I've been thinking that since I'm not too prolific with the "life moments" blog format, I should just start posting about the music I'm listening to instead. It's likely the music posts will lead to some life moments musings and that way I get to do my favorite thing--talk about what amazing new (or new-ish) things musicians are offering up these days and why they give me "the feeling."
The feeling is something that happens to me when a song really takes hold and compels me to listen to it over and over again. Sometimes when I haven't had it for a while I start trolling my friends' playlists on Spotify for something I haven't heard of but might--just might--be "the one." Or at lest the one for right now. Occasionally the one turns out to be one of a bunch of great songs by an artist previously unknown to me and I get to revel in the feeling for a good long while and come away with a new favorite band/artist. Otherwise I just burn up that one song until the feeling is gone. It's always sad when that happens, but there is no avoiding it. Rationing doesn't work, and it kind of defeats the point of chasing the feeling anyway. When it comes to music bingeing, go big or go home.
The artist I most recently went most apeshit over was Phosphorescent. Want some to hear a guy with an appealingly unusual voice choke up about his twelve-too-many failed love affairs layered over gorgeous, soaring, etherial backing tracks that flow innocently into your ears and then get to work slicing up your heart? He's your guy. Here's Song for Zula, one of the (deservedly) best-known tracks off his last album:
Yeah...um, so Phosphorescent dude (Matthew Houck) is not only sick of love, he thinks it's bullshit, a an evil force that has disfigured him and turned him into an enslaved caveman who can only move in slow motion. Povracita! I could love you so good, Matthew Houck, but I won't because then you will stop making killer albums like Muchacho, which is 98% pure gold.
Another guy I've been digging on recently is Daniel Norgren. I don't know anything about him, but there is something about his delivery and the simplicity of his arrangements that reminds me of J. J. Cale (RIP)--except their voices are totally different. Not-quite-apt comparison aside, here's Black Vultures, a song about being out of luck and out of options and knowing it full well but doing whatever the fuck you want while waiting for whatever is going to happen to happen.
I am particular about my revivalist singer-songwriters (there are just too damn many of them), but there is something about the naked quality of this guy's voice that really gets to me. I feel like he was transported to this decade from the Great Depression a la some kind of Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure happening. He just sounds old, and his songs sound like they were recorded on a wax cylinder, but he is--as far as I can tell--not old and not mysteriously arrived from the early 20th century. He's just the real deal, and he fucking rips it up. The only thing I don't like about him is the industrial/experimental noise tracks interspersed between the songs on his latest album, Buck. But perhaps I am too impatient, too eager to get to the feeling.
That's it for the first installment of "What's in Neuro Crash Girls' Headphones." I promise I'm not depressed and that I don't only listen to white men!
The amount of change that my life and, consequently, I have undergone since that last post makes it pretty intimidating to even consider jumping back into this blogging thing again. But one of the realizations I came to over the last six months was how incredibly, mind-bogglingly lucky I am to have so many people in my life who care about me and genuinely want to know how this transition has affected me. For the sake of those who have asked and kindly expressed (and continue to express) concern, here is a very brief synopsis of life since I left Portland followed soon by what I hope will be regular updates about life in Montgomery.
If I think too much about it I won't do it, so here goes!
In September I drove to Denver with my good friend Dylan who is not just a good friend but a lifesaver and kick-ass travel companion. We went through Yellowstone, which I have never done, and ate/stayed at some pretty hilariously random diners/hotels along the way. Please visualize a Keystone Cops-style montage of Dylan and Frida and I getting in and out of the car, racking and unracking my bike, running in and out of rest areas, looking at maps (okay, okay, looking at our phones) hiking around in Yellowstone, seeing some ginormous buffalo, and getting back in the car over and over again. Then picture my red car moving across a map with a little dotted line appearing behind it, tracing our path as we wound our way from Portland to Denver. It was fun. We got in one fight when Dylan said religion was "nonsense" and I decided he was an insensitive beast for stating the obvious in such an inflammatory manner. But we worked it out. Dylan freaked out about 2/3 of the way through Wyoming and decided Wyoming was a worthless wasteland, but we got through that too. Eventually we arrived, and there was much rejoicing.
Before he left, Dylan and I had a nice few days in Denver, the highlight of which was also the lowlight: We rode our bikes 10 miles to the Stranahan's whisky distillery for a tour. The ride was great, the tour was awesome, the generous "tasting" was even better, and the two additional Stranahan's drinks we had with lunch were even better. HIGHLIGHT! Then we rode home in 90 weather with no water. LOWLIGHT. There's not much more to say about that, but I'm impressed we did it and even more impressed we survived.
Dylan eventually left and I settled into my new life as an unemployed drain on my family/childcare provider. This went on for about four months (September through December) and was truly one of the most fun and rewarding times of my life. First, Evelyn, my niece, just happens to be the cutest and smartest baby ever. Sorry, all other babies, but you lose. I spend about three days a week with Evie and, while I can't say I loved every minute or didn't occasionally glance at the clock to see when one of her parents might come through the door, it was much more engaging and interesting than, frankly, I thought it would be. Probably because of the cuteness and the smartness. Anyway, we read books, we took nature walks in the yard and said "hi" to trees, we strolled around the neighborhood and swang on swings, we danced A LOT (I still have the "Evie Dances" playlist on Spotify) and we watched the occasional Yo Gabba Gabba sketch on my phone. For those of you who do not know what Yo Gabba Gabba is, here's a little taste of my world last fall:
Fun, right? Oh my god, I wish I still had an excuse to watch this video daily. But I live alone, so I guess I don't really need one.
Anyway, while I obviously have no idea what it means to be a parent, I do now understanding the joys of having a little person fall asleep on your shoulder, or demonstrate something you taught them, or catching them innocently talking to themselves, or seeing them try to do something over and over and finally succeed. Kids are pretty fucking cool and my niece is the funniest, most bad-ass little bean-face ever. I feel so lucky (there's a theme here) that I got to spend this period of her life with her. When I got to Denver she could not walk and was only making vaguely "mama"-ish sounding words. By the time I left she was scampering around and saying "Doggie barking!" I'm telling you...genius!
Me and the most fabulously adorable child on earth.
A few other things happened while I was on my "sabbatical from life," as I began calling it. One, I did some online dating which led me to make one very interesting friend with whom I am still in touch. He is an MMA fighter and used to be in the military, two things that were new to me in a friend and really taught me a lesson about making assumptions. Hi, Loki! Two, I took the opportunity to get into some serious shape. There were a lot of 24 Hour Fitnesses within 10 miles of my sister's house and I started going to classes almost every day, particularly yoga classes. Oh my god, you guys, guess what? I made this fabulous discovery that no one else in history has ever made before. It turns out yoga makes you feel really really good! Who knew!? Yeah, so that happened, and it rocked my world. I am now one of those fucking insufferable "I love yoga" people, and you know what? I don't even care! Because in addition to making you lean and flexible, yoga makes you not care about stupid shit! Woot!
(Disclosure, I have not kept up my yoga practice very well since moving, but fully intend to get back into it with a vengeance!)
Okay, back to my time in Denver. So, in addition to yoga, dating, and snuggling my niece, I also got to spend time with my amazing sisters and brothers-in-law. I don't know how I hit the sibling jackpot to the degree that I did; it actually makes me start crying to think about it. What neat, interesting people I get to be related to! Spending that time with them at this point in my life was huge for me. When I could have been feeling really low and anxious and uncertain and loser-ish, it made me feel good about where I came from and grounded and secure in my identity as a member of a kind, funny, smart, functional family. Again, the luckiness I felt the whole time I was there...I can't quite get over it still. And I don't want to. I love feeling grateful!
Anyone who is friends with me on Facebook knows I also took two pretty amazing trips during this time, one to India and one to Korea. Both were pretty life-changing in their own ways. I had never traveled in Asia before and, man, have I got the bug! While I was in India I had a job interview with the Southern Poverty Law Center. The interview was at 2:30 am during a major holiday that the Indians celebrate by setting off fireworks 24 hours a day. I did my interview from the business center of our hotel where the Internet went down frequently. I later found out the person conducting the interview couldn't hear what sounded like bombs going off and had no idea where I was or what time it was, and I wound up getting the job but...yeah...the universe made me work for that one! I currently have my business cards in a holder I bought while I was in Bangalore. Hooray for manifesting the future!
There are a million great stories from India but I will just share my favorite. My travel companion, Kara, and I visited a town called Panaji in Goa; while we were there we stopped in an art gallery. I love art and have a history of spending money I don't have on posters and framing, but this did not stop me from strolling right into the danger zone. Sure enough, a painting caught my eye and I was disappointed to learn it cost the Indian equivalent of $200. I left the shop, but went back later because I could not stop thinking about it. I just knew I would always regret it if I didn't buy it. The fact that unemployed people probably shouldn't take trips to foreign countries much less buy oil paintings while they are there did cross my mind, but I managed to rationalize it away quite easily. I am an excellent rationalizer. Anyway, I spent the money, left the shop with the painting safely rolled into a cardboard tube, and Kara and I prepared for the next leg of our journey.
In an effort to save money and have a more "flavorful" experience, we had decided to take the "local" bus rather than taking the government bus or hiring a driver. This turned out to be very flavorful indeed. The station was a kaleidoscope of colorful old buses from the 60s and 70s that had been repurposed, painted bright colors, and decorated for Diwali (see prior reference to fireworks-holiday celebration). There were people everywhere; they all seemed to know exactly what was going on and what bus they needed despite the complete absence (or so it seemed to us) of any kind of central information system. We asked and asked and asked and were old to keep going keep going keep going down the seemingly endless rows of buses until we finally came to a bus that said "Baga." We knew Baga was very near Calengute (our destination), so we checked this assumption with the conductor who told us to get on. We settled into our seats and began the journey.
About 2/3 of the way to where we thought we were going we got a text from our Indian friend telling us to meet her at a certain hotel. We asked the conductor if the bus could let us off at the hotel since, by our calculations, the bus should go right by it. He looked at us strangely and then told us very gruffly to get off the bus. I am still not entirely sure why, but it seemed the bus actually did not go where we thought it did, and if we didn't get off at that point, we would actually be getting further and further from where we wanted to go. We freaked and scrambled to gather our belongings (which we had been curtly told we could NOT keep on the seats as every square inch of of the bus was crammed with people). We made our lame, unceremonious exit from the bus and stood bewildered on the side of a dusty road, wondering what to do next. We were about three miles from where we needed to be, so we decided just to walk. The packs were heavy and it was hot, but we joked that at least this way we could say we backpacked in India.
About 5 minutes later, Kara looked at me in horror and said, "Where's your painting?" I had a terrible sinking feeling. I had left it on the fucking bus. I couldn't believe it. I was so angry at myself, but at that moment I also knew that we were in a bind and it was not the time to let myself go down the mental-emotional path of what it meant that I had spent money I really didn't have and basically thrown it away less than 24 hours later. Instead, I trudged. Eventually we made it to the hotel where our Indian friends listened sympathetically to my story before informing me matter-of-factly that I would never see my painting again.
Two days later, I was riding on the back of a scooter when I saw the bus again. This was in an entirely different part of the state, but I knew it was the same bus because I recognized the neon-pink teddy bear hanging from the rearview mirror. I remember thinking when I was riding the bus that the teddy bear was odd since most of the other decor was religious and/or Diwali-related. I told the scooter-driver, Divya, and I almost asked her to pull over so I could run after it. That would have been suicidal madness, but I just couldn't stand the fact that I was probably within inches of my painting and could do nothing about it. "Remember this number," said Divya, and gave me the license number GA N1010. I keyed the letters and numbers into my phone thinking, "This is pointless. I'll never see that bus again."
A day or two later, Kara and I were headed back south and needed to go through Panaji to get to our next destination. I asked her if she would mind if we went back to the bus station just so I could say I tried everything before giving up hope completely. She kindly agreed. We returned to the mayhem of the station and asked at a what we thought was a ticket window (which turned out to be for something unrelated to the bus station altogether). The attendant wasn't hopeful. "These buses are privately owned" he told me. "There isn't a central authority or a lost and found. Your best bet is those guys over there." He motioned to a cluster of conductors smoking by one of the bus bays. I thanked him and took my sob story over to the conductors. Three of them clearly had no idea what I was saying but the fourth nodded solemnly as I attempted to explain what had happened. Finally, he asked, "Do you have the number of the bus?"
"Well, yes," I said, stunned first of all that I actually had the number and secondly that having it would mean anything in the midst of this chaos. I showed him what was in my phone at which point he got on his phone and motioned for me to sit down. I joined Kara on a nearby bench and watched the conductors resume their talking and smoking. Ten or fifteen minutes passed and I was starting to feel like this was a waste of time. I didn't even really know that this guy had understood what I was asking, and I didn't want to sit there forever chasing some pipe dream. So I went back to the conductor and did my best "So what's the deal?" pantomime, to which he responded, "He's coming."
"He is?" I asked, incredulous.
"He's coming, he's coming," the conductor assured me, gesturing for me to sit back down. This was the first moment I allowed myself to feel any real hope, and it was rewarded. Sure enough, a few minutes later, the bus pulled up, pink teddy bear swinging in the windshield. The door opened, the diver appeared, stepped out of the door, and handed my my painting.
I could not fucking believe it.
I started crying immediately, of course, which did not go over well with either the driver or the conductor. I tried to give them money; the diver took it, the conductor did not. After I composed myself a bit, he looked at me sternly and said, "You lose things in Goa, you get them back. Not like that in other places." I thank him about 10,000 more times, then stumbled away, clutching the tube like it contained the secrets of the universe.
Which, in a way, it did. Here is the painting I lost.
As you can see, it is a painting of Ganesh, who is not only the god of war but is also the god of OVERCOMING OBSTACLES. I know. Mind blown. So in addition to forcing me to meditate on mindfulness, attachment to belongings, faith in humanity, coincidence, destiny, and literally being in exactly the right place at exactly the right time with the exact (randomly-acquired) information necessary to reunite with this thing, now I get a daily reminder of my Indian miracle from my good friend Ganesh who also inspires me to overcome obstacles.
Bear with me while take a moment to quote myself from this blog a few months ago when I wrote about being in an especially low period in my life:
Did I run out of luck? Or did I accomplish so little with the luck I did have that the universe decided that it was wasted on me and took it away? Or did the fact that I began consciously thinking about my luck make it disappear? Or are all these little set-backs just setting me up for some cosmic payout so mind-blowingly awesome that I had to save up a few months worth of luck just to make it happen? Um, yeah. I wrote that. And, yeah. I know which one it is now.
