Here's How I Played Music in the Azores

Blog, I know you might be wondering how I was able to get two gigs playing Dirty Curls songs on an Azorian island in the middle of the ocean. Well, just like everything that requires you to make an ass of yourself in front of strangers, it's all about who you know. And I happen to know this guy:

Don't worry. He's big in Portugal.

Sergio runs Praia Rock Café, which I actually wrote about here after my first trip to Terceira back in May of 2012. Turns out Sergio came across that article a few months later and befriended me on Facebook since he remembered me from my visit. Ever since, I've been invited to copious beer pong events that I have no interest or ability in attending.

But when I was standing in line to check my bag at Logan International in Boston at the very beginning of my trip, the couple in front of me asked about my guitar*. We were all on our way to the same place, so they were wondering where I would be playing. I hadn't actually planned on playing a show while I was on the island, but was open to the idea. I mentioned I knew Sergio at Praia Rock and they knew exactly what I was talking about, because this world isn't that big after all. And maybe because Terceira could easily fit in the 494-694 loop (for you Minneapolites' reference) and has a population of 50,000 and everyone knows everyone else. Seriously. That bag check line was like a big Portuguese family reunion. So was the plane. And customs.

Anyway, long story short, I contacted Sergio about playing and he agreed and got me set up. Dirty comedy music that is sung explicitly in English may seem like a weird choice for a bar in Portugal, but like my first article mentioned, the bar is located right outside of the front gate of the base. It's swarming with Americans. So much so, there's American shit all over the walls:

American shit = money and license plates.

And so I got to play dirty songs about threesomes and Joe Biden for Americans who were able to appreciate all the naughty humor that goes with something like lusting after the vice president. The first of my two nights on stage lead me to be invited to sing for the main act, Tommy and the Time Machine. However, while I can hold my own singing erotic bluegrass with my guitar, it turns out I have a tough time incorporating my voice into a classic rock cover band because I get distracted by things like Pedro's electric bass prowess that is second to none.



But that other girl from North Dakota knew exactly what she was doing.

Despite my ironic stage fright, I still had a great time at Praia Rock. I have to say I teared up when the airport shuttle passed by it on our way to the plane. Sometimes it's only when you leave a place that you realize just how familiar it's become to you.

So thanks Sergio and Tommy and the Time Machine, and everyone else who came out to see me play in such a far off land. If I ever manage to reproduce humans who in turn reproduce more humans, I'll tell them about it as they're getting me ready for my sponge bath, or Sunday outing, or whatever it is that I won't be able to do for myself by then because I'm old.



*Fact: When you travel with an instrument, everyone automatically thinks you're cool and probably a little famous. So next time you travel, pack your shit in an instrument case (or just bring an instrument) and let the questions and awe rain down.

Azores Day 22: Bye

Well, I cried multiple times today Blog. There are pictures on cameras thousands of miles away that I will post once I receive them. Until then, I've decided that I hate airports. They are places where people who mean lots to each other have to say goodbye and that's just the worst.

It's even worse than the worst.

My last days on the island were kind of scattered. I played more Dirty Curls songs at Praia Rock on Saturday night and it was a success. Characters who I'd gotten to know on the island came out just to see me play. There was the German guy who wore his shirts half unbuttoned so the chain around his neck mingled with his chest hair (I know, right?!). It was so European I couldn't even stand it but it was so European there was nothing to do but accept it. There was Baby Shaw and the Sutherlands and a certain Senior Airman who has taken a particular liking to me. There was Sergio and James the African and Roberts. There was a vet who writes poetry and a couple from base. And of course Carly and Casey. Alabama Dannon bought obscene amounts of beer for everyone. Dale sipped on a straw that wasn't even in a drink. There was a four year old Portuguese girl who danced to Joe Biden like it's been her jam years. Courtney, your songs are a hit with the kids.

Earlier on Saturday Carly and I spent the afternoon at Quatro Ribieras where we were hit on by 13 year olds who whistled repeatedly at us and said random things like "I like boobs". Then they threw themselves off the cliff into the water so we would be impressed. As per usual we were horrified.

We even bought ice cream from the mysterious blue-eyed surfer man at the snack stand where they have my favorite novelty: the oddly-named Choco Clack.

One Choco Clack please.

Sunday entailed more Quatro Ribieras with Carly and the certain SrA who has taken an interest in me. We invited him to dinner. With Megan. He said yes, and we were once again horrified.

This was not the worst thing she did to him.

The man is a fucking champ.

And then there was today where I cried. I cried because I have really, really, really great friends who I love and are like family to me and they live far away from me all the time. The worst part is, I don't know when I'll see them again. I don't even know where I'll see them again. It could be here in the States, it could be in Europe. It could be in the winter or the summer. It could be me seeing them or them seeing me. I don't know anything other than the fact that one will more than likely need to fly on a plane to get to the other. People are always saying goodbye to each other and crying about it and it's always happening at airports. They're the worst.

Then again, my sister in law was reunited with her family yesterday and it involved an airport and tears--the happy kind.

Mom? Is it really you?
(Thanks to Justine Conover for the photo!)

I'm not in the military, but sometimes I feel like it with all the saying good bye I have to do. How did I end up with so many military things in my life, Blog? On one hand it's cool to have access to places like England and Italy and little Portuguese islands in the Atlantic, but on the other hand those places are all far away and are where my friends live. Lame.

So now I'm here at Logan International in Boston awaiting my flight back to Minneapolis. I keep thinking people are either Portuguese or in the Air Force when they are clearly neither. I'm annoyed with the conversations I overhear because I can understand them. I looked out the window at the street for a full 30 seconds and was overwhelmed by the advertising I saw. Welcome to America.

Home is home though, and it'll be nice to focus on my life in Minneapolis. I don't know what I'm doing there Blog, but I should probably stop avoiding whatever it is by hanging out at beautiful swimming holes and drinking caipirinhas with my friends from college. Time to be a responsible grown up. I think I see a bar over yonder that serves wine. Here's to reality!



Hey Blog! Stay tuned for some highlights of my trip (because why would I ever want to read 20 entries of detail when I'm looking back on this part of my life?) including a shout out to Praia Rock Café and the United States Air Force and more pictures that I've already forgotten about since I've taken them.
 

Azores Day 19: The Fernando Island Tour

Blog, tonight was the "Fernando Island Tour". Basically, I rode in a Suburban with quote: "Portugal's only redneck". That would be Fernando:

This is Fernando.

It is 4:30 in the morning here. An ungodly hour that is begging me to sleep, so I will give you this short rundown of the Fernando Island Tour.

Fernando has this Suburban that he got when he was living in the States, but brought back with him to the Azores. So now he'll pile his American Air Force friends into it and drive them around the island to little dive bars that you'd never think to go to otherwise all while blasting stand up by Larry the Cable Guy. I wish I were kidding about the choice of comedian there, but it's true. Thick southern redneck humor blared out the windows as we maneuvered our way to Angra for dinner. I drank Azorian honey flavored moonshine and ate a fish that still had its eyes attached to it. All in all, it's been a good night. One of those where you stop and ask yourself how you got into this particular situation.

For instance, why are we fake-eating bad taxidermy in a fluorescent-lit bar?

Azores Day 18: I Think I Got Used to Europe Being Weird

Well Blog, I just got off a Skype call with my favorite brother. And by favorite brother, I mean only brother. He certainly wasn't my favorite brother when we were growing up, but he's alright people these days. He doesn't go through my stuff and put my belongings in the toilet anymore, so I'll accept him for who he is.

Beyond that, today I got a pedicure and immediately went to the beach afterward to fulfill the one thing I do when I travel to anywhere with a beach:

I kept up tradition by writing Kerin's name in the sand at the beachfront in Praia.

And then it was time to see some sights!

"Ready to see some sights?!" Carly excitedly proclaimed.

Too bad we have terrible timing when it comes to venturing up mountainous hills to catch a glimpse of the island from above. Just as we parked the car at the top of Serra de Cume a pesky cloud came in to wreck the magical view; just like it did the last time I was here.

But right before it ruined my island vacation forever, I snapped this shot of a patchwork of fields.

Blog, have you ever had it where you're in one place and you're suddenly reminded of another place that is certainly not the place you are currently in? Like that one time my mom compared Venice to Fargo when she connected that both "had a flooding problem"?

Though she did embrace Italian culture by wearing a hot pink windbreaker on an 80 degree day.

Today that happened for but a brief moment when the road down the mountain was just narrow and drizzly enough to remind both Carly and I of England.



England.

Not England.

When this sort of thing happens, Europe no longer seems like this exotic, novel place. Maybe it's because I've been here for three weeks. Maybe it's because I've consistently been visiting for the past four years. I still love me some Europe, but it's not weird anymore. I mean, it's Europe weird and will always be Europe weird (i.e. why would eggs go in a refrigerator?), but it's not like "OMG every little thing about this place is unfathomably weird and strange and I can't comprehend it." It's just "Oh that's right. This is the place where people walk in the middle of the road with 40 mile an hour traffic. Also, refrigerated dairy? Not a thing."

Anyway, just an observation on my part Blog. It was a nice thing to realize I guess.

After some failed sight seeing and a failed attempt to attend Thirsty Thursday on base (also a place that I find strange but have gotten used to; as in "Oh, you want to go into this grocery store--err--commissary? Passport please. Also, you can't buy anything.", Carly and Casey and I played a nerdy zombie board game THAT WAS AWESOME!!! Of course I don't remember what it was called and I'm too tired to go into the living room to see what it's called, but it involved little action figures and dice and hero cards and a CD soundtrack. Play it, Blog. It's super fun.

With that, the Skype call with my brother (and adorable niece) drained most of my battery, so I'm signing off Blog. Only three more days left before I leave. Where has the time gone? Actually, I feel like I've been here for a long time. Probably because I'm on a tiny island that is full of grocery stores that card you and highways with pedestrians on them. Yay for overseas military!

Cat on purse. The only sensible thing that happened today.

Azores Day 16: Military Lady Time

Well Blog, I'm drunk. Yep. I'm drunk and happy and nostalgic and excited and sad and thankful. The drunk brings out the emotions, doesn't it? I just feel so lucky, you know? Who would have thunk that ten years ago I would be forming friendships strong enough to carry me across the ocean to where I could have a terrific ladies night with wine and chats about how we all met our significant others?

By we, I mean they. I don't have a significant other. The married ones say they like to live vicariously through me. But I like to live vicariously through them. What's more romantic than wanting to be with someone to the point where you'd move a remote Azorian island to be with them? I don't know. Romance isn't something I'm too familiar with these days. It's ok Blog. I still have you right?

I don't talk about it too much here because I don't want to come off as a crazy single almost-thirty woman, but I am a single almost-thirty woman. Am I crazy? I'd like to think not, but society would probably dictate otherwise because I'm single and almost thirty. Isn't that the way? It's kind of tragic when you think about it.

Today I was walking to the store when I passed by what I like to call a man-bar. This is a bar that has an understood rule of only being for men. Think townie bar, then think Portuguese, then think men only. What you get is a bunch of dudes smoking and drinking in something that looks like a box made out of plywood because they have to protect themselves from the bull fights that happen from time to time in the street.

See, the bull will get angry and ram shit with its horns. The Portuguese respond with cheers and a feeling of superiority.

Anyway, I passed by this so-called man bar, and the men said stuff to me. I don't know what they said because I don't speak Portuguese. I don't know if what they said was pleasant or rude, so I did the only thing my single American lady self knows how to do and I hesitantly smiled at them. I figured this covers all my bases. If they were being pleasant, I was acknowledging their presence. If they were being rude, I was giving them a limited amount of attention.

Fuck it. I don't know how to be a woman in this country. I don't know how to be a woman anywhere.

I really don't want to sound like I'm on a feminist soap box here, but it's true about the objectification thing. It's what we ladies tend to be perceived as on so many levels and it does get annoying after awhile. Those man-bar dudes could have been saying "hello, nice day we have today" for all I know, but because of all the catcalling I get back home that I do understand, I default to assuming they are saying something about my physical appearance and how I can improve it for their enjoyment. (i.e. "why don't you give me a pretty smile?")

Whoa, Blog. I just got a little political. That doesn't happen often. All I opened with was the lovely evening of drinking I had with the Air Force ladies. But maybe that's it. There's an element of passion and romance to the whole marrying a guy in the military thing, but there's also a huge sacrifice on their part. I have to remember that in order to put myself in their position, I first have to find a guy I care enough about to where I would give up everything I've worked for in Minneapolis. I can't imagine that, Blog. And for some reason society tends to place a "oh you poor, single thing" on my single status as a nearly-thirty something woman because I haven't gone to those ends. Huh.

I'm not discounting the ladies I hung out with tonight as women who gave up everything and are only defined by the men they are married to. They are amazing women who know themselves better than I probably ever will. They are the ones who define their households and they have not lost sight on what they want and are getting out of this life. I am just in a completely different position relationship-wise than they are. And basically I can only surmise that on some level we all want what the other has.

Ok. I'm stepping down. I don't write in you to voice my political and societal rants. But I'm not going to quell them when they come up, Blog. Don't worry. I know you understand. With that, I'm letting the wine I consumed tonight close this entry and put me to bed.

Azores Day 11: Sewing and Spouses

Today was a day in, Blog. It was rainy on the island and I've beached enough over the past couple days to where a break was warranted. This means that Carly and I were able to get some sewing done. And by Carly and I, I mean Carly made some shirts of mine fit better than they did before. In particular, this gem of a wardrobe piece that my sister in law got me from Guam:

All you need to know is that it was the only one left at the BX on Andersen AFB.

I don't know if I should be embarrassed or flattered that she thought of me when she saw it, but it's so ridiculous that I love it. However before I rocked what I perceive to be a Guam native with some sort of Guam ruin, I was sure to make the most of the scraps Carly was creating as she trimmed down my collection of giant t-shirts. With that Blog, I present to you the one and only "sleeveshirt":

Whoa. It looks trashy. Probably because it's made only of sleeves.

As much as I wanted to wear "sleeveshirt" to the Spouse Club get together that happened this evening, I opted for my sweet Guam garment instead. Spouse Club is a thing where a rousing game of Bunko and some delish turkey sandwiches made for an evening well spent. I mingled with ladies who married into the military and was further convinced that being a military spouse is not the life for me. But that doesn't mean I don't have a good time hanging out with them. There was wine and dice. What more could a guest at Spouse Club ask for? Awesome friends from college? Well ok.

It's hard not to notice the Guam shirt, isn't it.

Tomorrow I make my Azorian debut at Praia Rock. Sergio was kind enough to give me a few minutes to play some erotic bluegrass music by way of Courtney McClean and the Dirty Curls before the main act goes on. Of course I announced it at Spouses Club when they all asked me to stand and introduce myself before we started rolling the Bunko di. If anything, I'll have my Bemidji alums in the audience along with whatever other random airmen show up. Here's to hoping my diligence in blogging continues so details are shared tomorrow evening.

Azores Day 8: Awkward Beach II - The Tide Is In

Blog, I meant to ask Casey and Carly what the far-off booms are that I've been hearing throughout the evening, but they went to bed and I just realized that I'm not in America anymore. "Left-over Fourth of July fireworks" isn't a viable excuse here. Neither is "Portuguese people love celebrating our independence a month and a half late and on our behalf".

I guess it's just some weird Europe or Air Force thing that I don't know about. STORY OF MY ISLAND LIFE.

Another story from my island life is my excursion to the beach today. You might remember my first encounter with the Vila Nova beach from just a week ago. In case you don't, then you clearly have either a tragic case of amnesia or no interest in yourself Blog, both of which are disappointing situations. But fine, I'll baby you as I am wont to do and will sum up my last Vila Nova beach experience by saying that it was awkward. It was awkward because I overthink my existence when I'm alone in new and strange places and don't know how to just go into the goddamned water already.

But today, Blog. Today I found a nice spot that was both accessible to, and safe from the water. I set up camp and immediately made my way down to the stairs where last time I realized I didn't know the Portuguese word for hello (it's ola) when I encountered two ladies already in the water. Today it was just dudes in speedos and more small children running around on slick concrete. And today I knew what I needed to do. I walked down the stairs into the water and swam Blog. I swam for a full five minutes and then got scared that the ocean was going to kill me because the tide was high and water was flowing over the slick concrete and that kind of shit is just scary when you're literally from the geographic center of North America, ok? Besides I needed to write my morning pages for the Artist's Way even though by this time it was the afternoon. Whatever, Julia Cameron. I'm giving it my best shot.

The ocean can do things like DEVOUR CONCRETE STAIRS. Beware.

Despite all the self deprecation, it was a successful afternoon at the beach! Until it started raining and I was forced to pack up and walk back to the casa de McSwenny. But hey! I took a sweet scenery picture because that's what you do when you're on vacation, right?

Where Island Meets Ocean: A Love Story

Tomorrow? I'll probably take a picture of a cow. Get ready!

Azores Day 6: More Lajes Lady Love

Blog, I can't even deal with how much fun the Lajes ladies are. Tonight we had a three hour dinner where we were that table. Luckily we were quarantined in our own that table room, so we weren't too much of a distraction for everyone else. Jokes that rank pretty explicit and ridiculous on the explicit and ridiculous scale dominated the evening (all I'll say is "glory hole room") and I laughed more than I have since I've been here, minus the rapper-video dance montage we did at the beach yesterday. Basically we act like obscene 13 year olds and it's the best thing ever because we can drink wine while we're doing it.

And though dinner was delicious and highly entertaining, it was also bittersweet. The whole loud American outing was part of a goodbye to Jimmy and Trishell who fly away in the morning. They've been stationed in Salt Lake City, Utah and are on their way stateside tomorrow. I've just gotten to know Trishell for the few days I've been here combined with the few days I was here last year, but it's easy to see that she's a huge part of this group of friends and will be sorely missed. Saying goodbye to good friends just part of the Air Force I guess. That's what my sister in law says anyway. And she knows what's what because she's Guam-ing it right now and is about to say goodbye to island life herself. Of course all of us back home are looking forward to her return; including my badass niece who is her direct spawn and a miniature version of her. But there's something to be said for the bonds that you make abroad. If you find your niche, you don't want to leave it because you all are in this weird place together and you grow from that experience. I guess all you can do is look ahead to the new friends you'll make in the new places you'll live. It's almost as if the military makes you go through being a freshmen in college every few years, just to keep you on your toes. Reason number 573 why I never joined. Gross.

But, the friends have been made and the times have been had and you can't change that. Especially tonight when we all were around the table flopping our arms on the table and laughing so hard at the inside jokes that were being born before our eyes that all we could do was take another sip of wine and laugh some more.

Yeah, Blog. It's sappy I know. Maybe it's because I'm drunk again (Megan and I might have shared two bottles of wine; you do the math (meth?). Maybe it's because I'm saying goodbye to some really great people who I don't want to say goodbye to in the morning. Maybe it's because this trip so far has been a great opportunity to hang out with friends who I've known for a good ten years now. And they're not just friends at this point; they're family.

This is just scratching the surface.

Azores Day 5: Island Lady Friends

Real quick, Blog. I'm drunk and I hung out with these ladies all day (hence me being drunk; I don't do this on my own).

Lajes goodness at its best.

Like I said, I'm drunk. And it's late (for this time zone anyway) so I'm going to bed. I just didn't want to miss a day blogging. Even if it's just a quick "hey look at this awesome group of island girlfriends I have". That's right Blog. I don't mind bragging about my friends. Because they're awesome and salty and sunburnt because we all hung out at the beach today. Yes this is a surfacey "my life is awesome" post, but I truly feel lucky that I can go to a (seemingly) random island and end up with a solid group of lady friends to hang out with. I might as well show my gratitude for it via the internet.

I'm being bold putting a bikini picture up because I'm drunk and everything is a good idea right now.

Bye!

Azores Day 4: Running From Bulls

Alright Blog. Today I saw the one thing that Terceira is known for. It's obvious that Terceira is on the tips of everyone's tongues these days and those tongues are more than likely talking about the most exciting thing that this world has known ever in this universe ever and that is...

BULL AGGRAVATION!!

No, it's not running with the bulls like they do in Spain. No, it's not a bull fight with a matador and a red flag. NO it's not cow tipping.

It's simply what it sounds like. A bunch of (drunk) Portuguese men annoy bulls in the street and then run from their subsequent wrath.

Also, bull aggravation is very difficult to photograph.

I mean what else are you going to do on an island in the middle of the ocean to pass the time? There's livestock and streets and drunk Europeans all over the place. Might as well combine them all into one evening that is ruled by testosterone and adrenaline. It seriously was one of the more entertaining things I've witnessed and I'm secretly hoping that this happens again before I leave. What is it about a bunch of creatures with testicles pissing each other off in the streets that is so alluring? I know not, but hundreds of men, women, and children gathered to watch. Blood was drawn. I'm the entire tradition's newest fan.

OMG it was seriously so exciting I can't believe I'm falling for this ridiculous European pastime!

Everything else I did today pales in comparison. Sorry Carly. Lunch with you was great and I had a wonderful time eating questionable baked goods at the Biscoitos swimming hole, but bull aggravation Carly. BULL AGGRAVATION!



So hard to photograph, so fun to watch!



Azores Day 3: Oh That's Right... the Military

That's right Blog. Every trip overseas is made for a reason. Mine more often than not have to do with a particular branch of the military known as the Air Force. Today I spent a couple hours face to face with the intimidating Security Forces (keeping things secure!) while trying my hand at getting a base pass so I could do elaborate and secret military things like eat hot sandwiches and buy hair dye. Apparently I needed someone who was an E5 rank or higher (don't ask me what that actually means) to sponsor me so I can access these luxuries and apparently everyone who was at an E5 rank or higher (seriously, someone tell me who invented this system of ranking) was at some mysterious military welcome-something-or-other.

Or they were defending the freedom all of us civilians back in the states enjoy day in and day out without a second thought (by attending some welcome-something-or-other). Whatever.

After getting to know the airman who was airmanning the front desk that assigns base passes to random civilians like me, Casey finally showed up to sign a piece of paper that apparently gives me Lajes access for the next three weeks. Score! I'm totally going to hit up the BX and gorge myself on sparkling water and candy bars that I pay for in American dollars, just because I can. Well worth the wait, if you ask me.

Other than that weird adventure, today was full of cats, naps, lava rock, and Chicken House. Here's where I'd post a picture of Chicken House with a clever caption, but I was dumb and didn't snap a photo of it before we went in to eat. So all you get is Carly on some lava rock.

There's lava rock here because this island is basically a volcano that exploded millions of years ago. GEOLOGY.

Azores Day 2: Awkward Beach and Old Friends

Just like that, I've adjusted to the time change, Blog. All that sleep paid off and today I was able to take some time for personal reflection along with a nice jaunt down to the beach where I silently freaked out about which part of the swimming hole was best to explore. I was clearly the only American at this public access. While everyone else confidently navigated the concrete stairs that have been built into the rocky cliffs so as to access the Atlantic's chilly waters, I was awkwardly reading Kurt Vonnegut's Jailbird while watching the Portuguese dive into water that I eventually learned was not deep enough for even a belly flop (in my opinion anyway).

The cliffs distract you from the fact that all water in this photo is no more than 4 feet deep.

I love Europe because rules are a moot point here. There was a kid who was no more than four years old running around on the concrete, peering over edges that dropped an easy 15 feet down into frigid water that was well over his head. He was walking along rocks with waves splashing around him. He was pushing off the edge of the stairs to try out his puppy-like doggy paddle with no adult within reach. Sure there were lifeguards present, but they were occupied with trying to capture what I assumed was a jellyfish in another part of the swimming area.

After overthinking it to a maddening point, I finally just manned up and made my way down some stairs where there were a couple ladies around my age cooling off in the water. As I approached them I realized I had forgotten (or, fine, maybe I didn't know) the Portuguese word for hello, which is sad because it's ola. I awkwardly smiled as they blatantly judged and then decided to escape the entire situation by submerging myself in the cold and salty water.

Swim swim swim. Yes. This water was definitely only up to my rib cage. Why are full grown men diving into this head first from 15 feet above? Oh that's right. Europe doesn't have rules or a sense of preventative action. Anything goes! I'll bite if it means I can drink wine in the passenger's seat of Carly's island bomb car, which I can. No one is forcing me to dive into this ridiculously shallow water or flirt with poisonous jelly fish. No rules it is.

But the real highlight of my day was seeing this lady:

All I got was an action shot of nipple warfare in the car.

Megan Ramage White is on this island and we had dinner and it was the best. Old memories resurfaced and we reminisced about the good old days (and holy hell that entry I linked to above is so old, I was still nursing my wounds from my break up with Rob. ROB.). It's been four years since we've seen one another; a time that has been easily marked by her daughter's existence, who before tonight I met only once when she was a baby. She's four now and we had a lengthy conversation about her cat, Chicken and how she had all sorts of animals at her birthday party. I'm sad I'm away from home for so long, but am so happy I'm here for the next three weeks so I can be with these awesome people in this awesome place for an adequate amount of time.

Tomorrow we go to Biscoitos for more beach. This time I won't be alone so I'm hopeful my ability to exist in European society will be realized and executed.

Until then, I'm totally going to bed when I'm supposed to. Success!

Thousands of Miles Later...

Blog, it's been way too long. Over a month in fact. Sometimes when I become busy, I get overwhelmed with the thought of documenting every detail of what I've been up to and then I avoid you. And then I realize that I've continued to be busy while avoiding you and this makes me avoid you even more because the amount of things to document has reached a staggering amount and the thought of it all is too much to bear.

But in the end, it's you and me Blog, documenting life. So here's what the last month has held for me:

1. North Dakota

At the end of March I boarded the Empire Builder and one Benedryl and a thermos of wine later, I was groggily coming to at the outskirts of the one Magic City (or what is more commonly known as Minot). I was making the trip just in time to wish my awesome sister in law farewell as she deployed to Guam the day before Easter. Because of this, we used the limited time we had before her departure to teach my niece about who the Easter Bunny is and then immediately demonstrate what the Easter Bunny does. I think she was excited only because every adult in the household was running around like a crazy, pointing out brightly colored pieces of plastic and gorging themselves on jelly beans. I learned we do this to ourselves. Also, Easter candy is the best candy hands down.

She's only smiling because we told her that egg was the secret to happiness once she recovered it from an imaginary rabbit.

 

I'd go into the saga of removing my car from the snow bank that consumed it in the month of March, but it's a long story, so I'll just say that a man named Tracey and a couple of violent tows from his pick up brought my 1997 luxury sedan to freedom in just minutes. Yay for small towns and stuff.


2. Chicago

I returned to Minneapolis and spent a few days rehearsing for the NTC tour I'm currently on (skip to #4 for details). After a few glorious nights in my very own bed, the band I'm in packed its lead singer, bassist, and myself into one of those boxy Scions (complete with a stand up bass we've named Bud) and drove to Chicago to play a couple gigs over the weekend. I felt a little famous when Courtney coordinated her contacts in such a way where we got an amazing free dinner at a hip Italian place downtown only to rush away to play our glamorous songs for the tens of fans that were waiting for us at the bluegrass bar where we were booked. On Sunday night we partook in a comedy show put on by the hilarious and wonderful Puterbaugh Sisterz that turned out to be just plain weird with drunk lesbians and catty comics. I ate some homemade bars that Courtney's friend brought out though, so everything ended up a-ok.

What is going oooooooon with this comedy shooooooow? Ahhhh!

3. Mexico

We returned from Chicago with just enough time for me to do my taxes, shower, and pack for Mexico. Court and I were playing at the Akumal Comedy Festival in Akumal, Mexico the week following our adventure in Chicago. I had absolutely no idea what to expect from this, and frankly when I got home that evening, I didn't even feel like catching a red eye flight to Cancun. But of course, I went and ended up having one of the most amazing times of my life. I've been to Mexico before, but this was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was the perfect blend of business and vacation. We were busy but relaxed and we met some of the most wonderful people ever in the world. We played shows with tropical breezes in our hair and palm trees above us. We drank margaritas and swam in a turquoise sea. We made new friends and lived in luxury. I want to go back and have been going through Mexico withdrawal ever since I returned a week and a half ago.



All I had was the sea and a sunburn, Blog. Thanks to Courtney for capturing the temporary bliss.

But alas, I live in a frozen tundra... when I'm there. When I'm not, I'm on the east coast apparently. Which brings me to...

4. Philadelphia

Ok, so technically it's Bellmawr, New Jersey, WHICH I'M TOTALLY AWARE OF IT NOT BEING THE SAME THING AS PHILADELPHIA. But, I do go to Philadelphia every day to perform questionable short-form improv sketch comedy for high schoolers even though the show we've got is written for middle schoolers, but really who's paying attention to our age demographic? Not me. I've been laying low since I've been here. Mostly because things cost money, but also because I'm tired. It's time to be home and I'm still not there. I'm not sure if I was looking for a life of travel when I quit Capella, but now that I've spent the last month living it, I've found that while it's fun and exciting and different, it's also like anything else and can get old. Where is my bed? It is not here in this seedy Super 8 with an Indian man who stands in your way and interrogates you about what dairy products you're about to put in your coffee at the continental breakfast. My bed is in a cold room in an apartment that all my friends think is haunted that is adjacent to a building occupied with Mexicans. That's home, Blog.

But until home happens, I'll continue to wear this wig and contemplate if cutting off my hair and dying it grey is a good idea.

Hello From Terceira!

Blog, today I write to you from abroad! I am visiting my dear friend Carly this week and am simultaneously exploring the majestic Azorian island of Terceira. So far we have done many things like eat this delicious thing called alcatra, drink wine, catch up on old times, play with puppies, and ride in the back of a pick up truck to a club. It's been quite the adventure and there are still three days left! Including today, Cinco de Mayo, which will entail a party complete with a pinata. I'm also really hoping to see some bull aggravation along the way, but who knows if there'll be time for that.

I do believe this may be my first post to you from abroad, Blog. How fun! For as many times as I've flown over the Atlantic, I only have gotten the chance to write to you during the one time I've been dropped in the middle of it. Seriously. This island shit is crazy. Ocean views all the time. And we all know how I feel about the ocean...

I fear the ocean. It. Is. Right. Over. There.

It is right over there all the time. Because I'm on an island. An island surrounded by ocean. That's what makes it an island.

Also, I don't speak a lick of Portuguese. I thought maybe my really bad Spanish might be able to get me by, and it does when it comes to reading subtitles on the TV, but speaking this stuff? I asked a cab driver about 15 times how to say "thank you" and still said "thank you" as I exited the car. Oh well. At least I know how to get a plate of squid around here and if I'm honest, that's half the battle right there.

Squid.

Little Brother Text Message: Part Deux

Blog, I couldn't help but be tickled this evening when I received a text from my brother. That never happened when he was overseas. It's just another perk of him being back stateside. What tickled me even more was that I happened to be eating a delicious meal at Red Lobster with that guy I've been dating. You know, Blog; the one who is also stateside. (This stateside thing is turning out to be incredibly convenient on all fronts. I mean Europe is great, but Jesus, it's far away.)

Why was I so tickled by the seemingly mundane fact that I was at Red Lobster when I received this text you ask? Because the last time my brother texted me I also happened to be enjoying a delicious meal at Red Lobster of course! And just like last time this occurred, I'd like to relay to you, Blog, a brief (and accurate) synopsis of what went down on my crappy phone's screen o' communication.

Ian: Hey! I was in Minneapolis earlier today. Then I left. Now I'm in St. Louis. Uggggghhh.

Me: OMG! Was it for a layover? Mom told me you're getting Heather's car. You should take a detour and come through here.

(Note: Apparently the Air Force was only able to get Heather's car from Italy to St. Louis. Ian's picking up their slack on that one by driving it back to Minot, I guess.)

Ian: Yeah I'd say it was about a 10 minute layover. I think I'm going to go to Kansas City and then up 29. I don't know the other way through Minneapolis. I'd probably get lost then kidnapped.

Me: Oh ok. Kidnapped is no good. The last time I texted you I was at Red Lobster. Guess where I am now!!!!

Ian: Long John Silvers!!! (I'll just stick with sea food)

Me: RED LOBSTER DATE!!!!!!

Ian: O!   M!   God!!!!! What are the odds?!?!?!?!? Let me call my bookie!!! One order of clam strips for the lady!!!!

Me: Haha! It's good to have you back in the oooo essss ehhhhh.

Ian: If you're lookin for me you can find me in the oil fields frack-in!!!!! YEEEEEEEEHOOOOEOEOOOOOOWWWWWWW.

Me: 15 dollars an hour at Taco Bell!!!!!!

Blog, I don't expect you to get those last couple lines, so I'll just say we were referencing North Dakota's oil boom that is causing things there to be basically the opposite of anywhere else in the country as far as this "land of opportunity" goes. It's not only novel for me to receive text messages from my brother, it's also novel to see North Dakota getting national media attention for something besides flooding for once.

Anyway, as I stated earlier this week, my brother's back. I'm happy about it. After all, he's the only person in this world who had pretty much the same childhood I had. I've got to make the most of that relationship, you know?

He's Ba-ack!

Blog, can I just say how nice it is to finally have my brother back home in the states? It's really nice. After four years of living in Italy, he's back. And he's not only back in the country, he's back in North Dakota. Granted, he's on the other side of North Dakota in Minot, he's still in North Dakota. That's about as good as you can get as far as proximity goes in this massive country of ours. Maybe not as good as far as Air Force base assignments go... I wouldn't want to live in Minot. I mean, it is nicknamed "Magic City", but all that flooding...

It's funny to think about the four years he's been gone. I was the one who dropped him off at the airport when he flew away to Italy. He came back a just few times over the years to visit, and with the immense distance that was always between us, I've grown used to the idea that my brother will just never be a staple in my life. I remember dropping him off in the wee hours of the morning so he could catch his flight to Europe. All he had was a big duffel bag/back pack filled with whatever possessions he could fit into it. It is impressive to think about him leaving with that bag since he has since returned with a wife, a baby, and a shipment of furniture and other belongings that is currently on its way to North Dakota via a semi truck that picked up said shipment somewhere in Texas after it had spent four weeks on a boat crossing the Atlantic.

My little brother walks away after finishing up his basic training...



Bam! Four years later, wife and baby. Thanks Air Force.


It's amazing how much the military does for those who work within it. Capella can't even provide me with decent cutlery to accompany my lunch let alone offer to pack up my belongings and sail them across an ocean for me. Thanks Capella.

Then again, Capella won't send me to a war-torn desert where I have nothing to do but play yahtzee and sleep in a tiny room with 8 other people for five months. So there's that.

I digress. It's nice to have him back. This Christmas will be the first Christmas I've spent with my brother since 2006, I believe; and I honestly have no recollection of what that Christmas entailed. Even better, he's got this wife and kid now so it'll be extra special family times. I mean, there's a baby involved. A baby who apparently looks like me. How fun is that?

Not only is it nice to have him back in a holiday sense, but also because he can now hang out with my mom and keep her occupied instead of resting that entire task upon my shoulders. I love my mom, but it's hard to make the 4+ hour drive to North Dakota on a regular basis to see her. And the few times she's been down here have been stressful since she's terrible at navigating city streets and I have nowhere to put her up. But now my brother is back and can remind my mom that she actually has two kids. My brother was also brilliant and procreated so he can leave his spawn with my mother (which satisfies her beyond belief) and traipse about in the metropolis of Fargo with his betrothed. Win, win, win, win. The only one who loses out is the baby and that's only because she's not on a routine yet with her grandmother.

It's weird to think that my mom is a grandma. Of course I've known that she is a grandma for over a year, but it's only becoming a reality now that everyone is on this side of the Atlantic. It's strange how much of a difference has already been made with Ian being back and I haven't even seen him yet. Just a couple weeks and Thanksgiving is upon us. So is a reunion with my brother, sister-in-law, and niece. Had you asked the 13 year old version of me if I was excited to see my brother for Thanksgiving back in '98 I would have awkwardly laughed in your face and then felt some sort of strange and obscure Catholic guilt about it, but still would have known it to be utterly ridiculous to think that I at any point in time would wholly appreciate my brother's presence in my life.

New Look, Old Friends

Well Blog, I've revamped you. Now that I've finally made you public once again, I decided you needed a bit of a facelift. You know, just in case someone comes across you and decides to actually read you. I actually put a little bit of thought into how you look today and got some super sweet international permission from my good friend Carly Swenson who currently is residing in the Portuguese islands in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean known as the Azores. She has so graciously allowed me to use a bit of her art as your background. It of course is just barely seen on the edges, but the whole piece looks a little bit like this:

And by a "little bit" I mean "actually".

 That art right there was a big deal for me last year at this time when I found myself turning my life around on a dime... or a hundred bucks... however you want to look at it. It's as if Carlis herself (yes, I call her Carlis from time to time; a nickname for the nickname "Carlis of the O'Clare Kind" that I somehow came up with in college) knew from even thousands of miles away that the little phrase "I'm feeling better every day" was exactly what I needed to hear, see, and believe. Plus I think the colors she used in this one are really pretty.

Carly is the reason I met the Englishman. She actually met him before I ever did. She's the reason I learned about Death Cab for Cutie and Eddie Izzard in college and was the first person who ever told me that blue and brown go together (I'm artistically inept if you haven't noticed). She taught me how to effectively shop at a thrift store and would make massive amounts of this delicious vegetarian chili that I should really try and get the recipe for one of these days. She hasn't lived in the states for the past four of five years due to her free-feminist-spirit-self ironically marrying a straight-laced (or so we think) guy who happens to be in the Air Force, but she's one of my closest friends. Despite the vast distance that is always between us, we've managed to see each other on a somewhat regular basis. It actually is making me sadder than I thought it would to think that this December will be a year since I've seen her and I don't have any current plans to visit. Turns out the Azores aren't the easiest islands to get to. But I'm hoping that come late winter or early spring I will be able to make the trek to the middle of the Atlantic to spend a week or two occupying a tiny Portuguese island with her and laughing about whatever ridiculousness we happen to come up with.

You know you've got a good friend when you can take incredible absences from one another and go massive distances to each other and it's as if you never left the comfort of your own dorm room on the third floor of the B wing in Maple Hall.

Are we in Minnesota? Are we in England? Does it even matter?

To the .00004 % who actually came across, took the time to read, and made it this far into my blog, you can learn more about Carly and her art at her very own blog where she writes about how she's trying to be creative on tiny islands in the Atlantic.

Air Base Tour #2: I Love My Brother

I didn't mean for this to be somber, but I'm scared. Sure my brother joined the Air Force because he didn't know what else to do. His first year of college at UND for some reason didn't do it for him, so he turned to the military. Fine. He's been in for going on three years now. He's stationed in Italy. It's all good. However, about a month ago I found out he's being deployed to Afghanistan in May for 5 months. He assured me he's just going to be doing what he does now which is load bombs onto trailors. He won't even be allowed off base. He's not going to be poking around in any caves or anything like that. But I can't help but be scared. He's my only brother. My only sibling. And after visiting him last week I was reminded of how much I love him. Even though we haven't really spent a lot of time together since we were kids, I still have a connection with him. I don't want to lose that. I'm glad I visited, but man. It's making me cry a lot at night now because I miss him a lot even though I haven't really had him in my life on a regular basis since I was 18. I cried when I got on the plane that was leaving Italy too. Maybe it's a big sister thing to cry when leaving your little brother who was once your only playmate in a foreign country, even if he has lived there for over two years. It's not easy. Not when you actually take the time to face the fact that your only brother lives 4,000 miles away from you. I can't help but regret a small part of my trip where I only visited him for a day. I should have made more time for him. He's still there in a small Italian mountain town, preparing to go to an even more remote mountainous landscape that is so much more unforgiving.

Ok. I just had to vent that. Hopefully I'll be able to sleep now. And hopefully the rest of this blog will be less depressing than this entry.