Work hard, play hard

I'm currently in the middle of a whirlwind week in California. (I hadn't realized quite how fitting the last blog entry's subject would be for this entry, too.) By the time Sunday rolls around, I'll have been in and out of Los Angeles twice, and also briefly in San Diego. I'm based in San Francisco/Palo Alto during the week.

Already accomplished: Farmer's Market, Pinkberry and Tuttimelon, Jon Brion's last Saturday night at Largo, wandering around U's neighborhood in SF, my first Fillmore show (Malkmus!)

To be accomplished by Sunday: Jon's last Friday night at Largo, more Pinkberry (I'm just hoping here, although now I do know there are worthy substitutes), Britt Daniel, and more!

Oh yeah, there's also the middle portion of this, which involves 60 hours of work. Mostly at night. Sleep keeps asking me why I hate it so much.

You always end up in the city

Given all of my travels lately, I’ve been neglecting local shows. I did my best to remedy that situation early this week: hitting three shows in three nights; Monday through Wednesday.



First up was the New Pornographers with Okkervil River. Though Okkervil River opening was a great bonus, I bought the ticket because I love the New Pornographers. It was a little surprising to me, then, that I wound up enjoying Okkervil’s set more than the NP’s on Monday. Not that the New Pornographers played a bad show. I enjoyed it, and “Myriad Harbour” with Will Sheff performing Dan’s parts was completely awesome. It's just that aside from the Okkervil River guest appearances, nothing distinguished this performance for me from any other. The high stage at the Orpheum – about which I’ve never seen a performer fail to comment – isn’t the most conducive to audience interaction. That didn’t seem to bother Okkervil River, though. They played a terrific set, and Will made a definite effort to connect with the crowd.



Tuesday was my first of two Colin Meloy shows, at the Pabst in Milwaukee. The presale treated me well, and I found myself seated in the first row of the pit. Unfortunately, at the Pabst, the front row is a bit too close. Not too close in an “oh, poor me so close to the performer in the front row!” kind of way, but too close in a “my knees are in danger of bumping the stage, and half an hour into the show my neck will start to hurt” kind of way. Nevertheless, it was a fun perspective for a nice night of acoustic songs from Colin. The crowd at the Pabst was a bit more subdued than I was expecting given the usual tone of a Decemberists show, but the Pabst does have a way of hushing people. Discovering Colin’s tour EP of Sam Cooke covers was a nice surprise for me. He’s done a cover EP for each of his solo tours, but for some reason this one totally escaped my notice until I saw it at the merch table. Seeing him duet with opener Laura Gibson on “Cupid” was a lot of fun. Speaking of Laura Gibson, her voice was a great fit with the quiet theatre.



Wednesday was Colin Meloy and Laura Gibson, again, at the Barrymore. It occurred to me before the show that it was the first time I’d ever attended multiple Decemberists or Colin Meloy shows on the same tour, let alone on back to back nights. I was pleasantly surprised by the setlists: Colin only repeated six songs over the two shows. One of those, “Red Right Ankle,” was a request on Wednesday night – so it’s possible a different song was planned in its place. “Red Right Ankle” is always welcome, but I would have loved to hear “Grace Cathedral Hill.” Something tells me the Bay Area may get that next week, when I’m working night shifts mere miles away. Other highlights for me included “Engine Driver” at the Barrymore, and various amusing psychedelic song intros in Milwaukee. I also enjoyed previewing three new songs, which the Decemberists may or may not record. Presumably Colin will learn all the words before that happens.

They're finally up

All of my Australia and New Zealand trip photos, that is.


Feel free to take a look if you've got some time to kill. That's got to be the most photos I've ever sorted through - and hard as it may be to believe, I did actually weed out some duplicates and bad shots. Some.

You can feel it all over

This is where I would normally put a picture I took during last night's wonderful show at the Hotel SnS. Unfortunately, due to a stupid water-spilling move on my part, my camera is out of commission and may be down for the count. So I don't have any photos of last night's show.

But don't cry for me, friends. Even if my fellow basement show revelers hadn't taken enough pictures to go around, the images would still be stamped in my brain for posterity. You don't forget weekends like this one. I'm sure I say something similar every year, and every year it's true.

The fun commenced on Friday night with the Rock 'n Roll Hell party at SnS. I'm very proud of our collective creativity: there was nary an Elvis nor a Janis Joplin in the house. No, a peek into Rock and Roll Hell in Humboldt Park on Friday would have shown Allen Ginsberg chatting with Don Ho as DeeDee Ramone and Waylon Jennings faced off in a Guitar Hero battle, while Laura Branigan, Dusty Springfield, and Mimi Farina discussed pork cheeks with John Philip Sooza. I went as Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes, and although I wasn't forced to sing "Waterfalls," I did brandish my gasoline can and threaten to burn down random people's houses. Sam (or should I say Michael Hutchence?) always has the best party ideas.

Saturday got started seemingly just a few hours after Friday ended, with the annual Hot Doug's outing, followed by the annual baking and cooking and Hotel SnS prepping. I really think our chefs outdid themselves this year, with a truly stunning array of pork-related items among other delicious dishes and desserts. Alison needs to make at least twice as much mac and cheese next time. Same with those oatmeal butterscotch cookies. Evonne wins the creativity prize for the year, though, by making commemorative pot holders for all.

Not long after Jeff and Susan (and Mike and Paula) arrived, the show got underway. It seems like each year's basement show has its own unique vibe - this might have been the "chatty" year. We're all easily distracted, it seems, and somehow managed to spend four-plus hours of concert time singing, playing, telling stories, asking questions, petting dogs, cooing over babies, teasing one another, dancing, and laughing. To focus on the "singing" part of that wonderful amalgam, there were many songs that stood out for me. "More Like the Moon" was lovely as always. "Thirteen" was excellent, and "Simple Twist of Fate" was an inspired choice that (eventually) worked out really well. (I liked the thought of Bob Dylan playing a living room show somewhere and being inundated by requests for Jeff Tweedy songs.) "I'm Always in Love" was a fitting choice to dedicate to Nat, and the upbeat song helped to counteract my sadness. For the first time I won't be chatting with her about our show today - and that's a damn shame, because she would have loved the story of the dedication.

Finally seeing "The Unwelcome Guest" performed was as amazing as I could have hoped. After years of Alison requesting it, her wish was granted at last - with the added bonus of Mart and Dave accompanying Jeff on vocals and guitar. As always, the talents of our musical friends made the night even more memorable. "Airline to Heaven" and "Long Cut" sounded great. And watching Jeff take a seat to watch Mart play "Sir Duke" (which they theoretically were supposed to play together) is a memory that will make me smile possibly forever. If we get to do this again next year, I hope we manage to convey some of our more unusual requests ahead of time so Jeff can feel more prepared - I did feel guilty about peppering him with so many requests for songs he could hardly be expected to know out of the blue. The performance of "Sir Duke," however, was perfect just the way it was.

After Jeff's last song was finally played, the group picture taken (about ten times), and the awesome Jay Ryan posters were signed, we bid the Tweedys goodnight. After a break for more chatting and consumption of various baked goods, it was back to the basement for the evening's main event (just kidding! or AM I?): more songs by Mart and Dave. From "Rocky Raccoon" to "Purple Rain," and the full ballad of Officer Ron Tugnutt and the Golden Nugget Rug, we sang and danced until we could sing and dance no more. Saying goodbye to everyone in the early morning hours is always bittersweet. We've had a fantastic time together, but it's almost over for now. People have planes to catch and drives to make, and some of us won't see each other again for quite awhile. Until people upload pictures, anyway.

How many different ways can I find to express how thankful I am, every year, that we get to do this? I don't think I'll worry about that too much. Whatever words I find, they're always genuine and from the heart. A lot of families had a brighter start to their new year thanks to the money raised by Letters to Santa. I am so fortunate to have an incredible group of friends who make this weekend so much more than just a show, or just a party, or "just" anything. Jeff and Susan are so giving of their time and energy, kindness and talents - and patience - in making these events possible. And then making them amazing. If I say that every year, then I guess it just means I'm one lucky girl.

Also see:
2007
2006

Oh great ocean, oh great sea

I crossed the Pacific for the second time just five days ago, and still don't know if I've really had time to process the big adventure. However, time, tide, and basement shows wait for no man ... as the saying goes. I think I'd better get this done before the weekend.

On one of our last days in Auckland, Paul and I were discussing our answers to the question, "What was your favorite thing?" I protested that I hate questions like that, while Paul argued that even so, it's kind of a pussy move not to give some sort of answer. (Paraphrasing mine.) So, here's some sort of answer.

The beaches in Sydney, the cliff walk from Bondi to Bronte, and swimming in the Bronte rock pool. Looking up at the sky at the end of our walk back from a late dinner in Te Anau, actually exclaiming "Holy shit!" and stopping in my tracks because I couldn't believe how many stars I could see and how dazzling they were. We even tried to take pictures of them with our point and shoot digital cameras. We knew they wouldn't turn out, but we had to try. The beaches near Whitianga - Cathedral Cove and Hot Water Beach. Realizing that when they say "hot water" they are not kidding. Belting out "Six Months in a Leaky Boat" at a Split Enz concert in their home country, along with an arena full of bouncing Kiwis. Giving a kangaroo a drink of water at a farm outside Melbourne, and seeing the penguins come in later on Phillip Island. Spending the night on a little boat with eight wonderful people on Doubtful Sound, which is numbingly gorgeous. That's true of Fiordland in general. Your jaw is on the ground for a few hours, and then it's as if you just can't process it anymore. (Actual quote from Paul a few hours into our cruise: "Ugh, all my pictures are just going to be waterfalls and rainbows.") Visiting One Tree Hill, about which I once wrote an English class essay.

I'm proud of many things about the trip, too. Proud that I survived a month of travel and even managed to duck the overweight baggage charges on domestic flights in NZ. Proud that we planned and booked this entire trip from the ground up back in January, and our choices were overwhelmingly good ones. Proud of driving the winding mountain roads between Auckland and Whitianga on my first day in New Zealand, most of the Southern Scenic Route and Milford Road later on, and actually passing other cars on the road by the drive to Queenstown. Proud that I bungy jumped with no hesitation whatsoever. (Interestingly, although it was a very cool experience, for some reason bungy is not one of the things that stands out most in my memories of the trip.)


Other things I learned in Australia and New Zealand:

• You never know who you'll bump into on the street or in an airport. Just one example: Paul and I attended a bone carving workshop in Christchurch with two other people. Nine days later I spotted them waiting at the gate at the Auckland Airport - we were on the same flight from Auckland to Los Angeles.
  
  
• Whitcoulls: they're everywhere!
  
  
• Not that Heidi didn't tip us off, but New Zealand dairy products are far superior to ours. And I live in Wisconsin.
  
  
• People in Southland pronounce the "i" in words like "fifty" or "bit" in a unique way. Fush and chups!
  
  
• I could have explored the lanes and alleys of Melbourne for at least another two weeks. Also, eaten at a different awesome-looking place at every meal for two weeks and still barely made it off my street.
  
  
• People in Australia and New Zealand are serious about their coffee, and they do it well. They made me into a coffee drinker for a month. I never drink coffee in the U.S., but I was averaging at least one flat white per day.
  
  
• Sheep are awesome. Galloping sheep are awesomer.
  
  
• Children and teens in Wellington are crazy for skateboarding.
  
  
• You can buy the Best of Split Enz CD at virtually any petrol station in NZ.
  
  
• If I could bring any bird back from extinction, it would totally be the giant moa.
  
  

My trip by the numbers:

Planes, beginning with my flight from O'Hare: 17
CDs I bought: 1
Books I bought: 5
Shirts I bought: 9
--For myself: 7
Promotional concert posters I nicked: 2
Kilograms my suitcase weighed at the end of the trip: 29
Times we heard a random Split Enz or Crowded House song in a store, restaurant, or on the radio: 7+
Pavlovas I ate in NZ: 2
Times Paul or I randomly said the word "peninsula" with a NZ/Sean Connery accent: 50+
Times since I got home that I've been walking along and veered to the left instead of the right when faced with oncoming traffic: 5+
Pictures I took (including duplicates and duds): 1739

And here is a sheep sticking out its tongue:

Not quite

I should have been back in Chicago by now, but instead I find myself on one last unscheduled night of the trip - in Los Angeles at the LAX Hilton, to be specific. My flight out of Auckland was delayed for about an hour and a half - which was just enough to make me miss my connection. And everything on American Airlines was booked for the rest of the day. Therefore, I'm here until 6:00 a.m. Part of me is like, "Good God, I'm still not home?" But another part of me is appreciating the unexpected half day of solo decompression time between the big trip and real life. An afternoon in a cushy isolation chamber could be worse spent, I suppose.

Plus, thanks to the International Date Line, I haven't even caught up with the part of Saturday I already lived through. My goal is to be in bed asleep before I left Auckland.

Actual trip summation and rumination coming. At some point.

Back in Auckland

Tomorrow - well, today, technically - is my last full day in NZ. I can hardly believe it. You mean I have to go back to real life soon? What is that again?

On Wednesday morning I awoke on a small boat on Doubtful Sound in Fiordland. Later that afternoon I was jumping from a 43-meter bridge in Queenstown. That's an interesting juxtaposition for you.

Sunrise on Doubtful Sound:



I jumped off of this: