This is — and will always be — one of my favorites by Wilco. This song is so good that it gives me chills. And seeing Tweedy and the boys perform this in Fargo last May? Unforgettable. Absolutely phenomenal.
I can only hope to see this again some day!
IT FELT LIKE MORNING, lying on the rooftop with eyes closed. The moisture had worked its way to every hair and made damp jeans adhere to my legs. I looked up, and can recall the feeling of cold, and warmth.
It was warm in Seattle. I stole away to a phone booth at the train station, pulled out a calling card and punched in the sequence. I’d seen plenty here, or so I’d thought, and it was time to go home.
Holding a glass of champagne, I gazed past the television. The creaks of a wooden floor sounded in time with a dozen pairs of stumbling feet, and I should have been elsewhere.
I dusted the chalk off my shorts, and picked myself up from the sidewalk where we sat under the sun. Not far away a lawn mower buzzed, drowning out the silent conversation.
The bench was encompassed by serenity. Wrapped in a sleeping bag under an August night, the world deviated to a perfect quiet.
Mosquitos chipped at my legs, the bumps exposed by a rising sun. It was a faint climb up the hillside, barefeet on slippery grass going back to where I came from.
An audience leaked from a great many doors. We trickled forward in search of a setting to untwine, and shortly after stood at a place I never found again.
I took the train home.
YOU DON’T KNOW ME. You fasten your seat belt praying we’ll make it by, wandering through streets and combing the radio stations for something to talk about. It’s no use.
Tomorrow’s like yesterday, sarcasm and leftovers annotated in monotony. Disbelief is charming at best, the harmful side effects of walking too close to the edge. I’m praying the patterns of skepticism will evade my mindful, pining, arduous and esoteric thinking. We’re kidding, you know.
“You wear your smile well.”
It’s no secret you’re going to make it up to me, the the words you lost are coming back in armor to rework themselves as promise. It’s no use, though useful in fact, I really love you. I really might love you.
Six o’ clock and maybe, I’m hoping we could forget the time. You’re telling the world you’ve got plans and likewise, I thought it hardly perceivable. Tomorrow’s like yesterday, and yesterday I wore my smile well. You’re unbelievable.
I can’t help, the wandering thought that maybe their eyes are not ready for that kind of beauty yet.
The other day a couple came into HuHot looking for some tasty digs. “Cool,” I say, “you’ve come to the right place.”
They tell me they’ve never been to the restaurant before, so I explain the menu to them in the routine fashion that has made a robot of me. If you could read my mind while I’m spewing off the menu, my only thought would be “Dear Lord, I feel so fake right now. Dear Jesus, please let this be over.” There are many instances in my life where I wish I had buttons. Buttons that I could press to answer an assortment of extremely generic questions. These would be my buttons:
• The School Button. This has to be the most universally asked — and dreaded — question in the book. I would love this question if I had a degree and could say, “Oh, I graduated and am doing ______ now,” or “Yeah, Cambridge is a nice college. I’m so glad I made the switch.” Unfortunately this is not the case. Instead I have to give the whole ‘Yeah, still doing _____ and _____ at ______, got a couple more years left, etc.” Then I’ll make up some excuse how I’m planning to stay in school for a really long time because the job outlook is sketchy with these “tough economic times,” but really I am just going to be in school for a long time. Meanwhile my inner self is banging her head against the wall because she knows the followup question is going to be something like, “So what exactly is graphic design?” At this point I am cursing at myself for not having a School Button, one that I could press and a voice would say in two robotic words, “Next, please.”
• The Dating Button. This button is not entirely crucial, however, it would be nice when my mom is doing her ’20 questions’ thing. “Jenny, are you seeing someone?” And with a press of the button, “No. Single.” Press. “No, single.” Press press. “No, no, single single.”
• The ‘What I’m Doing These Days’ Button. The person to come up with this invention is going to be larger than life. Really. Sometimes it exhausts me to give my life story, to the point that I actually start making things up and/or make myself sound more important/lame than I actually am. Examples:
“Yeah, I got up at six this morning and ran about 11 miles, then decided I’d write a book. After that I made myself some toast and earl gray tea and stared out my window for a while. I’m so relaxed all the time, it must be all of those massages I get. Speaking of which, I’m late for volunteering at the food pantry and I have a meeting with the University president…” (Important)
“Ehh. I’ve been alright. Same old. I really don’t get out much. My life’s a whole lot of sitting on my computer and cleaning out the refrigerator. Oh! Yesterday I went to the grocery store and bought some fresh produce. Then I came home and cleaned my bathroom. Like I said, I really don’t get out much.” (Lame)
A single button could relay the happy medium of these answers, something along the lines of, “I’m good, still in school, still working, still breathing, goodbye.” I’m sure people would appreciate the sense of mystery I’d leave lingering. (Sidenote: The ‘Lame’ example really isn’t too far off from my real life.)
The best place to use this button is at a family reunion or social gathering with your old high school cronies. Everyone knows how tedious it is to ramble off the same five sentences about yourself to someone that you haven’t seen since 1995. It really doesn’t do you justice (this is important, as you should always make yourself seem more awesome than you actually are), and the person you’re talking to isn’t going to remember your story in twenty minutes and probably won’t see you again for another ten years. They’re just asking to be nice, or because you’re Facebook friends, or kissed once at a party in 1993. Really. We’d all save a little bit of breath with the ‘What Are You Doing These Days’ Button.
• The ‘About Me’ Button. This button would come in handy when you first meet someone. When pressed mine would spew information directly from my Blogspot profile, and then probably some random facts: “Raised on a steady diet of Kid Cuisines and Legos…Jenny enjoys hopskotch, waterslides, and shadow puppets. She is fluent in pig latin and has a soft spot for sweater vests.” There would be no further explanations, again leaving mystery linger.
and finally, for work purposes:
• The HuHot Button. Because when I’m listing off the soup, the soup, the salad, and the salad choices, I know you’re NOT listening — and I am wasting my breath. The button says: “Say no to soup and salad, you don’t need it. Get your food before I have an awkward attack. Be kind and tip me so I can run free around Europe. Initiate your face-stuffing sequence.”
I wanted to press the HuHot button for this particular couple, and every couple for that matter. I had never had to answer so many questions for a table. In a single breath I told them the entire menu, how the grill works, the appetizers, the price of everything, what drinks we had on tap, and what kind of dressings were available for each salad. Just when I thought I was done with them, the female of the couple pulled a card out of her wallet.
“Do you accept this?”
I stared at it for a second, a paragraph of 6-point medical jargon crammed on a business card. To be honest I didn’t read it, just scanned for important words. What I did make of it was that the woman had gastric bypass or some such, and was only able to eat “child portions” (I do remember the card stating “child portions”). Basically the whole card translated to, “Yo, the holder of this card had crazy surgery and can only eat kid’s meals. ERGO, let them order off the kid’s menu, and charge them a kid’s price. Hey, THANKS.”
At the moment I had a couple other tables that needed tending to, and really didn’t have the time to question or argue with these people. Any card that is typed up in 6-point Arial font and laminated is pretty legit to me. (Had it been in Comic Sans, I would have taken the time to question it.) Even if it wasn’t an authorized medical pass, I had to give the woman credit for coming up with the idea. After all, it wasn’t like I was working at the Fargo P.D. and accepting a ‘Get Out Of Jail Free’ card to let an inmate out. It’s HuHot. We’re not Hollywood. We don’t have five stars. And I don’t give a damn. Take your food and eat it, too.
I gave this woman her food at a child’s rate, expecting her to return to the table with a fist-sized portion of broccoli and snow peas. You can imagine how my stupidity swelled when she came back with a full plate of teriyaki-smothered yaki soba — and ate the whole dish. Then went up for another — and again consumed the entire meal. In all, she downed two plates of stir fry and two Diet Pepsis, which is technically about as much as a large child can eat (I’ve seen kids twice my size come in and do more damage), but for having a medical condition, well! This just didn’t seem right. I am pretty good at analyzing what inanimate objects are saying, and her stomach was definitely screaming “EFF YOU, lady.”
So am I fool for falling victim to such trickery? Or was I right to let it slide, in the cursed absence of my ‘HuHot button’ that would make all things just with a simple press…
“Say no to soup and salad, you don’t need it. Get your food before I have an awkward attack. Be kind and tip me so I can run free around Europe. Initiate your face-stuffing sequence.”
Then another press…
“No further questions. Goodday.”
Buttons. Think about it…
Here is my Eurospring blog — a little premature, but available for viewing delight!
I am not working to make money, I decided. That lends no meaning or worth to my time.
I am working to take the train to London.
I am working to splurge in Paris.
I am working to eat gelato in Italy.
I am working to explore Ireland.
I am working to wander Amsterdam.
I am working to see the French Riviera.
I am working to tour a concentration camp.
I am working to climb St. Peter’s Basilica.
I am working to fall in love with Florence.
I am working to drive through the countryside.
I am working to study Oxford.
I am working to wander the globe.
I am working for worldliness, and that is worth every hour of my time, forever.
Thirty-three days.
I made a really important decision today
SO IT’S BEEN A WHILE. Eons by my reckoning.
My first attempt at veggie lasagna.
approximatelyes.com 