The pinnacle of civilization

This past weekend my band played Homeskillet Fest, which is a four day music event put on by a local record label. We were an odd fit for the festival, which features mostly independent singer-songwriter-y types with lots of blues and folk overtones. Most of the types who attend wouldn't know a hot rod from a hole in the ground and don't even own lipgloss, much less dedicate half a drawer to organizing just various shades of red lipstick. We got a good reception anyhow, and my new favorite quirky band complimented our harmonies. I went to buy their CD and found myself with their LP in hand instead because 1) I am cool enough to own a working turntable, kind of 2) vinyl seems more authentic and DIY and 3) for the same amount of cash as the CD, I got great big HUGE album art and a poster and all the lyrics to all the songs. I am a fan of big.

this does not show the baby blue marbled vinyl, which is the best part.

Upon investigating the fine print of the liner notes (I am also a fan of liner notes), I came upon a name that was vaguely familiar, though I couldn't quite place a finger on it. It wasn't someone I knew personally, it wasn't the friend of a friend or an acquaintance or someone I met sometime... I turned to Z. and asked, "That cat who you gave a ride to New Orleans to... the Craiglist guy? Who was he again?" "A film guy," Z. said. "Yoni Goldstein."

And there it was. Sitka is magical for a lot of reasons, but its most notable trait is that it is a nexus. Sitka is the one degree of separation for so many people; it goes beyond mere coincidence. You hear stories of Sitkans who meet each other on the opposite side of the planet after not having seen each other in two and a half decades; you hear stories of folks who are recognized in the middle of the night in a grocery store in Connecticut by their t-shirts; everyone has a cousin or an aunt or a best friend who lives here, or lived here during the war, or volunteered at Sheldon Jackson when it was still a high school. And here is another such Sitka near-coincidence: my man, on his way to see me in my favorite city, picks up a rideshare in the middle of nowhere to save on gas, who turns out to be friends with this band (from Ann Arbor Michigan, thanks, La Fab) that I become a little enchanted with when I see them live while holding hands with Z. here in our sleepy village. We are never farther than a step away from anyone here. That is just the way I like it best.

Depression chic

this is not a very good shot of this outfit.

I realize that it is only Sunday, and that I just updated yesterday, but here is an outfit for you, as well as another insightful posting. I decided yesterday that if it wasn't raining, I was going to wear this dress, which has a distinct Dust Bowl vibe to it. I had forgotten, though, that the last time I wore it was several summers ago, when it was wickedly hot here in Southeast, and when I was eight months pregnant. Since it was the coolest thing I owned, I clipped the elastic out of the waist in desperation. I set it aside after that steamy August and more or less forgot about it until yesterday. I put it on this morning and it looked kind of like a feedsack pillowcase. I added this handtooled belt, which is way too long for me, and my cowboy boots.

my pose seems urban outfitter-y.

You can't really tell, but I also added my necklace with the bird and the key and tiny milkglass earrings and petal pink lipstick and perfume that smells like crushed flowers. Then I was dressed for a Jenny Lewis concert. Since there wasn't one, I played the following songs on my iPod while I walked next to the harbor on my way to have coffee at my friend A.'s little cafe. While I was there I wrote some letters and ate some pancakes and read a few paragraphs of an Alice Hoffman novel - she is a guilty pleasure - and allowed myself a moment of wistfulness. It's hard to be wistful for long, though, if you are full of buttermilk and blueberries. Those are the words of wisdom I have to offer you. That, and, if you get the chance, dress like you are acting out a song. People complement you on your outfit that way.

Still no pictures

Here are some things that helped to erase my truly bad attitude today:

1) S. came back from Europe with the prettiest shopping bag I have ever seen, full of marvelous little gifts wrapped in hot pink tissue paper.

2) There were still lots of cherries when I went to Chelan at 11:00 this morning. I ate the whole bag of Rainiers before noon.

3) I was asked today, "Do you ride a longboard?" No, I said, I can barely walk down a flat street without falling over. Trying to ride a skateboard is beyond me. "Oh, well, I saw a woman in a red helmet longboarding the other day, and my first thought was that it must be you. I couldn't think who else it would be." Dude. I am not that awesome, but thank you.

4) My retro styled lemon yellow bathing suit arrived in the mail. I put it on immediately. It makes me feel like a Vargas painting.

5) I am going to make beets at some point today. Sooner rather than later, hopefully.

That's it. All of it. I am better now, really. All I require is a nap, and maybe a really cold beer. Ahhh.