Zucchini Summer + an unnecessarily long commentary on art

Yes, it's true. Sometimes Sam and I eat this well. And sometimes we eat frozen pizza. This is one of my fav. new recipes from my favorite Moosewood Cookbook (Moosewood Resteraunt Cooks at Home) that I thought I'd share with you. Our landlord brings home loads of zuchinni from her garden, and we've been grateful benefactors.

1 lb linguini

1 Cup grated Pecorino or Parmesan cheese (3-6 oz.)

sliced grilled chicken breast (optional)

2 tbs olive oil

4 cloves minced/pressed garlic

6-8 tender, young zucchini, sliced (4 cups)

salt and pepper (I like paprika too)

juice of 1 lemon

fresh/dried basil

Boil noodles. Sautee everything but noodles and cheese, starting with garlic first and adding lemon and basil last. Toss noodles with cheese. Serve hot pasta, top with zucchini and chicken. Mmm.

...

I'm at home today. Since I quit McDonald's, I've been home everyday, I guess. I teach around 10 beginning guitar students now, Monday through Wednesday, a couple hours each day. This week I did all the math for the students I teach across the street and realized that teaching 18 lessons this month amounts to... $180. That's even worse than working at McDonald's. Of course, Tustin Music takes a big cut, and I make a little more with my private students. But, gosh, I've just been spinning my wheels trying to think of what to do in the fall--where will I work? I've thought about Starbucks. One thing I enjoyed at McDonald's was mixing iced coffees. I could be a secretary maybe. I'm just beginning to worry that my degree is . . . oh, I just can't even say the word, it's so disheartening.

This week I went to Starbucks to write a little on my walk home from Tustin Music, and the fellow working said if I played him a song he'd give me a free drink. So I nervously played one of the Irish songs I love, singing over the buzz of the whirring mixers, and I got a free strawberries and creme smoothie and some scattered applause from the patrons. It was more satisfying and more exciting to earn a free drink with a song than it was teaching my lessons that day. Music, that's right--it's worth something. It's worth a fair trade, and that was a fair trade in my mind. I'll play for food. Maybe I'm a performer at heart. A timid one, an budding and yet-to-be-matured one, but I think it's in there somewhere.

I'm excited to go back to Provo and join Orchestra at Temple Square again. It used to be something I squeezed in between BYU orchestra and school and everything else. But in the fall, it may be my one opportunity to play the classics, be on stage, you know? Man, we had some great concerts in the past few years. Stravinsky's Firebird Suite, Dvorak's New World Symphony, several Beethoven symphonies, Mendehlssohn's Elijah, Tchaikovsky, Pines of Rome--the classics. We did many of the same pieces and the same composers (and a lot of Mahler) at BYU, but I knew that would come to an end. I wish everyone could know what it feels like to play those, really play them, and feel it. Mmm. I miss it. I wasn't sure I would, but I do.

After a few months of blogging, I realized I've sort of succumbed to the idea that the blog should always be witty, funny--I want readers, I want cyber popularity, I want photos and bright colors and laughs. But sometimes . . . well. I'm not feeling up to it.

I started with my notebooks again. I've taken myself on a couple writing dates to Starbucks, and it's coming back to me. The blog has been a great outlet for entertainment, but the writer in me craves something more complete, something more honest. A bigger picture, if not the whole picture. I don't think anyone could bear the whole picture--I have trouble bearing it myself. Look at the NY Times most notable books of 2007 (www.nytimes.com/2007/12/02/books/review/notable-books-2007.html )--check out the plot summaries. DEPRESSING. Not exactly my goal.

But yeah, I remember when I was about 16, I realized that I wasn't being honest in my writing; I was afraid my posterity would read it and discover the horrible truths about me. Heaven forbid they would realize I was a real person. A real person living a gritty and beautiful life. I wouldn't be who I am without my desires, my mistakes, my hopes/fears and everything else.

I have these boxes of notebooks in the closet. Around 45 filled notebooks. More than 9,000 pages. When I was thirteen I started this journaling obsession--I think it was because I didn't have many friends at the time, and it was my only outlet to . . . chat, vent, speak, say what I was thinking--all of that.

The journals aren't quite diaries, mind you. Journals and diaries are different. Diaries are the "Dear Diary, today I mowed the lawn, or today I traveled to the city." Sure, sure, there's some of that, even lots of that. But journals have a little extra--sometime more: thoughts dug a little deeper, philosophies, observations concerning this mortal experience. Journals and letters used to be THE thing to do, you know? And they were overshadowed by commercial publication: the novel, dramatic memoirs, and coffee table picture books (all of which I love. Sigh).

It's like classical music. Or playing classical string bass. I told my dad the other day, all I have is guitar students. Playing the bass is a dying art. Nobody even knows such a thing exists, it seems. Everything thinks it's a cello and asks me why I didn't choose the piccolo (where's the ingenuity?) They want me to play in church, but I hesitate--there would be more gawking than intent listening, wouldn't there be? Dad said it's not a dying art, it's just . . . specialization. But come on, I ask the sky, when was the last time someone wrote a symphony that you heard about and actually went to see that wasn't a university commision or something totally mod or just the soundtrack to an action movie? Is it out of style?

My bass teacher in high school, the principle of the Colorado Springs Symphony, asked me when I was a senior if I was seriously going to major in music. I was planning on it. I was between that and art, but I had more awards in music, so that was my decision. Anyway, that was the year the Colorado Springs Symphony went bankrupt, my teacher was disenchanted with the whole business, he and his wife gave me the garden gnome as a farewell gift, and I went off to music school.

I want to be an artist--I think I am. I lie in bed and I think I am. I have hundreds of Liz Rhodes Red and Yellow CDs in boxes in the closet, like the stacks of notebooks in the closet. When we moved, I was sincerely interestested in burning the notebooks and giving the CDs away. Who needs to carry around the past like that--old thoughts, old songs about people that have gone their own way? I have a new life now. Different things to write about and sing about. But I'm in a bit of a rut. I can write words and songs, but now I don't know where they'll go, or what to do with them. They dissipate into space. Maybe I don't want to win the Pulitzer--or maybe it's just an unrealistic dream. Maybe I don't want to sell my soul to commercial publishers and the New York Times Best Seller list--maybe that's an unrealistic dream too.

The other day I sat down and worked all morning on an idea I had for a novel that I tried to start last year and never finished. I've never finish projects like that. This time, all I ended up with was the usual load of crap. Good start, and then . . . blahhhh. I haven't been writing novels all my life, so I don't know what motivates me in that direction. I guess that's how you write a novel--you start one. And then you finish it. I've just been writing disconnected thoughts all my life. And that's what blogs are good for, I guess. None of it has to make sense. There's a date at the top of each entry, and it all goes into neat archives in the online closet. The only time it's thoroughly read is probably when it is written, unless it's short and funny. So if you got this far, thank you. Thank you for investing your time in whatever this mess of words is. And don't feel bad if you didn't invest. That's just as okay. This was more for me.

If you feel like singing a song

And you want other people to sing along

Just sing what you feel

Don't let anyone say it's wrong

And if you're trying to paint a picture

But you're not sure which colors belong

Just paint what you see

Don't let anyone say it's wrong

And if you're strung out like a kite

Or stung awake in the night

It's alright to be frightened

When there's a light (what light)

There's a light (one light)

There's a light (white light)

Inside of you.

-Wilco, "What Light," Sky Blue Sky

And I totally recommend this album.

Gumbo & the Secrets of Southern Cooking

I'm always surprised everytime I meet people who have never heard of gumbo, which is a rich part of my family's tradition. And I don't mean gumbo from a prepackaged box or even gumbo at Mimi's cafe--I mean the real thing.

Okay, so gumbo: it's this traditional French Creole/Lousiana/super South soupy-stew you make when family gets together. Grandma would tell me these stories of her relatives showing up at the homestead and her mother going out to kill a chicken and get that gumbo started. Grandma taught me the family recipe gumbo--generations old--when I was in high school, and since, I make it on special occasions and when my family gets together. I used to host the Annual Bass Gumbo Night in Provo for all the bassists in Utah I could think to round up.

So let me tell you the secrets (or a few of them because I'm not telling you the whole recipe unless you prove yourself worthy. Too bad for you!) Here's me and Gran with some of the basics going. Here we have a pot of seafood stock and a pot of chicken and sausage simmering in their juices. Then we have a sauteeing pan with what Grandma calls the "Holy Trinity" of southern cooking. What is it... green peppers, onion, and celery? Oh my gosh, I'm right. It's even in wikipedia.

This is the super secret ingredient, which is what makes gumbo gumbo, and which also makes most resteraunt/box gumbo NOT gumbo. It's the roux! (Pron. "rue")
Here's the wikipedia definition for the otherwise ignorant: Roux (IPA: /ˈruː/) (pronounced somewhat like the English word "rue") is a mixture of wheat flour and fat. It is the basis of three of the mother sauces of classical French cooking: sauce béchamel, sauce velouté, and sauce espagnole. Butter, vegetable oils, or lard are common fats used. It is used as a base for gravy, other sauces, soufflés, soups and stews. This wikipedia entry on gumbo (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gumbo) is actually a fascinating read.
This is the darkest roux I have ever seen in my life, besides in an etouffee (a relative dish of gumbo) I had in NYC at a French Creole cafe. Mine is usually like a reddish toasted coffee color, but I want to see if I can get it this dark--it was really good.
Here's Sam peeling some shrimp to put in Grandma's seafood pot. It was kinda funny with three generations of Rhodes women in the kitchen making gumbo, because while each of us learned this trade from the same line of family, we're each very particular in the kitchen and have developed our own idea of what gumbo should be. I like mine a little thicker, with plenty of anaheim pepper, seafood, and chicken. Grandma likes seafood with crawfish, plenty of oysters and clam juice. Toni says you do NOT put crawfish in gumbo. (We put squid and crab and crawfish and every little sea creature you could imagine into Grans, which she found appalling). Toni's was very peppery, with less roux, fewer veggies and garlic, and plenty of chicken and sausage. None of us use okra, actually.
Serve over rice and enjoy! Okay, I think they're actually eating salad and BBQ in this picture, but either way, we were a happy bunch of eating people.

If you think you knew my family, I didn't

For the 4th of July weekend, Sam and I flew to Dayton, Ohio to visit my granny, Aunt Toni (my dad's one sister), and more of the Rhodes line. Sam had never met my grandma, and I, to be honest, had never really met my aunt or my cousins--I remember Aunt Toni visiting my senior year of high school (when I was like, no way! I have an aunt?), but I'd never spent one on one time with her. And my cousins--I had actually never spoken with them. Luckily, this was my chance to meet one of them: Matt, the youngest. This was a meeting that should have happened long ago. Here it is. Proof that my family exists.

Here are 3 generations of DeCoux women of the French Creole, Louisianan, and possibly Haitian line. L to R: [great] Aunt Bennette, Aunt Toni Rhodes, me, and Grandma Toni DeCoux Rhodes. We celebrated Aunt Toni's birthday.

This is an [obviously] very old photo of my gran and her sisters. Grandma is on the left holding the rose. She said she was very upset--she "didn't want to be holding no rose"--that's right. Put up a fight! One thing the Rhodes women are good at.

This is my cousin Matt, the youngest of my three cousins--what an awesome, good guy. He has quite a story to tell, and I hope he doesn't mind if I write a little of it. Matt and I lived totally different childhoods on seemingly two ends of the world. As we had the chance to talk for a few hours in the evenings when the endless feast-parties died down, I learned a lot from Matt about a world I was never exposed to--I can understand now why my dad brought us up where and how he did. I grew up in white suburbia, Colorado Springs. I'm not sure how to describe how Matt grew up--he got shot when he was 14 and the bullet's still in him--that's a story to ask about. He's been through a lot, I guess. Gangs and the works. He said his was a story I could write about, but I told him I wouldn't unless it had a good ending, and I think we're both still in the middle of our stories. Here's Aunt Toni and Matt with two of his 8 children, one of which was born the day before we arrived. These chilluns be Oddie and King.

Sam entertained Oddie and King for hours with his magic tricks and orgami. Here's Oddie making a plastic egg disappear in Sam's shirt.
A snapshot in the middle of a three day non stop feast. Day one: roast chicken, potatoes, spinach greens, rolls. Day two: southern BBQ (ribs, chicken, hot dogs, in a great homemade sauce), slaw, salad, rolls, and cornbread. Day three: chicken and sausage gumbo, seafood gumbo, and the fixin's. More on gumbo to come.
I tried to give Sam corn rows, but this is what happened. Aunt Toni had just had her braids done, which I never have, but I'm thinking about it. Sam and Grandma, chatting by the park on the river.
Sam and I surprised Aunt Toni with a little palm tree to remind her of us in California. We were all really excited about it.
Walking into Aunt B's house.
Aunt B is very influential in the community, she's well traveled and does social work, collects dolls from around the world, and has a great collection of black madonna artwork. (My grandmother is one of 13 children; Aunt Bennette is gran's late brother's wife.) Here's Aunt B and Sam in a couple of masks from her collection.The Dixie Drive-In where Sam and I spent 4th of July Eve watching the fireworks, WallE, and Get Smart. When was the last time you went through a drive in, seriously? I hadn't since I was, like, seven. What a screaming deal.

Sam, me, and Grandma in her apartment. Grandma moved the day after we left to a new, and much nicer apartment. Man, this building she was in downtown was really ghetto--very sketchy, dirty, and full of shady people, animals, drinks, and the like. So glad she's in a better place now, and I don't mean heaven--not yet! On thing I've always appreciated about my grandma is that she is one of the most grateful people I know. She appreciated our visit so much she could hardly express it. She's one person who is always thrilled when I call, and I want to learn to value people in the way she does.

It's not over till it's over. Next up: The Adventures of Gumbo.

My McDonald's: A Photo Journey to the Center

I snuck a camera in with me to work on Saturday, my last day of work at McDonald's. Towards the end my 7 1/2 hour shift, I was really antsy--partly because my feet were killing, me, but also because I almost... didn't want to leave. I know, weird. I've come to really love the people I work with--it's like in the time after I put in my two weeks, I started really making friends and enjoying myself. The last two weeks were the most fun, by far. Where did the snooty customers go? I don't even know. Well, here it is, my photo homage to the Tustin Ranch McDonald's. You were so good to me, in a really weird and unexpected way, but thanks.

Sam dropped me and my bike off before going to the aquarium to volunteer--I had tried to get out of my last day of work because I really wanted to go to the aquarium too, but Saturdays are killer busy, it was my official last day, and . . . I dunno. I ended up staying.

This was my last free meal: a grilled chicken bacon ranch salad. We got one free meal per shift, and half off anything a half hour before or after your shift. I usually ate the salads, which I really like and actually recommend. My fav was the crispy chicken southwest salad with bottled water and a chocolate chip and sugar cookie for dessert. On Friday I finally read the nutrition facts (they're on the back of that paper sheet on the food tray) while I was lollygagging in the drive thru, and I discovered that the chicken salad versus the sandwich is like 200 less calories. My meal the day before, with a crispy club and fries, even with water, was literally 1000 calories. The salads, though, are like 300-500 calories. Something like that.

I don't even know this gals name, but she always swept and mopped under my feet. Here she is sleeping in the break room. I rarely actually took my breaks in the break room because it smelled bad--it was back by the freezer and the trash compactor. I almost always took my breaks outside by the play place, eating my lunch, reading the paper, or calling Sam.

Here's Miriana, putting on more eyeliner, which she does, like, every break. She's really funny. She complimented me on how white my teeth are and said she's never had white teeth like mine--she hasn't been able to have her teeth cleaned every year, and she smokes and drinks coffee, she said. I don't know where she's from, but I think she's European. She'd yell, "'Scuse me, lady!" when she mopped around my feet.

Miriana, Kristian, and me. Kristian was another fav. worker. He was usually in the kitchen making the sandwiches, and always said hi. I'm not sure if he dies his hair, but it's a great color. Behind us is one of the many Safety posters. Whenever I did hurt myself--like a little cut or a coffee spill or something, I never wrote it down. I don't think they really want you to write it down unless you've lost an appendage. Otherwise, who's going to win the safety lottery?

The back, by the first drive thru window.

The friers. The fry baskets are actually really heavy--"two hands, two hands!" they'd say. There were so many customers who would give us their fries back wanting fries right out of the frier. But it's like, the fry baskets are so small, we're constantly making fries, so none of the fries are more than, like, a minute old during the rush. Whatev. The no-salt-on-the-fries customers were, in my mind, in the same basket as the egg-white-only customers in the morning. Of course we'll do it, but if you don't want fat or salt, maybe you shouldn't be here in the first place.

Here's Scott, who's worked here for a LONG time. "Don't tell nobody!" He'd always say. We had a few conversations in the mornings on the empty play place when I had breaks while he was sweeping around the tables. His wife passed away a while ago and he's since been very active at his church, serving there when he can, although he usually has to work Sundays. I told him I asked for Sundays off so I can go to church every week, and he was very supportive--it's awesome if you can go every week. He wishes he could do the same.

Here's my buddy Amitt, hanging out by the sliding storage shelves. Amitt just went to Anime Expo in LA. So did one of my guitar students. Amit also picked petunias for some of us to wear behind our nametags the other day. He told me not to tell Sam he gave me a flowers and candy (he gave me an extra box of Starbursts he had) because he didn't want Sam to come and beat him up. But Sam didn't mind. In fact, Sam ate a lot of Starburst and loved it.

Jose, a really awesome and funny fellow. He didn't want me to take his picture. Too bad! Jose wants to go to Japan and teach English or something and I said he should. He hopes he's a good person and I think he is. He's been at McDonald's for a year or so and I think he's been putting in applications for a new job. On Saturday, my last day, I was working with this, like, 15 year old who asked me, "So, do you drive yet?" Jose and I were appalled. Jose read the blog and liked it--he said it's like English-major good, and I thought, man, if I had only finished my double major... which I didn't. So I guess I'd better have something to show for it somehow.

Hideous decorations celebrating the new chipotle BBQ bacon burger. Wowza!

The registers, where I spent most of my time. Occasionally I'd work drivethru.

And that's it. That's my McDonald's. I'm definitely planning to visit soon, and I doubt that my old "I'm too good to even eat at McDonald's" mentality will return--I've softened up a little, I guess. My new plan is to go there now and then to write--I really want to finally do it, finally start writing books, and . . . it's scary, but I'm stewing on some ideas, and I just hope the muse will come to stay, at least while I have these wide open weeks before we move back to Provo. I might take the laptop, toss it in a backpack, and bike to McDonald's to write. It's a surprisingly stimuilating atmosphere, mostly because it's PRIME for people watching. That's been the best part about working there--getting to know the people. Cheers to them all.

Sam picked me up from work-- he was back from the aquarium. And after his accounting midterm for his online class, we went to celebrate at the beach, watching the skim boarders and the crashing waves, and going for burgers, fish, and chips at Ruby's on Balboa pier. So, I have to admit, life is still really good. Even without McDonald's.

They were actually coffee cake rolls, not brownies, but Lizzy can be crazy some times

Hi guys, this is Sam. Liz had kind of a sweet tooth tonight. I tried to stop her from eating, but she said her hips were hungry. I wasn't convinced, so I took the coffee cake buns away from her and put them on top of the cooler on top of the fridge and told her to go to bed. Then all heck (with a capital H) broke out. She went crazy.

Here's the evidence:

The List: Most Influential Albums

Last summer I sent out an e-mail requesting a list of my friends' most influential albums. NOT the coolest or even favorite albums, but albums that represented life changes or rites of passage--albums that transcend your everyday musical experience. It's interesting to see the music that molds us. Maybe the music even chooses us, if we don't choose the music.

Here's my original list, followed by other responses:

Liz's Top Seven (as of July 9, 2007):

1. Maxfield, 2290
"She thinks she missed the train to Mars, she's out back counting stars."
After seeing this EP recorded live in February '06, I went home not only determined to learn how to play the guitar, but to become someone greater than what I'd let myself become. Seeing it done was like watching the burning bush to me. Still not over it.

2. Kate Rusby, Hourglass
"As I roved out one fine May morning . . . ."
I bought this at a dive record shop in Cedar City, the first summer I lived and worked away from home and on my own. Playing bass with Sassafrass, the all-girl bluegrass band, I was eaten alive by the genre of folk (specifically Irish folk)—not cheesy/country/twangy songs about Johnny Appleseed, but almost: songs of the land, timeless traditions, tunes that are still alive for a reason. It's like I finally found my musical home. That, and I was still obsessed with the Irish (post Angela's Ashes). I have since wanted to be Kate. I am Kate.

3. The Smashing Pumpkins, Rotten Apples: The Best of the Smashing Pumpkins
"Who wouldn't stand inside your love?"
The first band that was all my own—none of my siblings or close friends knew the Smashing Pumpkins. "Drown" was the anthem of my junior and senior years of high school. This music made me fall into myself and explode. Whoa. Sometimes it still does.

4. Les Miserables (1987 Original Broadway Cast)
"This rain will wash away what's past."
I never sang out loud for anyone to hear until I checked this out from the Pikes Peak library (tens of times, I'm sure). I'd never seen the play in person, but I knew every song by heart. The e-mail address from age 11 still exists (EponineR@aol.com!)—I sang Eponine's parts like they were my life; I never got the guy and I wallowed in it. This Les Mis obsession is what taught me how to sing, which I never did in public until I went to BYU.

5. The Beatles: 1962­–1966, 1967–1970
"Look at him working, darning his socks in the night when there's nobody there."
My elementary school best friend, Amelia Kronser, was obsessed with the Beatles: posters on her ceilings, she slept with a Ringo doll and wept when George Harrison died. I owned the blue and red sets—those four CDs. When I slept over she would quiz me with her tape deck rolling: whose voice is whose? John or Paul, Liz? Who is it? But I still can't always tell. Anyway, I only listened to oldies until this point, but the Beatles were my transition to the next dimension of music. It only makes sense.

6. blink-182, Enema of the State
"I haven't been this scared in a long time."
The punk/Hot Topic stage, sophomore year of high school. My best bass-playing friend and locker partner, Liza Lehmkuhl, shared this obsession with me. We'd sing "Going Away to College" and bounce in our seats on the bus when we toured with the youth symphony. Blink was the only big, rock-like concert I have ever been to, even to this day (must remedy that—possibly this summer). This "rebel" phase was when I finally escaped my reputation as a silent, gray, introvert bookworm. This is when I began to wear bright colors.

7. Diana Krall, All for You: A Dedication to the Nat King Cole Trio
"The gypsies say, and I know why, a falling blossom only touches lips that lie."
Basically, this album invited jazz to make a permanent move into my love life. It was about the same time that I first started taking jazz bass lessons. I borrowed this album from Carrie Maxwell, my sophomore roommate at the BYU, and it's funny because I still don't own it. We lived in a hole, but this album contributed to a brutally beautiful year.

I wish I could include everyone’s stories about these albums, but I’ve condensed them here:

Sam Lambson
1. Weezer - Pinkerton & Blue
2. Pavement - Brighten the Corners
3. Jimmy Eat World - Static Prevails & Clarity
4. Radiohead - 200% Greatest Hits (A pirated CD I picked up at a dock in Bangkok - don't ask. Mostly from the Bends)
5. Goldfinger - Hangups
6. Cake - Fashion Nugget
7. Third Eye Blind - Third Eye Blind
8. Modest Mouse - The Moon and Antarctica
9. James Taylor - Greatest Hits
10. Paul Simon - Graceland

Julie Krainock
1. Pretty in Pink Soundtrack
2. Joshua Tree, U2
3. When Harry Met Sally Soundtrack, Harry Connick Jr.
4. Nevermind, Nirvana
5. The Very Best of Nat King Cole, Nat King Cole and Best:1991-2004

Matt Di Giordano
1. Nightfall in Middle Earth by Blind Guardian
2. Symphony of Enchanted Lands by Rhapsody
3. Crystal Planet by Joe Satriani
4. Somewhere in Time by Iron Maiden
5. Les Miserables by Boublil and Schonberg
6. The Universal Migrator: parts 1 and 2 by Ayreon
7. V: The New Mythology Suite by Symphony X
8. One Cold Winter’s Night by Kamelot
9. Final Fantasy S Generation by Nobuo Uematsu
10. Tales Along This Road by Korpiklaani

Jed Blodgett
1. Buddy Rich - Big Swing Face
2. Rush - Exit Stage Left
3. Soundgarden - Superunknown
4. Chic Corea - Akoustic Band
5. Karizma - Document

Marcus Voght
Weird Al--Alapalooza
Star Wars--The Return of the Jedi
Kenny G--Christmas Album
Phantom of the Opera
5 Hebrew Love songs-Eric Whitacre
Stuart Maxfield's new CD, Good Morning Maxfield

Rachel Harlos
1. Bobby McFerrin, The Voice
2. Selena, Dreaming of You
3. The Chipmunks, Christmas Album
4. Edgar Meyer, Unfolding
5. Jacqueline DuPre, The Early Recordings

Libby Cannon
Maroon 5 - Songs About Jane
Coldplay - Parachutes
Dashboard Confessional - Swiss Army Romance
Les Miserables - Andrew Loyd Webber
Wicked (the Musical)
Beatles - One

Tom Bell
Kings of Convenience- Riot on and Empty Street
Yo-Yo Ma plays Ennio Morricone
Dave Matthews/Tim Reynolds- Live at Luther College
Philip Glass- Solo Piano
The Strokes- Is This It?

Aaron Hatch
1. Beatles, The Beatles (The White Album)
2. Counting Crows, August and Everything After
3. B96, WBBM FM Chicago
4. Michael Jackson, Thriller
5. Evil Tambourines, Library Nation
6. Beck, Odelay
7. Dave Matthews Band, Under the Table and Dreaming
8. The Best of the Best Of's, Rhino Records
9. Kevin Gould, (in exceptional cases, human beings can count as albums)
10. Sting, Ten Summoner's Tales

Deborah Palmer
1. Ofra Haza: Desert Wind
2. Loreena McKennitt: The Visit
3. U2: The Joshua Tree
4. Anggun: Snow on the Sahara
5. October Project: Falling Farther In
6. Afro Celt Sound System: Sound Magic, Release, Further in Time, Seed, Anatomic

Alan Taylor
Samuel Barber, Essay for Orchestra
Madonna, Like a Prayer
Alfred Schnittke, Concerto for Piano and Strings

Robert Qualls
Charles Mingus Ah Um
Miles Davis Kind of Blue
Beethoven Symphony No. 5 and 4 (Chicago Symphony, conducted by Georg Solti)
Edgar Meyer Edgar Meyer (also his recording of the Bach Cello Suites)
Glenn Miller Platinum Glenn Miller

Feel free to respond with your list!

Sam's First New Outfit

The last time Sam got new clothes was like, a million years ago when he got back from his mission. Needless to say, for an active fellow like Sam, almost all of his clothes are plagued with holes and stains.

Another challenge: Sam has a sort of [nearly] terminal disease called I-cannot-physically-stand-shopping-for-more-than-30-minutes-itus. That's why I registered for our wedding without him. I knew taking him to Target and subjecting him to three + hours of "Do you like this one or this one?" might put him in the grave before we were even married. The other fiancee's I saw at Target (the male halves) did look close to death.

Alas, Sam and I went to the mall this weekend for our first intentional shopping spree. We had to have ice cream when we were done--it was very taxing, but Sam made it through. We found him the newest version of his favorite Gap pants in a fresher, lighter shade, with snap buttons on the back pockets, and a closer fit.

Look at this transformation!

Can you believe it? What a contrast!
Now. What do we do with the old, shredded pair?

The next big step has been to THROW THE OLD PANTS AWAY. Yes, this is a very big step. They may have been the favorite pair of pants, but let's face it. The perfect pants can't last forever. You just gotta leave them behind. Say goodbye. Move on. Reconcile with the past and accept change. See your personal therapist if this is too difficult.

To really kick off Goodbye #1, Sam decided to throw his old fav pants across the parking garage from our balcony to the dumpster. This picture story tells all:

Ready... aimmm...

FIRE!

Oh no!Save the pants!
And then thrown them away! The trash man took them away today.

One small step for mankind. More to come in the next issue of SQ: Sam Quarterly.

Straightening Sam's Hair

Sam's hair has grown very long, but you can't always tell because it curls up in that Greek god way all the time. Since my sister never let me straighten her hair and still has never straightened it in her lifetime, I've begun to reach out through other avenues with my Chi. Not, like, my harmonious spirit chi, but my actual Chi tourmaline (ooh!) straightener.
90's? Nerdy?
Cool.
That's right.

The McDonald's Checklist

This is the original list of reasons why I wanted to work at McDonald's. I'm completing my own survey: did I accomplish what I set out to learn?

Why McDonald's is Good for Me
[and, might I add, SO WRONG for me]

1. Get out of the house and make friends: check!

2. Learn what it's like to work fast food: check! Didn't take long!

3. Learn what kind of people work at McDonald's--if you can't beat 'em, join 'em: check!
Only... I hate to admit it, but with a degree, I could probably beat em, at least carreer-wise, and I don't want to join them for much longer.

4. Improve and practice my Spanish: Para aqui o para llevar? Como? Como? Como? Check!

5. Get to know the high schoolers and try to be a good example...try to be an inspiration to get an education and not necessarily work at McDonald's afterwards:
Mmm... maybe? I probably just convinced them it'd be more worthwhile to quit and not necessarily work at McDonald's at all. For the first time ever, even M'Dee said she wanted to quit and was feeling sick after the soda fountain exploded on her, sprayed soda everywhere for 20 minutes nonstop, and flooded the floor. I wouldn't say this is an easy going job.

6. Overcome my fear of strangers: check! This I'm grateful for.

7. Allow myself to eat french fries once a week: Actually, no. I ate more salads than I have ever. But I did, after almost 10 years, start drinking Coke. Yesterday: Diet Coke. Hellllllooo aspertane! Blehhh

8. Watch all the kids really loving their Happy Meals and playing in the Play Place:
--more like watch all the kids screaming their guts out, crying, throwing their food, driving their parents crazy, and being spoiled* with Happy Meal Toys. Not all children are cute.
(*does not apply to all children. Only the spoiled ones.)

9. Know what it's like to clean up after customers like myself: No.
--more like watch the decrepid and maltreated elderly workers with no retirement fund sweep the parking lot, mop, and clean the bathrooms. I never had to do it.

10. Try to communicate with people across the boundary of the fast food counter:
Yes, try all you want. It's almost impossible. One day I tried saying, "How are you?" first thing to every customer, but I could only do it for like an hour before I gave up. Most people ignored the social grace and just said, "Gimme a number 11 with coffee." But it really depends on the customer--there are as friendly of customers as there are nasty, mean ones. Basically, the fast food counter, I've discovered, is not a panel for conversation. It's a panel for ordering food, and that's about it. That's to be expected.

11. Overcome my intellectual, upper-middle-class-youngest child haughtiness:
In the act of quitting, I think I've only confirmed it is who I am. Frankly, I'm too good for McDonald's, although it has been very humbling, and I have given in to biking with a helmet, at least in California. But mostly, the job was useful to me as an intellectual, psychological, and social study.

12. Improve my work ethic with a non-cushy job: check! Lazy time (and blog time) are much more appreciated.

13. Learn to appreciate food service at all other fast food chains: Um. I think it sucks all around.

14. Learn the inner workings of the McDonald's corporation: check! Corruption!
But actually--I took the McDonald's yearly employee survey about working conditions, benefits, complaints, etc., and I actually didn't have a lot to say. Compared to other fast food chains, McDonald's is probably not the worst place to work. Because the corporation is so big and under such a watchful eye, they actually treat their employees pretty well, I'd say. I didn't have as much to complain about as I thought. I mean, working there, you can't expect anyone to shine your shoes or pat you on the back all the time. Work, like most work, is just... work.

15. Fulfill my Dad's desire that everyone work fast food once in their lives: check! Hope you're happy!

16. Make minimum wage and buy things with it: check! I have been very selective with what I buy with my meager paychecks. This weekend's trip to Dayton is on the tab, as was my pedicure (splurge!), a few new clothes for me and Sam, pastries from the Italian market, etc. My last paycheck, I hope, will be enough for the oil painting class I'm planning to take at a studio downtown.

17. Overcome the feeling that I deserve a snooty job post-university: Well... I can't say I even want a snooty or "rolling chair" job, but I find teaching my guitar students (their numbers are steadily rising!) and writing much more fulfilling. It's good to do what you know and love doing.

18. Realize that I am not defined by what I do, but who I am: Actually, McDonald's did push my self esteem down considerably, and really challenged this point. When you're treated poorly (like abused children, etc.), sometimes it's hard to feel that you're better than that. It was a fight to remember who I am on occasion. But I think, at this point, I've learned to stand up for myself at work. When my managers falsely accuse me or yell at me unwarranted, as of yesterday, I've started talking back. No more Mrs. Nice Guy.

19. Learn to keep a smile on my face for more than 4 hours straight: Almost impossible. (Too cynical?) I can't even tell if I'm smiling anymore when I take orders, but I'm usually content and friendly when I do, keeping some sort of smile even when customers are nasty.

20. Obtain very stylish women's Oxford "safety" shoes for $20: check! I may burn them upon completion. Happy 4th of July!

21. Bring home entertaining and thought-provoking stories from work for my husband: check!
One of this week's fun stories, besides the soda machine disaster, was that I gave Katimazing a copy of my album, Red and Yellow (which is still on iTunes--check it out!), and when she shared it with her kids, her daughter already had "Summer Love" off iTunes, and her son's wife had heard of me. Isn't that bizarre? I thought no one had heard of me outside of my immediate circle of friends. Weird!

22. Appreciate any job that I have after this: CHECK

23. Get discounted value meals: check! I have to admit I will miss the salads--they're kinda good.

24. Get some exercise by riding bicycle to work: I don't know if that counts as exercise. But I have noticed a big difference between the active and sedentary lifestyle.

25. Say that once in my life I worked at McDonald's: check! But I'm not sure how often I'll readily admit that in conversation.

There we have it. Next up, I promise: adventures in men's vogue (or lack thereof).