the left side if you’re facing the street (and the band). There are two doorways on that side, one near the front of the room and one near the back. You go in through the back and leave out the front, and the doorway near the front is right by the band. When I came in ($12 cover, and $2 for traditional requests, $5 for other requests, $10 for “When the Saints Go Marching In”, noted on a little sign on the wall behind the band), the band was playing, and as I passed the front doorway, I looked in, saw Shannon Powell (Shannon Powell!), and he waved at me and gave an enthusiastic “Hey!” That was awesome. I gathered he really liked to see people come in to hear him play. There were a ton of people there already, so I joined the crowd in the back and found a spot where I could see. Sort of. If I stayed on my toes and looked over a guy’s shoulder. Still, the music was awesome, and we all had a good time. The set ended about nine, maybe a little before, and I stuck around for the next set. I watched the people leaving talk to members of the band (Shannon Powell on drums, Lars Edegran on piano, Clive somebody on trumpet, somebody else on bass, and Scott somebody on trombone) as they filed past them on their way out that front doorway, and I decided I’d talk to Shannon and gush a little on my way out after the next set. I found a better spot along the right-hand wall for the second set. The crowd this time around wasn’t as lively. I was the most enthusiastic person there, clapping to the beat, having a wonderful time. Totally fun, and I decided to stay for the third set. How often will I get to see this? I’ll manage staying out late on a work night. My enthusiasm didn’t go unnoticed. After the second set ended, Mr. Powell came over to meet me. Wanted to know who his fan was, I think. It turns out he said hi to me when I came in because I look like someone he used to work with who left town a while back. He thought she may have been back for a visit. Yeah, that’s not me. But still, I’m an enthusiastic fan. He asked me what I was drinking (I didn’t have a drink), and I said nothing right now. He beckoned me along after him. We went across the street and stepped into a bar. (Johnny White’s.) I was feverishly trying to think of what to order that wouldn’t be either gross (to me) or totally lame (to him). He asked, I said rum and coke, he said he’s drinking rum, too (rum and orange juice, I think), I said that sounds good, and he ordered me one. And waved me away when I reached for my wallet. He bought me a drink. ! We chatted a little (where am I from, where are you touring next, etc), and he asked me if I wanted to hang out with the band later. I panicked a little, said I couldn’t, I’m here for work, and I have a presentation in the morning. Lies! My presentation was the day after, in the afternoon. He said something about getting my number so we can stay in touch and catch up when he comes to DC. (I was thinking to myself that I was not that captivating during that conversation. Still, he’s didn’t come across as sleazy. Just friendly.) Anyway, I regretted the presentation lie and decided I’d tell him I mixed up the days if he asked again. (He didn’t.) He said he’s playing at the Palm Court the next night (Wednesday). I asked about it, and he said they have great food, great music. I said I’ll be there. We went back to the hall for his third set, and I took my spot back on the wall. Good third set (the crowd was better than for the second set). We all danced at the end. The guy hugging the wall behind me thanked me on behalf of the band for being able to clap on the right beat (2 and 4 as opposed to 1 and 3 like a few idiots in the audience). I tipped the band (as you do), and Shannon said “Palm Court tomorrow?” “I’ll be there at 8.” I headed out and walked back to my hotel, grinning like an idiot at everyone I passed (it was a little before midnight), and called Mindy to rave about my evening. What did she want to know? “What are you going to wear tomorrow?” We have priorities. It was SO. MUCH. FUN.
This one’s for Mel
Ewan McGregor (say it with me!) is super-cute. Tom and Lorenzo agree.
Thank goodness for notes
I’m back home, where spring has sprung, but it’s not warm enough for me. Not after a week of mid-70s in New Orleans. Not after only needing a jacket late at night on my way home a jazz club. And speaking of weather and jazz and awesomeness, if I hadn’t made notes during the week, I wouldn’t know where to begin. Since I did, I’ll begin at the beginning.
I got to New Orleans Saturday afternoon and made it to my hotel. Pretty straightforward. Finding my room after that was not so simple. I was in Building 2 (or was it Building B?), which is up an escalator, up another escalator, across the breezeway, forward and then around to the left, past the gift shop that wasn’t open even ONCE the whole week, up an elevator, down a hall, and around another corner. The gym (which I faithfully visited every morning except for the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth days), was back the way I’d come in and then another half-mile in the opposite direction from the front desk and up four floors. It was a workout just to get there.
Everyone else (Mom, Dad, Mindy, Corey, Candy, and Gaby – we were only missing John and Mark) got there a few hours later, and after dinner, Mindy, Corey, Candy, and I headed to Bourbon Street. That was…something. I may not have been in the right mood. Crowded, loud, dirty. We wound our way through throngs of girls in short prom dresses, frat boys, and vomit. We did find a Dixieland band playing in a bar, though (Fritzel’s European Jazz Pub – beware the link if your speakers are on: music starts playing as soon as you land on the page). That was cool. Something I learned (although not that night): many musicians would rather you didn’t call it Dixieland. Traditional New Orleans Jazz is the preferred term.
The next morning (Sunday – it was a beautiful morning), we had brunch at Brennan’s. I could do that every week. You’d have to roll me home every week, but WOW. Loved the place, loved the strawberries and cream, LOVED the bananas foster and crepes fitzgerald. My entree was meh, but everyone else’s was reallyreally good, and I tried them all. From there, we hopped the streetcar to the Garden District (after changing into our UK gear – Go CATS!). Those houses are amazing.
Detour to talk about the weather. It was so warm. SO warm. And breezy, and wonderful, and WARM. All the windows (big windows) on the streetcar were open and it felt so nice. /detour
A little after 4pm (game time!), we hopped off the streetcar and Corey and Candy asked a nice stranger where we might be able to find a sports bar. You can’t run around during March Madness with your UK gear on and NOT watch the game. He sent us to one a couple of blocks away, practically empty, except for three people together at the bar and maybe another guy. Just after halftime, one of the three at the bar walked by our table on her way back to her seat. She was wearing a UK shirt, too, and Corey high-fived her. Mindy and I looked at each other. She looked really familiar to both of us, but it’s a little ridiculous of us to assume we know everyone in the world wearing a UK shirt, right? Well, right, except not in this case. I went over to ask her. “Are you from [town redacted]?” “Yes.” “Did you go to [high school redacted]?” “Zannah?” So, yeah, we went to high school together, had friends in common (loyal commenter IBCRandy, among others), remembered each other vaguely, but enough. Totally weird. She lives in the neighborhood we were in. What are the odds? The stars aligned for me this whole trip, but more on that in another post (or three). So that was cool. And UK won, which was also cool. Too bad they couldn’t keep that up.
Dad, Corey, Candy, and Gaby all left on Monday (after breakfast at the Cafe du Monde, where we watched Gaby wallow in powdered sugar), and I went to work for a few hours. I came back to find Mom and Mindy waiting in my room (it was kind of sad to come back after work the next day and have no one to meet me). Mindy made an inspired dinner decision (I think it was her choice), and we went to the Grapevine Wine Bar. No live music, but the wine made up for that. We killed three bottles and ate appetizers (scallops, beef medallions, cheese and crackers, baked brie, and something else…mussels!) and skipped dessert. Partly because who needs dessert after three bottles of wine, and partly because fudge cheese didn’t sound particularly appetizing. I’m not making that up.
On our tipsy way back to the hotel after dinner, we met a three-man a capella group on the corner somewhere along Decatur and sang with them. Met some people on the way back home (all new friends), and then Mom and Mindy left the next morning (Tuesday). Tuesday night is when my solo adventures started, and I’ll get into them tomorrow. I’m typed out.