Waking up to not being okay with any of it.

Brr! The chill in Albuquerque's air has brought me to a level I thought I would never, ever go. I bought a flannel. No, trust me, I know. It's the worst kind, even. The kind you pay too much for at Urban Outfitters. But dudes, it's cold. And I'm Canadian. So, cut me some slack.


I am so over Jordan Catalano.

You know what else I'm so over? Quinceañeras. A family tried to run off without paying their balance at the El Rey tonight. Daniel and me pretty much had to chase them down in the parking lot. Worst part was the family seemed so nice prior to the incident. It was a pretty okay Quince. The band was really good, as far as Quince bands go, the crowd was super-family oriented and my old buddy Colin stopped by. But their complete 180 did the same thing to my night. Man, am I ever grumpy.

All this Ataris-speak has got me in a super-nostalgic music mood. How much music have you forgotten about? I've forgotten A LOT. It's been good to get reacquainted with old friends.


I hope holiday merriment was had by all. I spent the day alone, for the most part. Mom was supposed to come into town, or I was supposed to go out there, but neither happened. So, I sat at home with about $60 worth of cookie making supplies and super-baked while watching Jackass. Didn't leave my house or change out of my PJ's all day.



Party Boy + cookies = Happy Holidays.

I normally make attainable goals for New Years resolutions. Last years goals were to: learn french, swim in a ocean, buy a new computer, pay rent and find a steady job. So, 2 out of 5? Meh. My only solid commitment for 2009 is to stop texting while driving. I'll probably tack finishing a novel and some sort of exercise routine on there.

Oi to the World.

Norad's Santa Tracker has him currently in Redding, California.

Joyeux Noël!

Christmas blogging present: That last Ataris story made me want to recount my other amazing Ataris story, which happened when I saw them on the So Long, Astoria tour. Man, was it ever an odd bill. That was the first and only time I saw Planes Mistaken for Stars. Me and Maria hung out in the back of the Sunshine for most of it, but decided to charge the front when they played good ol San Dimas. We get right to the front when the band's throwing out guitar picks/set lists/unused bottles of water/etc. The girl standing in front of us, who is the poster child for Pretty in Punks everywhere (complete with meathead boyfriend) catches Chris "Kid" Knapp's sweaty drumming towel and starts swinging it around like an idiot. Now, it's important to know that I thought Kid Knapp wuz teh CUTEST. Maria knows this, looks around quickly, swipes the towel out of the girls' hands and books it for the back of the venue. I'm in shock, turn to run with her, but get caught by meathead boyfriend who shoves me to the ground. I get up and yell at him, because clearly, I did not steal his girlfriend's towel. But he's unapologetic (this is why I have no guilt over the incident). I blow it off and make my way to the back of the venue to be herded out like cattle through the exit. When I get to the bar, Maria appears out of nowhere, like a dang unibomber, with her hoodie hood pulled up over her face so no one could see her.

"Hey," she says.

"Do you still have it?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"Can I see it?"

"No way, not until we're outta here."

Maria rules. Still have that towel.

Whitney, don't you understand that what I say is true?

The Ataris played a very significant role in the development of my punk rockerness. And it had seriously been about 3 years since one of their songs turned up on my iPod. Until, my drive home on Sunday. I listened to Blue Skies and Broken Hearts, End is Forever AND Anywhere But Here. It completely blew my mind that now, almost nine years after those albums entered my CD changer (because back in high school, I totally rocked a CD changer in my room), I still knew all the words. Every, single, word. I guess they played an even more significant role than i had previously thought.

I remember meeting them at Warped Tour back in 2001. If I looked hard enough, I'd probably find a really good photo of me and Kris Rowe, their lead singer, that he took. That was the first time I ever met "rock stars" that made me go awkward. In fact, it would be one of the last times. Most of the time if I see someone in a band that I super-like, I tend to not talk to them, downright avoid them, instead of having that unbearably awkward two minute conversation about how much their band, like, chaaaaaaanged your life. Because, no matter how put it, it still seems prefabricated. At least in my brain. So, I just walk right on by. Except for the time I sort of met Matt Freeman and babbled incoherently for about 30 seconds. He smiled politely and walked away. Brain would explode if I ever met Tim Armstrong. ANYWAY tangent police, they were all pretty awesome dudes and it gave me hope that "rock stars" were just like meeee: 16, brokenhearted and grabbing at any piece of self identity I could find.

Trust me, I know, in the standard definition of "good music", they fall a little short. And while my 24-year-old self, complete with Radiohead discography and elitist indie-centric podcasts (that's a term...), wants to never wants to hear San Dimas High School Football Rules again, that broken and incomplete 16-year-old is completely winning out. There's such satisfaction in the little things that can teleport you to another place or time. And while I fully remember how disenchanted with the world I was when I was 16, I don't seem to remember those parts when I listen to the Ataris.

So, thanks guys.

So hey, remember that part up there when I said I was driving home on Sunday? Well, I did that! The one guy in Tucumcari who fixes radiators gave me a brand-spanking-new one. And I was OUT OF THERE. Barely even said g'bye to family, I just bolted for the door. It's not that I dislike spending time in Tucumcari, with step-siblings and such, it's that it wasn't my choice to be there. I was so ready for my own bed and some high-quality alone time.

You should see the hole in my radiator. It looks like someone shot it with a riffle. I'm still in disbelief. A freaking tumblweed?


On the last day of me Angie's trip to San Francisco, we both made a sort of pilgrimage. We went to Berkeley so I could visit 924 Gilman, the venue that launched Operation Ivy, Green Day, NOFX and pretty much any other punk rock outfit from the Bay Area. And then we went to the Castro, birthplace of the American Gay Rights Movement. I didn't know much about it then, but knowing what I know now, I'm so glad that I did that.


Milk is so good. It's too good, maybe. Everything about it is a labor of love, from the film stock selections to the set design to the music to the performances (oh my sweet Daniel Desario!). It's the sort of thing you watch and you know that every person involved, down to the guy who got the coffee, was completely enamored with what they were doing. It made me want to simultaneously punch and hug the world. It's also worth noting what Harvey Milk said, about giving people hope. You've got to give them hope. Sounds very, very, very familiar.

I cannot recommend that movie any higher. Please see it.

Got Christmas plans? If not, come on by. I probably won't make it to my mom's, thanks to mother nature. So, I'm planning on baking and some kind of movie/television marathon. Right now, it's a toss up between My So Called Life or Cameron Crowe. You pick.

Drinking beer in a Circle K bathroom.

Turns out there is ONE guy in Tucumcari who fixes radiators. His shop is "somewhere behind the feedlot". But since it's Tucumcari, my dad's assistant somehow knows him. So, he's coming by later to take a look.

Good thoughts, please. I'd really like to get home. :/

So, about this shoe being thrown at the President... I gotta tell you, I was somewhat impressed. Really, ninja-like ducking reflexes. I told Tyler it was probably the first time I was genuinely impressed by an action of our President. Guess those months in the Coast Guard paid off. (I'm a little disappointed by the responses on Pundit Kitchen. Come on, guys! This is lolgold!)

In job news, really, someone needs to pay me to blog. I'm not quite sure how you go about this. Maybe I could mention AMAZING, REVOLUTIONARY PRODUCTS, or talk about CONTROVERSIAL, WORLD-ALTERING STORIES. But, I think I do that anyway.

Linking. That's the ticket. Link as many things as you can possibly link. Link.

Safety.

On my drive home, my truck slayed at least 30 tumbleweeds. Maybe more.

The problem is, one tumbleweed slayed my truck.

And now I'm stuck in Tucumcari with a radiator leak.

It's important to note that Tucumcari doesn't have a single mechanic who repairs radiators.

S.O.S.

Monopoly banking.

(The first thing I've ever wanted to steal from my grandma.)
My grandmother is seriously the queen of all that is a grandmother. She batters me with conservative wisdom, she pesters me to get married and find a good job. But she also makes me hot cocoa and keeps her comments about my sleeping in to a minimum. A minimum. I sprung out of Pampa. But overall, taking grandma to the Nutcracker ballet in Amarillo, Texas was a bearable experience. It's important to note that the production of the Nutcracker was in the Amarillo Civic Center. And right down the hall, at the exact same time, there was a Gun and Knife Show.

America.

And now, I'm back in Norman, Oklahoma. Tomorrow, I'm going for a merit test and my alcohol server's permit. Mattlahoma moved and is now living with 3 other boys. I don't need to describe conditions (or the bathroom), you already know. I'm sure of it. With my frequent trips to Norman, the spare bedroom in Matt's parents house had come to be known at Cat's Room. I certainly miss that comfort. And Matt's mom. That lady rules.

Even though you wouldn't believe me if I told you, there are good people here with tremendously large hearts. And I am grateful to all of them.

It's been super cold here. And I did not pack accordingly (thanks, weather.com). And there's a chance of a small scale ice storm on Thursday, the day I was planning on leaving. I guess it's only fair. I did manage to drive all the way to Canada in the dead of winter with almost no weather issues. Can't help but feel like I'm still owed a few snow-free travel days, though. It okay Momma Nature, I know you don't operate on a barter system.

I know that I have this awesome D80 and I love it with all my heart. But, sometimes, I don't feel like lugging my D80 and its ultra protective case with me everywhere I go. I miss being able to capture those amazing spur of the moment photograph opportunities. I feel like the D80 makes all of my pictures sort of planned out. Hence, I'm still considering investing in another point and shoot. Is this bad?

I feel like if I could only take a few steps forward, my full-fledged adult life would be right in my grasp. But those steps are through the most disgusting mud I've ever seen. So, I'd much rather totter on the edge, regardless of how unbalanced it makes me feel. If only I knew how to jump.

That's how it works.

To the ballet, I go. The Nutcracker ballet, that is. With my grandmother in Amarillo. I'll be out of town for a week or so, journeying on to Oklahoma for a merit test (as if there was even a question...), my Oklahoma alcohol server's license and some premature house hunting. We'll see. I'm sort of dreading this so-called business trip, so I hope I'll be able to have some fun.

Appropriately entitled Cat in a Car, I'd read my twitter while I'm gone. I'm hilarious when I'm under 140 characters.

Please Don't Walk Away.

Happy Holidays.

Talk about domestication, I decorated my house and baked enchiladas in the same night. This, is completely unheard of. It's amazing the lengths I'll go to procrastinate about editing my cover letter. Again. For the 19th time. (No really, 19 saved drafts on my computer.) Above photograph is a clear demonstration of job search frustration. Take notice of the frazzled hair and under-eye bags.

Last week, I babysat a film crew in the El Rey. Men Who Stare at Goats used the theater for catering and costuming. Catering was the buzzword in my agreement to babysit. I knew it would be an early morning, but I had no idea I'd have to be at the El Rey at FOUR IN THE FREAKING MORNING. And I certainly didn't have a clue that I wouldn't get out of there until SEVEN THIRTY IN THE FREAKING NIGHT. You film people are crazy. People, especially of a certain age, seem to have a hard time understanding why I have a film degree and yet so reluctant to work on a film set. FOUR IN THE FREAKING MORNING, that's why. For my efforts, I got to watch the entire first season of Arrested Development (Steve Holt!) with limited interruption and a to-go box full of probably the best salmon I've ever eaten in my life.

Side note: The costume people for that movie are meanies. The second they walked in the El Rey, they started talking shit about it. Trust me, I'm aware that she's seen better days, but come on now. I wish I could go to all their houses and insult them. I threw down some pretty vicious lady eye daggers and their insults seemed to go away. Or at least, out of my earshot.

I've been a bit of a solitary primate lately, since my boyfriend's lost in an abyss of finals and I seem to be operating on the complete opposite sleep schedule than anyone else I know. But, Sunday I caught up with Jennifer and walked the Rinconada Canyon Trail off of Unser. Pretty good day; I sort of forget how close all that stuff is. If anyone's got a day off this week (or wants to take one), let's go up to Chaco. My treat.


Because this place is pretty great.

It's cold in my house. But I'd much rather burrow under blankets than pay PNM any more money.

I know we're all super excited to see Milk, but if I were you, I would not go see it in a Cinemark theater. It's showing at High Ridge, though.

PS. And on that note...

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die

You shoulda putta ring on it.

I'm lost in a world of resumes and job applications. As I told Angie a few days ago, I hate talking about myself. I actually hate myself by this point. I would never hire me. And while, yeah, I rarely get up before noon and I spend about 90% of my day indoors, I'm working probably harder than I have in months. It is emotionally retarding to fill out job application after application. "Please give an example of a challenging situation at work in which you were in a leadership role. Please list the process you used to handle the situation.... Step One: EAT A BAG OF..." Crap makes me miserable. Please, job, show your face.

To counteract my stress level, I've been diving into the creative. 'Member ye olde novel I mentioned a few months back? Still going, almost 300 pages strong. That word document, regardless of fluff-content and grammar errors, makes me glow with pride. Just knowing that I'm come that far is a pretty awesome thing.

I've also started breaking out the 16mm again. Taking a note from Brakhage, I've been playing around with the yards of leader I have. I've been cutting up 35mm single shot negatives and taping them onto clear leader. My mom found some MRIs of her brain from about 10 years ago that she gave to me, and I'll probably do the same thing to them. It probably won't amount to much (or look like anything, really) but it's nice to have that process back. And it sure does eat up some hours.

Drink till you feel alright.

This Thanksgiving was one of the best I think I've ever had. I started celebrating early on Wednesday night, by hanging out with friend-family at the Anderbenmans. It was a small group, but it's safe to say I loved every person in that room. It felt very Holiday-like and it got me in a great mood. On actual Thanksgiving, I went to my mom's, where the two of us made all the usual sides, along with turkey and green chile pizza, which was a quite successful experiment. So hey, if you're looking for something awesome to do with leftover bird, I'd do that.

On the level of things I'm thankful for, I think the award goes to this little one:


Her name is Olive.

Oliver still hasn't come home and Mom decided it would be good to get another cat. Originally named Daisy, she's five months old and was surrendered to the Westside animal shelter. I picked her out because as soon as she climbed into my arms, she started purring. In fact, I don't think she's stopped purring since. Really, she is the sweetest kitten. She adapted to my mom and her house in under five minutes, like she was always supposed to be there. She might win prizes in cuteness, but her real award is for making my mom smile.




I've been in crazy cleaning mode lately. Room's clean, I scrubbed down the bar on Monday, and I attacked my bathroom last night. Not quite sure why...

Burning thing.

Just so you know,

The rest of that gel stuff they shoved into my thumb fell off today.

You're welcome.

Hands back to the Ground.

San Jon, New Mexico.

I sort of love that some of the oldest technology in the world will become the savior of the energy crisis.


It comes in threes. First, Annie, then Mohammad, now Oliver Twist, my mother's dear fat cat has gone missing in Edgewood. This is not the place you want to loose a cat. He'd been roaming around a little outside, in an effort to curb the heartbreak of losing his brother Mohammad a few months ago. He didn't come home Thursday night. Both Kyle (who earns immense bonus points for his efforts in Operation Oliver) and I combed the land around my mom's on Friday and today, no trace of him at all. We also posted fliers all over town and the neighborhood. Fingers and toes are crossed.

When my family moved to Raton from Edgewood, my beloved dogs Fred and Sally escaped from a kennel by gnawing through chainlink fencing. Fred, our wild black lab, was found a week and a half later, skinny and begging for food. Sally, my malamute/german shepherd cross, was found six weeks later, waiting patiently for us to come home, in front of a gate that looked exactly like that of our former home.

So, the point is, my family is capable of pet recovery miracles. I hope most that somehow, Oliver will make his way back to my mom's house. But, a lot of my hope has turned to him not suffering, where ever he is. I'm glad it's warmer tonight.

My body's crying for a road trip. Being paid for not going to work and low gas prices make it very possible that I will next update my blog in Oklahoma. Or Kentucky. Or Michigan. Or Wyoming.

(Oh yeah, thumb's healing up okay. It's sort of gross and smells pretty bad. You try not washing your thumb for 8 days and see how awesome it looks.)

This isn't happening.

brb, taking pictures of abandoned water sheds.

Actually. brb, In Tucumcari. Mostly on a photographic mission, but it looks like I'll crank out some high quality job hunting while I'm here. I spent today in Clovis, exploring the Norman & Vi Petty Rock 'N' Roll Museum. In case you didn't know, Buddy Holly and Roy Orbison recorded in Clovis, New Mexico. You can't make this up. After museum, I wandered about town and clicked away at run down grain elevators and sprinkler systems. I love D80. So much.

Also, love this one.

Riding fast, living slow.

The problem with owning a D80 and having too much free time (ha, there's a problem if I've ever heard one...) is that I have far, far too many pretty pictures to post. I guess I'll get around to it, but I'm mostly thinking I think I need to devote to a flickr account instead of being photonerd on blogger ("Seeee? Do you see the way the light hits the dirt and the way lens flare..."). So, look for that in the coming days.

Regardless, have TEMPE!


We (Ashley, Joel, Casey, Myself. Which shouldn't be capitalized, but it looks odd if I don't) went to Tempe for the sole purpose of seeing Ben Folds. Really, we drove straight to the venue, then hotel, did a little playing, then turned around and went home. BUT. Do not dare think that we did not have fun.


FOR STARTERS, look at the dang bathroom key in Gallup. How is that not fun?!?


Well, I guess Casey didn't think it was fun. But I certainly did.


For ADDED FUN, I brought the Fountain Hat, purchased in Fountain, Colorado back in August. (It's important to note that I was a little confused to be going... west instead of.... north. Also confusing was not having Marky with me.)



DAMMIT, CASEY. HAVE SOME FREAKING FUN.


We ate at Jack in the Box in Flagstaff. Even though I'm not informed that there's a way to Phoenix that's actually an hour shorter if you don't go through Flagstaff, Sourdough Jacks are probably worth the trip.


Like I said, we went straight to the venue. The venue's website scared us because it told us to allow an hour to park. AN HOUR? Where is the show? SAN DIEGO?!? But, since it was at ASU's performing arts building and since it's impossible to park at UNM, we took the website on its word. It took us less than a minute to park. And we were within 50 feet of the front door. WHAT. But, it gave us time to explore ASU just a bit, find a bathroom and a Starbucks.

Now, the show itself also started at 6:30, which still makes no sense to me. The openers were called Rueben's Accomplice, a local Tempe who are also opening for Jimmy Eat World (a Mesa favorite) on their Clarity x 10 tour (complete side note: SHOOT ME NOW, I'm so excited about that). Now, okay, I think whoever the college promoter went, "These guys play piano. Ben Folds plays piano. They will sound good together." No, college promoter, no. INCORRECT. While the band gets bonus points for having luminarias as stage lighting, they lose just as many for bringing their own bedroom lamp. Sup, Danny Winn.

And Ben, oh, Ben was spectacular. He's the king of doing exactly what you don't expect. A few weeks before Way to Normal was released, he leaked fake versions of the songs, that he spent a weekend recording. As a joke. And as he explained, he ended up really liking them. So, he played quite a few of them. He also played about half of Way to Normal, then took a promised short break, came back, and played some good, old stuff. Casey FINALLY started having fun when Ben broke out Underground. He also played Kate (since I am, in fact, a lady, I was quite happy) and directed us for Not the Same.

In the words of Joel, he knows how to play the fuck out of a show. When I saw him back in January, he was still finishing the new album and still working it out on stage. He talked a lot more, so it seemed more personal, but this time, he let his music talk for him. Seeing a performer like that, who just oozes talent, is always so inspiring. You can't help but feed off him, regardless of the circumstances. You could tell that he was having the time of his life. I think it would be easy for music like Bens, being heard in a performance hall, to take a snotty turn. But he's always nothing but pure fun. And he wants everyone else to have fun, too. And we all certainly did.

We got a motel room for the night and slept in. The next morning held wondrous treasures.



Animal fries.

There's something so fulfilling about eating at In N Out Burger. I know half of the appeal is the fact that it's not in New Mexico. But, it's probably the only fast food in the country that you actually feel good after you eat it. Almost like you're proud of yourself.


Oh no, Casey's having fun.

And by Casey having fun, that means shopping for action figures. In his quest for Red Hulk, we hit up a Tempe Target (and later, a Mesa Target, where I became convinced I'd run into Jim Adkins buying the same Red Hulk). Sadly, no Red Hulk, but Casey found a new bed.


And a new executive office.


He fired Ashley.

We went to Starbucks in the Target and the girl working there was nice. I mean, oddly nice. First, she complemented Ashley's hair, then my camera, then she started giving us free Odwalla.


Apparently, this is the face I make when someone gives me free Odwalla.

Now, I don't actually like Odwalla. Blasphemy, I know, but it makes me feel like I'm drinking a little bit of puke. And I KNOW, boba's a way worse vomit-esqe sensation, but I'm not here to make excuses for my drink preferences. I think the face was moreso a reaction to actually getting something for free at Starbucks. Really. When does that ever happen?


This is Joel's reaction to free things from Starbucks, buuuut...


I personally think this brings the rofls.

SO. Kyle told me this story about Casey knowing how to climb a palm tree. Guess what they have in the parking lot of the Tempe Target?


Pre-game.


Launch.


Conquistador.

After Target, Ashley and I convinced Joel and Casey that they really wanted to go pedal-boating in the Tempe town lake.


So, we did that.

I clearly, had the time of my life. But, pedalboating is actually a little exhausting. I wasn't expecting that.




We got to pedal through and around three bridges.


Ashley left a permanent signature from us: "I <3 Jesus".


Swallows nests were all over the bridges. They sort of gross me out.

After that and another Target, we had the grandest intentions of checking out a local arcade, but we decided to head home instead. Pedaling's haaaaard.


We stopped at a majestic cacti north of Tempe. Only so I could take its picture.


Flipping postcard! I luff D80.


Bonus mini cacti with large cacti stop.


Magestic Highway Whale.

Now, a curious thing started happening about half an hour outside of Flagstaff. Casey, our trip DJ, started playing the sort of songs that require a singalong. Oh, you know, the sort of songs that you pour your heart out on when you're alone in your car. But, we weren't alone this time around.


Flagstaff Jack in the Box, again. It's important to note that Joel bought another order of curly fries SOLELY for that picture.

By the time we left Flagstaff and were headed directly east, car singalong took over. It became EPIC CAR ROCK OUT '08. It sort of started out of no where, but every song Casey played became more and more epic. And while you would think the later it got, the slower things got, you would be absolutely wrong. The later it got, the more committed we got. Around Acoma, Casey broke out the DASHBOARD CONFESSIONAL and we all about lost our minds during "Hands Down". While I wished I had bought a D90 so I could record the merriment, sometimes it's best that certain things stay in the car. I'm sure reviewing our EPIC CAR ROCK OUT when we weren't so tired and roaded, would take away the magic.


The last time I was in Phoenix-metro was three and a half years ago. I was so fresh off heartbreak, still feeling daggers. It was a little sour to go back there. But, I had such a great time with such great people. It's amazing the difference a few years can make. You're okay, Arizona. Just learn to cool down once in a while. And take back John McCain. Thanks.

Lordy, don't you know?

Best/worst story ever. I cut off the tip of my finger at the El Rey last night. I was cutting limes, not paying attention, and whaaaack. The actual act didn't hurt at all, but a few seconds later was pretty brutal. Thanks, citrus. It bled. A lot. Marky went into manager mode and ran down to the Central Market for Tylenol and bandages and Daniel went into security mode with first, making me clean it (mother of GOD, that hurt, too) and wrapping it up for me. I decided to not go to the emergency room mostly because it wasn't that severe. I went to Urgent Care this morning and they shoved gel foam in my thumb and cleaned it, told me to take Tylenol. It'll grow back eventually, so I hear.

But, for a while, I'll a have a thumb mummy. If you're interested in carnage, I'd click here. Tempe blog is up and coming, but this was too awesome to not post about.