Coinkydink

Minutes after my last blog post came one of those moments that makes the world seem so small you could drop it in your pocket. I have a special place in my heart for these semi-remarkable happenstances and coincidences, and I think it's because it reminds me of literature and television. These rare moments makes the world seem so uncharacteristically comprehensible and palatable that they must be scripted, artificially produced somehow. In the grand scheme of things, these events transpire unnoticed, but they feel to me like a delightfully kitschy souvenir. It's the powers of the universe coming together incongruously like those Brookfield zoo plastic molds, steaming and shaking for a few moments before spewing out a matte turquoise figurine of that person sitting next to me on the plane who happens to be the brother of the professor of my introductory philosophy class (No way!). And I, mesmerized from behind the bubble-top, nearly opaque from finger smears, waste little time in reaching in the grimy slot to claim my prize. And how fucking dope were those things? Kids in my kindergarten class wanted to grow up to be firefighters and actresses, but I wanted (past tense?) to be a Mold-A-Rama machine. 

Anyways, I had just caught my buddy Kyle's latest blog post (great stuff, check that ish out here) ten minutes after he posted it, and he was writing about how he met this really cute girl at Muldoon's, and went over and started talking to her. Now, you're probably thinking, how in the could this possibly relate to me, and, granted, the whole talking-to-a-cute-girl thing is not necessarily my forte- or even the being-in-close-proximity-to-a-cute-girl thing for that matter. But, in talking to Chin more about this girl- he referred to her comically as "Mousey", because of her delicate physiognomy- I started thinking that this girl sounds familiar. Cautiously, I started asking more about where Mousey is from and what she looks like, each question escalating with giddiness as I realized, I totally know Mousey! This girl was, in fact, my friend's ex-girlfriend. It was a bit of a moral quandary at first, because I'm close with my friend, and he's one of my all-time favorite people. But being that the breakup was- from what I hear- mutual and in the past, and, just as importantly, that Kyle's a stand-up guy, I felt like it was a safe move to try to do somethin!. 

So Chin and I met up on Friday to talk strategy. This threw me off a little bit because I was already at the library, tucked away reclusively in the record player section, plodding through Infinite Jest and listening to obscure Louisiana folk records (I usually search through the vinyl covers for the most senescent Cajun man, preferably sitting on a porch or rocking chair, with a similarly decrepit companion with a harmonica. Then I know I've got a winner.) But, with the cancelation of Wheaton North's meet the next morning, I decided to roll with it.  I walked over to Muldoon's from the 'brary and caught up with Mike and Chin, right as Fabian was heading out. As I was saying what up to Fabian, I noticed an advertisement for the 3$ Green Line special for that night, and I quickly realized the direction this night would be inevitably heading. 

After a few brews and thanks to some sage-like advice from Drabik, we decided that I would initiate a casual text to Mousey and get the ball rolling, digging deep in the arsenal of nonchalance with a statement like maybe we could all meet up next time you guys happen to be at Muldoon's. Notice the ambiguity: words like maybe, and next time make it a totally non-binding agreement, and who exactly is we and you guys? The uncertainty gives the whole thing a slight air of aloofness and apathy, which is the definition of cool. I feel it necessary here to add, once again, that I do not think I am cool; merely, my sober (I repeat, sober) texting skills I wield with tact and pride on my camera-less, tank of a cell phone. But, as apparent with my hesitance of leaving the library, in an actual social setting, I am rendered helplessly inept. 

An increase in the Green Line-intake, motivated in part by said ineptitude, soon made the night a little more interesting. The conversation was getting more and more abstract with each beer, and soon after Drabik left, Chin and I regressed to a Rudd/Segelian back-and-forth, full of bromantical bromides ("No, you're a great guy, Kyle"). Because of the significant consumption of brew, I was also making frequent trips to the bathroom, and on one of my more unsteady returns to the table, I was approached by a middle-aged woman, her arms flared outward, excitedly and expectantly. And, naturally, I responded in the worst possible manner: I froze, mid-stride, and looked over both shoulders, thinking I had oafishly wandered into the path of this woman and her friend. This notion was soon dispelled as the woman gave me an enthusiastic hug.

Fortunately, this woman's exuberance was matched in her level of intoxication. Not to say that she was by any means sloppy, but rather she had that delightful twinkle in her eye that comes with skillfully managing the fine line of drunk/not drunk. That same line which I myself had utterly annihilated earlier that night, and which also makes the Cross-Country mother-son dinner such an uproarious success each year, as there are some mothers, much to Andrew and Justin's chagrin, who have a charming disregard for that line altogether. But this mystery woman, in her state of contentment, cared little about my apparent ignorance. 

In the infancy of our small talk, I managed to pare down the possible identities of this woman to a handful of my friends' moms.  And then, the gods threw me a bone, as the woman mentioned how she was at the track meet I was working a couple days prior. It then finally dawned on me that she was my friend Jackie's mom, a great lady who I've met on several occasions (it was not so much that I didn't remember her, but more the potent combination of the occurrence being so out of place, and after so many drinks). The conversation really flowed from there, and the only hiccup being when I mentioned former Iowa standout Rachel Marchand getting busted for EPO by the NCAA, and how that must've been weird for Jackie being on her team. I just meant how odd that would be, but Jackie's mom seemed to think I was insinuating that Jackie was doping, which is just a laughable allegation. The situation was cleared up, though.

After that, Chin took care of the tab (what a guy!) and we started walking back home. Sure, our paths were by no means linear, but all-in-all we were fine, certainly not disruptive (keep this in mind). Yet, after I chucked up a deuce to Chin and headed down Madison, my night became full-on Shamalanian with another unexpected turn. I'm close enough to my house that I'm visualizing crashing face-first on my bed, but then, not one, but two police cars, with sirens, pulled me over (Is it still being pulled over if you're walking?). Having only recently turned twenty-one, I still find myself irrationally nervous after a night at the bar, so I had a moment of panic before I realized I wasn't doing anything wrong. I immediately walked over to the cop and handed him my i.d., and told him that I had been drinking, and that I was on my way home, pointing to my house, which was literally thirty feet away. He was pretty cool about it, he said that somebody had called the cops saying someone was being loud and disruptive (again I emphasize, nothing about my walk back could've been possibly construed as disruptive), and that he didn't have any problems as long as I was heading home. The worst of it was definitely seeing my roommate watching the whole thing transpiring from the window of our living room, a look of judgement and incredulity so intense on his face I thought he'd never be able to pick his jaw off of the ground. And then when I went to the front door, he wouldn't unlock it! What an asshole.

More later....

Gangsta by tUnE-yArDs

One day after giving NPR an exclusive stream of her full album, Merrill released W h o k i l l of 4 AD records on tuesday in the U.S., and it is almost as cool as Garbus herself. Haven't had time for it to all really sink in yet, but most importantly she didn't lose any of her, to say the least, unique style from BiRd-BrAiNs, adding a refined and fuller sound to her wild-things-when-they're-bound howls and delicate coos. It's a nice balance of growing as an artist, but also sticking to one's roots. The song that has been absolutely irresistible to me (even more, dare i say, than when her first single Bizness caught my eye) has been "Gangsta". Seriously, when she says "What's a boy to do if he'll never be a gangsta? Fire in his heart, but he'll never be a gangsta", she has managed to sum up in two sentence the distress that has robbed me of countless hours of sleep. But then again, I did just get pulled over by two cops just strolling down the street....

I was tempted to put the whole album up for download, but I just can't do that to Merrill. I sure as hell didn't buy it, but if you want it, I'll at least make you work for it like I did. She deserves at least that.

Edit: download link is broken, I'll try and fix it and repost

Double Edit: download here

 

Mira el joto

Just got back from pulling a double at Shane's today, and it was great to see Ethan (shoutout to that kid), who claims he's checking out the blog today. That's why Ethan's my boy, and also because he messed up his thumb beating the hell out of that one kid. Good thing he works at the deli, because that kid goes ham.

"'I am afraid,' replied Elinor, 'that the pleasantness of an employment does not always evince its propriety.'

'On the contrary, nothing can be a stronger proof of it, Elinor; for if there had been any real impropriety in what I did, i should have been sensible of it at the time, for we always know when we are acting wrong, and with such conviction I could have had no pleasure."

(Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility)

This quote stuck out to me today because I was thinking about how much I enjoy working at Shane's Deli. I concede that it is menial labor, but I enjoy making sandwiches, I have a reasonable boss, and I have a great time with my coworkers. And there is a certain satisfaction in providing people with a quality product that they immediately appreciate. More importantly though, I've found myself exposed to a group of people of whom I'd otherwise have limited interaction. 

Yeah, it's been nice to get to know some really great guys like Ethan, Joe, Mike, and Matt Drabik, Chin, Kaela, Shane, Fiske, Holly, and Betsy, but I feel like I've really gleaned some valuable life lessons from the amigos: Pancho, Esse, and Chavo. Even though I studied spanish for five years, the language barrier between us would've been too imposing for me to ever even start a conversation were it not for our forced proximity in the work place. But the amigos really helped me out, both with understanding the shockingly intricate nature of prepping, making, and wrapping sandwiches and as a remedial presence in my recollection of Spanish. 

This probably seems like a complete non sequitur, but I promise I will tie it in to the quote shortly. I can proudly say that I can effectively verbalize 90% of what I need to during my shifts, and I comprehend the majority of what is said to me; although, as most of it is sexual innuendo, I just nod my head and laugh. However, these three diligent and perseverant men have had a more profound impact on my life outside of my work, too. While Chavo and Esse have always been friendly to me outside of work (Esse even snuck me some free buffalo wings from Moldoun's one time), Pancho has gone well out of his way to be a true friend. 

The first instance of this was his invitation to his Monday night basketball games with his friends (which I soon came to realize were his brother, nephew, and other family), and I gladly took him up on his offer. I eagerly arrived at the courts off of Gunderson near his place, and waited for well over a half hour, but was not disappointed when Pancho's crew finally arrived. We played a rough, yet mostly friendly, game to 21. The cement court was cracked and in these spots rose up in tectonic upheveal. The rim was suffocated in rubber, and if not for the strange no-take-backs rule the game would've never ended, as every shot outside of a five foot radius careened harmlessly off the bulky, orange bastard of a hoop.

It was after this game that I truly appreciated what Pancho's invitation meant. The other basketball players did not seem to appreciate the presence of a white, yuppy stranger with an absolutely horrendous accent and Spanish comprehension, and I don't blame them. I'm also awful at basketball, so there was honestly no real reason for me to be there. But Pancho cooly shrugged of these superficial concerns and really made my day by inviting me to play. I'd like to think I repaid Pancho by helping his team win the prize-or more appropriately, avoiding paying the price of losing (i.e. paying for post-game beers)- but it definitely had more to do with him raining threes than my modest contribution of a couple tip ins. But anyway, his meaningful offer to play certainly initiated a friendship between us that I truly value.

Now that I've established the nature of my enjoyment of my job, I can connect it with the quote. I realize that in the passage, Elinor is not referring to a literal employment, but that just got the ball rolling in my head. The interesting question that I drew from the quote is how do society's expectations shape our own expectations? Elinor claims that even though Marianne feels no remorse for her actions, they are still inappropriate. Marianne opposes this claim, stating that we have in us instilled a moral code of right and wrong, and that if she felt nothing wrong, then, indeed, she had done nothing wrong. 

A very interesting debate to say the least, but I find myself concerned more with the inverse of this argument; meaning, can my moral compass be so swayed by external factors that I initially regret actions of which, when further pondering, I find myself in the right? The example here is my job at Shanes. I have clearly shown that I enjoy the job, and have found a certain fulfillment in the occupation and with my coworkers. Yet, I have to admit feeling ashamed when casual acquaintances come in while I'm working, and ask me why I'm not in school, or if I'm going to get a real job. 

This constant barrage of negativity has fostered in me a resentment of my job, and motivated my search for getting back in school. I'm not too naive to claim that I don't need to go back to school to accomplish my goals that I have for later in life, but it is startling to me to see such a mutinous shift in my thinking towards something I really enjoy. It is the same kind of idea of people denying favorite books or artist because they are viewed as something short of being cool or socially acceptable. It is interesting to sit back and try to picture what I would be doing if I was making a decision completely void of external interference. Some interference is healthy, as I have an infinitesimally limited exposure to the world, relative to the collective exposure of society. But is bigger always better, so to speak? I find it imperative that I keep tabs on how much my notions of things important to me are impacted my own empirical reason, and how much is due to that of suggestions by the community around me. 

The song i picked for today is from the immensely-talented Merril Garbus, a.k.a tUnE-yArDs. The mustachioed mujer's first single Bizness of w h o k i l l, out April 19th, is a hella-upbeat track that's just awesome. I definitely thought this was a dude on first listen, but nope, definitely a burly, Oakland-based woman that belts it out like it's her job. Which I guess it pretty much is. And she is damn good at it. 

tUnE-yArDs- Bizness

download here