Listen to this. Listen every day.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Stream This
Positively buzzing with longing--and I don't know what for--but the National just brings it out in me.
Listen to this. Listen every day.
Listen to this. Listen every day.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Teen Bedroom/Adult Bedroom
One of the round table discussions that I went to during the EMP Pop Conference, last weekend, was about girls and their bedrooms pre-Interwebs, or as it was officially called, In the Girls' Room: Pre-Internet Teen Girl Bedroom Culture. So, we're talking the early 90s, and while I'm sure some enterprising early adopters had the means and funds to have some sort of Internet connection, the point of the panel was to discuss life before we were all so technologically linked.
While the entire conversation was fascinating--Riot Grrrl, Sassy Magazine (and I am honored to say that I did get this magazine when it was first published back in 1988. It was revelatory.), Alanis Morrisette (ugh) and boys in the bedroom or not--the one comment I made in the margin of my conference guide was "Is my apartment an extension of my teenage bedroom because I am single?" Why did I ask myself this question? Because the moderator asked at what point does a teen girl abandon her teen bedroom and move into an adult bedroom? One spectator noted that it happens when she moves into her college dorm and no longer needs to manifest the search for her identity all over her bedroom because at this point she is starting to "find" herself and come into her own. I don't know if I agree with this statement. Admittedly, I never lived in a dorm but I saw a lot of them and what I observed was a lot of bland conformity. Ubiquitous Monet Waterlilies or Klimt's, The Kiss. (There's a funny Buffy episode where a jaded college campus vamp makes fun of this trend.) Not to mention the same-o, same-o mini-fridge/microwave combo. I get the practicality of those appliances, but it did add to an air of sameness. You're sharing a room with someone so there has to be a negotiation, to some degree, of visual representation. Perhaps the only time you really get to splatter the walls with your developing expressive self is when you're a teenager. Provided you have your own room and you are able to do whatever you like, within reason, to the walls and shelf space.
I didn't get my own room until I was... hmmmm... how old was I? Definitely in high school. (Sometimes I wish I had a scanner because I could scan some photos I took of my teen girl bedroom... I was very proud of my wall collage. Very proud.) There is no doubt in my mind that my room was a definitive expression of what I wanted the world to know about me. Though I no longer have a wall collage of my favorite singers and bands carefully composed and constructed from Spin, Rolling Stone (back when I thought it was sort of cool, though I preferred Spin), NME and random music mags I may have stumbled upon, I sometimes wish I did. And I most assuredly have composed my studio apartment into a space that says "Hey! You can learn a lot about me just by looking at all the books, Cd's and records, and wickety-whack knick-knacks lovingly curated all around in nooks and crannies."
Really. You can. It's like an adult version of a teenager's bedroom. It's very different than the bedroom--or any other room, for that matter--that I shared with T. G.; that was less Linnet and more T. More what I believed expressed "mature adult couple"--mature adult couple that would be acceptable to T. (yawn)
So, I go back to disagreeing with the woman who thought that the dorm room didn't have to have all that "me"--but not "me" because, like I said, I never lived in the dorms--stuff because this was the point at which the girl is becoming a woman and no longer needed to prove her individuality. She just is.
I think that when you share a space you have the potential to fall into a trap of suppressing yourself in your own home and though this won't happen to everyone, it's possible. Of course it's not always true, Ready Made has a feature in every issue that entices the reader to salivate all over the envy-inducing creative power of expression as realized by couples and single folks in their amazing homes.
While the entire conversation was fascinating--Riot Grrrl, Sassy Magazine (and I am honored to say that I did get this magazine when it was first published back in 1988. It was revelatory.), Alanis Morrisette (ugh) and boys in the bedroom or not--the one comment I made in the margin of my conference guide was "Is my apartment an extension of my teenage bedroom because I am single?" Why did I ask myself this question? Because the moderator asked at what point does a teen girl abandon her teen bedroom and move into an adult bedroom? One spectator noted that it happens when she moves into her college dorm and no longer needs to manifest the search for her identity all over her bedroom because at this point she is starting to "find" herself and come into her own. I don't know if I agree with this statement. Admittedly, I never lived in a dorm but I saw a lot of them and what I observed was a lot of bland conformity. Ubiquitous Monet Waterlilies or Klimt's, The Kiss. (There's a funny Buffy episode where a jaded college campus vamp makes fun of this trend.) Not to mention the same-o, same-o mini-fridge/microwave combo. I get the practicality of those appliances, but it did add to an air of sameness. You're sharing a room with someone so there has to be a negotiation, to some degree, of visual representation. Perhaps the only time you really get to splatter the walls with your developing expressive self is when you're a teenager. Provided you have your own room and you are able to do whatever you like, within reason, to the walls and shelf space.
I didn't get my own room until I was... hmmmm... how old was I? Definitely in high school. (Sometimes I wish I had a scanner because I could scan some photos I took of my teen girl bedroom... I was very proud of my wall collage. Very proud.) There is no doubt in my mind that my room was a definitive expression of what I wanted the world to know about me. Though I no longer have a wall collage of my favorite singers and bands carefully composed and constructed from Spin, Rolling Stone (back when I thought it was sort of cool, though I preferred Spin), NME and random music mags I may have stumbled upon, I sometimes wish I did. And I most assuredly have composed my studio apartment into a space that says "Hey! You can learn a lot about me just by looking at all the books, Cd's and records, and wickety-whack knick-knacks lovingly curated all around in nooks and crannies."
Really. You can. It's like an adult version of a teenager's bedroom. It's very different than the bedroom--or any other room, for that matter--that I shared with T. G.; that was less Linnet and more T. More what I believed expressed "mature adult couple"--mature adult couple that would be acceptable to T. (yawn)
So, I go back to disagreeing with the woman who thought that the dorm room didn't have to have all that "me"--but not "me" because, like I said, I never lived in the dorms--stuff because this was the point at which the girl is becoming a woman and no longer needed to prove her individuality. She just is.
I think that when you share a space you have the potential to fall into a trap of suppressing yourself in your own home and though this won't happen to everyone, it's possible. Of course it's not always true, Ready Made has a feature in every issue that entices the reader to salivate all over the envy-inducing creative power of expression as realized by couples and single folks in their amazing homes.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Credit Card Getaway
Knowing what I know now, I would have been musically devastated had I not made the effort to see Yeasayer play live in a small venue. (I know, I could have seen them every other time they passed through Seattle, but I didn't love their first album and I LOVE the latest album, Odd Blood. LOVE it.) They're the type of band that could explode any minute and the next time they breeze through town they may be at the Moore, or the Paramount. Not too big, but big enough to not be intimate. O, my.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Record Store Day!!!!!
Saturday is Record Store Day, and anyone who lives in a town that supports independent record stores MUST participate by showing up at the record store and purchasing something; even if it is a used something. Though I'll be attending the EMP Pop Conference, I will definitely find time to drop into Sonic Boom--my favorite independent record store in Seattle--and buy... buy... I'm not sure, yet, what I want to buy. But you can bet that I'll spend my hard earned government student loan money on a great record. And yes, I do mean the vinyl kind. I promise to let y'all know what it is.
Within the last week I have had two different people tell me about manifesting what you want simply by writing it down or even sending the fully formed declaration out into the universe. While I am loathe to believe in astral plane, hippy-dippy mumbo-jumbo I concede that there is something to this. The first person told me of the Intention List that a mutual friend of ours had and how he (the friend sharing the information) needed to start one of those. The other friend explained the notion of thought forms-- like clouds that you send up into the astral (?) plane; these you just have to visualize and don't need to write down.
I am going to do both. You can't see the clouds, but here is the list:
1. I will get a job at the Microsoft Library/Archives in one month.
2. I will move into a two bedroom apartment at the Panorama where my friend's mom lives in two months. (The two bedrooms cost what most one bedrooms in the area cost. Aiming high, here.)
3. I will have a great big party after I move into my new pad.
4. I will wear Jill Sander suits and look a-maze-ing.
5. I will help my mother, financially, live a care-free life.
Not bad, huh? This is what will happen.
G'night!
Within the last week I have had two different people tell me about manifesting what you want simply by writing it down or even sending the fully formed declaration out into the universe. While I am loathe to believe in astral plane, hippy-dippy mumbo-jumbo I concede that there is something to this. The first person told me of the Intention List that a mutual friend of ours had and how he (the friend sharing the information) needed to start one of those. The other friend explained the notion of thought forms-- like clouds that you send up into the astral (?) plane; these you just have to visualize and don't need to write down.
I am going to do both. You can't see the clouds, but here is the list:
1. I will get a job at the Microsoft Library/Archives in one month.
2. I will move into a two bedroom apartment at the Panorama where my friend's mom lives in two months. (The two bedrooms cost what most one bedrooms in the area cost. Aiming high, here.)
3. I will have a great big party after I move into my new pad.
4. I will wear Jill Sander suits and look a-maze-ing.
5. I will help my mother, financially, live a care-free life.
Not bad, huh? This is what will happen.
G'night!
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Wednesday, April 07, 2010
Saturn Rising
Today is my baby sister's 27th birthday. (27? Hmmm... is that right? Yeah. 27. I'm goin' with it.) It's a bit sobering to realize that the youngest child in the family is older than some of my friends, and also getting too old to called "the baby." I don't actually call her "the baby," nor do I think does anyone else in the family; I do call her "my baby sister." I suppose that's essentially the same thing and perhaps has been outgrown.
27 was a pretty big year for me. I began my new life at 27 and have never regretted one moment. O. K., maybe there have been some regrets, like not going to see Cheap Trick in 2000 (or was that 2001?), or getting rid of a couple of vintage dresses I thought I was over... but for the most part, it's been a good life. I was told that this was a great year, 27, ideal for big changes and something about Saturn rising. Whatever that means. All that has happened since then would not have been possible without some gigantic risks that may have been shocking to the unsuspecting, but made perfect sense to me. Looking at me now, I doubt anyone who thought they'd just seen pigs fly would disagree. At least, I would hope so. What else would they have wanted for me? Soccer mom in the 'burbs? Wearing pleated khakis and twin sets? (No offense to all you soccer moms and dads living in the 'burbs, but you understand that's just not my style.)
The baby sis is going through a lot of life changes, too, and though they may be difficult and seemingly out of character to many, I know it's going to be good. Feels like she's grown up a lot in the past six or so months. So much so that using the baby monikor just doesn't have the same weight it used to. Youngest sister is probably much more appropriate. Or, just sister. OR, my personal favorite, Paigerella.
Happy birthday, love!
27 was a pretty big year for me. I began my new life at 27 and have never regretted one moment. O. K., maybe there have been some regrets, like not going to see Cheap Trick in 2000 (or was that 2001?), or getting rid of a couple of vintage dresses I thought I was over... but for the most part, it's been a good life. I was told that this was a great year, 27, ideal for big changes and something about Saturn rising. Whatever that means. All that has happened since then would not have been possible without some gigantic risks that may have been shocking to the unsuspecting, but made perfect sense to me. Looking at me now, I doubt anyone who thought they'd just seen pigs fly would disagree. At least, I would hope so. What else would they have wanted for me? Soccer mom in the 'burbs? Wearing pleated khakis and twin sets? (No offense to all you soccer moms and dads living in the 'burbs, but you understand that's just not my style.)
The baby sis is going through a lot of life changes, too, and though they may be difficult and seemingly out of character to many, I know it's going to be good. Feels like she's grown up a lot in the past six or so months. So much so that using the baby monikor just doesn't have the same weight it used to. Youngest sister is probably much more appropriate. Or, just sister. OR, my personal favorite, Paigerella.
Happy birthday, love!
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