I live in Indianapolis, home of the Indianapolis Colts.
As you may or may not know, the Colts are in the AFC Championship game for the first time in the history of the Colts being in Indianapolis. As you can imagine (and it really is hard to believe how crazy it all really is) the town in going nuts.
Every news item this week is about the Colts, I even got my name mentioned on the Indianapolis Star sports coverage about the game.
Baltimore pays off on mayoral wager
Mayor Bart Peterson will be swimming in crab when he collects on that bet he had with former Baltimore Mayor, now Maryland Gov. Martin O’Malley tomorrow.
The good-natured wager over last week’s football game between the Indianapolis Colts and the Baltimore Ravens has turned into a crab feast that will be prepared and served to about 30 special guests at Second Helpings.
O’Malley became governor on Wednesday but arranged the crab transfer before he changed jobs, according to Joanna Phillips of Phillips Seafood Restaurant.
Philips will fly to Indianapolis later today with her brother, Brice and they will bring enough crab for their chef Dennis Gavagan to prepare a three-course meal of crab cocktail, crab soup and crabcake sandwiches to Peterson’s staff and some members of the Blue Crew, according to Nora Spitznogle of Second Helpings, the local food rescue/job training program.
Brice said her entourage will have dinner tonight at St. Elmo Steak House, the restaurant that was going to supply Baltimore with shrimp cocktail and steak had the Colts lost last week.
- Susan Guyett
It was a really fun day at Second Helpings. The Blue Crew, a rabid (and I say that in the nicest possible way) group of Colts fans came and decorated the class room. The Chef and Phillips family from Baltimore were terrific and good natured.
Our mayor is a big fan of Second Helpings and did a great job of talking about Second Helpings to the press. I’ve added a link to one of the videos, clcik on the title to activate. I'm the one in the black dress against the wall. It got great coverage, all four television stations covered it, a radio station and the Indianapolis Star sent a photographer.
I came to the conclusion that crab cakes must be sexier than deer meat. The press conference on Wednesday to announce the donation of deer meat brought no reporters. Of course the story of hunters killing deer, donating it to us, us hauling it to a prison to be butchered and packaged and our volunteers turning it into deer meatloaf is not for your average noon news watcher.
The only downer to the whole thing? I’m allergic to shellfish.
Go Colts!
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
dinner at the club
Sort of.
My brother left a desperate plea for a babysitter for my nephew this evening on my cell phone. By the time I heard it and called him back he’d taken John to his business meeting at the posh Meridian Hills Country Club. I told JR I’d swing by, grab John and take him to their house for a bath and bedtime.
John started crying when he saw me—he wanted to stay. He knows a good thing when he sees it. The family dining room has a giant television playing videos and a toy box stuffed with goodies. John had made friends with two blond curly haired sisters. What more could a four year-old want?
I wound up eating the rest of John’s kid mac and cheese, a great chocolaty dessert (it tasted like an adult Ho-Ho) and drank fancy coffee sitting at the kids table watching Cinderella.
Good food, good movie and good company.
My brother left a desperate plea for a babysitter for my nephew this evening on my cell phone. By the time I heard it and called him back he’d taken John to his business meeting at the posh Meridian Hills Country Club. I told JR I’d swing by, grab John and take him to their house for a bath and bedtime.
John started crying when he saw me—he wanted to stay. He knows a good thing when he sees it. The family dining room has a giant television playing videos and a toy box stuffed with goodies. John had made friends with two blond curly haired sisters. What more could a four year-old want?
I wound up eating the rest of John’s kid mac and cheese, a great chocolaty dessert (it tasted like an adult Ho-Ho) and drank fancy coffee sitting at the kids table watching Cinderella.
Good food, good movie and good company.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
coffee, tea or my ego?
warning—long and self indulgent.
I’m sitting at the newsstand looking across the street at the coffeehouse I managed for years. Or what is left of it anyway. It is being torn down and I’m sure it will be gone by tomorrow.
A good chunk of my identity used to reside in that building.
A little history.
I graduated from Purdue in 1986 with a degree in Hotel and Restaurant Management (I was 25).
I worked in Philadelphia for years working for a big old restaurant corporation. I’d gone as far as I could with them. I was opening new restaurants, hiring and training the staff.
I moved back to Indianapolis (1994) and was feeling restless.
I wanted to do something different. I knew that I wanted to work for a small, independent business. A college friend is the owner very successful clothing store in my favorite part of town and I became the manager. I had worked there off and on for years and it was very comfortable.
Kind of.
Marigold is a wonderful store and I still work there occasionally. But I don’t have much tolerance for the questions: “Does this color wash me out? Does this make my butt look big?” Not that Marigold wants to sell people clothes that look bad on people—I just don’t have the eye for that kind of thing. I was the manager for a couple of years, and it was time to go.
CATH Inc was a quirky little coffee company with three locations and a bakery. AVS was the baker and suggested me to the owner (this was pre-relationship days). I loved every second of the coffeehouse world. The days started at 5:30 and I could be home by 2:00. The main shop was three blocks from my house. CATH (acronym for Coffee And Tea House) had been around for fifteen years already. The founder, Cathy Peachy died of breast cancer in 1994 and her husband was a hands-off owner. Cathy was tremendously well loved in the community and CATH had a great reputation.
The uptown location was a storefront operation with the bakery in the back--and the smell of the made-from-scratch muffins baked fresh every day wafting in to the coffeehouse.
Definitely the best smelling job I've ever had.
The original location was in the Indianapolis City Market, which was slowly changing from a market to a giant food court. Before Cathy died she spent a ton of money opening a location downtown right across from the City Market. You could have winged a coffee cup from one coffeehouse to the other. I made the difficult, but financially prudent decision to close that location.
The 1930’s brick gas station turned oil change garage was across the street from the bakery. We’d look across the street and comment that it would be a great coffeehouse. One of the employees was finishing his degree in architecture and drew up plans. The owner trusted me to over see the project and I managed to get it all done for $30, 000—including fixtures, equipment (cappuccino machines cost thousands of dollars) and furnishings.
The new location was a hit. It was a sunny and happy place. The walls were filled with artwork and we started hosting music. Touring singer/songwriters from all over the country stopped on their way through Indianapolis (and often slept on my sofa).
I was dating AVS and I was as happy as I’d ever been.
Then AVS’s band got kind of famous. They were on the cover of the Indianapolis Star’s entertainment section. AVS broke up with me that day. And he quit his job—as the baker.
And suddenly I was as miserable as I’d ever been. I was working a ton, often baking all night and then working at the coffeehouse. My social life totally changed. I was not going to see music at all. Either A’s band was on the bill or he was at a show with a date (I got no satisfaction when his car got repossessed and he had to move to an even crappier neighborhood—I felt responsible—I know, crazy). And A. and I continued a stupid on-again, off-again relationship.
The City Market sales were declining. Everybody and their brother started selling coffee downtown, putting in those fake cappuccino machines and selling “cappuccino” for 69 ¢.
Starbucks came to town, milk prices went up, a coffeehouse opened on every corner and I started not cashing my paychecks. I made sure the employees and vendors got paid.
I got a part-time job waitressing. So now, I was working in a smoky bar until 2:00 three nights a week, baking and working 7 days a week at the coffeehouse—and I was poor and sad. You can imagine my mental state during this time.
And then it got worse.
I got a letter from a real estate attorney that our lease was being terminated because I had paid the water bill late in January (this was in August). That same day AVS moved to Austin. We spent a teary (on my part) morning together. As he pulled out of the driveway, I jumped on my 1960’s Murray bike and rode to the Indiana State Fair—one of my favorite things in the world. I lost myself in the wonderful world of cheese sculptures and 4-H rabbits. I had almost convinced myself that everything would be okay—I’d just paid a water bill late…eviction was pretty harsh, right?
I walked to retrieve my bike—and it was gone, the cut lock lying on the ground.
It was not going to be all right.
We fought the eviction—spending thousands of dollars to do it—and still lost our lease.
I felt horribly guilty. I was putting people out of work. A neighborhood-gathering place was closing. A cool hangout for high school kids was going away. A nationally recognized music venue was biting the dust. All because I’d paid a $45 utility bill late.
I made a deal with the newsstand—they had extra space. They got the coffee equipment and they would hire the employees. I put on a good face to the media—the coffeehouse closing got lots of press.
I turned in the keys to the building on the morning of September 22nd, 2004.
That afternoon the owner had a press conference to announce they sold the property to a grocery store chain.
I felt used.
I was the president of my neighborhood association (one of the largest and most powerful in the state) at the time. I had to wear my neighborhood hat “we are thrilled to have a grocery store on this corner” and smile for the cameras, while the pissed-off ex-tenant Nora was making a fist behind her back.
The City Market location continued to flounder. We found a buyer and I happily walked away.
It was rough for a while. I took a break, working at the Red Key three nights a week, I was able to live on my tips.
It gave me time to realize how crazy the last few years had been—and how crazy it made me.
I’m sitting at the newsstand, looking at my old coffee equipment as I type this--who would have guessed how well it all worked out?
I have a great job. I’m still active in my community. I’m writing for two publications, the occasional musician still sleeps on my sofa and I'm pretty darn happy.
None of that would have happened with out CATH, or AVS, for that matter.
It was time for the building to come down.
I’m sitting at the newsstand looking across the street at the coffeehouse I managed for years. Or what is left of it anyway. It is being torn down and I’m sure it will be gone by tomorrow.
A good chunk of my identity used to reside in that building.
A little history.
I graduated from Purdue in 1986 with a degree in Hotel and Restaurant Management (I was 25).
I worked in Philadelphia for years working for a big old restaurant corporation. I’d gone as far as I could with them. I was opening new restaurants, hiring and training the staff.
I moved back to Indianapolis (1994) and was feeling restless.
I wanted to do something different. I knew that I wanted to work for a small, independent business. A college friend is the owner very successful clothing store in my favorite part of town and I became the manager. I had worked there off and on for years and it was very comfortable.
Kind of.
Marigold is a wonderful store and I still work there occasionally. But I don’t have much tolerance for the questions: “Does this color wash me out? Does this make my butt look big?” Not that Marigold wants to sell people clothes that look bad on people—I just don’t have the eye for that kind of thing. I was the manager for a couple of years, and it was time to go.
CATH Inc was a quirky little coffee company with three locations and a bakery. AVS was the baker and suggested me to the owner (this was pre-relationship days). I loved every second of the coffeehouse world. The days started at 5:30 and I could be home by 2:00. The main shop was three blocks from my house. CATH (acronym for Coffee And Tea House) had been around for fifteen years already. The founder, Cathy Peachy died of breast cancer in 1994 and her husband was a hands-off owner. Cathy was tremendously well loved in the community and CATH had a great reputation.
The uptown location was a storefront operation with the bakery in the back--and the smell of the made-from-scratch muffins baked fresh every day wafting in to the coffeehouse.
Definitely the best smelling job I've ever had.
The original location was in the Indianapolis City Market, which was slowly changing from a market to a giant food court. Before Cathy died she spent a ton of money opening a location downtown right across from the City Market. You could have winged a coffee cup from one coffeehouse to the other. I made the difficult, but financially prudent decision to close that location.
The 1930’s brick gas station turned oil change garage was across the street from the bakery. We’d look across the street and comment that it would be a great coffeehouse. One of the employees was finishing his degree in architecture and drew up plans. The owner trusted me to over see the project and I managed to get it all done for $30, 000—including fixtures, equipment (cappuccino machines cost thousands of dollars) and furnishings.
The new location was a hit. It was a sunny and happy place. The walls were filled with artwork and we started hosting music. Touring singer/songwriters from all over the country stopped on their way through Indianapolis (and often slept on my sofa).
I was dating AVS and I was as happy as I’d ever been.
Then AVS’s band got kind of famous. They were on the cover of the Indianapolis Star’s entertainment section. AVS broke up with me that day. And he quit his job—as the baker.
And suddenly I was as miserable as I’d ever been. I was working a ton, often baking all night and then working at the coffeehouse. My social life totally changed. I was not going to see music at all. Either A’s band was on the bill or he was at a show with a date (I got no satisfaction when his car got repossessed and he had to move to an even crappier neighborhood—I felt responsible—I know, crazy). And A. and I continued a stupid on-again, off-again relationship.
The City Market sales were declining. Everybody and their brother started selling coffee downtown, putting in those fake cappuccino machines and selling “cappuccino” for 69 ¢.
Starbucks came to town, milk prices went up, a coffeehouse opened on every corner and I started not cashing my paychecks. I made sure the employees and vendors got paid.
I got a part-time job waitressing. So now, I was working in a smoky bar until 2:00 three nights a week, baking and working 7 days a week at the coffeehouse—and I was poor and sad. You can imagine my mental state during this time.
And then it got worse.
I got a letter from a real estate attorney that our lease was being terminated because I had paid the water bill late in January (this was in August). That same day AVS moved to Austin. We spent a teary (on my part) morning together. As he pulled out of the driveway, I jumped on my 1960’s Murray bike and rode to the Indiana State Fair—one of my favorite things in the world. I lost myself in the wonderful world of cheese sculptures and 4-H rabbits. I had almost convinced myself that everything would be okay—I’d just paid a water bill late…eviction was pretty harsh, right?
I walked to retrieve my bike—and it was gone, the cut lock lying on the ground.
It was not going to be all right.
We fought the eviction—spending thousands of dollars to do it—and still lost our lease.
I felt horribly guilty. I was putting people out of work. A neighborhood-gathering place was closing. A cool hangout for high school kids was going away. A nationally recognized music venue was biting the dust. All because I’d paid a $45 utility bill late.
I made a deal with the newsstand—they had extra space. They got the coffee equipment and they would hire the employees. I put on a good face to the media—the coffeehouse closing got lots of press.
I turned in the keys to the building on the morning of September 22nd, 2004.
That afternoon the owner had a press conference to announce they sold the property to a grocery store chain.
I felt used.
I was the president of my neighborhood association (one of the largest and most powerful in the state) at the time. I had to wear my neighborhood hat “we are thrilled to have a grocery store on this corner” and smile for the cameras, while the pissed-off ex-tenant Nora was making a fist behind her back.
The City Market location continued to flounder. We found a buyer and I happily walked away.
It was rough for a while. I took a break, working at the Red Key three nights a week, I was able to live on my tips.
It gave me time to realize how crazy the last few years had been—and how crazy it made me.
I’m sitting at the newsstand, looking at my old coffee equipment as I type this--who would have guessed how well it all worked out?
I have a great job. I’m still active in my community. I’m writing for two publications, the occasional musician still sleeps on my sofa and I'm pretty darn happy.
None of that would have happened with out CATH, or AVS, for that matter.
It was time for the building to come down.
Friday, January 05, 2007
is it too early to vacuum?
I woke up early (5:00) this morning. And when I say woke up, I mean that I smashed on the alarm snooze button a several times before I dragged my ass out of bed.
I have articles that are due, um today. Three for NUVO (150+300+500 words) and the Broad Ripple Gazette column (1000-ish).
I've really slacked off so far this year. The last four evenings I've done nothing but read, which is good for the soul. But not so much for the deadlines.
One of the NUVO articles (500) is about AVS's old band. They are playing a 'reunion' show next week.
It is weird to be writing about a band that I named.
AVS and I had a nice information gathering E-mail exchange. I have purposely not had any contact with him since June. Which was hard for me, this has been the longest we have not talked in the 10 years that I have known him. I know that we both still care about each other, but I don't think it is either of our intentions that I wind up crying next to a dumpster behind a bar as he's pulling out of town. This will be interesting.
I'm off to waste some more time before work.
Have a lovely day.
I have articles that are due, um today. Three for NUVO (150+300+500 words) and the Broad Ripple Gazette column (1000-ish).
I've really slacked off so far this year. The last four evenings I've done nothing but read, which is good for the soul. But not so much for the deadlines.
One of the NUVO articles (500) is about AVS's old band. They are playing a 'reunion' show next week.
It is weird to be writing about a band that I named.
AVS and I had a nice information gathering E-mail exchange. I have purposely not had any contact with him since June. Which was hard for me, this has been the longest we have not talked in the 10 years that I have known him. I know that we both still care about each other, but I don't think it is either of our intentions that I wind up crying next to a dumpster behind a bar as he's pulling out of town. This will be interesting.
I'm off to waste some more time before work.
Have a lovely day.
Monday, January 01, 2007
happy new year
I went to the Rock ‘n Roll New Years Eve at the Indianapolis downtown Hyatt hotel. I was writing about it for NUVO. I got to hang out with 2500 of my closest friends.
I’ll admit to going in to the evening with a bad attitude. I gave myself a good talking to on the way in. “I’m lucky to be able to attend such a big event. A year ago I never dreamed that I would be writing for NUVO. Blah, blah.” And it was fun to dress up and downtown Indianapolis was hopping with the Colts game. My fake good mood did not last long. I stood in the will-call line and waited patiently under the “L-Z” sign. They could not find my name or anything under NUVO. I ran in to the photographer that covering the event. He pointed me to the top-secret unmarked table where I was given a wristband. The un-organization at the entry was indicative of the rest of the evening. The music was on three floors. I was given a sheet listing the bands, but nothing about which floor or what time. It does not help that I’m horribly afraid of heights. The place was lousy with glass elevators and steep escalators.
People were wearing everything from Colts jerseys to sequined long dresses. I would say that 2000 of the folks there were 22 years old and determined to get their $40 worth. I would be happy to never see another noisemaker again. There was a roving band of obnoxious guys that would pretend to hit on any woman over 40, and then make fun of them behind their back. That got old pretty quickly. I’d smile and keep moving. It is a pretty weird evening to be alone—and sober.
The bands were all good, in their own way. Carl Storie had a big hit in the 80’s with the ballad “Dancing Shoes.” He and his band were great, but I was feeling sad standing in that room--maybe because the room was full of dancing couples my age.
X-Ray Roger Jimmy played teen-age boy rock. Lots of guitars, ripped jeans, tank tops and screaming girls. All I heard were cover songs. I stood by a potted plant and watched in awe.
Stereo Deluxe is a power pop band of cute angst ridden 20-somethings. They started late and played way later than they should have. The next band waited not so patiently to start.
The Reverend Peyton’s Big Damn Band was up next. Josh (the Reverend), Breezy (his wife) and Jayme (his little brother) are all great people. Josh used to be the Director of Volunteers at WFYI the local public television station. He and I would swap volunteer gigs. It’s always nice to have another volunteer that has your best interests at heart for big events.
That said, I have to admit that I only love them for a song or two. Think Delta Blues meets meth lab. Frenetic high-energy.
Click on "happy new year" for a link to their website. They are cute as buttons and it is fun to see what they look like.
At midnight they dropped thousands of balloons from the ceiling (I'm not sure how many floors the hotel has and I was afraid to look up). I was standing with my back to the wall, behind yet another potted plant. I was also worrying about the structural integrity of the building. I did get to see an engagement. The guy tied the ring to a string tied to his belt loop because he was afraid of losing it.
I listened to a couple of songs from the headlining band, the Virgin Millionaires. They are one of the best rock bands I’ve seen this year. Someone spilled a drink from above. I was afraid it was something else. I was relieved to feel an ice cube hit my head! I took that as my cue to leave.
It was a long five hours, but I survived. And I got to tell the obnoxious guys to %*@$-off on the way out the door—the first time I’ve ever said that to anyone.
Here is the review I wrote, as you can see I’m much nicer in print…..
The New Years Eve Rock ‘n Roll Ball at the Hyatt Regency rang in the New Year in nearly 2007 different ways. There were at least that many people, a balloon drop, a comedian, at least one engagement (congratulations Sarah and Gary) and a fantasy casino. People were wearing everything from Colts jerseys to sequins. However there was no doubt that the focus of the evening was on music. The DJ and the bands were spread over three floors with music spilling throughout the hotel.
Carl Storie and his band commanded the ballroom for the night. The room and the dance floor were constantly full of adoring fans. It is clear why Storie is an icon in the Indianapolis music world.
X-Ray Roger Jimmy kicked off the music on the atrium stage. Their high-energy guitar driven rock (and rock star good looks) had the 20-something crowd pumping fists, dancing and singing along. Their New Years wish of “peace, harmony and lots of sex” was a big hit.
Upstairs at the NUVO stage Stereo Deluxe proved why they were the 2005 Benchmark Battle of the Bands winners with their power pop strength. The Reverend Peyton’s Big Damn Band took over at 11:30. They stopped for a few minutes for the official countdown to 2007, although the energy produced by the Peyton’s rivaled the thousands of people screaming at midnight. The Big Damn Band has a big damn delta blues sound produced by only three members. As the Reverend promised, they saved the best for 2007. They reclaimed the stage and the crowd with authority. And if this were a piece about fashion, Breezy Peyton would get the best-dressed nod. Not everyone can find the perfect little black dress and accessorize it with a washboard.
The Virgin Millionaires played their first show of the new year to a huge appreciative crowd. It was the perfect way to musically ring in 2007.
I’ll admit to going in to the evening with a bad attitude. I gave myself a good talking to on the way in. “I’m lucky to be able to attend such a big event. A year ago I never dreamed that I would be writing for NUVO. Blah, blah.” And it was fun to dress up and downtown Indianapolis was hopping with the Colts game. My fake good mood did not last long. I stood in the will-call line and waited patiently under the “L-Z” sign. They could not find my name or anything under NUVO. I ran in to the photographer that covering the event. He pointed me to the top-secret unmarked table where I was given a wristband. The un-organization at the entry was indicative of the rest of the evening. The music was on three floors. I was given a sheet listing the bands, but nothing about which floor or what time. It does not help that I’m horribly afraid of heights. The place was lousy with glass elevators and steep escalators.
People were wearing everything from Colts jerseys to sequined long dresses. I would say that 2000 of the folks there were 22 years old and determined to get their $40 worth. I would be happy to never see another noisemaker again. There was a roving band of obnoxious guys that would pretend to hit on any woman over 40, and then make fun of them behind their back. That got old pretty quickly. I’d smile and keep moving. It is a pretty weird evening to be alone—and sober.
The bands were all good, in their own way. Carl Storie had a big hit in the 80’s with the ballad “Dancing Shoes.” He and his band were great, but I was feeling sad standing in that room--maybe because the room was full of dancing couples my age.
X-Ray Roger Jimmy played teen-age boy rock. Lots of guitars, ripped jeans, tank tops and screaming girls. All I heard were cover songs. I stood by a potted plant and watched in awe.
Stereo Deluxe is a power pop band of cute angst ridden 20-somethings. They started late and played way later than they should have. The next band waited not so patiently to start.
The Reverend Peyton’s Big Damn Band was up next. Josh (the Reverend), Breezy (his wife) and Jayme (his little brother) are all great people. Josh used to be the Director of Volunteers at WFYI the local public television station. He and I would swap volunteer gigs. It’s always nice to have another volunteer that has your best interests at heart for big events.
That said, I have to admit that I only love them for a song or two. Think Delta Blues meets meth lab. Frenetic high-energy.
Click on "happy new year" for a link to their website. They are cute as buttons and it is fun to see what they look like.
At midnight they dropped thousands of balloons from the ceiling (I'm not sure how many floors the hotel has and I was afraid to look up). I was standing with my back to the wall, behind yet another potted plant. I was also worrying about the structural integrity of the building. I did get to see an engagement. The guy tied the ring to a string tied to his belt loop because he was afraid of losing it.
I listened to a couple of songs from the headlining band, the Virgin Millionaires. They are one of the best rock bands I’ve seen this year. Someone spilled a drink from above. I was afraid it was something else. I was relieved to feel an ice cube hit my head! I took that as my cue to leave.
It was a long five hours, but I survived. And I got to tell the obnoxious guys to %*@$-off on the way out the door—the first time I’ve ever said that to anyone.
Here is the review I wrote, as you can see I’m much nicer in print…..
The New Years Eve Rock ‘n Roll Ball at the Hyatt Regency rang in the New Year in nearly 2007 different ways. There were at least that many people, a balloon drop, a comedian, at least one engagement (congratulations Sarah and Gary) and a fantasy casino. People were wearing everything from Colts jerseys to sequins. However there was no doubt that the focus of the evening was on music. The DJ and the bands were spread over three floors with music spilling throughout the hotel.
Carl Storie and his band commanded the ballroom for the night. The room and the dance floor were constantly full of adoring fans. It is clear why Storie is an icon in the Indianapolis music world.
X-Ray Roger Jimmy kicked off the music on the atrium stage. Their high-energy guitar driven rock (and rock star good looks) had the 20-something crowd pumping fists, dancing and singing along. Their New Years wish of “peace, harmony and lots of sex” was a big hit.
Upstairs at the NUVO stage Stereo Deluxe proved why they were the 2005 Benchmark Battle of the Bands winners with their power pop strength. The Reverend Peyton’s Big Damn Band took over at 11:30. They stopped for a few minutes for the official countdown to 2007, although the energy produced by the Peyton’s rivaled the thousands of people screaming at midnight. The Big Damn Band has a big damn delta blues sound produced by only three members. As the Reverend promised, they saved the best for 2007. They reclaimed the stage and the crowd with authority. And if this were a piece about fashion, Breezy Peyton would get the best-dressed nod. Not everyone can find the perfect little black dress and accessorize it with a washboard.
The Virgin Millionaires played their first show of the new year to a huge appreciative crowd. It was the perfect way to musically ring in 2007.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
it's a wonderful life
It has been a long week, mostly fun.
I’m the first to admit that I live a fascinating life, and no one is more surprised than me.
Here is a snapshot of the last five days (and the reason why I’m sitting on my sofa on a Friday night—willingly missing two parties).
Pop some corn and hunker down—it’s long.
Monday, December 18th.
I arrived at Second Helpings at 8:00. The Indiana Lt. Governor and her staff came at 10:00 to volunteer in our production kitchen. Her staff decided to volunteer at Second Helpings instead of going out for a holiday lunch. They did not let any media know, but our Marketing Department sure did. It turned out well and two stations showed a clip on the 6:00 news. Lt. Governor Skillman was charming and rolled up her sleeves and made meatballs for two hours. I think she’s been our only volunteer to wear pearls in the kitchen.
I left work at 5:00 and went to work some more—at the Red Key. It is hard to have a big head about being on the news with the Lt. Governor when you’re watching the broadcast while serving PBR and making tenderloin sandwiches. It was a late night. The Indianapolis Colts were on Monday Night Football. The bar was pretty full. Guys would sit at a table, I’d take their order, serve their drinks, cook their food and then a seat would open up at the bar—they’d pay their tab and tip at the bar. Quite frankly, I was feeling a little cranky (and poor) by the time I got home at 2:00.
Tuesday, December 19th.
I only slept for four hours and that was not nearly enough. I make a real effort not to complain at work. First of all, no one really cares. It’s my choice to work at the Red Key (well, maybe if I was paid a little more…) and I’m aware that some of our students live in shelters and would be thrilled to get four hours of sleep in an actual bed. It was the typically busy day. I wound up giving several tours and we had more group volunteers in the kitchen.
I was taking a nap by 6:30 with the intention of getting up and going to a birthday party. I couldn’t manage to get motivated. Marty said that he had a bottle of Irish whiskey just for me. I think it’s just as well that I missed it. I did wind up meeting DM for dinner. He’s a great friend and I’ve cried on his shoulder many times, so I was happy to listen to him talk about his current relationship. We exchanged gifts. He gave me three kinds of homemade cookies, a restaurant gift certificate and a great book (Reading Like A Writer). I gave him a box of my famous toffee, homemade vanilla extract and a measuring cup.
Wednesday, December 20th
My Dad and two of his grade school friends were hanging out on December 20th when they were 19 years old. They were having so much fun that Dad declared they should meet every December 20th. And for the last 53 years they have. John Dunn became my godfather and an Illinois state legislator. Jack Richason stayed in Logansport in the agriculture business. Between them they had 14 children and just as many grandchildren. Mr. Richason died four years ago. Richard Corso, another classmate has taken his place on December 20th. I was teasing Mr. Corso that he’d been on the waiting list for 49 years. I was honored that they choose to volunteer at Second Helpings this year. They do admit that a good number of the early reunions they saw the inside of a few bars.
I was able to surprise Dad by having one of his godchildren, Michael Carroll Jr. volunteer also. Michael is home from the Army for a few weeks before he ships to Afghanistan. I invited both of my sisters (Annie is visiting from Phoenix), Mom, my sister-in-law Anna, nephew John (celebrating his 4th birthday) and long time family friends Ann Mitchell and Fran Herr for lunch. It was a wonderful day, and I admit to walking around with happy tears in my eyes. I think Dad had a blast—at least I hope so, ‘cause that and a jar of peanuts is his Christmas gift.
I had an appointment for a haircut and color (big emphasis on the color) at 5:00. Michael made my hair look a shiny and straight, and making my hair straight takes a village and several products and tools.
I had not seen any music to write about for my Broad Ripple Gazette column. I went to the Red Key first. There was a band called The Three Wise Guys. They play Christmas songs with a bluesy slant. I’m not a fan of the blues. I can say that here, but not in my music column. I felt like they were playing “The Twelve Days of Christmas” in actual time.
I ran in to a college roommate and his son. Rick was telling his son how wild I was in college. Which is funny. I was a punk-rock chick, but I barely drank, didn’t smoke or do drugs and certainly missed out on the whole sex thing. I’m guessing I was the only punk rocker that worked in a nursing home.
From there I went to Birdy’s, a music venue, for their Christmas party. It is one of my favorite traditions for the year (note to Mom: except for family gatherings, I promise). The fabulous musician Otis Gibbs dresses up as Santa each year. I love hanging out upstairs by Santa Otis and his girlfriend Amy Lashley (also an amazing musician) and the buffet (not necessarily in the order). I get my photo snapped with Otis each year. I keep looking older and Otis looks exactly the same, must be that Santa magic at work. It is also a chance to catch up with old friends. All of the bands play Christmas music. It ain’t Christmas until you’ve seen four guys in their forties performing the Chipmunk’s Christmas Song. It is a helium-helped masterpiece.
I stopped at the Jazz Kitchen on the way home (it really is on the way home). DJ Rusty was spinning to a full house. I ran in to lots of friends. Believe it or not, I hadn’t had a cocktail yet. A Jamison Irish whiskey appeared before me. And I drank it, ‘cause that is always a good idea at midnight.
I also allowed myself a moment of nostalgia. The Jazz Kitchen is across the street from the coffeehouse I managed for 8 years. A fence was put up around the CATH property that day. The site is being prepared for the arrival of Fresh Market grocery next year. The fence means that the buildings will be demolished soon. Standing in the rain, on the other side of the fence seemed like a good time to finally say good-bye to the CATH. I can’t believe how much of my identity is in that building.
Thursday, December 21.
Back at work at 8:00. I am the Director of Volunteers/ Building Maintenance. It always makes for an interesting day. After work I did some Christmas shopping. It feels odd to do last minute shopping in the Spring-like weather. After that I went to cover another concert.
This one was a holiday party for a record label. They seem to specialize in young angst-ridden bands. I won a raffle prize and the emcee called me “m’am” when I went to fetch it. The Birdy’s party felt like a family reunion to me. The Standard Recording party was like looking at the next generation of nieces and nephews. All of the cool kids were there, and I am old enough to be their mother. The editor of the Gazette was there and he had saved us a table. I typically don’t sit down at shows. I get too antsy and sitting down makes you an easy target for the weirdoes. Which is kind of what happened. After AVS (see October 29 post) and I broke up he dated Stacy. I run in to her occasionally and it is always fairly awkward. I’m guessing she is at least 10 years younger than me (AVS is 8 years younger). I literally bumped in to her a few weeks ago and we had a conversation that did not involve me turning red and clenching my fists. This night she plopped down at our table and started writing in my little notebook. You could have knocked me over with a feather. She was acting like we were best friends, which I’m not comfortable with. I walked away for a bit (I’m lying—I headed straight to the bar) when I came back she was asking me about TC, a guy I had been talking to at the bar. She told me I should ask him out. I said I was not comfortable with that. She said that if I didn’t she was going to tell him I liked him. It was all very junior-high like. I was chatting with TC later and she handed me a note that said “Ask TC out.” Ugggh. That and all of the shoe-gazing music wore me out. TC did text message me with a review of the last two bands. “Arrah & and the Ferns—disturbingly tiny banjo. Everthus the Deadbeats—circusy.” Those are the kind of reviews I like.
Friday, December 22.
I woke up at 6:00 to write my column. The deadline was earlier than usual because of Christmas and I had been given an extension already. I was talking to another columnist last week. She writes about birds. She was telling me that she has her articles done through April. She was suggesting to me that I do the same thing. I was telling her that was not possible reviewing music. I’m not sure that she understood why, of course I'm not sure how she manages to come up with something abut her backyard twice a month.... The BRG crew is very quirky; it is the first time that I’ve been the sanest member of any group.
Second Helpings was pretty quiet today. We prepare food that we send to other social-service agencies. A good number of the agencies are closed next week (day cares and senior centers) and there are groups that feed people just twice a year (Thanksgiving and Christmas), so the shelters do not need our food.
I’m glad I stayed home tonight. I’m wondering if AVS is in town..not that I’m afraid to run in to him. Okay, I am leery of running in to him. I’ve the difficult decision not to be in contact. Typically he would stay with me. I’m not sure how I’d react seeing him somewhere. And if he’s with a date—Ugh.
I’m the first to admit that I live a fascinating life, and no one is more surprised than me.
Here is a snapshot of the last five days (and the reason why I’m sitting on my sofa on a Friday night—willingly missing two parties).
Pop some corn and hunker down—it’s long.
Monday, December 18th.
I arrived at Second Helpings at 8:00. The Indiana Lt. Governor and her staff came at 10:00 to volunteer in our production kitchen. Her staff decided to volunteer at Second Helpings instead of going out for a holiday lunch. They did not let any media know, but our Marketing Department sure did. It turned out well and two stations showed a clip on the 6:00 news. Lt. Governor Skillman was charming and rolled up her sleeves and made meatballs for two hours. I think she’s been our only volunteer to wear pearls in the kitchen.
I left work at 5:00 and went to work some more—at the Red Key. It is hard to have a big head about being on the news with the Lt. Governor when you’re watching the broadcast while serving PBR and making tenderloin sandwiches. It was a late night. The Indianapolis Colts were on Monday Night Football. The bar was pretty full. Guys would sit at a table, I’d take their order, serve their drinks, cook their food and then a seat would open up at the bar—they’d pay their tab and tip at the bar. Quite frankly, I was feeling a little cranky (and poor) by the time I got home at 2:00.
Tuesday, December 19th.
I only slept for four hours and that was not nearly enough. I make a real effort not to complain at work. First of all, no one really cares. It’s my choice to work at the Red Key (well, maybe if I was paid a little more…) and I’m aware that some of our students live in shelters and would be thrilled to get four hours of sleep in an actual bed. It was the typically busy day. I wound up giving several tours and we had more group volunteers in the kitchen.
I was taking a nap by 6:30 with the intention of getting up and going to a birthday party. I couldn’t manage to get motivated. Marty said that he had a bottle of Irish whiskey just for me. I think it’s just as well that I missed it. I did wind up meeting DM for dinner. He’s a great friend and I’ve cried on his shoulder many times, so I was happy to listen to him talk about his current relationship. We exchanged gifts. He gave me three kinds of homemade cookies, a restaurant gift certificate and a great book (Reading Like A Writer). I gave him a box of my famous toffee, homemade vanilla extract and a measuring cup.
Wednesday, December 20th
My Dad and two of his grade school friends were hanging out on December 20th when they were 19 years old. They were having so much fun that Dad declared they should meet every December 20th. And for the last 53 years they have. John Dunn became my godfather and an Illinois state legislator. Jack Richason stayed in Logansport in the agriculture business. Between them they had 14 children and just as many grandchildren. Mr. Richason died four years ago. Richard Corso, another classmate has taken his place on December 20th. I was teasing Mr. Corso that he’d been on the waiting list for 49 years. I was honored that they choose to volunteer at Second Helpings this year. They do admit that a good number of the early reunions they saw the inside of a few bars.
I was able to surprise Dad by having one of his godchildren, Michael Carroll Jr. volunteer also. Michael is home from the Army for a few weeks before he ships to Afghanistan. I invited both of my sisters (Annie is visiting from Phoenix), Mom, my sister-in-law Anna, nephew John (celebrating his 4th birthday) and long time family friends Ann Mitchell and Fran Herr for lunch. It was a wonderful day, and I admit to walking around with happy tears in my eyes. I think Dad had a blast—at least I hope so, ‘cause that and a jar of peanuts is his Christmas gift.
I had an appointment for a haircut and color (big emphasis on the color) at 5:00. Michael made my hair look a shiny and straight, and making my hair straight takes a village and several products and tools.
I had not seen any music to write about for my Broad Ripple Gazette column. I went to the Red Key first. There was a band called The Three Wise Guys. They play Christmas songs with a bluesy slant. I’m not a fan of the blues. I can say that here, but not in my music column. I felt like they were playing “The Twelve Days of Christmas” in actual time.
I ran in to a college roommate and his son. Rick was telling his son how wild I was in college. Which is funny. I was a punk-rock chick, but I barely drank, didn’t smoke or do drugs and certainly missed out on the whole sex thing. I’m guessing I was the only punk rocker that worked in a nursing home.
From there I went to Birdy’s, a music venue, for their Christmas party. It is one of my favorite traditions for the year (note to Mom: except for family gatherings, I promise). The fabulous musician Otis Gibbs dresses up as Santa each year. I love hanging out upstairs by Santa Otis and his girlfriend Amy Lashley (also an amazing musician) and the buffet (not necessarily in the order). I get my photo snapped with Otis each year. I keep looking older and Otis looks exactly the same, must be that Santa magic at work. It is also a chance to catch up with old friends. All of the bands play Christmas music. It ain’t Christmas until you’ve seen four guys in their forties performing the Chipmunk’s Christmas Song. It is a helium-helped masterpiece.
I stopped at the Jazz Kitchen on the way home (it really is on the way home). DJ Rusty was spinning to a full house. I ran in to lots of friends. Believe it or not, I hadn’t had a cocktail yet. A Jamison Irish whiskey appeared before me. And I drank it, ‘cause that is always a good idea at midnight.
I also allowed myself a moment of nostalgia. The Jazz Kitchen is across the street from the coffeehouse I managed for 8 years. A fence was put up around the CATH property that day. The site is being prepared for the arrival of Fresh Market grocery next year. The fence means that the buildings will be demolished soon. Standing in the rain, on the other side of the fence seemed like a good time to finally say good-bye to the CATH. I can’t believe how much of my identity is in that building.
Thursday, December 21.
Back at work at 8:00. I am the Director of Volunteers/ Building Maintenance. It always makes for an interesting day. After work I did some Christmas shopping. It feels odd to do last minute shopping in the Spring-like weather. After that I went to cover another concert.
This one was a holiday party for a record label. They seem to specialize in young angst-ridden bands. I won a raffle prize and the emcee called me “m’am” when I went to fetch it. The Birdy’s party felt like a family reunion to me. The Standard Recording party was like looking at the next generation of nieces and nephews. All of the cool kids were there, and I am old enough to be their mother. The editor of the Gazette was there and he had saved us a table. I typically don’t sit down at shows. I get too antsy and sitting down makes you an easy target for the weirdoes. Which is kind of what happened. After AVS (see October 29 post) and I broke up he dated Stacy. I run in to her occasionally and it is always fairly awkward. I’m guessing she is at least 10 years younger than me (AVS is 8 years younger). I literally bumped in to her a few weeks ago and we had a conversation that did not involve me turning red and clenching my fists. This night she plopped down at our table and started writing in my little notebook. You could have knocked me over with a feather. She was acting like we were best friends, which I’m not comfortable with. I walked away for a bit (I’m lying—I headed straight to the bar) when I came back she was asking me about TC, a guy I had been talking to at the bar. She told me I should ask him out. I said I was not comfortable with that. She said that if I didn’t she was going to tell him I liked him. It was all very junior-high like. I was chatting with TC later and she handed me a note that said “Ask TC out.” Ugggh. That and all of the shoe-gazing music wore me out. TC did text message me with a review of the last two bands. “Arrah & and the Ferns—disturbingly tiny banjo. Everthus the Deadbeats—circusy.” Those are the kind of reviews I like.
Friday, December 22.
I woke up at 6:00 to write my column. The deadline was earlier than usual because of Christmas and I had been given an extension already. I was talking to another columnist last week. She writes about birds. She was telling me that she has her articles done through April. She was suggesting to me that I do the same thing. I was telling her that was not possible reviewing music. I’m not sure that she understood why, of course I'm not sure how she manages to come up with something abut her backyard twice a month.... The BRG crew is very quirky; it is the first time that I’ve been the sanest member of any group.
Second Helpings was pretty quiet today. We prepare food that we send to other social-service agencies. A good number of the agencies are closed next week (day cares and senior centers) and there are groups that feed people just twice a year (Thanksgiving and Christmas), so the shelters do not need our food.
I’m glad I stayed home tonight. I’m wondering if AVS is in town..not that I’m afraid to run in to him. Okay, I am leery of running in to him. I’ve the difficult decision not to be in contact. Typically he would stay with me. I’m not sure how I’d react seeing him somewhere. And if he’s with a date—Ugh.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
lazy days and sundays
I should be writing my Broad Ripple Gazette column, working on the piece I’m assigned for NUVO’s year in review issue, cleaning the house, doing laundry, writing Christmas cards, shopping for gifts, working out or cleaning the basement. Instead I’m taking procrastination to a new level.
I’m lying in bed, “Googling”. That is not as perverted as it sounds. I need to backup at bit, start with a confession. I did not have Internet access at home until last week. Yes, it’s true. I was loath to admit it. Write for two publications, book music and maintain a Web site? No DSL or wireless? Not even dial-up?
I had dial-up for years, and it was a pain. My house is pretty old with the standard one closet, four electrical outlets (some of my wiring is “tube and knob”—when the clothes washer is spinning, the lights dim) and one phone line jack. I purchased my beloved Apple iBook G4 in March. Dial-up did not work well and it seemed such a shame to have a mobile computer but be chained to the phone line. I do not have cable television and the heavily advertised AT&T/Yahoo high-speed access was not available in my neighborhood. How about spending a little less in advertising and bring cheap access to the poor folks AT&T? Cable access would have cost at least $50/month. I also dislike how the cable folks want to sell everything as a package. “It’s less expensive if you also get basic cable and cellular service only $99/ month." Huhh?
My favorite newsstand has wireless access, as does Indy Hostel down the street. I soon discovered that you could park outside of those businesses and still access the signal. Which came in handy when I was e-mailing a column in at 2:00 am. The owners of both businesses knew I was doing it, and found it funny. Matt (from the newsstand and my black-tie date) scared me a few time by knocking on my truck window as I was hurriedly typing away). Northside Newsstand is next to a bar popular with people who like to drink pitchers of beer (not that there is anything wrong with that) and watch the 82 televisions in the joint. I’m not kidding about the TV’s. I might be off by a couple, I get mixed up when counting—and that has nothing to do with the beer. I swear. I saw lots of fun/sad things sitting outside of there doing work in my truck. Once the signal was too weak to send the document, so I had do stand in the rain mashed up against the newsstand window to transmit it. I can only wonder what people leaving the bar were thinking about me.
All of this kept my Internet time pretty focused. Until last week. I got a new neighbor on the other side of the double. Matt is a full time writer and is 30 years old. I cannot describe the look of pity he gave me when I told him I did not have access at home. I think that gist of it was “poor clueless old woman”. Actually Matt is great. He wrote the piece profiling me as a community volunteer. We are now sharing the cost of wireless. The signal is strong enough for both of us.
Which is why I’m lying in bed Googling. I searched for “Nora Leona,” couldn’t find any born before 1882. And it’s not lost on Nora Leona Spitznogle (born 1961) that the time I took to write this I could have finished my column, started a load of laundry and walked to the Newsstand to get coffee.
I’m lying in bed, “Googling”. That is not as perverted as it sounds. I need to backup at bit, start with a confession. I did not have Internet access at home until last week. Yes, it’s true. I was loath to admit it. Write for two publications, book music and maintain a Web site? No DSL or wireless? Not even dial-up?
I had dial-up for years, and it was a pain. My house is pretty old with the standard one closet, four electrical outlets (some of my wiring is “tube and knob”—when the clothes washer is spinning, the lights dim) and one phone line jack. I purchased my beloved Apple iBook G4 in March. Dial-up did not work well and it seemed such a shame to have a mobile computer but be chained to the phone line. I do not have cable television and the heavily advertised AT&T/Yahoo high-speed access was not available in my neighborhood. How about spending a little less in advertising and bring cheap access to the poor folks AT&T? Cable access would have cost at least $50/month. I also dislike how the cable folks want to sell everything as a package. “It’s less expensive if you also get basic cable and cellular service only $99/ month." Huhh?
My favorite newsstand has wireless access, as does Indy Hostel down the street. I soon discovered that you could park outside of those businesses and still access the signal. Which came in handy when I was e-mailing a column in at 2:00 am. The owners of both businesses knew I was doing it, and found it funny. Matt (from the newsstand and my black-tie date) scared me a few time by knocking on my truck window as I was hurriedly typing away). Northside Newsstand is next to a bar popular with people who like to drink pitchers of beer (not that there is anything wrong with that) and watch the 82 televisions in the joint. I’m not kidding about the TV’s. I might be off by a couple, I get mixed up when counting—and that has nothing to do with the beer. I swear. I saw lots of fun/sad things sitting outside of there doing work in my truck. Once the signal was too weak to send the document, so I had do stand in the rain mashed up against the newsstand window to transmit it. I can only wonder what people leaving the bar were thinking about me.
All of this kept my Internet time pretty focused. Until last week. I got a new neighbor on the other side of the double. Matt is a full time writer and is 30 years old. I cannot describe the look of pity he gave me when I told him I did not have access at home. I think that gist of it was “poor clueless old woman”. Actually Matt is great. He wrote the piece profiling me as a community volunteer. We are now sharing the cost of wireless. The signal is strong enough for both of us.
Which is why I’m lying in bed Googling. I searched for “Nora Leona,” couldn’t find any born before 1882. And it’s not lost on Nora Leona Spitznogle (born 1961) that the time I took to write this I could have finished my column, started a load of laundry and walked to the Newsstand to get coffee.
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