Roger "Wilco", Hawkeye Slob-san

The boss man found an internet station that's pretty good...WNEW, from New York. It's commercial-free, and I've heard everything from Marvin Gaye to Death Cab for Cutie, with some Depeche Mode and even School of Fish thrown in.

The only bizarre thing, is that I've now memorized a 2-3 minute piece from one of their DJ's broadcasting "live" from the Bonnaroo music fest in Tennessee. Which was last month. And if I could count the number of times this guy uses the words "audience" and "artist" in his spiel, they'd make up about 90% of the words spoken. It's been played so much that when I was working over by our intern, I said out loud before the DJ did, "Do the artists have the audience in the palm of their hand?" I was promptly answered by said DJ ("The artists here have the audience in the palm of their hand") and our intern stared at me...I thought I detected a little witchcraft fear in his eyes.

That audio quirk hasn't stopped me from listening, though. They even play Wilco...maybe two of their songs. And I just cannot stand them. I feel a little bad...some part of me should automatically like the band because long ago I marched with the drummer, right (I just realized what a dork that makes me...I didn't DO the drummer, I MARCHED with him)? There's a connection and I should honor it by snarfing up all their music...legally, even. Right? Agh...I just can't get into them. I give.

Mostly Naked had never heard anything by Wilco (a trend I'm finding all too familiar, even though Mostly Naked likes just about any music you could name), and asked me to describe what they sound like. I came just short of writhing on the ground in the fetal position, trying to come up with a fair but clear description. Finally, as I sat there sweating with cerebral effort and squinting my eyes as if in physical pain, I blurted out in a Tourette's-like manner, "Pussy Rock."

Sorry, Billy. If it makes you feel any better, I really like that one Son Volt song...

This Momma is the poo. Take a big whiff.

I am a marketing genius, what can I say?

So you may have noticed I have a link to "Palm Coast Art" in the upper left corner of my blog. This is a link to a site where my mom sells the beautiful jewelry and other works of art that she creates by hand.

My mom has been a super-creative human being long as I've known her. If you check out my jewelry collection (which, as you'd imagine, despite the fact that I'm a tomboy, is quite extensive), 99% of it is either made by my mom or other members of her highly artistic side of the family. My mom can mold silver clay, glass, copper and stone into the most imaginative items. My cousin Heb is a beading wizard, and my aunt (Heb's mom) is a stained glass queen.

Needless to say, when I snuck onto the Palm Coast Art @ Etsy site and bought this cairn necklace last week, I was not disappointed.


At first glance, it doesn't appear to be much. But when I found out my cousin collected the stones from Lake Michigan and then my mom used ancient cairns, or markers, as the inspiration, I had to have it. I love jewelry with a story.

Please visit my mom's Etsy site. There are much more glamorous pieces available on the site for purchase. Every piece of art you buy goes toward a good cause: my inheritance. Spend big! I want another motorcycle!

Palm Coast Art @ Etsy

No WAY!

Quickly, "The Binder" is a collection of brilliant works from myself and my then-close friends from high school. Mostly notes back and forth filled with, now that I look back, hormone-induced babbling. Except Trish's notes. Those are gonna be worth something someday. Especially because she reads my blog.

So I'm looking for something in particular to torture Trish and I find a note from a girl who was my close friend through grade school. We sort of drifted apart once we got into high school, mostly because I never saw her a single day after freshman year when we shared a locker. Our schedules never met up.

Tonight, I see her name and think "Ah hell, I'll google her. Let's see what happens." And there was my "Holy Shit!" moment. Let the name dropping begin...

Before They Were Stars example #1:
Before ->The sturdy foundation of this totem pole is my grade school friend, Amy. We were the tom-boyest of tomboys.

After ->She is currently the lead vocalist for a Chicago band called Plain Ole Delicious. I have not heard her voice for about 20 years, but the minute I listened to her sing "Surf", I recognized her immediately. Interestingly, I've never heard her sing until just now, either. She's sure come a long way since we rocked out in her room to Poison. No, I'm not proud. Of that. Proud of Amy? Completely. Jealous, even. I hope I get to experience this new side of her when I'm once again in the Chi 'Burbs.

"Surf" is an awesome song. I instantly related to it, because I love surfing, but I've never done it and have no desire to swim in the ocean. I just like to look. Weird, I know.

If you're in the Chicago area, please take the opportunity to see her perform in person.

Before They Were Stars example #2:
Before->Drafting class, Senior year. Jason was a skater punk. Fun as hell to hang out with. Jay drew this and gave it to me...apparently I kept it...seems I must have known what was down the road for him...I'm fairly sure Jason is now responsible for these....

After->



There aren't any images of Jason on the web, but I'm picking up a vibe...

And the last one for this post....
Before They Were Stars example #3:

Before->
What...need more? Here...
Get it?
Yes, that's right. Glenn. Drummer. Wilco. Glenn and I were in Marching Band (as was Trish), but I'm not sure if he and I ever exchanged a single word in the four years. Of course, upon discovering his celebrity status (my first "Holy Shit!" moment), I had a series of dreams with him in them. Mildly disturbing. For him, I'm sure. Sorry, Glenn.

[end: nostalgic bender]