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Posts Tagged ‘summer travel’

On hiatus, possibly, from blogging for the week. I can probably do quickie updates, but nothing too involved.

I am in Truro, Cape Cod for the week, no wi-fi at our house rental (WTF?) but a fabulous pool and less than a block from the ocean (bayside).

I have my new point-and-shoot camera with me (you all know the saga of my older point-and-shoot camera with a water-stained lens, right? See any photo I’ve taken and put here on my blog in the last year-and-a-half and you will probably notice); my new commuter bike and paneer; Hubby; daughters; one of their friends; and my mother.

I will be doing a poetry writing workshop with Dorianne Laux each day this week at the Center for the Arts at Castle Hill. I am excited and slightly scared, though these words do not adequately describe the subtleties of my actual emotional state in regards to the upcoming workshop. In any case, wish me well….

Speaking of sex toys, I have forgotten all of mine at home. Fortunately, Provincetown is a den of sin and I think there are at least 3 “sex” shops. The most embarrassing (to me) being Toys of Eros, whose window is smack dab on the main strip (Commercial Street) and generally features its white-torsoed manikins in bondage gear. All these years, I have tried to stay in conversation with the kids face-to-face as we pass. I don’t know what my worry or discomfort is; they’ve been coming up here for 12 years, same as me, and they’ve seen more drag queens and leather boys than I ever did until I was in my 40s.

In the absence of having uploaded any current photos, I give you some from April 2011. Or you can visit a couple of old posts about Cape Cod, here, here, and here.

sculpture in front of PAAM, Provincetown’s excellent art museum

just a little house/building, not too interesting, but I liked it enough to take this photo

That’s all folks, I’m outta gas and outta a desire to sit in this internet cafe/coffee shop (The Wired Puppy)

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We went to Crane Beach on Friday, which entailed about 2 hours, 15 minutes in the car each way (we stayed overnight). Not bad to get to an ocean beach (compared to 12-14 hours, one way, from Kent, Ohio where we used to live).

I’ve written about this before: kids in the car on road trips. Of course, they’ve graduated from singing songs at the top of their lungs to us playing CDs to them feeding songs through the car stereo via iPod. Not so much the radio on, but it all works, it’s fun, and it’s All-American.

Current Top Ten Road-Trip Songs (in almost no particular order):

ONE

This works especially well because we have to drive on “128 when it’s dark outside” to get to or home from any North Shore beaches. A classic.

TWO

“swear it had the power to repair itself”:

THREE

How can you go wrong with Lucinda covering Gram Parsons? We all belt along with Lucinda and we sound real good.

FOUR

You already know how I feel about Woody and Songs to Grow On. My dad used to sing this to me.

FIVE

This made my top ten Beatles’ songs on our Christmas card last year, so you know it had to make this top ten list, too. Hubby says it’s a bit obvious, but I told him baby, you can drive my beat up old mini-van and baby I love you

SIX

Who says you can’t dance and drive at the same time? Safer than texting!

SEVEN

The Man in Black. ‘Nuff said.

EIGHT

I sure can’t choose a favorite Hank Williams song, but I do have a 2-disc CD compilation that I play ad nauseum on car trips. Not a song about the road, but all of Hank Williams’ songs are road songs.

NINE

Switchin it over to AM, searching for a truer sound/Can’t recall the call letters, steel guitar and settle down/Catching an all-night station, somewhere in Louisiana/ It sounds like 1963, but for now, it sounds like Heaven

TEN

Would any top ten music list be complete without a Wilco song? Well, no, but you’ll have to listen to “Passenger Side” on your own because I wasn’t too happy with the youtube versions. Instead, you get J. Richman and the Modern Lovers again. This is sans the intro which is half the reason the song is so good. Gotta find that intro by your lonesome, too.

ELEVEN

It goes to eleven? I tried to find the scene from Spinal Tap in which Michael McKean sings “All the Way Home,” but could not.

Postscript: I am well aware of the lack of females representin’ here. Chrissy Hynde “Middle of the Road” was a thought and Aretha is good music in (and out of) the car, forever and always. I love my Mahalia in the mini-van, Sweet Honey, too…you know I may need another top ten road-trip songs some day. I am an American after all.

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Seems like a contradiction in terms, I know, but I am grateful for Ohio

Sun still present at 8:55 pm, sky just turning its oranges and pinks. (New England? By the end of our ride Monday at 8:20 pm, sky almost pitch).

Sun is somehow higher in the sky and less harsh on the eyes as it goes down here. I wish the sky was this high and bright in the Pioneer Valley without the intense sundown/glare. It’s something I’ve never gotten used to in New England. Why is it different between the 2 places? Amherst is only slightly farther north but quite a bit farther east, does this explain it? Oh hell’s bells, why don’t I just google it? No, that yielded no fruit. Help me.

I know Ohio is farther west in the Eastern Standard Time zone, so I get the clock part. But the quality of the sun is also different. I can hardly wait ’til the morning when the sun comes up later than usual. Ironic, isn’t it?

Once at the racetrack in Cleveland, we met a boy named “Sundown.” I’m not kidding. I bet that was 27 years ago. I thought I might name a boy Sundown some day.

Taco Tonto’s

Talking to my great friend, Sheila, on the phone in the parking lot of the Stow Target.

Walking into Taco Tonto’s and seeing 2 people I know well enough to remember all sorts of little details about even though I haven’t seen or spoken with either of them in over 11 years. One is the son of a woman who was at Annie’s birth, almost 13 years ago, and who was also part of the “older kids” component in Violet’s first (and only) play group. Wow.

Kent, beautiful Kent

The blues in Kent, nothing like feeling blue in Kent. Nothing.

Kent, my home for 19 years

My old house on N. Willow St. I drove into town, straight from the airport in Cleveland and pulled right up to the house, got out of the car, walked up to the door and rang the bell. Nobody home. New sign above the garage, the garden beds not looking terribly spiffy (where has all the coreopsis gone?), and some of the brick-work patio all busted up. Still, that is the house where my babies were born and it always will be. Labored there in many ways (“Here I have worked, labored a while,” Christian’s Farewell, Sacred Harp #347).

I suspect this has something to do with ale, but maybe it’s their last name. Do they rent or own? I’ll be knocking on that door again later.

When I left the car rental at Cleveland-Hopkins, I completely ignored the GPS and with no map was able to navigate after 11 years (yes, I’ve been back and driven around, but not out that way and not much with me behind the wheel). God that felt good. I was excited just to recognize I-480 and to remember to go East.

I was thinking of posting about sex toys and air travel, but there’s really no need. Apparently, you can pack sex toys into your luggage without embarrassment. No alarms went off, nobody pulled anything out and waved it around in front of everyone. Like Lucinda Williams said when she was intro-ing The Way You Move, “Nobody got hurt.”

I think it’s funny that sex toys are called marital aids (hey, that’s what O’Brien calls them), but maybe this can help explain.

The name of the guy who drove me from the parking lot to the terminal at Windsor Locks? Pierce Pearce. I am not kidding. He looked like Prop Joe from The Wire. Maybe it was Pearce Pierce. I didn’t write it down. Dang.

Look what I looked up this morning. Interesting, hunh?

Susun Weed says the best cure for menopausal women who have low sex drive is 7 orgasms per week. That’s her prescription. She says you can have them all in one day or one a day. Is she just fucking with us on this?

Yes, I love Kent. But there has always been the residual clash between town and University. Literally and symbolically, this has been the fight between establishment and the counter-culture. May 4 was a culmination. The town still bears it. Jerry’s Diner has been razed, but also the entire lot behind it. Gone, nothing, nada. The hardware store, Gone. Unbelievable. That’s why you can get the blues so easily here. Heart and no heart. When a place has this much heart, for some reason, it’s also easy to rip parts of it out. Right, Chrissy? (Oh, hell, I have to apologize. Sometimes that link has an ad; sometimes not. See what the fuss is all about? They are taking over).

I have a poem at home by an old Kent poet, Jake Leed, and the line I remember is

I’ve chipped away a Clark’s gas station

I lent out the little book that poem was in and I never got it back. If anyone out there has it, send me a copy. I’ll pay shipping.

The Clark gas station is still there, on S. Water St. Unbelievable.

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As some of you may know, Lady Gaga’s meat dress went on display in Cleveland this week. You can read about it here, courtesy of Erin O’ Brien’s fabulous Owner’s Manual for Human Beings.

In honor of the showing of Lady Gaga’s meat dress, and in concurrence with the advent of summer travels the country over, I thought I’d repost something I wrote a couple of years ago, as a “note” on Facebook.

 

Here’s some of what I learned at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame last week in Cleveland:

Jimi Hendrix’ drawings were very good.

The Soul Stirrers are an amazing gospel group. Mahalia Jackson must have had them in mind when she asked “Why should the Devil have all the fun?”

Stevie Nicks is popular, more than I had ever imagined, and women who love her will stare and stare at her dresses. I witnessed near-active salivation.

Stevie Nicks cannot fit into any of those dresses ever again, I just know it.

Stevie Nicks is over 60 years old (”…and I’m getting older, too…”)

Maybe Stevie Nicks isn’t as bad as I thought all these years. She’s a pretty good song writer after all.

I don’t really know the definition of a “juke joint,” but here we go:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Juke_joint

Jim Morrison was once skinny skinny skinny enough to fit into a teeny tiny jacket that belonged to his gal, Pamela Courson. He was also a cute little Cub Scout.

The now-famous “John Lennon glasses” were standard-issue British National Health glasses and he began wearing them for the film “How I Won the War.”

White folks grab all the glory from Black folks. Except maybe when it comes to gospel. Then they each just have their own way of doing things.

White music that forgets its black roots, whether blues, R and B, or gospel, isn’t really very good (okay, I learned this not at the R and R H of F but on the ride back home to Massachusetts listening to really bad white pop music).

Not only is Steven Tyler a horrible speller, but the lyrics of “Walk This Way” are more raunchy than I ever realized. Really dirty.

Roger Waters made millions and millions of dollars though he had a loathing of the audience and what he was doing. Hypocrite? You decide.

Even though he studies the Alexander Technique and is supposedly well-versed in Tantric sex, Sting’s outfit from Synchronicity is bad. Really, really bad:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UbQd3jxth5k&feature=related

No way can Mick Jagger be that small. C’mon, really? I would crush him like a bug.

Listening to Joni Mitchell and Nirvana at the same time is cognitive dissonance.

The Dyson hand dryers in the bathrooms rock out almost as much as Rock n Roll itself.

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