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Posts Tagged ‘Wilco’

Never never never never have I ever ever ever wanted vanity plates for my car

Never say never because now that I’m fifty, it’s either a second tattoo or vanity plates. Not really, but it sounds like a good threat, doesn’t it?

Now that I have a sense of what it must’ve been like to be a Dead Head, you know since I feel like I could follow Wilco all over the USA and be happy about it, I think I might consider the following license plate:

TWEEDY

or

QUEENPIN

but QUEENPIN is probably too many letters

maybe TWINKLY so you all know me when I drive by

From the Solid Sound Festival this year, the Friday night all-request show by Wilco. Although they played covers of others’ songs almost exclusively, this one is their own. You have to excuse some of the footage, but the sound is good, real good.

*what’s the asterisk for? It is so you know that I’ll be editing yesterday’s post—making some changes, probably by day’s end. Sometimes my enthusiasm gets the better of me and I forget what is precious and dear and private.

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You don’t know me, Jeff (we simply call you Tweedy ‘round here), but I love your music. I love your lyrics. I don’t love everything, mind you, but Wilco’s music has become an indispensable part of our household musical canon. For the ages. Like the late greats you sing about.

It must be strange to have photos of yourself floating all over the internet. The electronic, the digital, the ethereal.

Oh, Tweedy. What can I say to you?

I have a friend who went to your concert in Hartford (CT) this past Wednesday. I am sort of sorry that was her intro to the band. She’s not really familiar with your music. The concert was good, maybe even great. You put the energy out, you all played and sang well. But I am afraid you seemed tired. It must be hard to be up there every night and not have things get stale. Yes.

I like it so much better when I see live bands and I feel a connection with them. That’s the whole point of live music. It breathes, it contains errors. It is energy and light.

Get some rest, Tweedy. I want to invite my friend back for Solid Sound 2013. I hope for great things there. Living art. Yes.

Here was a cloud up at Essex Junction, VT on Sunday, before sundown, before the band started playing:

I know the nose is sort of phallic-looking which is sort of unfortunate (not that I have anything against phalluses, on the contrary), but that’s how real noses sometimes are anyway. It is a great winking cloud face, don’t you think? It felt magical; an elixir, a balm.

I love having a wholesome, honest, not-sexed-up band to share with my kids. Here they are sitting on the lawn:

We saw this in the parking lot on the way in to the concert:Just so you know, we’d like to name our next dog after you. Not the Jeff part (no offense), but the Tweedy part.

I know that if wishes were horses, fools would ride, but still, I have hope, too. I think we like to pin these hopes on people like you, Tweedy. I am actually wondering if you can fix the T key on my keyboard. It seems to be sticking sometimes.

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This was spotted in the parking lot at the Mutton and Mead Festival which we attended in June (Hubby affectionately refers to it as the Bosom and Midriff Festival).

Although the pull-along camper is one of the most interesting things I saw at the festival, I also saw this:

We saw a FULL JOUST with guys splitting their lances (sexy!) and a woman riding a large steed sidesaddle. She had the kind of aforementioned bosom popping out of her burgundy velvet with gold-brocade frock. Look, I know you don’t believe me, so here:

It was at least 90 degrees (with full sun, as you can see) that day. Can you say sweaty peasants?

Hey, folks. I have no working TV reception so I am totally missing out on the Olympics. FUCK.

I have lots to share, as usual, but mostly it’s photos, just like in today’s post. I will have to bring you up-to-date on our recent 2 Wilco shows in one week. I do have a new favorite Wilco song and all of a sudden, my T key is sticking. FUCK again, but at least FUCK is not spelled with a t.

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Slackery, though it’s not a word, makes a great word, dontchathink?

Fear not, my pets, for I have not abandoned you. Abandoned looks so strange…

I have a manuscript deadline (yippee!!!) and many other goings-on.

Then there’s the upcoming 2 Wilco shows in one week (CRAZY and INDULGENT, sez I). I thought I’d qualify that and let you know that I don’t really want to see them 2ce in one week, but we were COMPED tickets by a rather famous local guitarist, a co-parent from our school. So I sez to Hubby, I do not want to go to the show on Wednesday in Hartford and Hubby sez to me, you will want to once you see them on Sunday and I thinks no, that Wilco show last September is when my tinnitus began.

Now you try typing sez without it coming out as sex. GO ON, get on your keyboard and try! Blogging is harder than it looks, I tell you!

Mark Twain, right? Huck Finn, sez sez sez. At least that’s what I remember. I don’t remember even finishing the book and I took a whole semester in Twain. Hmm.

The poet hard at work a few weeks ago on Cape Cod. Little did she know that a deadline for manuscript submissions was lurking in the wings. (From an Alexander Technique perspective this is NOT how one should look when one is at one’s computer. EGADS!)

I am grateful, I tell you. My manuscript is SO MUCH BETTER than when I started sending out stuff willy-nilly last fall/winter. Probably won’t get accepted, but I’ve become a better writer through the process. Now I have a more polished body of work which I can start to submit whenever the hell I want. How rockin’ is that?

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In honor and preparation of the upcoming Wilco show in VT. Inspired by all things Top 10, including our 2010 Christmas card.

If I do nothing else right as a mother, taking my kids to 2 Wilco shows in one week should carry them to unknown places full of heart anyway. And the week after that? GOGOL BORDELLO BABY!!! I’m hoping Eugene’s pants are a bit looser than the last time we saw them.

1. Misunderstood (how long can Jeff hold an unresolved chord?) Here’s a recent live version, the opening number from a concert down in Alabammy this May

2. I Am Trying to Break Your Heart

3. Handshake Drugs (best-ever version was pulled from the youtubes, copyright infringement being what it is)

4. Radio Cure*

5. Airline to Heaven

6. Passenger Side

7. Born Alone

8. One Sunday Morning

9. A Shot in the Arm (you might also like to look up the live version in which Tweedy dons the Gram Parsons tribute suit)

10. California Stars

*Radio Cure

Cheer up, honey, I hope you can
There is something wrong with me
My mind is filled with silvery stuff
Honey, kisses, clouds of fluff
Shoulders shrugging off

Cheer up, honey, I hope you can
There is something wrong wit h me
My mind is filled with radio cures
Electronic surgical words

Picking apples for kings and queens of things I have never seen
Oh, distance has no way of making love understandable

Cheer up, honey, I hope you can
There is something wrong with me
My mind is filled with silvery stars
Honey, kisses, clouds of love

Picking apples for the kings and queens of things I’ve never seen
Oh, distance has no way of making love understandable
Oh, distance has no way of making love understandable
Oh, distance has no way of making love understandable
Oh, distance the way of making love understandable
Oh, distance the way of making love understandable

Cheer up honey, I hope you can

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Likelihood that twinkly’s Index will have at least one photo: 100%

Chance that it will feature breasts: 0

Rank, in importance of kitchen rules, of not using the non-garlic-and-onion cutting board for cutting garlic and onions: 2

still life by Jeffrey Freedner

Rank, in importance, of not washing twinkly’s vintage glassware in automatic dishwasher: 2

#1 rule in twinkly’s kitchen: this is what keeps the mystery in the marriage; why should I tell you?

Mathematical equation by which twinkly calculates rank of kitchen rules: 6 kale leaves multiplied by number of maple syrup quarts left in pantry stock ÷ granola³

Maximum number of females in twinkly’s household at press time: 5

Maximum number of males: 1

Number of household members sleeping: 4

Ages of non-feline, non-sleeping household members, respectively: youngest, oldest

Rank among parents in twinkly household that Hubby holds for “funniest person in the house:” 1

Amount by which twinkly suspects other voting members were paid off to attain this rank: 1 Lindt chocolate each

Percent more absorbable heme-iron is than non-heme iron, according to twinkly’s Energizing Iron supplement: 33

How tired twinkly will be of frying beef in a cast-iron pan after the next 2 months as she tries to build back her iron stores (multiple choice: not at all; sort of; very; please don’t make me eat a hamburger ever again in my life)

Likelihood that Hubby, at any given hour of the day, is listening to yet another live version of Wilco’s Handshake Drugs: 29%

Amount of inward joy twinkly feels when she hears him listening to this song: unmeasurable

Minimum number of Julian Cope CDs in twinkly’s household: 23

Minimum number in which Julian is playing a Casio: 19

Likelihood that eldest teenager in house, given her druthers, will sleep past noon on any given non-school day: 98%

Likelihood that anyone has druthers to give: 7.4%

Non-heme iron sources found in twinkly’s kitchen at this time: appx. 5

twinkly’s favorite among these: kale

twinkly’s least favorite, though tolerable: organic molasses, straight from the bottle

enthusiasm twinkly has for eating roasted pumpkin seeds: meh

likelihood that she’ll eat them anyway in any given day until anemia is resolved: 87%

love that twinkly has for 20-year old Dualit 2-slice toaster, purchased with wedding money: ABUNDANT

love that other family members have for said toaster: appx .09% (one might say, an anemic amount of love)

Rank, among household appliances, of Dualit toaster and Sebo vacuum, in twinkly’s mind, respectively: 1, 1

Number of years pink Cuisinart toaster, which twinkly managed to purchase at the bargain price of $69, lasted: 2

Number of times, in 20 years, that Dualit toaster has broken down: 1

Price to fix by Ed of Ed’s Electric: $15

Original cost of toaster: $199

Price of toaster, adjusted for inflation while factoring in built-in obsolesence of all small-kitchen electronics produced by American companies but manufactured in China: -$199

Money twinkly has saved on bagels over the last 11 years by purchasing them on $5.99 Wednesdays instead of paying full price: 3 million, 211 thousand, 50 dollars and 22 cents

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You know what the Advent Calender window had behind it on Christmas Eve? Annie insisted that Paul be the one to open it, so I speculated that it would be a picture of Tweedy. But not really. Perhaps a picture of a bottle of Polar Seltzer, black cherry flavor. No. Maybe a fully-decorated Christmas tree. So wrong. It was an ICE DRAGON in the tiny double window. I love my kids!

Got my first iPod nano from Hubby for Xmas. It is tiny, so tiny. I feel dangerous when I have it on. Am I the only one and will this feeling pass? Are there any iPod virgins left? I look forward to loading hundreds of songs onto it. I am figuring it out, but as intuitive as Apple products are reputed to be, I find it klunky and somewhat unfriendly. I also couldn’t figure out how the little fucker clips on to my clothes. Hubby had to show me. Why, Santy Apple Claus, why, do you insist on making me feel dumber than I really am?

Christmas was good. This is the first year since we moved to Western Mass in which I didn’t feel financially stressed more often than not. Eleven years of living in the bliss/hell of self-employment in a New England state, so different than when we lived in Ohio. I am so grateful that our income was more predictable this year. It’s amazing what that does to my ease my mind.

Best present given this year? Behold the perfect gag gift for the consummate lover of Polar Seltzer in our house:

Be afraid, be very afraid!

I am grateful for this blog, for the technology which allows it, for my readers, for the kindness of those who leave comments.

I am grateful that I started writing poetry again and not only that, grateful to be reading it again

Grateful that I was able to take an improv class this year.

Glad that I celebrated 20 years of marriage. Glad that we get to go away to amazing places within a few hours’ drive, stay overnight, eat, shop, walk, swim, hike, visit friends, hear cool musicians, see amazing art.

Grateful that I found out about and saw Gogol Bordello.

Grateful that I got to go to my 30-year HS reunion, see lots of old pals (including my biggest high school crush, which was a hoot), stroll about Kent, Ohio, home of myself, land of the birth of my adulthood*, have that nude photo shoot in a garden in the heat and flower of summer.

Grateful for all the cool music I’ve discovered this year, in part because of the technology and youtube, but more because I do stick to my Music Monday posts. Especially my new-found love for all things Wilco and Tweedy.

Grateful that Willow was in our life.

Annie’s shrine to Willow (detail, not the whole thing), which includes a nail-polish painted (I kid you not, my kids are goofy) white bathroom tile

That is an origami Willow with a little paper bird (crane) in its mouth. Annie must have made a thousand paper cranes on her own this year and went on a bit of an origami adventure. SO GREAT!

My latest fad of photographing bathrooms from our travels. This is from the newly opened Atlantic Pizza Company in Rockport, MA. One of the prettier public restrooms in New England (this photo does not do the bathroom justice)

And this, the environmentally-friendly Euro-loo at The Wired Puppy, Provincetown, Mass

Grateful for any way that a reader might find my blog. Truly, the most abundant search term seems to be some manifestation of “ass tattoo.” That’s not even the most ass of the ass tattoo searches. Ready? I’ve had to live with this and I think if you’ve made it a year here, you will be able to live with it, too: asshole tattoo. You can imagine that I don’t want to know more about asshole tattoos. I do not think someone was thinking, hmm, how many assholes (meaning people who are jerks, idiots, morons) have tattoos? No, I take it as a literal search for tattoos on people’s assholes. First of all, OUCH and second, DUMB and third, if you want a tattoo on your asshole, you’ve come to the wrong place–begone with ye!

Thanks for coming along for the ride this year. Who knows, I may post again before we see the dawn of 2012, but ciao for now and thank you.

With tres mucho love, twinkly

this one is from the uber-tacky, red-and-white tiled bathroom at Five Guys Burger and Fries on Cape Ann

*for some reason, this seems like I’m talking about my maidenhead: why, Santy Claus, why?

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