Perils of assimilation

If only life came with subtitles.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Totally Unpaid Promo: My Favorite Radio Stations

But if you want to pay me, that's cool too.

From the immense amout of time I spend driving, I also search for good radio stations to jam to. I'm from the area South of Milwaukee, North of Chicago and East of Madison, so I can pick up every radio station from those three cities.

My Favorite Madison Station: 89.9 WORT (The Wort). This station's schedule is just CRAZY. You could be listening to some Blues one hour and then tuning into The Hmong Hour the next. But their Rock line up is stellar. My personal Favorite is 'Psychoacoustics with the Reverend Velveteen and Crew' including 'The Hour of Slack and The Church of the Sub-Genius.' The Rev. V. plays obscure bands most the time, although recently she did a show dedicated to modern Showtunes. The Wort doesn't tell it's DJs what to play, and so you get an awesome variety of music, espescially with their late-night shows. These start right after bar-close, so it's meant to be listened to while intoxicated.

My Favorite Chicago Station: 93.1 WXRT. Typically plays rock, though often mixes it up with Jazz, Latin, Hip Hop, and Blues. Teri Hemmert's 'Breakfast with the Beatles' is what I put on at work before opening. Lin Bremer's 'Lin's Bin' answers listeners burning questions with an expertly put together 5 minute spot. I get this as a Podcast, seeing as I am currently living in the NW of the state. The DJs are given a bit more freedom than most get at other stations, which is an enormous plus. The FCC limitations on DJs are ridiculous, I think the censorship on most things are out of porportion.

Honorable Mention: 97 WDRV (The Drive)

My Favorite Milwaukee Station: 91.7 WMSE. Supported by MSOE, This station plays a huge variety of music, though not as schizo in it's tastes as The Wort. I particularly dig Hip Hop Wednesdays. This is the station for my dad developing a taste for Hip Hop.

Honorable Mention: 88.9 WYMS (Radio Milwaukee). This used to be a really terrible Jazz station, but has recently switched formats for the better.

Sunday, April 22, 2007

...and you shall know me by the scent of coffee.

I've been reminiscing about my old job lately. The coffee shop biz isn't as romantic as it seems. There are some shitty things about it, such as spilling searing hot espresso all over yourself. Under no circumstances can you wear sandals or shorts because that will be the day a 200 degree caffinated substance will scald you.

Old ladies will come in and bitch about the music. If I'm working alone, I will play what I want and if that happens to be the Pixies or White Stripes that day, tough. Come in on a day that I'm playing Billie Holiday, then. The place where I worked at catered to middle-aged rich Chicagoan women, so we had antiques galore and lace curtains and shit. The layout of the place was horrible, because if you wanted to have live music, some rooms couldn't hear and some couldn't see. The way I see it, the type of music that is being played reflects what kind of person came in that day. If we had easy listening in rotation that day, chances are most of our customers are stingy old women. For classic rock we had more of a middle aged demographic. When my music was played, we had a college age crowd mostly who would sit for hours listening to the music chugging the brown ambrosia.

I think there should be more late night coffee shops around. With Lake Geneva, there is no place for kids 17-20 to go at night, so a late night coffee place would be perfect. It worked great for Taste of Europe and Cafe Aeon.

Another thing that sucks about working in a coffee place is that after a shift, strangers come up to you and SMELL YOU. They get into your face and just start sniffing. Old people, coffee fanatics and kids especially. This is a little known peril of being a Barista. When you hear some one say "Where is that smell coming from? It smells sooo good," it's time to run.

And now I'm going to have to work with this old bitch named Astrid. She fancies herself an artist and brought in her paintings to GJ. They were all the same: scenes of Provence or Zoo animals. She also knit tiny scarfs that she marketed at $30 apiece. No one liked dealing with her, and no one thought her art was any good. And now she's a waitress. oh, irony. It amazes me how many bitches are waitresses. My old boss at Lake Aire was hated by employees and customers alike. She had a, well, a sort of tusk that jutted out of her mouth and reeked of booze. She made every waitress go home crying at least once. There was such a big turn over rate at that place, it wasn't even funny. At least ten quit after two weeks.

There was this waitress that my mom used to work with, Geri. Everyone hated to work with her, because she would be drunk most the time. She liked to mix red wine and pepsi together so no one would think she was drinking. She always HAD to be right. She would give customers free food, and then when those customers came back and couldn't get their free food they would throw a fit and storm out of the restaurant. Her nephew now owns the place. When it changed hands she made a list of everyone she didn't like and gave it to him.

I don't want to waitress for the rest of my life like my mom. But, I do not care about getting a job so I may end up doing that. So many people have asked me what I plan to do with a degree in English Literature and don't seem to understand that I'm doing this to be happy, not so I can get some stupid job. Why is having a career so important to people? I don't get it. I'd rather be happy with my books.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

The ... are killing me

I want to go for a walk right now, but I don't want to go walking alone. Calling someone up is silly, no one will want to go out now. It's not so much the need for physical exercise, but just the need to get out of here. I have permanent wanderlust, I get so frustrated being in one place all the time. I guess that's why my car feels more like home to me than any other place. This build up of anger and frustration and dissappointment is going to explode sometime. I don't express anger as fully as I should.

Saturday, April 14, 2007

Take that, hangover! I have eluded you once more!

Generally, when I feel terrible, I don't hide in my room, I go out and try and hide what I'm feeling with substances and friends.

That was a very long sentence. I'm an awful writer, the only good stuff comes out of my moments of psychosis. Which is how most writers roll, but my psychotic moments are brief and occasional. I'm disgustingly normal.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Music Schizophrenia

Taste in music is high up on my list of criteria for compatiblity. If you listen to Britney Spears or Fall Out Boy, I probably can't stand you. Sometimes this doesn't work however, and someone with awesome musical taste is utterly pretentious and annoying, such as this girl who went to high school with me for a year. She had awesome taste in music, and I managed to snag some Tom Waits off of her, but that was basically her only decent quality. She scorned me because I wasn't into The Doors and because I would relinquish my Nietzche to her. She later disclosed that she wanted to destroy "The Doors of Perception" for an art project. I have problems lending out my babies to those who'll take care of them, much less a pretentious bitch who wanted to destroy philosophy. She clung to me however, and she quickly drove me crazy. I would skip classes just to avoid her, as did everyone else. But this is not what this post is about.
This is about my own musical taste.

I have Musical Schizophrenia. I realized this after listening to Jack Johnson and Marilyn Manson in the same sitting. I consider them to both be very good, but the genre-hopping's getting a little out there: Fiona Apple and MSI, Beck and Chopin, No Doubt and Rammstien, Bob Marley and Regina Spektor. I now wonder if this reflects an incongruity with in myself, a chasm that runs between the peaceful me and the selfdestructive me. Liz'z own great schizm.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Lilac Wine

Written by James Shelton
Covered by Jeff Buckley

I lost myself on a cool damp night
I gave myself in that misty light
Was hypnotized by a strange delight
Under a lilac tree

I made wine from the lilac tree
Put my heart in its recipe
It makes me see what I want to see
And be what I want to be

When I think more than I want to think
Do things I never should do
I drink much more that I ought to drink
Because it brings me back you

Lilac wine is sweet and heady,
Like my love
Lilac wine, I feel unsteady,
Like my love

Listen to me, I cannot see clearly
Isnt that she, coming to me
Nearly here

Lilac wine is sweet and heady,
Wheres my love
Lilac wine, I feel unsteady,
Wheres my love

Listen to me, why is everything so hazy
Isnt that she, or am I just going crazy, dear

Lilac wine, I feel unready for my love
Feel unready, for my love.

Sunday, April 08, 2007

I kinda love being a jackass

Traffic jam on I-94 streatching for miles. An SUV cuts us off. What does one do in this situation?

Exact revenge.

Crank MSI and Gogol Bordello as loud as the speakers will go.
Do seizure braking.
Traffic cone slalom.
Tailgate at 100mph.
and the final touch: pull up to the side and blow a kiss to her and the kids.

Sunday, April 01, 2007

True Family

Getting coffee with Victoria always yields some new and interesting things to think about in my life. She percieves me as such a happy person, but that's only the side she sees when I'm with my friends. My friends make me happy, I consider them my family.

What most perceive as 'family' are those people who feel they HAVE to be there for you, while your friends are the people who actually WANT to be there for you. I sit down to Christmas dinner with a bunch of people who are practically strangers, only our genes binding us together. Maybe it's just because my immediate family are the recluses of the clan. My parents don't do any sort of social things, they keep to themselves for the most part, a tendency I have inherited along with crazy. I have only met my dad's side of the family a few times.

But at a family celebration, lke the Christmas dinner, I find myself yearning for my real family: Lila and Adam.

I have known Lila since first grade, and Adam since second. We were the weird kids who played together. Lila and I were the children of hippies, and Adam...thought he was from outerspace. Though I don't see them as often as I want, I feel incredibly close to them, and I don't keep things from them. Lila and I don't have to talk to have a conversation, and Adam always makes me feel better in his own little way. He doesn't dole out pity, or lectures, but will always just be there when you need him. He is my partner in crime, there isn't much I don't know about him. I know about every crush he's ever had, and who he's had sex dreams about. Lila and I have been through some tense and scary shit together, but we always come out of it ok. We have so many shared memories, and shared dreams. If ever I get an awful feeling about some thing, she is the first person I call because there is no one else I am so connected to.

There are some newer people in my family, too. Caroline for instance, who knows exactly what to say to make me feel better, and has gotten me out of some tight spots. Marc, who is always willing to bail me out even at 3 in the morning. Lucy is my person. She is who I would call if ever I needed help burying a body, or if I got pregnant. We've only been friends for a short while, but I trust her with my life. Jessie is one of the kindest people I have ever met, and incredibly full of compassion and grace. David is like my Eau Claire Adam, always ready for a new harebrained scheme to try out. L. means alot to me, even though we are 400 miles apart. He is there for me the best he can, I know, and I'm grateful for that. I'm grateful for my true family.

ya know, not to get sappy on you all, an' everything.