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 12: Praia Rocked Out

Blog, I'm tired. But it's good. I played Dirty Curls songs at Praia Rock and they loved it. Court, you're a genius. Carly, you're awesomely supportive. Me? I'm tired and intoxicated and amazed that I hung out with a couple ladies from VALLEY CITY NORTH DAKOTA tonight. Just when you think you're isolated in the ocean... you're not.

There are many pictures, but not in my possession. I will find them Blog. I will find them and post them and caption them. Until then, good night.

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!

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.

Just a Little Freak-Out Spill

Blog, I am more petrified and excited than I have been in a long time. Isn't it funny how excitement is usually accompanied by a crazy sense of doom? Well, that's what it's like for me anyway. I feel like I've got all sorts of amazing things lined up and also like I've got nothing going for me. I wonder why that is. Maybe it's because tomorrow is our last day of this tour and we'll be on our way home. Saturday night I'll be in Minneapolis with no job and a myriad of travel plans; hence the excitement and doom combo.

I have to keep reminding myself that it's more interesting than sitting at a desk for nine hours a day only to go and sit at home for the rest of it.

I'm going for a swim since tonight's hotel has a super sweet pool. Then I'll ramble on for 40 minutes as I rehearse my monologue for Bash. Then I'll try to fall asleep despite the excited doom that is consuming my mind. North Dakota, Chicago, Mexico, and Philadelphia are all going to experience my presence over the next two months. The fear of the consequences to saying yes to these things was easier to accept than the regret of saying no. That's a good thing, right?

I Miss You, Minneapolis

I miss home, Blog. This isn't the first time I've been away from the place I live for a chunk of time, but it's the first time I've been away from a group of people who I tend to include in my every day life. I get that I left my mom and brother when I went to college way back in the day, but that's different. They were just down the road a couple of hours. I knew I could go back whenever I wanted. Plus, I had better things to do than sit in North Dakota and try to fit in with a culture I wasn't meant to fit in with.

I studied abroad in Europe for two months when I was a junior in college. I went the furthest from home I've ever been during that trip. I saw things I never thought I'd see. But I experienced the whole thing with an established group of friends; with people with whom I had cultivated friendships after I left my family in North Dakota. They were the people who are still some of my closest friends today. I got to bring home with me during that trip.

And while I'm still in the good ole USA, I feel far away from the things I love. Don't get me wrong, Blog, I'm totally happy with this decision. I'm not regretting it at all. Every day is different. I get to make kids laugh and I get to be on stage. I get to hang out with my old and dear friend Andy pretty much 24/7. We have numerous belly laughs every single day and have already collected a myriad of inside jokes that only we understand. "Do you remembah?" "Rob is requesting songs for us." and "What if the bands White Snake and Ratt played a concert together?" are daily quips that we throw at one another. Not to mention the whole "Moon Shadow" thing that happened over this past weekend with the acting buddies we saw.

But home is where the heart is and my heart is in Minneapolis. I knew this even before I left, but what I didn't realize is that there is a whole community of people there that I was just getting to know as I was packing my bags. Now my Facebook page is littered with status updates and event invites that I am unable to take non-cyber action on. All I can do is watch from a distance and know that I'll one day be back in the city that has everything I want. Friends and theatre and music and lakes and even a little bit of family. The South has been quite hospitable (people here are kind and curious and also bewildered by our accents) but it's not home. I don't do chicken and biscuits. I am afraid of the ocean (even though I love going to the beach) and call me crazy, but I'm feeling pretty weird about missing the cold snap that just happened. It made me realize that I've never missed a cold snap before. While it was a balmy 12 degrees in Minneapolis today, I took the liberty of running a couple miles outside this evening. Running outside in January is something I don't do. And while it was great and freeing and felt wonderful to exercise today, it's not home here. Home doesn't let me go outside with ease during this time of year, and if it does, it's a special day that everyone appreciates with a quaint insanity that causes them to rollerblade in short shorts even though it's still below freezing outside.

The Wizard of Oz was right. There's no place like home. March is going to both rush me and tease me with unemployment and the second round of best friends that I've made thus far. I'm looking forward to you, Minneapolis. Please hold a spot for me until I come back.

And when in doubt, put a cherry on it.

Hello From the Road!

Blog, it's going to be an unfocused post today, but I'm giving this "blogging from the road" thing the old college try. Right now I'm in a bar in Madison, Wisconsin watching football with this group of people who have somehow become my tour family. I've ended up in a comedy band that plays in basement bars and skate shops. So this is what it's like at the top...

Like I said, it's an unfocused entry, Blog. That means only one thing: pictures!

Look at my road family, Blog! This is how we eat after performing in a skate shop.

Look at our merchandise Blog! Buy some!

Look at the show we are bringing to the masses in the Midwest!

See us in our van, Blog? Fun every second!

This is what we look like when we're singing songs.

And this is what we look like when we are prepared for the winter cold in a Motel 6 in Fargo.



This is fun, Blog. You should try it sometime.

My New Life (and a Sundog)

Well Blog, I quit my job last Friday and have put 400 miles on my car in the last two days. I still feel like I'm on a Christmas vacation of sorts, but I received a Facebook note about how today would normally be my late day at the job I just quit, and I realized that it's indeed happened. I don't have to answer to a phone queue anymore. I'm no longer at learners' beck and call. I don't have to calculate GPAs and talk people out of taking Tests and Measurements with Stats next quarter. Even better: January 7th isn't the start of a quarter anymore. It's an idle Monday; one where I'll be in rehearsal with the NTC.

At the moment, I'm in North Dakota. Home. Being here during Christmas time is something that I haven't done in years. It's a little weird. A few weeks ago my roommate Andy asked me what my favorite ornament from my childhood was. I found that I wasn't able to answer him because I haven't been home to my mom's for so long to even see what ornaments she has from when we were kids. Upon arriving in Finley tonight, I noticed that she has decked her tree with a matching assortment of red and gold balls and stars. I like it. I also have realized I'm sentimental about specific things. Apparently Christmas ornaments haven't made the cut since I haven't gathered the gumption to search the basement for what is left of this time of year circa 1990.

In other, more exciting news, 48 hours from now I'm going to be in Iowa. I know. Iowa naturally equals immense excitement. But I'll be winding down from a show at some bar that has decided to pay us in t-shirts. That's not a thing that happens to me. I can't quite wrap my mind around it, but I'm sure it will all make sense once we're on the road. I'm hoping it will make sense once we're on the road. If I think about the future too much these days, I stop believing that I've actually taken a step toward this life. The present is going to be the best place to keep my thoughts, I think. It's where I'm the happiest anyway. Might as well live it up where I most currently am. My most recent situation tells me that place is the frozen prairie. Tomorrow that place is going to be a seedy bar in Fargo. The next night? Iowa. After that? Chicago.

But as I said, the present is the best place to be. So is the past. Maybe not 1990 though. But a couple days ago, I got the most kickass picture of a sundog. Check it, Blog:

This is what happens when it's legit cold outside. .

It was weird, Blog. I was driving to see my Dad for Christmas Eve and I looked up into the sky for some reason to see where the sun was. I was surprised to see a dull point of light. It was bright outside and the light that was cast on the prairie wasn't the kind that is done so by a cloud-muted sun. But that's what this light looked like. After a moment I realized that I wasn't looking at the sun, but at a sundog. I had just explained to Kerin what a sundog was a few days before; mentioning that I hadn't seen one in years. And here one was with me on my drive to Herman on Christmas Eve. Sundogs are one of the two things I like about the cold, Blog. I'll let you guess what the second one is.

Hint: It's not worrying about my car starting.

With that, I have drunk a bottle of wine, Blog. It's time to turn in. Here's to hoping I get a chance to update you on my band tour adventures. Tomorrow we tackle the great city of Fargo. I can't wait.

Zero Two, Zero Two, Zero Zero Zero Two

I was over thinking it, Blog. My class reunion was totally weird, but not the end of the world. I don't really know what to say about it, but I'm sure I'll formulate something in the coming paragraphs. For now I'll share a stolen Facebook photo...

There we are: living in the limelight of all those terrible mistakes we've made.

I wish I could say that being part of a small class allowed us to become close to one another and form life long friendships, but as I awkwardly found my seat at our table in the bar on Friday, I was reminded that we all are kind of assholes to each other. And not the kind of haha-I'm-just-being-a-playful-and-jesting asshole, but more of a I-actually-kind-of-hate-you-but-will-put-up-with-you-because-I-have-to asshole. It's ok. I think we're at least all on the same page and somehow there is an unbreakable and forced bond between us because of it. I can't say it's a pleasant bond, but it's a bond. And bonds are what count, right?

With the alcohol, the parties, and confidence that comes with being an adult, I actually had a pretty good time. Believe it or not, I did have a friend or two in high school and seeing them was fun. I even figured out how to hang out with a couple people I didn't even consider socializing with back then. It was refreshing and makes me feel better about my place with those who I shared my high school years with.

But really, we were, and still are, a bunch of assholes. It becomes pretty apparent when the memories we bring up consist of making fun of other people for mispronouncing words when reading aloud in class (i.e. "spaceship" coming out as "spakey ship") and how Mr. Strand would throw erasers at us.

Or how Mr. Tollefson (God rest his soul) slammed this door so hard one day, the glass cracked.. That might have been because of us...

And sure I get a sense that most of them are kind of annoyed with me just because sometimes people are no matter what you do, but they're still my class. The only one I'll ever have in the high school sense. I might as well embrace them like I (reluctantly) embraced North Dakota after I was done with college. They are part of my upbringing, after all. I've learned that these are things you cannot change, but can grow to love (even if it's in a you-don't-really-want-to-but-kind-of-have-to-so-you-figure-it-out kind of way).

Kind of like how I figured out how to love being on this float.

Tonight I Meet My Past

Blog, I leave for my high school reunion in half an hour. Well, technically I just leave for home in half an  hour. The home that is North Dakota. The home that I used to hate and grew to love. Now I'm scared of it because my classmates are going to be lurking around the quiet streets of Finley. Only the streets this weekend won't be quiet. They'll be filled with parties and bands and parades and events. It is Finley Days, Blog. And the class of 2002 is going to be making an appearance.

Not all of us, of course, but more than I thought would ever get together for a reunion. I honestly didn't even think we had it in us to organize one. I certainly wasn't going to head up anything. I guess that's what we get for having a guy like Brad graduate with us though. He's bought up all of Finley over the past ten years and now has invited us to reconvene in the place we all have in common. I'm tempted to take furious notes the entire time so I can recount every oddity, forgotten memory, and sick gut feeling I experience. I'm also petrified that I will for some reason be called out as the weirdo I was in high school and embarassing memories will surface. I never belonged with them. I have a feeling I still don't.

Still, three things I have now that I didn't have then are experience, social skills, and the ability to drink alcohol. I plan to use all accordingly. I also have learned how to shop for clothes that fit me, embrace my curly hair, put on make up, and be comfortable in my own skin. But what is it about those you spent your adolescence with being the ultimate keepers of every insecurity you've ever had? I feel like want to prove something to them, but at the same time I don't care. I'm honestly going because I was going to Finley Days anyway. And I'm curious. I'm curious to see how far I've come since those days when I was made fun of because I was weird. I still am weird, but I'm ok with it now. I want to see how that weirdness translates to those who knew me during my formative years now that we're adults.

Basically this boils down to "blahdiddy blahdiddy blah blah blah I'm going to my ten year reunion and feel just like everyone else who ever went to a ten year reunion blahdiddy blah".

Time to drive to North Dakota so a rendition of this can happen:

There we are. Primed and ready to get out there and make huge mistakes.

From Storms to Cats to Bad Poetry

April showers are rather torrential for May flowers to be coming along any time soon.

I've realized with living in the city that I have trouble distinguishing between the low roars of planes hovering over my neighborhood and that of the constant roll of thunder. The sound is similar between these two things and when I realize that I'm usually sticking my ear out for an aircraft, I grow disappointed in the fact that there won't be any thunderstorm spectacle for me to witness. Like every overly romantic woman who fills out an online dating profile, I love a good thunderstorm. I used to be petrified of them when I was a kid since the seven-year-old version of me equated thunder, rain, and any breeze strong enough to rustle a tree to a deadly tornado. I used to watch the horizon from the westward-facing picture window in our kitchen, waiting for some sort of ominous funnel cloud to touch down on the prairie and make its way to our yard to destroy everything I knew within the two acres we resided. It never happened. Though tornadoes are totally possible in North Dakota, I've never actually seen one in person. The closest I've come is witnessing a funnel cloud form in a blue-gray sky above my cousin's wedding reception in central Minnesota a few years ago.

Tonight I dismissed the thunder for a busy day at the airport, but then the rain started and I was happy. Thunderstorms remind me of home and they make me feel like I'm out on the prairie again, even though I'm within the confines of the city. It's dark now, so no matter where I am, I wouldn't be able to see the storm glowering down on us. Still there's always a part of me that wants to jump above the buildings and trees that surround me to get a glimpse of just how brilliant that lightening is; how dark those clouds are; how likely there is for a funnel to touch down. When I moved here, I never realized that the lack of a horizon would be so disorienting during a summer storm. North Dakota lets you see the weather before it hits you. It puts a storm into context and gives you a rough timeline of how long it's going to be before the lightening is overhead and the rain is taking over outside.

Whenever it rains like this I still give a quick rundown of everything I own that could possibly be outside, even though it's only a car that I have out in the elements year-round. I still give a thought to my long-dead cat, Kate, who I always would mentally check when I heard the thunder and rain take over outside. There were the times when my check would result in the realization that he was still outside, and a quick dart to the door would reveal his tiny and wet body sitting on the stoop, waiting to be let in. The joys of having an indoor/outdoor cat. I'd take care of him though and dry him off with a towel and cuddle him on the couch; happy that he was safe and sound.

Tonight the thunder is rolling and the rain is falling and I purposely opened my window to let the sound of falling water into my apartment. I thought of Kate, even though he's been dead for 15 years, and took comfort in the fact that there isn't a miserable animal outside who is my responsibility. While I think I would love to have a cat again, I can't. My apartment won't allow it. And I don't know if I'm willing to put out the money and time needed for even something as low-key as a cat at this point. Plus cats, I've learned, are temperamental. Kate was an exception to the hot/cold and unpredictable nature of most felines. Three things to know about him:

1. I named him Kate despite his maleness because I was three when I met him and was under the impression that all cats were female.
2. The name Kate was inspired by my favorite letter, K. I liked the sound. It is a female letter to me (more explanation on that here). And as I mentioned before, all cats to three-year-old Samantha were girls.
3. Kate had three legs. He was my three legged cat with half a tail. I was always told he was run over by a lawnmower. I have a firm belief that this disability lead to his ability to be as chill and laid back as possible.

I have to admit, Blog. The recent memory of my childhood pet led me to delve into my storage compartment downstairs in search of a picture of him. Alas, I couldn't find one. I did find, however, something that I had feared I left on Ryan's bookshelf in the haste I had moved out of his house: my pathetic yet inspiring journal of poems from high school. Every overly romantic girl who writes about her love of poetry on her online dating profile has one. I thought mine had been swallowed by Maple Grove, but it hasn't. It is here, safe with me. It has the complete Makeup Bag Trilogy along with a bunch of other songs I wrote when I was a teenager; intact yet forgotten by the years of dormancy my songwriting mind has been in. It's good to know I still have it. Thanks to the thunder, to the rain, and to the distant memories of my three-legged cat, I've happened upon a wealth of bad poetry, handwriting, and a couple brilliant songs.

There's a mosquito bite on my leg
It hurts a lot
But not as much as when I lost you
My makeup bag
My face is now so white
My eyes look as if they have no sight
But it's all for the better
It doesn't really matter
People can see the real me

Trust me, Blog. It sounds better with a guitar behind it.

The Original Veldhouse: Part Deux

Blog, so you know how I wrote a lengthy post about seeing my dad for the first time in seven years back in December? I have to first of all make a correction. It wasn't seven years that had gone by since I last saw him; it was six. I for some reason thought that Grandma had died back in 2004, but it really was 2005. Either way, it's a significant amount of time being away from a parent, so I'm not going to dwell on semantics.

However, I don't think I mentioned in that post my dad's weird habit of bringing up rather off-the-wall ideas in conversation where my, or anyone else's response is to internalize whatever nonsense he has just babbled on about and dismiss it as just that: nonsense.

But then it hits you. Not a few minutes later; not a few hours, but days. Days later, you discover something completely relevant on the internet that validates a sense to everything he had babbled on and on about in what you perceived to be a half-drunken stupor.

That's it. I'm listing examples.

Example #1: Minnesota's Economic Woes

Even though I went 6 years without seeing my dad, that doesn't mean I wasn't talking to him. Every few months I have a conversation with my dad that usually lasts an hour or so and ranges from gardening to politics to the military to history (his favorite period is the Antebellum era of Andrew Jackson...). This one happened sometime last year, so my memory on it is fuzzy. It also doesn't help that I have no idea how the economy works. But what I do know is that while it's on a slight upswing, it's still not the greatest and it certainly wasn't doing any better last year at this time. And maybe that's why my dad started going on and on about how Minnesota needs to have a state owned bank to help with its economy so it could offer affordable loans to local farmers and businesses. This would nurture growth in communities and would pull Minnesota out of the recession.

I guess it would make sense right away to someone who knows about economics and state banks and recessions. But combine my inept understanding of such things with his slurred speech and long pauses, and you get me just amicably repeating "Ok... Ok... Uh huh... Yup".

Less than a week later, I'm looking around at what national headlines are worth a gander and come across an article. While this isn't the exact one I read, the content is pretty similar to what I found... and it was exactly what my dad was scheming.

Example #2: Those Old Christmas Lights

This one happened over Christmas, naturally. My dad was sitting in his smokey and cramped living room drinking a rum and orange juice and smoking a cigarette from his rationed pack for the day. He was blandly describing how he had a bunch of Christmas decorations in the basement, but didn't have the gusto to dig them out and put them up. After a moment of thought, he mused that he should just send them to China so they could be recycled.

What?

Apparently Christmas lights can only be recycled in China. Ok dad... How about we move on and take a look at that Depression-era glass you wanted to get rid of.

A few days later? Andrew Sullivan happens.

Example #3: Did He Just Say "Ted Kaczynski"?

The most recent and probably incredible information nugget my father has bestowed upon me was left in a voicemail I received last Thursday night. In it, he was clearly intoxicated and clearly fired up about... Saul Alinsky?

"I'm gonna get all Saul Alinsky on you. You probably don't know who Saul Alinsky is. You should look him up. Because we're going there."

I listened to this message as I rolled into Minot on the Amtrak Friday morning. I told my sister-in-law and brother about it. We all were bewildered, concerned, and glad that he wasn't talking about the unabomber.

But who the F is Saul Alinsky?

Upon my return to Minneapolis Monday morning, I open up Facebook to this link posted by Heather on my wall. Apparently Bill Maher doesn't know who Saul Alinksy is either.

And tonight, Andrew Sullivan strikes again. (Though, I confess I'm a few days behind on his blog)

I get that this all could easily be explained away by the fact that my dad is just up to date on his current events. And he totally is. The part that leads to my surprise every time is that my dad doesn't do the internet. He goes on for about 15 minutes a day and checks his email. All of this stuff is somehow heard and processed by him via his 1970's amplifiers blaring NPR 24/7. That, and his habit for bringing up obscure topics in obscure conversations while obscurly pausing and temporarily losing his train of thought leads you to believe that this isn't actual shit he's talking about.

As for Saul, my birthday conversation we had tonight (my dad rarely, if ever, calls me on my actual birthday) lead me to learn that my dad has a lot of books by the guy. He's been reading up on not only Mr. Alinsky, but also has been delving into Pete Seeger, Bob Dylan, and the retelling of There's a Hole in the Bucket and This is the House that Jack Built.

I swear to God if I come across an article on the importance pertaining to the passing-down of cumulative tales to the younger generation, you are going to be the first to hear about it Blog.

Little Samantha gets a primer of "Rules for Radicals" back in '85.

If Only Minneapolis Were the Drift Prairie

Blog, I managed to temporarily get out of the funk I've been in for the month of January by physically removing myself from Minnesota by means of the Empire Builder. I fell asleep shortly after St. Cloud and woke up to a sunrise peeking over the endless North Dakota horizon. It was lovely and quaint and refreshing to be in the open space that seems to reset every doubt and worry I incur in the city. That and I got to hang out with my niece who, as I've stated before, can make anything better; especially if she's eating birthday cake.


I'm sorry. Were you expecting me to keep this party tidy?

The weekend was one of celebration. Emma turned one on Friday and had quite the shindig on Saturday. Since my brother's birthday was just two days later and mine is this coming Sunday, we managed to have our own birthday cake that we set ablaze with candles numbering our combined ages.

Our cake burned with the intensity of 53 birthday candles. Also, Fruity Cheerios.

Emma proved to be a great hostess. I was glad that she decided to sport my birthday gift of a new Tim Mahoney onsie for her party. Who's Tim Mahoney? I'm not sure. But my hipster niece really loves his alt style and tunes so I'm always sure to keep her wardrobe decked out with his stuff.

Guys? Can you please be sure the satellite radio is tuned to "Chill"?

The rest of the weekend was pretty lazy. I have to admit that I spent the first part of it drugged up on an off brand version of Benadryl that was simply named "Allergy" due to a bad headache. My brother and I made a shopping trip to the grocery store that resulted in not only discovering another off brand medication called "Leg Cramps", but also placating a hurried woman who had managed to fling a dozen eggs across the floor. Ian's words of assurance? "Eggs are only like 12 cents apiece."

It has been ten years since I was in Minot, North Dakota. My last trip there was probably when I ran at the state cross country meet in 2001. Seeing the town again didn't bring back any memories whatsoever. Nothing looked familiar, save a hillside that was located by the university. So even though I have been to Minot a number of times in my life, I was blown away by what is going on there at the moment. North Dakota's economy is booming, Blog. And Minot is where it's at. Ian and Heather pointed out house after house, hotel after hotel that hadn't been there when they arrived just a few months ago in October. Even though it's got a decent population (by North Dakota standards) of 40,000, everywhere you go is constantly busy and constantly hiring. There is an amazing energy there that was based in production and making money. Oh the irony, Blog. I had to leave the city and go out to the drift prairie of North Dakota to experience some bustling energy. If I'm honest, it kind of made me want to move there. I mean, how nice would that be to hang out with my hipster niece all the time and make some serious cash working at Hardee's?

Maybe only half of that sounds awesome.

So between day dreaming of how odd it would be to make Western North Dakota my new home and listening to my mom observe every little thing that Emma did as a "Veldhouse trait" (Veldhouses sleep neatly, Veldhouses love ice cream, Veldhouses are all born within the last week of January and the first week of February, etc. etc.), it was a weekend that ended too early despite the Amtrak running two hours late. I'll have to make another trip soon. The dirty, blue collar atmosphere is somehow a refreshing getaway from the suits and petty office complaints that surround me here.

Veldhouses love eating bananas with Grandma.

Ouch

Blog, I never thought I'd be so good at repeatedly breaking my heart. I fear I'm going to become a cold bitch with all the scar tissue that is encasing me. I know I made a point to avoid talk of boys and just when that guy I was dating started creeping into my entries, all was lost. That guy is no longer the guy I'm dating. He's just that guy I once dated. It was fun while it lasted. I learned a lot and I'm sad. Really sad. I don't want it to be over, but it is. Now for the period of time where I stop eating, and instead cry and sleep. Although this relationship lasted just four months, so I should be out of the thick of it by the time my birthday rolls around. Here's to hoping.

Off to buy Amtrak tickets to Minot so I can attend not only my birthday party, but also my brother's and niece's. Nieces can make anything better, even a broken heart.

Out of my way bitches. I have to make my aunt's day.

Beau Meets Bro

Beau meets Bro, Blog. Beau meets Bro.

For New Years my brother and his wife Heather visited the city to live it up a bit and get away from the current boomtown that is Minot. It's all part of the novelty of them being back in the states and so much closer to us than they were when they were in Italy. This trip was a bit of re-assimilation for them since they haven't been out in a city setting pretty much since they've settled into their new North Dakota home. As a result, lots of crazy stories from their time in Europe came up since that's what they've been up to for the last four years.

That guy I'm dating found them to be quite entertaining. It's amazing how much fun little brothers can be in adulthood. Thank God he's not what he used to be when we were kids. New Years wouldn't have been as much fun had I known that he was going to go through my journal and embarrass me with his giant glasses and crooked teeth. Although he might have trashed up the NYE party we attended at a friend's house with his solo pick up game of "Excalibeer" which is pictured below:



Beau offered to be Bro's "Tape Guy". I think they bonded. No pun intended.

 Slight embarrassment aside, I can't help but think that the guy I'm dating might actually be considered my boyfriend now since he has met family members... and he liked them.



Even if this is happening.

  That guy and I even went to see this movie on Sunday night where we in turn decided that there were too many knowing glances and not enough character name drops to completely understand what the hell was going on. But we knew that Peter was gay. Peter was gay and his homosexuality had absolutely nothing to do with spies and the Cold War. Luckily my hopes for this actor to make an appearance once I realized that the show was full of English dudes came to fruition about an hour in; and that alone made the entire experience worthwhile.

Despite my celebrity crush, I was pretty happy that I got to kiss this guy as we rang in the New Year:



♥



Thanksgiving Wrap Up

I've really gotten into cooking, Blog. And by "into cooking", I mean I've hit my mom up for a couple staple recipes so I can stop spending so much money on my lunch every day. About a week ago, I made enough chili to feed a family of 17 (or 6). It's delicious, but I am just thankful for Thanksgiving (appropriately enough) so I had a chance to change up my food intake. One thing about being single and on your own is that any sort of cooking you do means that you are eating the same thing for at least a week. Good thing I'm a fan of chili. It's been 8 days and I'm still eating it.

Speaking of Thanksgiving, guess who I got to hang out with...



This poser.

Why did no one tell me that nieces are the shit? Because they are. They totally are. You give me someone else's baby, and I don't care. You give me my niece and it's on!

It certainly is on, bitches.

Unfortunately, she's only 10 months old as of yesterday, so there's not a lot to write about when it comes to the funny things she's done or said. Basically she's just at the point that babies get to where they wobble around next to a coffee table and hit it like they're running an unruly courtroom. That and I've had many extensive conversations with her that consist of the words "bah, bah, bah". 



"Bah bah bah" translates to "You're in my personal bubble Aunt Sam".

I have to say she tugged at my heart strings when it was time for me to leave North Dakota on Saturday, what with her crawling after me as I made my way out the door. I think we bonded, Blog. It feels good. Granted, her memory of me will probably have faded by the time Christmas rolls around, so I'll have to start from scratch with making a good impression. But it wasn't too hard to do this past weekend. Maybe I will bring her gifts of pickles and my hair since she seems to like both of those things.

And of course, we can't forget that my grandparents are now great-grandparents. Yeah, they were surprised too.


Where did all these babies come from?

Turns out my niece not only is awesome, she's also massive compared to her second cousins. At least she can pull off a santa hat like nobody's business.

Other things happened over this Thanksgiving weekend besides my niece, but she's obviously the highlight. Other happenings include:

1. Putting a good 800 miles on Kerin's car for her. I know I should thank you for lending me your car Kerin, and I am grateful. But you're welcome for giving Sheila (I've named her) a taste of the great expanse known as ND for a second time. And this time she went even further west into Cooperstown. Not the one in New York.

2. Finding out that a flight from Minot to Minneapolis is extremely expensive.

3. Finding out that a train ride from Minot to Minneapolis is much cheaper and more romantic.

4. This song. And a special thanks to my sister-in-law Heather for attempting to sing it to me in the back seat of the car by simply going "Sail! ERRRR.":

5. My mom's dream of mixing fancy cocktails coming true with this recipe that she couldn't wait to try out for the holiday weekend.

6. My Saturday night return consisting of way too much sushi and a martini that I drank as a tribute to Heather. Drinking a martini in the city was something that she wanted to do, but could not. Heather does not live in a city. But she is married to this guy:

Who me?

And that makes me happy because we're all related. Every last one of us.

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.

North Dakota Weekend... Again

Blog, the internet is disappointing me in the lack of distraction it's providing today. So I guess I'll write in you.

This past weekend I went to North Dakota. I am originally from there, as I've mentioned a million times before. North Dakota is an amazing place, but only for three days. After that, it's time to leave and come back to a place where things make sense to me. North Dakota makes sense to me too I guess. It's a place I can go to reset myself and get in touch with the one area in this world that is the most familiar to me. But after living in not North Dakota, I find it refreshing to return to the city and the hustle and bustle that is completely absent from the plains. Even when it was the only place I had ever known, I never felt like I belonged in North Dakota. And going back, it certainly is home to me, but I still tend to feel out of place. I don't have a preference over Sioux or Bison. I don't know what grows in the fields outside of my house. I don't understand how the farmers co-op works. I don't own anything with fertilizer advertising on it... The list goes on.

But I like it enough to appreciate it and recognize it as a place that has contributed to who I am today. Blah blah blah. I've written about this a million times before. North Dakota. I guess I'll just proceed with some pictures...

Making our trek to the bar on Saturday night.

Kerin's first harvested cornfield experience.

My first flying experience.

I forgot how fun it is to play in the tall grass. There's something so comforting about completely disappearing from sight in a vast expanse of fertile land.



A view from the grass. Hello dear friend Ariel!



My friends in a field.

Dear Ariel Wolf on her way back to town.

That's all I've got Blog. Tonight I embark on a lovely weekend that I plan on spending with friends and taking some time to paint myself blue. It should be wonderful.