sentimental geek

I am hyper and can’t think.

See this:

This weekend’s festivities have left my head feeling empty and tired and floaty. I really have nothing to say.

HOWEVER does anyone want to go see Arlo Guthrie with me? He’s at the Colonial November 17th–tickets are $35.10 (I don’t mean to complain but what’s with the redonkulous cents?!). It’s at 8pm and it’s the weekend before my birthday.

Good night.

‘The Be Good Tanyas’ make the world seem smaller. I am severely enjoying their ‘Chinatown’ album right now. It’s warm and cozy music. If you’re into some old tyme/new tyme music, give it a listen. It’s chill.

It’s Pumpkin Fest TOMORROW. Where did the Fall go? I can’t even believe it. Randan is coming over from Manch to spend the weekend and I’m psyched because I haven’t seen him in ages. I’ve also never had a houseguest before. Yeah, I’ve had people crash at my house but not come to stay. Also my dear friend Annie C is coming back. It’s been too, too long. P-fest is a magical time. Things happen. I don’t know, Nickolas. I feel like this weekend may be the weekend that I have to face that big, ugly mess from the summer and put my cards out on the table. Hey, hey. When will I stop weighing the pros and cons?

Too bad it’s planning on raining tomorrow (BOO) but we’ll be nice and warm at 21 and Saturday is supposed to be nice to punkin carving and wandering around the town. I have my camera ready.

Finnair went on strike today. Sometimes I want to go on strike. Us Finns, we’re a moody bunch. Today was insane. Sometimes I think it would be nice to be in retail or something. Be a check out girl at Target. Not have to worry and wager, beg and bicker, negotiate and lose my nerve. What is that like? I don’t remember. I don’t remember what it’s like not to be emotionally invested in my work. I’m rooted to it–look, I’m writing about it. Who would I be if I didn’t work there?

That is a scary thought.

Oh, Frontline…

As educational and as wonderful you are, your current program “The Lost Year in Iraq” is extremely depressing.

I enjoy Frontline when I catch it. A lot of people accuse PBS of being Bush-hating hippies. I don’t really think that this is true. I think they tell the truth. Sometimes, well…to quote a movie, people can’t handle the truth. People don’t want to think that the President would put someone who had no knowledge of the Middle East in charge of Iraq. People hate to think that the person in charge of cleaning up Iraq would suggest shooting the looters, in the beginning part of Operation “Freedom”, but only a few, since that would be all it would take to make people stop looting.

It makes me cringe, really. What must the rest of the world think of us? Muscling into a country for no other reason than our president is an ex-cokehead with a grudge and botching up a reconstruction of a country. Not a reconstruction of a car. Of a house. A COUNTRY. It boggles the mind.

I can understand how disgruntled they felt. I’m not saying I condone the violence. I just know that, if someone came into my country, after bombing the shit out of it and throw 20, 000 people out of work, lock tens of thousands of possibly innocent people in a shithole of jail and then abuse them in the most unhumane way possible…I’d be a little pissed too. Can I imagine myself a little pissed and with a rifle? I’m not in that country. I have no idea what I would do. How I would feel. Would it matter that I am white? A woman? Middle Class? In New Hampshire? It’s a very uneasy feeling to know that for all of our seperation in this country, we could all very easily be reduced to frightened, shellshocked people. It doesn’t matter who you are.

The most frustrating part is that now we see. When it was happening, did we know what was going on? Yes, people were saying “This isn’t right,” but now, sitting here, almost three years later, we can sit and look back at the articles and the footage and the actual history of what we’ve done. Hindsight really is twenty-twenty, isn’t it? It’s heartbreaking to know that no one will ever say “We made a mistake” or “We should probably rethink what we’re doing here.”

The violence is awful. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I just wish there was a better way.

annotation 10:15pm: After a while to think and absorb what I wanted to say and what I saw, I am sure this is why I like Frontline. I like that it upsets me, makes me uncomfortable, inspires me. It’s such a valuable feeling to know that I can be affected by a television program in a way that makes me feel smarter, emotional…more human. How many other programs can do that? Not many, I say.

Movies
1. Marie Antoinette (may possibly have to cross water to see it)
2. Science of Sleep
3. A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints
4. Man of the Year
5. Little Miss Sunshine

Books
1. The Conservative Soul: How We Lost It, How to Get It Back by Andrew Sullivan…I’m totally curious
2. Going Dirty: The Art of Negative Campaigning by David Mark…liked him on the Daily Show tonight
3. Chronicles: Volume 1 by Bob Dylan
4. Killing Yourself to Live: 85% of a True Story by Chuck Klosterman…it’s funny. I love his articles. I’ve never read any of his books
5. some kind of book on Japanese…Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto…that’s all I’ve got

My Napster shuffle keeps going back to Widespread Panic. Apparently it likes them more than I do. I mean, I like them but every other song, sometimes two songs in row? Get a room.

Things I Forgot

1. What Fall smells like.
2. Going for a walk by myself is Good Times.
3. Pearl Jam, specifically ‘No Code’. Also ‘Yield’.
4. Life is much simpler than it appears.
5. Fear is what you tell yourself because your mind isn’t ready to accept.

What, you say you’re looking for some music? Why not try:

Revival by Gillian Welch (old school modern alt. bluegrass chick music)
Wildcat by Ratatat (OMFG listen to this album. Also, drugs are bad.)
Another Fine Day, by Golden Smog (Jeff Tweedy side project. Also features members of Jayhawks and Soul Asylum…try it, you’ll like it.)
Fox Confessor Brings the Flood…or any album by Neko Case…she’s um-maz-ing.
Return to Cookie Mountain by TV on the Radio (completely f’d but completely f’d in a good way)
Anodyne, Uncle Tupelo (Jeff Tweedy, full of alcohol and drugs. Also full of genius)
Mermaid Avenue I and II by Billy Bragg and Wilco…I listen to it on repeat.

I’m feeling happy. I hope you are too.

Owch, is it really five of ten on a Sunday night? Weekends are passing two at time these days…PumpkinFest is only two weeks away…and then two weeks after that…JAPAN. Craziness.

Interesting weekend, anyway. Saturday I finally got some sleep (cats are driving me FUCKING crazy) and didn’t get up until 11. Found some money and went to Gomarlos for some supplies (you know, important stuff like Coca Cola for Jack and Coke and onion soup mix for french onion dip). I enjoy quiet Saturday nights, `specially when I can really only afford to be quiet and listen to music and watch the TV.

Today I laid about all morning and had two cups of coffee before I went for a really long walk and took some pictures of the world around me. It felt really nice to get out and move around and look. The whole world smells smoky and sharp in the Fall…I love it.

So what’d you do this weekend?

20 bucks in my checking account and I have no milk in the fridge. Or more importantly, half and half. So I went to lovely Gomarlo’s with no list and bought a bunch of shit. I had seen a recipe in my Rachel CrazyRay cookbook so I kinda had an idea what I was going for. BTW, if you’re from the Keene area, Gomarlo’s has a fabu wine selection. All local. It’s very cool. Oh, and they sell Boone’s Farm Blue Hawaiian. If you come to my house with a bottle of that, you would be the bomb.

So I failed miserabley at what I needed for this recipe, so I, feeling awfully domestic today, made up my own recipe with shit I had, which I will share with you:

Jen’s Cowboy Chop Suey

salt
fresh ground pepper
extra virgin olive oil, once around th pan (about a tablespoon if you care)
box of Rigatoni (or any short cut pasta, but I like Rigatoni a lot)
1 lb ground chuck
4 cloves of garlic, chopped
1 medium onion, chopped (or 2 smalls, which is what I had)
1 green pepper, chopped fine
2 slices roasted red pepper in oil (rinse if you want, but I like the spicy oil. If you don’t have any, you can leave this out or use fresh but they’re sweet and spicy and nice), chopped
1 tsp roasted red pepper flakes (eyeball, I like more)
1 tsp Chili powder (eyeball but be careful, damn it)
14 oz can crushed tomatos
8 oz regular barbecue sauce (I kind of just pooped half a bottle in)
CHEESE of some kind, to sprinkle on top. I had mozzerella. If you had a sharper cheese, it would be better.

Boil a big pot of water and salt it good (don’t ever ever put oil in your pasta water, the sauce won’t stick). Cook the pasta until it still has some bite to it. Make sure to stir the rigatoni ever so often…they’re heavy and sink. Drain the pasta and put it aside.

Heat a large skillet and add the oil. Throw in the meat and break it up with a wooden spoon while it cooks. When the meat is brown, you could be a pussy and drain the meat or you could just eat it like a human being and add the garlic, onions, roasted red pepper, green pepper and red pepper flakes. Mix it together and season with salt and pepper. Go easy on the salt, you’ll be adding stuff with salt later and you don’t want it to be salty as hell. Let the meat and veg hang out, stirring occasionally for about five minutes. Add the crushed tomatos and the barbecue sauce and stir. Taste it and add more salt and pepper, if you need it. Add the rigatoni and toss. Or add the sauce to the rigatoni and toss. Whatever you feel like. There are no rules here. When it’s all coated, ladle it into a bowl, top with the cheese and eat, motherfucker.

BTW, Little Amsterdam is a good song.

BTW, I am the worst mother in the world. I accidently shut Arlo in my utility closet this morning for the whole day. Ack.

BTW, tomorrow’s Friday.

BTW, I love you all.

When I was a senior, we all had to write an autobiography in order to pass English. That’s right, folks. That’ what passed as education. We, at 17/18 had to write about our life. I never quite understood it (possibly because I had no understanding of my life, myself or the world around me) but I took it as an opportunity to actually write.

Something I used to be: writer.

In those days, I had no idea what was going on. I was kind of lost. I hated my parents…typical teenage crap. I wrote honestly, knowing that my English teacher was really going to be the only one reading it…and really, who cares? I had this grand notion I would poof be gone as soon as graduation ended. I wrote about everything, shit I had done, shit my friends had done, how I felt about people, about myself. I believe it was all for naught; I don’t think that my teacher really cared. I mean, what was I complaining about? That my friends were assholes? That I was some overpriviledged brat who was moving to Boston for school at a little liberal arts school with a full bank account and anything else I wanted?

I’m surprised she didn’t slap me with my autobiography.

What brought this up?

I did the entire thing to Counting Crows lyrics. Each section started with a lyric from a band that basically vocalized my entire existence. They were SOOO GOOOD in the 90’s, oh MAN. So great.

My favorite song of their sophomore album ‘Recovering the Satellites’ came up on my ohmygodtotallyinlovewithit Napster tonight. I haven’t heard it in years. And it all came back to me.

“All of the sudden she disappears
just yesterday she was here
somebody tell me if I am sleeping
someone should be with me here
(cause I don’t wanna be alone)
I wanna be the knife that cuts into my hand
and I wanna be scattered from here in this catapult
What a big baby won’t somebody save me please
You won’t find nobody home
all of these quiet battered voices
wait for the hunger to come
we got little revolvers and stupid choices
and no one to say when we’re done
(Well I don’t wanna bring you down)
I wanna be the light that burns out your eyes
`cause I know there’s little things about me
that would sing in the silence of so much rejection
in every connection I make
I can’t find nobody home
I wanna be the last thing you hear when you’re falling asleep….”

Do you mourn for the innocence of your youth or do you breathe a sigh of relief you’re as well adjusted as you are?

Hmmm?

I don’t know, either.

Ryan Adams is a genius. And throughout history, we’ve learned that geniuses generally tend to go a little nuts. Judy Garland, Pablo Picasso, F. Scott Fitzgerald–all amazing geniuses, all of them bat-shit crazy.

However, none of them attempted to make a rap album.

“Ryan Adams goes hip hop…the alt-country king tries his hand at rapping.”

I know, I didn’t believe it at first, either. But listen for yourself…

He’s fucking nuts.