Carbon Copy

I'm definitely a grad student.

I just went dancing at the Neon Cactus. This isn't what makes me a grad student. What does make me a grad student is that I found myself wondering about the cultural impact of football and baseball being played on large screens at the dance club. Is this a Midwest thing? Also, I found myself wondering about the significance of people trying to figure out how to react to a change from butt rock to hip hop and the accompanying shift in attitudes and facial expressions. Yes, I was deconstructing my clubbing experience. But I still "shook some ass."

Simultaneity

It's funny how at the most mundane moments you get a sense of opposing feelings almost simultaneously. For instance, I was just going through the drive-thru of a fine Mexican food establishment (Taco Bell), and I felt like I really belonged in Lafayette for a moment because I was running to the border and I knew exactly where it was and how the streets curve to get there. Then I unrolled my window to give my order, and this crisp air rushed in at me and I longed to be out Christmas shopping at Fashion Place Mall with Kylie or Izzy. Just as soon as I felt familiar in one place, I was homesick for another. That seems to be a routine process in my life. I guess, if I really think about it, it's not simultaneous; it just happens so quickly. The space in between is so brief that it hardly exists. Sometimes I wonder if my peace of mind is in that inbetween place.

Up and Coming

This next week is going to be nasty. I don't even want to go to bed so I don't have to begin to deal with it. Things I have to do: research about mascots and semiotics (which includes reading about 4 books, at least), write 10 page paper about mascots and semiotics, read about anthropology stuff and write notes on it, read a thick book on Asian American immigration, write up an anthropology project proposal, and read for sociolinguistics. Things I don't have to do this week but continue to hang heavy in my mind: come up with some sort of sociolinguistics project and begin researching it, do two popular culture sociolinguistic show and tells, set up interviews with Hispanic people (possibly finding an interpreter), do more mascot research, read the book I am facilitating the discussion for, come up with a thematic bibliography, write up a syllabus for an American Studies course, be clever, be fun, etc. etc. Yes, a big clump of things.

But there are some fun things coming up to in the next month or so. In about 11 days I leave for DC (but I don't think the level of funness for this trip will be very high because pressure to talk to people, be clever, and then stuck in a van for 12 hours with, um, interesting people). But then in less than a month I get to visit Mamers and Mike for Thanksgiving. Level of funness for that trip is expected to be high (which worries me because, you know, dashed expectations, but oh well). Also, birthday. That's gotta be fun, right?

Eh, we'll see.

Flirtations

Every once in a while, I flirt with the idea of growing out my hair. I've never been able to do it yet, but I thought that maybe if I visualized what I would look like with long hair, it might help. So I dabbled in photoshop and came up with a possible outcome.

Here's the before:

And here's the after:

So what do you think? Should I do it?

Please Take Note:

My birthday is one month from today. Just thought some of you might need a reminder. (I'll be 27.)

bed

Sometimes, I just don't want to go to bed. It seems like too much effort. And I like the silence of the house at night. Then again, bed is so comfy. Maybe I'll make my way there.

Finally October

It's finally feeling like October here. The leaves are changing little by little. Some trees are only half and half, but others did turn brown prematurely. Porches and lawns are decked out for Halloween. I like the little ghosts floating in the trees. And walking home from class today I smelled leaves burning. I love fall.

Wilco

I ventured to Indy by myself on Thursday to see Wilco. I had bought the ticket about 6 weeks previously and continuously fogot that I was going. Luckily, I remembered that night. And I even remembered my ticket as I left the house. I've been trying to think of what Wilco song I could post on here for your enjoyment as you peruse this entry. So many to choose from, but I think I will put up a favorite from the show.

Hummingbird

I gave myself about 2 hours to get to Indy, find the Murat Theater, find parking, and maybe get a bite to eat or explore a little before the show. It typically takes approximately 45 minutes, so I thought I had plenty of time. Little did I realize that I would be stuck in traffic due to construction for an hour! I had just driven to Indy the day before to pick up Erica from the aiport, and while there was construction, there were no delays. As I braked to a stop on the freeway, I didn't expect it to last long. Inching along for the first 20 minutes and looking down the road to see a line of cars changed my mind.

Eventually, I made it to Indy and found the venue right away. I even found a good parking spot about a block away (for free). The Murat Theater is apparently where they host Broadway plays and such. It was really nice inside. I wanted to explore, but I had already missed the first twenty minutes of the show, so I climbed up to the second balcony to find my seat.

A lesson I learned is that you should get tickets right away if you're going to get them. I went to purchase my ticket the morning they went on sale, and I got a good seat on the floor in the center. Then the $30 ticket magically turned into a $50 ticket (thanks to ticketmaster's outrageous fees! I hope the owners of this blood-sucking business burn in hell), I started questioning how strongly I wanted to see Wilco (esp. all by myself, which seemed kind of sad). A couple days later after listening to them and getting some advice from a friend, I decided to go for it. Two days makes a huge difference. Now I was up on the second balcony, on the right, two seats away from the wall. Oh well. I could still hear them and I could see their tiny little figures jumping around and pounding the piano. I took some pictures:

I was worried that since I had missed the first twenty minutes that I wouldn't get my money's worth, but Wilco went on to play for 2 more hours! Of course, it was for charity, so they were probably feeling charitable. I don't know who/what Riley is, but we all raised over $210,000 for her/him/it. That made me feel extra good inside. (Although ticketmaster probably didn't give any of their exorbitant, extraneous fees to the cause.)

Since I didn't have the best view of the band, I sometimes got distracted by the lights and the architectural details of the ceiling. So I took some photos of that too.

It was nice somtimes to just sit back and look at the lights. We must've listened to Wilco in Nebraska because that's all I could think about, slowing down to 40 as we got near a small town, the silos and fields. It made me smile.

The crowd was really into it, singing along and jumping for joy when they recognized the first couple notes of a favorite song. One group threw glowsticks. They looked like firework fountains falling off the balcony (and made me a little happy I wasn't down there afterall). Jeff Tweedy was pretty endearing when he'd speak in between songs. I always leave concerts with a schoolgirl crush on one (or all) of the musicians.

I left Indy around 11. I love driving at night, and this time there was no construction traffic to disrupt my progress. Although, even at that late time of night, the traffic inbound was still at a standstill. I took a blurry picture as I cruised by.

A Friend in Need

You know, I'm a really good friend. Last week, Erica called and was all upset about her car dying on the way to the airport. Not only did I comfortingly distract her from her troubles by talking all about myself, I offered to pick her up when she got back in town. We stopped by the scene of the car's demise, and she illustrated the early morning episode.

Exit 139 on I-65 from Lafayette to Indianapolis. The car engine sputters to a stop. At this point, Erica is pissed, and you can tell from her facial expression.

She tried in vain to start the car again, but ended up having to roll it down the hill.

Yes, this hill. She amazingly got it around the corner and onto the grass, where it truly died. Time of death: (I don't know. I didn't ask, but I'm assuming about 5:13 am). The tracks of the car are still visible (almost a week later) on the grass. At this point, Erica had moved beyond anger to sadness, as she gently pats the last indication of her car.

She didn't give up easily. Oh no. Along with the aid of the clerk at the Flying J, she pushed it around the parking lot trying to get a moving start. She poured in fluids. But nothing worked. Ironically, the car died at the very place we had stopped for gas (because it was so inexpensive) on the way home from Indy a couple weeks earlier. We were so blissfully ignorant at the time. Nothing in our gay purchasing of treats and drinks or joking about the flourescent t-shirts emblazened with kittens foreshadowed the tragedy that would shortly befall Erica at this unassuming Country Market.

R.I.P.

South on CR 25

On Saturday, I just had to get out of the house, so I went for a drive. I didn't really know where I was going, so I simply picked a road and went on it. Turned out to be CR 25, and I was headed south. In less than 10 minutes, I was out in the cornfields. It hit me anew that I live in Indiana. I never thought I would live here and for the most part, I forget. It seems like any other town, especially now that the cicadas have quieted and I'm getting used to the one way streets. I want to see a lot of Indiana. I know driving south for twenty miles isn't exactly getting a good idea of the Crossroads of American, but it was a start. I stopped at this cemetery fenced off in the middle of the fields to get a feel for the people that lived here.

I turned around in a little town called Wyngate. Apparently, they were the state basketball champions in 1913 and 1914. I'm assuming all their good players were killed off in the Great War. Sad, really, what war will do to a town.

The Mighty Midwest

Right now I'm trying to put together a mix for CD Exchange Club. The theme for mine is of/about/from the Mighty Midwest. It's a little late. It was supposed to be sent out last week sometime. I'm expanding the Midwest to include Texas and Kentucky. Hope no one minds. Making compilations isn't just about throwing some songs together. No, you have to make sure they blend. A song coming on at the wrong time can just ruin the song. I'm not perfect at this, but it's sure a tragedy to make a perfectly good song unlistenable because it was placed wrong. The problem with this theme is that I have lots of different types of music. I'm dealing with folky, pop-y, mood-y, and obnoxious-y music all at the same time. Some songs I really wanted to put on just aren't fitting in. I have to pull them aside and say, "I'm sorry. I was really hoping things would work out, but I'm gonna have to let you go." It's really hard on both of us. I mean, the song worked so hard to get here.

The other problem is I feel this pressure to put on something new and undiscovered. So I've been scouring the Inter-web trying to find something. Did you know there's a lot of crap out there? Cuz, there is. I've listened to a lot of it this morning, hoping it would redeem itself. I also went to many websites and saw many emo boys trying to look hip and write profound lyrics. I hate them. Also, here's a tip: If you want someone to hear your music, make sure your website works.

"What?"

If I go deaf at an early age - which seems extremely likely considering how many times I respond with "what?" - it will be completely worth it. Nothing compares with the joy of walking home, headphones tucked neatly in my ears, thumb pushing the volume up, to create a moment of self-containment - just me and music and complete satisfaction. This happened today walking home from class. Just now, actually. I couldn't stop smiling, it felt so perfect.

Bad Luck

Damn. I always forget to say "rabbit, rabbit" first thing when I wake up on the first day of the month. This is why I never have good luck.