‎"...a little 'trouty', but quite good" ~ Eve Kendall, North By Northwest

Thursday, July 30, 2009

because technically I'm a mommy blogger, here's one about the kids

Somewhere on the internet may be this post/tweet -

"overheard: I shut Studley's fingers in the door today, but got the wrong hand."

I was on my way to a meeting (a meeting with a childcare room, yay!) and I noticed the gigantic, metal entry door was closing behind me with some resistance. Ahem. Before I had a chance to give it a good tug, I heard the whimper.

Studley may be many things (streaker, cross-dresser, conspirator), but he is not a sissy. The kid will fall, say "um, ow?" and then the next day have a bruise the size of Tibet. So he is fine. More fine than me, in fact. I couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't stop shaking. And then I realized I may have actually asked for this.

Many, many moons ago, when Sugarplum was a baby, she sucked her toe. Not her thumb. Not the ear of a stuffed bunny rabbit. Her toe. It was a traffic-stopper, let me tell you. It went on for a couple years and then we asked her to please just suck her toe when she was going to sleep and not, you know, in church or at school or on a date. Which was fine except we didn't know how to get her through that last phase of the habit, since she'd suck her toe in her sleep.

And then one day, Chris smashed her foot in the door at the music store. I wasn't there, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't on purpose since he's even worse around blood than me. I came home from work and he stopped me in the driveway and told me all about it, so I'd be prepared. In the evening, we gave her toe a good cleaning in the tub and wrapped it up nicely in Barbie band-aids. That's when I realized it was The Toe. I don't remember now if it was right or left, but she had a preference and this was It.

She freaked out a bit when she climbed in bed and realized what was happening. We reminded her that she had just started school and the Barbie band-aid was a reminder of what a big girl she was. Although the toe healed very quickly, we kept the bandaids on for a week or two. And it worked.

I love saying things to Chris like "well the next time you feel like smashing one of the kids with a door..." because he is the pacifist of the family and it makes him run sobbing from the room. He is a sweet man and he deserves better, it's true. I also may have possibly said, "when it's time for Studley to stop sucking his fingers, can you take him on some errands with you? Maybe to the music store?" And he runs sobbing from the room again.

So today I'm sitting in my meeting and it occurs to me that I just pulled a door shut on Studley's fingers and I quietly say "excuse me, I need to check on my son."

"Studley," I say, "which hand did mommy smash to smithereens?"

"This one," he says, raising his hand without looking up from his puzzle.


Wednesday, July 29, 2009

The Jell-o Gelatin Salad Selector


So the other day I was at my mom's house and I saw this book and said "hey mom, can I have this?" And she said of course I could have it and did I need any jell-o molds?

I told her I had all the molds I needed. I did not tell her I do not have a single mold and was mostly taking the book so that she would not make me eat anything out of it.

To be fair, I also wanted it for its design sense. It's been a long time since I owned a book with spinning pages. And I don't think I've ever owned a book with pictures quite like these. It will be kept on the coffee table.

Each page features a meat-related question, such as "are you making pork chops tonight?" And even though the answer for us is "no," how can one resist turning the little wheel to discover the Jell-O options that pair nicely with pork chops?

These salads have names like Banana Greens, Carrot Cheese Ring, Saucy Yogurt Salad and Hawaiian Harvest. Shown with the ham is Pineapple Lime Temptation.

Unfortunately, we have to skip these recipes since we don't eat much meat. We are, as our friend Jacob calls us, Flexitarians. In other words we tell people we are vegetarians if they look like they're about to make ham with a Carrot Cheese Ring. We tell my mother we are vegetarians.

We frequently eat fish, and would be especially intrigued if it were served with Cucumber Dill Slice (shown in the little window there on the right). Is there anything cucumber dill jell-o doesn't go with? It's like the little black dress of side-dishes. To be fair, Lemon Crisp Salad, with its scallions and celery is equally tempting.

On the hamburger page is a recipe for Tomato Aspic. My mother made tomato aspic once when I brought Chris over before we were married. It is made with lemon gelatin, tomato juice, horseradish and onion. He married me anyway.

Just across from the hamburgers is a Longhorn Salad. Doesn't that corn and scallion mixture look delicious suspended in lemon gelatin? Don't forget the steak sauce. It's not Longhorn Salad without it.

I have to say, I've never been much of one for steak. I think maybe because it always looked just like the steak in the picture. It's unfortunate, because that's the page with the most intriguing recipes, including Asparagus Castle, French Bean Basket and Ranch Relish Salad . Would Asparagus Castle go with something like, say, Pad Thai?

Now if you are having Jell-O recipe book envy, don't fret or stew (stewed tomatoes are divine in strawberry gelatin, btw), because they are still available out there on the internets. I just googled it so it must be so. And if you really want one of the recipes but don't want to buy the book (it's almost $5), feel free to email my mother.

Bon appetit.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

100 days

The kids, professors, casual passersby and squirrels at my niece's college campus have all signed on to a 100 day commitment. I love stuff like that.

They all pick something they want to work on - flossing every night, reading the paper every morning, being grateful for something during the day - and do it every day for 100 days. Long enough to develop new habits, but short enough to actually sign on for.

I heard about this a month or so ago, and spent my first 30 days trying to think of what I should commit to. I figure if I have to remember to do something every day, it should be good. It should make my life better.

It should not be blogging because I tried that with NaBloPoMo and failed spectacularly.

I thought about what annoys me most about me (I do not recommend this practice), and came up with "holy mackerel, how did I get so disorganized?" You know that scene in Borat, where he goes in the antique shop and every time he tries to catch something he knocks over another huge display? I feel like that is my life these days. I never seem to get caught up, and some areas of our lives are just too daunting to even look at.

Therefore, I'm spending the next 100 days being organized. I am doing a little something every day so I don't get scared and spend 96 of those days hiding under my bed. My last day is November 1, by which time I had better be a shining example of organizational glory or I want my 100 days back.

They say it takes 28 days to develop a new habit. Does it take that long to break an old habit? I have a bunch of old habits I'd like to break, please.

What would you do with your 100 days?

Monday, July 27, 2009

shiny trinkets, pizza and cowry shells

When my nephew was visiting a couple years ago, he said something about eating for free at our friends' restaurants and getting stuff for free at our friends' stores. I tried to tell him that we went to these places to support our friends, not to freeload off them. That we do indeed pay for things. He didn't seem to understand and kept at it until I, in a hormonal fit, declared "Favorite Nephew, NOTHING IS FREE ON CAPE COD."

So of course ever since then, everything's been free.

And now I understand, to people who do not live in a bartering community, it may look a little weird.

Most of it is thanks to Chris. If our friends have a problem with anything that plugs in, Chris puts on his super hero cape and rescues them. He goes beyond the call of duty in many cases. For instance, once he set up a VPN (virtual private network) for a client via conference call. In a delivery room. While I was in labor. He wasn't being insensitive, they really needed him. And I was okay with it because I knew I'd get some mileage out of the story.

So he goes and gets people up and running - in snow, rain, heat and gloom of night. And the next time we're out and about, those people remember how nice Chris was and pick up the tab. It's kind of awesome because I just sit back and tell delivery room stories while he does all the work.

The great thing about barter is not all the "free stuff." After all, it pretty much all comes out the same in the end. The great thing about barter is that it creates a community.

You remember things you are given more than things you buy.

A Harvard psychology class, Positive Psychology, was the most popular class they had in 2006. May still be. One of the things they did (I have no idea where I heard this, so you'll just have to trust me) is take $5 and spend it on themselves. The next week, they took $5 and did something for someone else. Later, they couldn't remember what they had spent on themselves, but they did remember what they had done for others.

You do enough of this kind of thing and the next thing you know, everywhere you go there are people who feel warm and fuzzy when they see you (or your husband, as the case may be). And that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy and less inclined to be agoraphobic.

It also impresses the out-of-towners.

So yes, Favorite Nephew, everything is free. It's as free as you make it. You contribute what you have, do your best, tell the truth and work hard. And then say thank you when it all comes back to you.

But the next time you say "everything's free on Cape Cod," I'm charging you $5.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Farmer Trout

I have become somewhat pragmatic lately, so when Landscaper to the Stars asked what kind of garden I wanted to put in, I voted for vegetables. She proceeded to design us a garden that looks nothing like a vegetable garden: curved beds, circular paths, a funny little amoeba-shaped island. It would be quite at home at an English manor.

Thinking of how things usually grow around here, I planted as usual (read: overplanted), not imagining the plants would eventually grow over the borders, up the side of the house and down the hill. It is a good year for vegetables at Chez Trout.* Chris is bent out of shape because he can't mow the paths anymore. His lawnmower is apparently not in the mood for squash leaves. Squash leaves that are the size of bath mats.

We are a little sick of zucchini.

But this post is not about zucchini muffins, zucchini cookies and zucchini pizza. It is about corn.

Those of you who have been around for longer than, say, a day or two, know that we have some chickens. Chickens who let us pet them. Chickens who have silly names. Who live in coops that look like a tea house and the Hirshhorn. You may also remember that we don't know the first thing about raising chickens.

We also don't know the first thing about raising vegetables, which is why it's so funny to see corn growing next to our front door. There's something iconic about cornstalks. Twelve corn plants have somehow sent us over the edge into Hardcore Agrarian. Did you know that the ears of corn grow out of the SIDES of the stalk, not out of the top? I was all "yes, but where's the CORN?" and then I noticed some tufty bits on the side. Who knew?

We walk through the vegetable/flower garden (there's a zinnia poking up out of the tomatillos) to get into the house. I find this incredibly gratifying. It's like if you built shelves in your livingroom and moved your whole pantry there - housed in attractive containers, of course. I happen to find looking at an abundance of edibles soothing. And decorative.

However, even with the unexpected bounty, I can't imagine how people live off this stuff. In the middle of winter I have visions of how I'll feed the family the vegetables we've grown and we'll spend something like $4 a month on things like flour and sugar. So far, we've eaten lettuce, snap peas and zucchini. Oh, and about 14 leaves of spinach before it bolted.

I guess what I'm saying is, it's all really groovy and fun and gratifying, but it's also kind of useless and if there's any way we can collectively put off Armageddon so I don't have to eat slugs, I'd be grateful.

*except for the eggplants, which are still on the phone to INS, asking to be deported.

Friday, July 24, 2009


Dear Universe,
Next time the director of this theater (who is also the son of this historian) drops by Trout Towers, could you please make sure I've changed out of my pajamas?

Thank you.

(Last house guest left today, which is sad. I am doing laundry and then will hopefully remember how to write. Am experiencing small, blog-related, crisis of faith. Perhaps sleep will help.)

Monday, July 20, 2009

Kathleen Edwards

This is not a post about music. It is a post about math skills.

The other night, mere minutes after inviting the Midnight Gardener to a Trout Towers redneck beachfire,* I was asked to sell merchandise for Kathleen Edwards. So I ate one last s'more and then abandoned the Midnight Gardener, the Upstairs Neighbors and A#1 Houseguest, who is staying for the week. I am such a terrific hostess, no? "Hey, come on over! I'm just leaving!"

The band set me up with a table and told me how much the t-shirts and cds are. They gave me a list of inventory and showed me where to mark what I sold. Easy. During the next few hours, I listened to Kathleen Edwards (who I liked more than I thought I would**) and sold t-shirts and cds. I added up multiples of $25 and $15, in every configuration imaginable. It is the most math I've done in ages.

At the end of the night, I reconciled. Imagine my pride at discovering we had the right number of cds AND the right amount of money. Kind of amazing, really.

Then I discovered that they actually PAY you to stand behind a table and listen to music. Someone who works with the band came up and pulled out a pile of money. I was all set to say, "oh, can I just have a t-shirt?" because the girl shirts were groovy. But he was peeling off more money than I expected (I thought the shirt might be pushing it, honestly) so I piped down. He gave me $5 extra because he didn't have the right change. So I thought, well I'll just buy a t-shirt and we'll be even. But I couldn't figure out how much to give him. That's right, all my math was used up and I couldn't figure out what $25 plus a $5 non-credit was to save my life (answer: not $20).

Apparently I have a 3 hour cap on my math skills. So if I invite you over to toast marshmallows, I will have no idea how many you've eaten if you stay long enough.

Because I won't be there.

* we build a fire in the abandoned woodstove and sit around in the driveway, toasting marshmallows and watching fireflies. We are classy.

** she plays something akin to country, which I generally dislike. But she has smart, fun songs and now I think I love her. I wrote a complete review using cheese doodle heiroglyphs, but the kids ate it.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

blaming Brighton

Last week I had a special delivery message from Brighton. She says, through her diplomatic staff, that all my talk of music is boring. She requests that I please post more pictures of cheese doodles.

This presents two problems:

  1. I am out of cheese doodles
  2. I have seen a lot of music lately
Also, I have company and am very busy being entertaining. When I come up for air, I will write about music in secret code. Unless you'd prefer cheese doodles. If you would prefer cheese doodles, I'll try to get to Trader Joe's. Theirs are the most photogenic.

Mostly, I just wanted you to know that I have not vanished due to a comical, yet tragic hula hooping incident.

Please feel free to weigh in on the music vs. cheese doodle question. Either by diplomatic envoy or in the comments. As you wish.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Sing to ME, Will Dailey

Hey all you Boston area Twitty people!

If you tweet "@willdailey I want you to sing me a song #willdaileyonaboat" before July 25, you could win a ticket to see Will Dailey on the Boston harbor Boat Cruise 7/31. And? he will serenade you. Did I mention how totally dreamy Will Dailey is? He's dreamy.

Don't do what I did, though, and cut and paste the whole thing, quotes and all. I posted it and then said, "hmmm, why does that look so dorky?" So I deleted it, took out the quotes, and tweeted again. Which is fine but now I'm showing up twice and it looks like I'm stuffing the ballot box. Which is not a bad idea.

Monday, July 13, 2009

veritable sea nymphs

Did I mention that last week Mrs. Howell and I had a near-death sailing experience? No? Probably because I was busy hiding under my bed yelling "I wasn't scared!" at anyone who came near.

Last week was our second time out on the water. It was blowing, so we were assigned a mentor to go with us. Note to mentor: I am so, so sorry.

The mentor, who we shall call Our Lady of the Gale, asked which of us was going to be the skipper. Mrs. Howell said "nope, I'm Mrs. Howell" and I said "well then I'm Lovey" and then we both pointed at each other and said "she'll be Skipper." To which Our Lady of the Gale responded, "just please get in the boat." And then she may or may not have taken a valium.

Since Mrs. Howell did the steering thing last time, I figured I should do it this time. So I steered us right into the dock. "Um, not like that," said Our Lady of the Gale. She took the tiller until we were safely clear of the dock.

Aside: I know what a tiller is.

She gave me a little tutorial about which way the boat goes when you do this or that with the tiller. I kind of got it. So she said, "come about!" and I pushed the tiller away from me and woohoo! around we went. Which was great for about 4 seconds until I straightened out and the boat went up on its side. Up. On. Its. Side.

Thinking of tricycles, I figured I was oversteering and was responsible for the imminent tipping over of the boat. After all, it can't be right for a boat to go like that, right? So I pulled the tiller in the opposite direction and Our Lady of the Gale yelled "what are you doing, woman?" except it wasn't her yelling, it was the terrified voices in my head. She was pretty cool, actually. Seeing as we were going to die and all.

Then she did that thing where she was the one steering the boat but making it look like I was doing it. Which was good because if we're going to flip the boat and all die in something like 5 feet of water, at least it would be her fault and not mine.

We did not die. In the brief moment when we were not dying I thought about how I was the one who actually LIKED being on the water and my goodness wasn't Mrs. Howell being brave? I figured she'd be screaming her head off by now.

I looked over and saw she was not screaming her head off because she was paralytic with fear.

Which meant I had to be brave. So I tried to stop being such a sissy about the tiller thing. And when Our Lady of the Gale asked if we'd like to take another run around the markers I said "sure!" in a very tiny voice, hoping she wouldn't hear me. Which she did.

Let it be known that we beat the pants off the other boats.

So now we are approaching our next sailing lesson and what we have is an unspoken double dog dare. I can't look like I'm afraid to get back in the boat because Mrs. Howell can't sail without me (nothing against Mrs. Howell personally, but I think she and I are the kind of sailors who will always be sailing partners because no one else will have us). Mrs. Howell wants to sail, obviously, or she would not have signed us up for sailing lessons. Mrs. Howell is probably sitting up in bed Right Now, clutching her sheets, eyes wide, thinking about our next lesson. But she will not call it off because she knows that without her, I cannot sail. She would also look like a gigantic pansy.

She will act brave. I will act brave. We will not speak of it until we are in a home eating pudding.

I think this is the way great things are accomplished. You act brave and then someone calls your bluff and the next thing you know, there you are, starfished on a boat, hanging on with fingertips, toes and teeth. Chalking up more stories to tell at the home.

You up for another round, Our Lady of the Gale? Cause we? are ready to bring it.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Breakfast of Champions

This morning Studley fixed himself a bowl of strawberry yogurt and Trader Joe's cheese doodles for breakfast.

Friday, July 10, 2009


One of my favorite new art galleries is Farm.

Why do I love it?
  1. It reminds me of my old days of gallery hopping. Which makes me think of brie.
  2. It's a sliver of city-living, dropped by elves onto a small street in a small fishing village.
  3. It makes me feel smart, just being there.
  4. When I'm there I find myself saying "oh! look!" A lot.
  5. They are constantly doing things I wish I had thought of first. For instance, now I want to have vinyl letters placed on my floor so when you walk in the front door you know what's up. Maybe a title like "the effects of gravity on found objects, vol. 1".
There's a new show by May Tveit opening tomorrow. The show is comprised of rolls and bales of colored hay, which can be seen hanging out in random spots around town. Check them out on the Farm blog.

15 Commercial Street
Wellfleet, MA

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Green Eggs and Ham

Some of these posts feel like puzzle pieces.

Sometimes I think if I keep providing puzzle pieces, then eventually a complete picture will emerge and we will all understand my family and how it works. Note to self: Good luck with that.

So instead I will answer one of my own questions, which is "what do you have musicians sign once there are no cds."

In order to tell you about it properly, we have to skip merrily back in time to a trip I took with Sugarplum before Studley graced our stage.

Sugarplum and I were in Vermont and had stopped for lunch at the Simon Pearce studio in Quechee. On our way out, we spotted our friends the Colley's, who were also on vacation. Dana Colley is an amazing saxophone player and was in the band Morphine. I later spent a good bit of time in the car thinking about all the truly fascinating people we've met through the years, and wished I had some way to get it all down on paper.

Coincidentally, and completely unrelatedly, the friends we were visiting in Vermont had a friend who worked at House of Blues. Their friend had a book - a picture book - which people signed when they were in town. So we looked around and chose Green Eggs and Ham as our autograph album of choice. Here are some favorites, in no particular order:

David Lowery (Cracker), Colin Hay (Men at Work), Evan Dando (The Lemonheads), Juliana Hatfield, Frank Black (The Pixies) and Peter Wolf (J. Geils Band)

When Evan Dando was asked to sign he said "ah, The Book" which I take to mean "man, I have really made it NOW."

We started the book as a gift to Sugarplum, and many of the signatures therein are addressed to her. Some people wrote all over the page and added their own stories (Buffalo Tom, I'm looking - gratefully - at you). People have been incredibly, incredibly gracious.

Now we're adding a copy of The Giving Tree for Studley. Since it is empty, we're considering sending it on a road trip of its own, to collect the signatures of friends afar, like Dana Colley and the exquisite Dan Maines of Clutch. We can't possibly send Green Eggs and Ham because how do you insure something like that?

I sure hope these kids appreciate all we do for them. Think of the hours of live music we've endured! The YEARS of nightclubbing! We do, do, do for those little buggers.

Parenthood rocks.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Old Salty

Burning Man called up a week or so ago.

"We can't get our kids into sailing lessons until they turn 8," he said. "I figure we should Tiger Woods them."

He then told me about something called an Opti, how he had gotten one for his kids and how it would be more fun for his kids to learn if our kids learned, too. And then he told me to check my email because he had gone and found another Opti on Craigslist and we should run, not walk, to go get it before someone else beat us to it.

Shortly after this conversation, I found myself at the beach with Burning Man and his family. He put his Opti in the water and took the kids sailing one or two at a time. I had envisioned a boat that could only fit a 6 year old. I thought Sugarplum was going to learn to sail while I dutifully paddled along behind.

Turns out, it holds an adult and two small children (it looks like an octopus in a teacup, but who cares). At one point, Burning Man pulled up to shore with a gigantic smile on his face and said "remember, we're getting them FOR THE KIDS."

And the next thing Chris knows, he's been bullied into driving his truck to the farthest possible point on the Cape from our home, to go pick up a boat of diminutive charm.

Which is how Old Salty came to be part of our family. She is still sitting in the back of the truck, boxed in by lights, speakers and mixing boards, but nevertheless, she is here. I cannot wait to get her out on the water. You know, for the kids.

Assuming no one mistakes her for a planter between now and then.

The thing about all this that is so amazing to me, is that I'm actually doing it. I have habitually been the person who says "yeah, that would be fun" and then not doing it. If it's out of my circle of comfort, I am not much of a go-getter. And yet, I have found myself launched into some pretty awesome things lately.

Like backyard chickens.

And sailing lessons. I wanted to do it for years but always figured you either had to have a boat or a pile of cash. I never even looked into it until Mrs. Howell went and signed me up. I think there's a feeling of "I'm not good enough or grown up enough or rich enough or whatever enough" to do something. And then you find yourself in the middle of it and go "darn it, I could have been doing this for years!"

I used to think I had maybe taken a vow of poverty in a past life. But there's a difference between being attached to material things (or status) and living in a non-impoverished manner. There is so much to do and see and experience. And I'm awfully grateful to the people who have pushed me beyond what I think of as me.

Old Salty, we're going to have an awesome summer.

Saturday, July 4, 2009

don't sit on the potato salad

Chris left me some crumble.

In his defense, it is more than I would have left for him. I'm glad he's nicer than me because it rounded out my meal of side dishes beautifully: potato salad, pasta salad, blueberry crumble. Don't you just love picnic season?

I expect I'll be invited to more parties and cookouts now that I know how to make Rosanne Cash's potato salad. I hesitate to link the recipe because if you know how to make it, too, people might invite you to their parties instead of me. On the other hand, you might look at the recipe and say, "that looks delicious! Let's have a party so Susan will bring us some!" which would be wise because planning a party is soooooo much easier than making a single dish. Believe me. You should do it.

The crumble was also a Smitten Kitchen recipe. I had nectarines and blueberries, so I used them in lieu of rhubarb and strawberries. It was out of this world. I know, because I ate most of it.

I ate most of the part that Sugarplum did not sit in. In her white, flowered sundress.

Now I know you do not come here for tips on housekeeping, or at least you shouldn't, but I just got blueberry stains out of a sundress. A dress that was worn all day before the stain was noticed (pipe down, I was busy). Which makes me some sort of domestic goddess.

I put this detergent directly on the stain and smooshed it around to cover. I threw it in the washing machine in cold water with some of this dissolved in it, and let it soak until I remembered to go check it. And the stain was gone. Completely. Honestly, this stuff is so good it's quite possible that the stain could have gone into the laundry unnoticed (like stains around here usually do) and still come out fine. I know this because Studley has shirts that are clean.

I don't actually sell cleaning products because that would imply some kind of effort on my part.* But I did sign up as a distributor so I could get the discount. I'm good like that. Really, the idea of me selling cleaning products is akin to that nice lady from Cornwall selling her pot harvest in "Saving Grace" i.e. I don't even know what cleaning products are for.**

I do, however, make a mean potato salad.

And I cry easily at parades. I tell you, all the people who spend their time helping other people really get me at times like this. One car with a banner that said "in honor of my grandson, serving in Afghanistan" completely undid me. I also have a weakness for small brass bands. And tap dancers. And cars dressed as bumblebees.

And just to round out the randomness of this post, the following email exchange:

me, to favorite nephew: Hey! we can go to the Demolition Derby at the fair while you're here! Oh wait, it's the day you leave :(

favorite nephew: It's like if I said, "The fair is in town!!! some dorky art ppl are gonna be there along w/ world acclaimed tofu expert! oh wait.......your leaving before it happens."

*If anyone from Headquarters is reading.... hahahaha! I am totally working to sell this stuff! I am just taking a quick break from painting my sandwich board!

** but I do in fact sell them, and if you buy them here your purchase will contribute to the Sugarplum and Studley college fund and/or the sea salt and dark chocolate brownie fund, depending on the size of your order.

Friday, July 3, 2009

The Lemonheads

Last night The Lemonheads invited Chris to record a live show. Not a Grateful Deadesque bootleg recording, a proper multi-track recording. He was delighted and I, frantic with pride, proceeded to flirt with him in a "if I weren't already married to you I would totally stalk you" kind of way. And then I ditched him in favor of Evan Dando.

Not that Evan will even remember meeting me, but I was up in his grill all night. Thusly:

This is one of the fourteen thousand pictures I took of The Lemonheads. The red spot on the right edge of the photo is a jar of maraschino cherries. Evan took the stage carrying two cocktails and an industrial jar of maraschino cherries. These are the kinds of things I notice, which is perhaps why I am not a famous music writer.

Also please note that he is wearing a Joey Mars t-shirt.

Fast forward to 2am, in the luxurious residential suites at Trout Towers. Chris and I are sitting on our bed with dueling laptops, simultaneously editing photos and tracks. We talk about microphones and the levels on the bass guitar track and, you know, other totally normal things that totally normal people talk about. He explains how the microphone that looks like a dimmer switch works. He says something completely hot like, "dang, my laptop can transfer photographs while I mix this song."

And that is why I love him even more than Evan Dando.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

lucky bugger

And the winner is....

Logical Libby!

I asked Lucy to pick a number without peeking at the comments, and she chose the lovely and talented #6.

Congratulations, Libby! Please email me your address so we can get you hooping pronto (trout_towers@yahoo.com).