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.