In which I somehow manage to fill my days but I don’t feel like I’m actually doing anything.
Just a few rando things before the video:
My netbook is all better after the rebuild. Yay!
I sorta-kinda have a boyfriend, but we never see each other because we both gig, he’s on a pretty committed night schedule, and neither of us can entertain in our places of residence.
I’ve gotten a response from a job application! Unfortunately, it’s for a part-time support job on the other side of the state and it only pays about a buck an hour over minimum wage.
I ran out of business cards for my rockstar persona, so I ordered more today. I figured I needed them, since I’ll be doing about five blues festivals with Coyote Kings this summer. VERY EXCITING!
G’ma won’t stop buying Purina; it’s cheap and I think she objects to paying twice as much for dog food. I object to Purina because it’s essentially non-digestible (the “crude protein” on the label is ground up non-food animal parts) and does weird things having to do with elimination to my dog that you really don’t want to hear about. I am now buying Iams myself and leaving it lying around in an effort to keep Bindu’s colon from falling out of her ass. (Yes, I fed and bought food for my own dog for over a decade; I just don’t get the opportunity to do so any longer.) I did get G’ma to quit giving Bindu canned food every damned day, though!
I had my acrylic nails removed last week, for two reasons: I feel guilty paying for fills when I’m unemployed, and I wanted to maybe play a little guitar. My nailbeds still feel REALLY WEIRD.
You should check out this picture of my breakfast.
Okay, since you’ve all been such good boys and girls, now we can watch some television!
Last Saturday, I played with the Coyote Kings at the Ice Harbor brew pub in Kennewick, WA. Below is some footage from the third set of a song Rob wrote for me to sing, called “You Don’t Like (What’s Goin’ On)”:
I sound all right, for a pudgy Irish chick, don’t you think?
The co-op finally emailed Friday afternoon: they thanked me but declined, deciding instead to hire from within.
I am having a full-on romance, complete with poetry and chocolates and necking and stuff. It’s awesome. We’re apart this weekend, though, because we’re both gigging in different towns.
The only work interest I’ve gotten appears to be a recruiter for a 3rd tier support gig. The pay sounds too high to be legit, though, so I suspect it’s crap.
Windows Update killed my netbook; a system restore seems to have solved the problem.
Played the Parkade in Kennewick last night; fun little bar. Tonight we’re at Dax’s in Richland.
Oh, I really need to be in the shower about five minutes ago! Ciao!
In which there’s no new job, but there is a new beau.
The co-op hasn’t called.
My last contact with them was on January 19th; it’s been nearly three weeks. If they were going to hire me, they’d have done so by now.
I’ve been applying for three jobs every week just like I’m supposed to, and I haven’t even gotten a call back. The most encouragement I’ve gotten is the occasional automated “Thank you for your interest” email.
There’s no work in my industry. I’m either going to have to get a secretarial job or move away. Period.
There is some work in the Tricities, but I am not driving two hours a day for work; I utterly and unashamedly lack the commute gene. I’m not interested in moving to the Tricities, either, because the whole point of living around here is family and free rent while I finish paying off my debt settlement program. Living in Pasco would be not only silly, but counter-productive.
I don’t want a bookkeeping job, I don’t want to make nine bucks an hour, and I literally have no office-appropriate clothes. None.
So, yeah: this is beginning to suck.
~+~+~
But then there’s the bass player. (He’s actually more of a guitar player/songwriter, apparently, but I usually see him playing bass.) He’s six feet and change, has long black hair, and wears an AC/DC hat most of the time. I can’t remember how to spell the name of his tribe, but he’s Native (yes, this means virtually no body hair!) and he’s more or less from Alaska though he hasn’t been there in years.
I’ve known him socially for a couple of years, sat in with his band a few times. His number’s been in my phone for the past year; he texts when they’re playing somewhere.
Not too long ago we started texting each other a lot. I don’t remember why; it just happened. Thank yous, jokes, anything-happening-tonight questions, that sort of thing. Then I went to one of his gigs with Curt & Shelley, and he and I talked between sets. Then there was more texting, and a week or two later we ended up in the same room and started talking again. We went to the Green; he kissed me apropos of nothing. Then there was an after hours and he caught a ride with me in the truck…
In the past six days, we’ve spent about seventeen hours making out while parked in his driveway. (For various reasons neither of us can bring people home, so we’re just parking like teenagers.) It’s been epic and awesome and consuming and fantastic, and since I’ve been so busy staying up all night and sleeping all day I’ve been in total denial about the fact that the co-op hasn’t been calling. Yay!
The other morning, moments before dawn, we unclinched to smoke. The windows were fogged. My Zippo wouldn’t light. His Zippos wouldn’t light, and neither would the Bic until we opened a window. Suddenly they all worked. (I have no idea why we had five lighters between us, but it made for excellent testing.) Science! I’m still trying to determine why, if there wasn’t enough oxygen to light a lighter, I didn’t just go ahead and pass out. Maybe it was a pressure or humidity thing? Either way, it was profoundly amusing at the time. “We broke fire! The entire concept of fire, we’ve BROKEN it! NO ONE MAKES OUT LIKE WE DO!”
He explained about his last breakup. I explained that I just don’t want anybody to want anything from me. He said he wasn’t even remotely interested in meeting anybody. I told him I wanted a relationship like I want an ice pick in my eye socket. He told me how his relationships end. I told him how mine end. He squinted at me and asked me if I was going to dump him. I squinted back and said I had no way of knowing that. He hugged me and told me that he’d teach me to play Russian backgammon. I said Russian backgammon could very easily be the secret to longevity.
He introduced me to most of his friends and the entire Feedback entourage. I told my friends about him. He came to my gig last Saturday. I met his mom. We’ve been holding hands in public.
Which means I have a fucking BOYFRIEND, people. Me. The one who totally did not want a boyfriend? Yeah.
I’d probably be pissed off about it if it weren’t so freakin’ awesome.
In which I had a great time on New Year’s Eve at Pub 21 with the band.
Load-in was at 4:30, but I was late because I had to take a paper copy of my resume (and cover letter and references) to WorkSource to apply for a job.
WTF? Why wouldn’t they let me email it to them? Not only did I have to drive over there in the snow to deliver three pieces of paper, but they scanned the documents to send – one assumes electronically – to the employer; somehow they couldn’t use the DOC and PDF format copies I’d helpfully brought along on a thumb drive, and they wouldn’t let me email the items in the first place! The mind boggles. It’s like it’s still 2002 at WorkSource or something.
Anyway.
We finished setup and did a sound check and still had three hours left before the gig. The weather was crap – snow and freezing rain – and the streets were treacherously icy in a pickup with no weight in the bed.
I went home and changed my pants (it turned out there was a hole in them) and read Makers in the interim.
The gig was a blast. People started dancing during the second song of the first set, and danced most of the night. The substitute bass player – the regular guy had another gig – did a fantastic job. (So fantastic, in fact, that I gave him a big ol’ bossy lecture about how “you only regret the things you didn’t do” and why he should move to a city and actually play for a living.)
Bob gave me a couple of glasses of wine for free because I was in the band. I gave out a bunch of business cards so people could get free downloads. My friend Sheila came and I danced about twelve bars with her and Shelley. Rob sold a bunch of the Kings’ latest CD.
Since I never make New Year’s resolutions, I made none this year. Yay! I’ve already averted much fail by simply doing nothing.
Speaking of doing nothing, I was supposed to be back over at the venue at one o’clock the next day for load-out, but The Curse™ had arrived and I slept all damn day instead. I suck. I’m lucky anybody ever hires me.
Today, I need to find a job to apply for (ideally via email, fer chrissakes) and I’m going to read a bunch of Cory Doctorow’s Little Brother on my Kindle.
In which I spend a lot of time online, reading stuff. And then I write about it!
It’s important that we all become aware of, and defend against, the “natural family revival.”
There are some batshit crazy Xians out there, and they’re all banding together – some even with (gasp!) Muslims – to bring back the “natural family” (patriarch, baby machine wife, and offspring only: no non-traditional family structures allowed) because it’s the ‘natural basis of society’ and its loss is directly responsible for all kinds of terrible moral degradation.
They dislike the rights individuals within families have been slowly accumulating in the past few generations, and are, essentially, against women’s or children’s rights where they conflict with the family’s (read patriarch’s, I assume) goals.
Scripture
According to this article at The Nation, this coalition wants to increase birthrates. (Well, white birthrates.) How they rationalize this in terms of the earth’s available resources, I don’t know, but they’re really taking the old biblical injunction to multiply very seriously.
They’re even making movies about it. Behold the pseudo-science of Demographic Winter:
The bottom line, essentially, is that heathen brown people are breeding too fast and we gotta keep up in order to preserve our way of life, and our women had best be making babies, and don’t even start on the whole gay thing, please, and the best way to do that is to keep girls out of higher learning and build a culture that celebrates their womanly duties: pregnancy, lactation, and, one assumes, cooking.
Due Diligence
Because I believe that most people are essentially good and that no one is really that crazy, I went and found a rebuttal to the Joyce article.
The author claims that global birthrates are falling alarmingly and that we’re going to run out of people to drive the trains by 2050.
Really? Is that true? Are birth rates really that low? Is contraception and abortion really that common?
I googled ‘birthrates worldwide’ and as far as I can tell, yeah, birth rates are dropping from where they have been, but world population is still increasing and there are no serious trends indicating that it will stop.
In fact, the Wikipedia article linked above states that the world’s population increased by 220,980 people every day in 2009, and that only one of the UN’s multiple estimates indicate a growth rate of zero:
“In 2006, the United Nations stated that the rate of population growth is diminishing due to the demographic transition. If this trend continues, the rate of growth may diminish to zero, concurrent with a world population plateau of 9.2 billion, in 2050. However, this is only one of many estimates published by the UN. In 2009, UN projections for 2050 range from about 8 billion to 10.5 billion.”
I’m religious. I believe in God. I even pray. I understand from experience how a person can believe in and even fight for something they don’t understand: I’ve heard my own Guru speak against the genetic engineering of food crops, and I’m inclined (although I haven’t sided yet) to be against it too even though I don’t know why. (When people are starving it’s hard to be against a strain of rice that produces in difficult conditions; it just is.) But I cannot understand how an otherwise rational person can possibly move forward with a “go forth and multiply” world view just because it’s in the Bible: the world simply cannot sustain 1960s-level birthrates infinitely. It just can’t.
Which indicates a whole ‘nother motivation for the “natural family revival,” and that freaks me right the hell out.
Population
The research seems to show that poor and uneducated people have more children. (They also lose more children so birth rates don’t necessarily equal population.) When people get access to education, they quit having as many children. And very educated, urban people tend to drop the birthrate to less-than-replacement levels.
Maybe that’s the plan, huh? When you get a bunch of us all together thinking about stuff, we stop breeding like animals and start acting more… human?
Jesus was way cool. Religion is good. The Old Testament is a lovely historical document. I think it’ll be awesome when the world’s all brown. Because seriously: white people just don’t look that cool in comparison.
In which I have a fairly rotten cold. And a lot of fun, too, but the fun sure ain’t helping my cold any.
Thursday, I was pretty much wrecked at work because I’d decided to party the night before, but it turns out that I’m actually even better at phone-based IT work when I’m exhausted: it makes me talk – and think – more slowly and most customers really respond well to me when I’m half crippled.
The Dog Park and Two Bars
Friday, Bindu and I went to the dog park with our new friends J– and Turbo. Here is a fuzzy picture of Bindu and a couple of random Labs:
I met the cutest two-year-old English bulldog bitch in the entire world. The thing was built like a flat-faced toad, was totally friendly, and had the most hilarious underbite ever. I laughed every time she looked at me.
After that, J– and I went to the pub and had sweet potato fries (after intense deliberation I have decided that I do not like them) and built this awesome fire and talked our faces off and OMFG ARE WE HILARIOUS:
Then we went to the Red Monkey and hung out with Becca and Adam. I took this picture of my drinkin’ buddies shortly after we’d entered the “You are so cool, I fuckin’ love you, man!” phase of our evening:
We went to after hours at J–‘s house on Stateline when the bar closed. I slept on the couch; J– slept on the floor because some other dude had passed out in his bed.
Around eleven the next morning I went home and slept in my own bed until I had to get ready for the gig. I coughed for, oh, about three hours straight. Stupid cold. Stupid girl who stays out all night with a cold!
The Gig!
Saturday night was the Mega Jam Blues Slam at the Kennewick Jack*son’s:
There were four bands. The Coyote Kings went on second; I fronted their last 3 songs for them. I had the dance floor COMPLETELY PACKED while I was onstage, and did a little “Lemmie get a hell yeah!” “HELL YEAH!” thing with the audience that really amused me. The crowd was really superlative and the joint was packed. This pic was taken while we performed a cover of Delbert Mcclinton’s Shaky Ground:
I’ve been coughing my face off for a week now, so I’m relieved I only did a few songs; I don’t think the voice would have lasted much longer than that.
Walking around the venue after getting off stage was fun because most of the people in the crowd were blues society members; one entire table actually started clapping when I walked by, and a couple other people just full-on hugged me. I gave out a lot of business cards and decided that I need to buy one of these and get a bunch of old live cassette tape recordings into MP3 format so people can have more free downloads.
There was supposed to be a jam at the end of the evening, but there were two more bands doing sets after ours and most of the Kings just didn’t want to hang out. Since Becca and I had ridden to Kennewick with Rocket and S–, we went with them over to cute little biker bar Dax’s in Richland and listened to a set from the Seattle rockabilly band, Guns n Rosetti. Then we went home because no one – the bass player, the drummer, myself – was really interested in going all the way back over for the jam… I wanted to go, sure, but mainly I was congested and tired and needed to go home to bed since I had to work the next day.
Sundays are mellow.
That next day is today. I’m at work. The volume is really low and frankly I’m wondering if I’m going to get rescheduled or simply laid off or what. Anyway. Behold the office Xmas tree:
I wish I could get sushi for lunch, but I think they’re closed on Sundays.
There’s something deeply satisfying about just getting drunk with people and hanging out; my only regret is that this week’s opportunity to do so coincided with so much snot. Snot, snot, snot. I’m snot-locked.
In other words, I’ve had a lot of fun. But I also have a deep, wracking cough that probably wouldn’t sound like this if I’d not done the drinking/smoking/standing outside in the cold/staying up all night bit. I believe that barring a call from Mick Jagger wanting to party on his Lear jet I’ll just go ahead and take the next week off and act like a mundane: bed rest, herbal tea, dog cuddles, and no staying up all night again until the cough is gone.
Thursday, I was on the cover of the Marquee. Considering the lame interview I gave her, my girl Sheila did a really fantastic job on the article! I sound totally interesting!
Friday, I fronted the Coyote Kings at Merchants on Main street. The place was packed. People started dancing about four songs into the first set, and danced all night! My dad and Rocket’s mom were in the audience. We rocked the house and I had a metric ton of fun.
Saturday I lounged around during the day, and went to dinner at my aunt’s house with my dad and my brother. We had a nice dinner, and then I heard an awesome story from my uncle about how he got his head smashed at work up at the airport one day and nearly died.
Sunday I knitted, did laundry, watched streaming Netflix videos and went to Walmart with G’ma, where I bought some shoes. Later I made a bunch of Indian food for this week’s bentos.
Today I woke up late and barely made it to work on time.
In which I’ve seen in the past week both of my parents and all of their siblings and nearly all of their siblings’ spouses and children.
For no particular reason, both of my parents came to town to visit this week. They’ve been divorced for twenty-seven years, so it’s strange that they should both have shown up at the same time. Made my week pretty busy, actually.
My dad rolled into town in his RV with his brother on board, and we all went to see my aunt, their sister, for dinner. There was a large feast at my house with my mom and all of her siblings. My dad took me out to lunch on Tuesday and out to dinner last night. There was ice cream cake at the house for G’ma’s birthday. Suffice it to say, the diet suffered this week.
Hanging out with family is informative. I know from having looked at a bunch of my female relatives exactly where my tits are going to be in twenty years. I have learned that my dad and I are extroverts and my mother and brother are introverts. I listened to the Hall women tell me most emphatically that I’m not pudgy. I rediscovered that Morgans will drink until the bar closes.
Pretty cool, really, to be back around family. In the 15 years I spent in the Midwest, I saw my mom twice and my dad maybe five times, and the rest of my family only once: the weekend I got married. I didn’t really have anyone around to bug me about birthdays, holidays, family events, grave sites, and the like.
I was an island. I liked it.
But I also like being back in the middle of my family again. Walla Walla is where my parents are from; this is where my relatives come to come home.
Of course, this relative-fest in the middle of September probably means that no one will be around for the holidays, but that’s okay. G’ma and I will eat cookies and drink mugs of tea without them.
In which this is a very special OMG SO MUCH FAMILY edition.
Friday after work I jogged home and took a 3-minute shower. The boys picked me up in the band van at 6:30 and we drove to an RV park in Wallula to play the opening night of a biker rally.
When we arrived, there was no one there but the band, the sound guy, and the dozen employees of the rally.
We set up. Darkness fell. The only lights on the whole property were the two on the bandstand. A biker chick took her top off on stage, and a biker dude ran around with a giant latex cock hanging out of his fly. By the end of our last set, there were probably 80 people there.
I heard there were about 800 people the next night. Sigh.
Saturday, MY WHOLE ENTIRE FREAKING FAMILY SHOWED UP IN TOWN OMGWTFBBQ. Moms, dads, aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, oh my! After dinner with the maternal side, my brother and I went out with our uncle Dangerous Dan (our dad’s brother) and painted the town about fifty shades of red. There are no pictures yet because my cell phone was dead and the other pictures are on digital cameras at home.
Sunday I was pretty useless and laid around nursing a hangover when I wasn’t chatting with my mom or my aunt at the house.
Today I’m sitting at work talking on the phone and doing my job, but am mostly waiting for PAY DAY. Gonna buy a plane ticket to NEW YORK CITY tomorrow, oh yes I am.
In which I’m a little worried about my instrument.
I’m playing the Rally In The Valley – a biker rally, natch – tomorrow night. Outside. At night. It will most likely be both damp and chilly: not good conditions for a weak voice.
Then I’m supposed to play a chichi benefit gig on Saturday afternoon in the Tri-cities.
Both of which are awesome, of course, except for the fact that my instrument did not respond well to being used during band practice last night. I sang for less than an hour, and not even in full voice, and today woke up sounding like a bullfrog.
I have enough voice to talk on the phone at work, but I (a) don’t think I’m going to make it all the way through the gig tomorrow night and (b) will probably be utterly voiceless on Saturday.
This is bad because I want to do a good job at these gigs and I want the money.
I haven’t had a voice-related problem not concurrent with an upper respitory infection in twenty years, but I have been through it. The only cure is time and liquids and rest; and if I don’t do those things the instrument will just drop out completely and there’s nothing I can do about it. With gigs to do, the whole thing is just bummin’ me out.
In other news, my dad is arriving in town on Friday, and my mom is arriving on Saturday and they’re both going to expect to be able to hang out with me. (They divorced when I was 13 so it’s pretty amusing that they’re both showing up the same week; I haven’t seen either of them in a few years.)
Query: is it possible for your parents to give you laryngitis remotely?
