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I was badly in need of a haircut. I’m pretty sure my last trim was in February and the last two inches or so of my hair looked like spun sugar gone awry. I realized that I was not going to be able to squeeze an appointment in before I left for Chicago if I didn’t go Saturday, so I pounded the pavement of the main street here. The husband joked that I would come home with poofy bangs since the beauty experts in our area tend to cater to a more, erm, nostalgic crowd.

I had faith, however. What I did not have was an appointment and as you might imagine beauty salons are busy places on Saturday afternoons. In fact, the only place that could take a walk-in was a small place that was decked out with Dean Martin figurines and possessed at least half of the world’s supply of rollers. I was the youngest person there by about 40 years but hey these are trained professionals and scissors are scissors.

I think the results are just fine and there’s not a bouffant or blue hair in sight. And it came just in time for my date with the husband to the Maxwell show which was AWESOME. As I stated last night, I predict that that show will urge a small baby boom and that at least 100 babies were made last night. (None here, though, for the record. I will say that the last time we saw Maxwell live, I was quite pregnant and Maxwell had an indirect role in that development. :-p)

And I know that this might get me kicked out of the sisterhood, but Maxwell’s version of “This Woman’s Work” is amazing and absolutely slayed everyone last night.

I really wanted that song to be playing when I gave birth, and yes I had seen She’s Having a Baby a few too many times, but emergency C-sections tend to blow your soundtrack plans out of the water.

ANYWAY, I’m trying to get myself motivated to do stuff around the house before heading out to the thing later. I think you’ll be shocked to learn that it’s not going so well.

So, through a weird twist of events, I’m attending BlogHer in July and I figure since I’m going to a blogging conference, I should probably do some of that there blogging that I’ve heard so much about. (Aside: I’m obviously going through some pretty serious writer’s block and I’m trying not to freak out about it but…I’m freaking out about it.)

We were in Detroit over the long weekend for the DEMF (Detroit’s Electronic Music Festival for you squares). This was my sixth annual trip there and, as usual, there were many hijinks and good times and a few episodes of drama.

We drove there somewhat early on Thursday with our friends Adam and Carleton. We talked a lot about Pittsburgh and the state of music there currently (nutshell: fucking grim).

When we got to Detroit, our first stop was Archer Record Pressing. Adam had to pick up the latest release from Technoir and the husband was picking up the first release on the label that he recently started, Love What You Feel. The record is by a guy who goes by the name of Disco Nihilist and do you like how I don’t write here regularly for months and then I pop up with this entry about records and Technoirs and disco nihilists? You love me.

Anyway, Archer was a really REALLY neat place. We were too late in the day to see any actual records being pressed but the guy that owns/runs the place gave us a tour and a brief explanation of how records come to be.

That’s the husband checking out one of the records. It may not look like it, but I could tell that he was really excited to finally be holding it in his hands. He had worked really hard on it and it was something that’s he’s been wanting to do forever, so it was cool to capture this moment.

We stopped at this place, Simpson’s Records, which Carleton told us about. It’s been in business for over 40 years. Detroit has a TON of independent businesses. Because it’s so spread out and public transit isn’t very good, these businesses operate in markets/neighborhoods that consist of people of very limited means that need to attend to all of their shopping within walking distance (at least, this is what I could gather just from observing). So, these small businesses usually double or triple up their services. Simpson’s sells gospel records, candy and snacks, and you can get your taxes done there. We also passed a barbershop/barbecue restaurant, which sounds gross but I can assure you that the barbecue was outside, away from flying hair.

Carleton is from the Detroit area, so we drove him to his house before making our way to our motel. His mom is currently kicking cancer’s ass and she and I talked about my dad’s recent struggle. Then I made a cancer joke and I think, uh, it might have been too soon because she just kind of looked at me and I felt like the world’s largest jackass.

After we were settled in our room, we went in search of a place to watch the Penguin game. Weirdly enough, Hockeytown was closed. I don’t know what kind of managerial genius you have to be to decide to be closed during the Stanley Cup playoffs. But I had checked the PG’s list of Steeler bars and already had a back-up place that was likely to be Pittsburgh-friendly. I didn’t see any Steelers paraphernalia there and the bar itself was pretty butt, but they were showing the game and they were nice enough to turn off the Stevie Ray Vaughn garbage that they were blasting so that we could hear what was going on.

Friday was full of record shopping at Melodies and Memories and picking up various characters as they arrived in the city. Frank flew in from NYC, Kenny took the train from Ireland (not really), and another friend…we’ll call him Hot Mess, flew in from Atlanta. Incidentally, the husband had described Kenny to me as his Irish doppelganger and that turned out to be a creepily accurate description. Lookit:

Kenny, by the way, was rarely without a drink in his hand the whole weekend and never appeared to be the slightest bit intoxicated. He’s kind of my hero, especially considering my poor performance later on that evening, which we’ll get to in a bit.

We met up with other various members of the Pittsburgh/Pittsburgh-friendly crew for dinner at some touristy but semi-decent Tex-Mex place in Greektown and then started to prepare for our first night out on the town.

Since we had some time to kill we drove around Detroit for awhile, checking out various parts of the city that we’d never seen despite all of our trips there. You probably know that things in Detroit are not great. We saw a lot of heartbreaking poverty and so much evidence of the glittering Seventh City that Detroit used to be. The population is now around 800,000 which is roughly four times the size of Pittsburgh. So it still seems huge to me. But when you see all of the abandoned buildings, you realize that at some point not that long ago, all of those huge buildings were needed to house and employ all of the residents. And now they just sit there, neglected and unnecessary. It really hit me just how many people left, out of fear or necessity.

We also saw some of the most gorgeous mansions sitting on the most pristine lawns, just a few steps away from burned out houses, which are the playgrounds for children whose parents may or may not be watching over them.

Remnants of wealth and a healthy middle class represent the entire life cycle of capitalism in one city block. It’s heartbreaking and beautiful, because out of this, nothing is left but life and survival and tears and thoughts and joy. And as the festival always teaches us, wonderful music is born from that pain and joy.

Later, Hot Mess showed up at our room wearing a Corona tshirt and swimming trunks and bearing a bottle of cheap champagne. He was soon followed by Kent, our buddy who we hadn’t seen in two years!

The “official” kick-off parties weren’t really tickling our fancies but the husband had heard about a house music night at a club not terribly far from where we were staying. I was already kind of tired before we went out, so Kenny and I went to the party store two doors down where I procured some vodka and Red Bull. The elixir was effective…perhaps too effective. See, the vodka gets you drunk (read: rowdy), while the Red Bull wakes you up (read: hyper). Rowdy and hyper. Really not a good combination.

Since it’s getting late in the day and this post is shaping up to be rather epic, I’m going to slap a “To be continued…” here. But, here’s a preview:

My new photography technique is unstoppable.

Dudes! Double-yoo-tee-eff is up with still not being able to write here on the regular?

Spring semester is officially over and I’m happy to report that I did very well, grades-wise. However, I’m taking a summer class and that started Monday. It’s only six weeks long and it’s the last required course that I have for my MA (just one more elective in the fall!).

The class itself is fine. It’s an organizational behavior course through the business school that is mostly made up of undergrads. I am the sole humanities dork. The rest of those guys are in engineering and chemistry and computer science and iwillmakemoremoneythanyouism.

There are many hilarious bits in this whole thing. Like how someone actually snickered when I stated that I was a professional writing person. And today when we were talking about these principles of human resource management that touted such crazy notions as paying good wages, not treating them like shit, etc. The instructor asked what the overarching philosophy was of the principles and the undergrads were pulling out big words like…uh…”derivative” or something. And I raised my hand and said, “Uh, that employees are people and not batteries?” My classmates got that look of faint recognition on their faces. I hope I didn’t blow their minds too much.

There’s also a vague (so far) anti-union feel to the readings, which isn’t at all surprising. I’m just mostly amused by the language used. Like, “Such-and-such manager was successful because he was able to communicate with the labor people.” I get the impression that these young business students are, perhaps indirectly, taught that people in unions are all barbaric assholes who want nothing more than to harsh your capitalist mellow.

Me, my mom, and my dad, circa 1992

I am not union and, because of my line of work, probably never will be. But many of my family members and friends are and it’s a little troubling to think that their future managers are being brought up with this attitude. I’m not saying that all unions are perfect and I’m not saying that there aren’t plenty of assholes in unions. Just…you know…remember that these are PEOPLE (there’s that word again) that we’re talking about.

ANYWAY, I was going to tell you all about this little confrontation that I had with the manager of this bar that the husband was playing records at on Saturday, but I’m almost over it. And, yes, I wrote angry and vulgar couplets about him and his mother and it made me feel better.

We’re going to Detroit this weekend for the music festival and I kind of agreed to take one of the quizzes online at 10:30 on Friday morning, when I will most likely be hungover from our first night in Detroit and post-Penguins festivities, so that should be cute.

My paper is done. The accompanying presentation is done. I just have to look at both with fresh eyes in the morning for any glaring errors, upload them to Blackboard, give the actual presentation and that will be one more struggle under my belt. The other large-ish assignment was moved back a few days so that gives me some time to breathe and then next week is spring break. Of course, that means that I only have to work full-time and be a mom but seriously that seems like a vacation sometimes.

Anyway, with that major assignment pretty much done I will actually be able to hang out here some more! At least until finals start crushing my will to live but for now it’ll be just like old times! Remember when I used to post here more than once a week? Those were the days, eh?

But for now, I think we’ll keep things light and look at some of the notes I’ve scribbled to myself in the margins of my notebook:

“* talk to Heather”

Uh, okay, self. About what?

“* bring HW2 assignment, task analysis”

I totally forgot to do this.

“Pizza Hut”

Uhhhh. Then in the same margin as “Pizza Hut,” it appears as though I do a little word association:

“zone out
streets
fighter
baby
oscar
trailer park
gorgeous
bride
radio
head”

I think that might actually be the mathematical formula for Radiohead’s video for “Street Spirit,” but who knows.

There’s also this doodle that consumes the word association:

It’s like a…maybe a…It’s like my inner child was eaten by a coral reef or something.

I don’t want to stick with the customary format of grace in small things because, as an exercise, it will probably make up the majority of my daily posts and it was starting to depress me to see the same-looking entry over and over.

Anyway.

Today, I found grace in my little basil plant that is surviving, despite my brown thumb. I used a few leaves of it in tonight’s dinner and it was like getting a little kiss of summer.

I also found grace in music. The baby has recently gotten very into J Dilla’s Donuts album. I’ve always liked the whole album, but the past few days that we’ve been listening, I’ve really fallen in love with the track called “Time: The Donut of the Heart.” It’s gorgeous. It feels like a sweet sigh.

I started this post the other day. Go ahead and read through and then I’ll meet you down at the bottom.

As I mentioned the other day, my semester is finally over. It’s a relief, sure, but I find myself uneasy about my final grade. But there’s nothing I can do about it now, so let’s discuss parties.

The baby had his birthday party this past Saturday and it was rather awesome. The Oaks Theater is available for parties so we booked that and showed one of the baby’s favorite Godzilla movies for him and his buddies. It was especially fun for the kids since they got to talk and giggle and wander around the theater during the movie. A taste of the forbidden! The guy at the Oaks also wrote a happy birthday message to the baby on the marquee, which was really cool for him to see.

It was a small group. The kids in the baby’s class don’t seem too big on birthday parties. But that was fine. Less noise, less stress, etc.

So, I highly recommend the Oaks for special events. I will note that it was a tad pricey (not surprising, really) and I’m thinking this will be our last big birthday party for awhile.

Of course, the baby started feeling crappy right as the party was ending and spent the rest of the weekend fighting off a nasty head cold.

I made cupcakes for the party, continuing in my deranged domesticity. Amber requested a picture of a cake wreck and I’m happy to deliver.

Those are chocolate cupcakes with mint icing, as per the baby’s request. I bought this pastry bag set the other day and it’s one of those crappy home baker sets, not a professional one. I don’t harbor any delusions that I am hiding a cake decorating superstar, but the pastry bag experience was rather frustrating. This is as far as I got the other day.

Anyway, yes, cupcakes. I went at them with the pastry bag set not really looking to make them fancy, but it just seemed easier to ice them with that than a butter knife or whatever I normally use. Not so much. But they tasted awesome.

AND I got my final grade for grammar and it’s an A minus. I’m not really sure how I pulled that off but I will so take it.

The title of this post refers to a story I was going to tell you about this yinzer baby shower I went to on Sunday and how I cleaned house during the loathed shower games. But it’s left me.

In fact, I am totally sapped of writing energy. I had an article due on Monday and I guess that and the usual end-of-semester meltdown have rendered me useless. I’ve been sparing you and subjecting the readers of MamaPop with my semi-coherent rambling. Lucky them.

Aaand I’m out of nothings to say. Instead, I’ll leave you with this clip from Sade’s Lovers Live DVD, which we started to watch last night and were stunned by it’s awesomeness.

We’re still all messed up, sleep-wise, from vacation. So you can imagine how shocked I was to glance at the clock last night in the midst of helping the sister-in-law work on her resume and cover letters and see that it was nearly 1:30 a.m. I did a few more things on my laptop…very pressing issues like playing Word Twist, etc., but I was heading for bed.

You know how there are certain business locations that just always fail no matter what kind of business goes into it? There was a Seinfeld episode about this phenomenon and I’m fairly certain that every neighborhood has at least one of these locations.

Of course, in my neighborhood, the only locations that are immune to this phenomenon are those that house the CVS, the Sunoco, and the CoGo’s.

Anyway, there’s an apartment on my street that is always, always rented by the biggest turds on the planet. Every year, new tenants move in, and every year, everything’s fine for a week or two and then the noise starts. There are arguments, fights, parties, crying babies, whatever.

The current tenants aren’t too bad in that respect, but the one dude who lives there is a jerk. He creeps me out. He lurks on the street, stares at people, yells at the husband to turn down music when it’s still early in the day. But after last night, I completely detest him.

He sat in his parked (gigantic, ugly, $500-to-fill-up-the-gas-tank) SUV and blasted…sigh…I have a hard time even forming the word…Creed.

CREED!

God-awful, melodramatic, no-shirt-wearing, “CAN YOU TAKE ME HIGHER?” CREED. At 1:30 a.m. On a fucking weeknight.

I seethed at the husband that if the dude was going to have such horrible taste in music, he could at least suck at a reasonable volume.

The husband cocked his head at me, puzzled, and asked, “Are you sure it’s not Nickelback?”

“What difference does it make?!?!?”

“Well, how do you know it’s Creed?”

“I watch too much MTV.”

“This is like a nightmare.”

“I KNOW!”

After 15 more minutes the husband finally said, “Fuck this, I’m calling the police.”

“Be sure to tell them that he’s listening to Creed. Maybe they’ll get here faster.”

Of course, at that point, the dude turned the music off and, I don’t know, wept over his I <3 Scott Stapp armband tattoo, but I still had a hard time getting to sleep.

So, I went to Conneaut last week…

There were bugs, including this beetle and a flying ant that I inadvertently ate while celebrating my cousin’s birthday. Said ant landed on my chocolate ice cream which I inserted into my gaping maw. I felt a little pinch, which I guess was the ant’s way of saying, “WTF ARE YOU DOING?” I spit him out, but it was too late. He was dead. I mourned him by eating more chocolate ice cream.

There were also bug parts, like this wing that landed on my towel and captivated me so.

You recognize my kid, of course, but the short, drunk-looking guy in the foreground is my baby cousin. He is very cute and likes to cuddle, but he drools a lot. He is the youngest of seven (SEVEN) boys.

I’m kind of over babies at this point in my life, which isn’t to say that I don’t like them, but before I had one I would always go apeshit over them and want to hold them and change them and blah blah blah. Then I had a baby and let me tell you, the novelty of all of that wears off somewhere around 3 a.m. the first night. Now I hold a baby for about 30 seconds and I’m like, “Yeah, I’m good. Here, take this. Is there more beer?”

But this little guy had me quite captivated. It might have something to do with the huge (moist) hug that he gave me. My heart might have melted a little.

Ring Pops for lunch…because we were on vacation and I just couldn’t care.

I scored 100% on “My Name Is Jonas” on the medium level of Guitar Hero III. This may not be an astonishing accomplishment, but the husband and I have been trying to best each other at this song for awhile. I took a picture because he was not around when it happened and I knew he wouldn’t believe me. We have a healthy relationship.

My kid and another of the seven brothers (who will need seven brides at some point, I guess). They look all sweet and precious here, but they were actually in the middle of an epic whinefest that included the longest recitation of, “STOP IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT” ever.

Ain’t it quaint?

I don’t know this guy, but he sat on this bench for the longest time, just quietly taking everything in. I like to think that he stared at those clouds and watched the kids play and reflected deeply on his life.

Or maybe he was just taking note of how hot the lifeguard was.

On our last night we went to dinner at the Stable Pit and Pub, which is this Western-themed restaurant and bar smack dab in the middle of Pennsylvania. It’s very corny and I love it. They have one cottage that they rent out and you can get a romantic getaway package that features champagne service, a Jacuzzi and a mirrored ceiling. I reminded the husband that we never went on a honeymoon, so maybe he’ll surprise me for my birthday. Because what better way is there to turn 30 than in the countryside of Pennsyltucky with cowboy paraphernalia a few feet away? Fingers crossed!

Anyway, they arrange their creamers in this little flower formation and I just thought that was the cutest thing ever.

As soon as we got home from Conneaut, the husband and I headed to Alto Lounge to hear our friend Tony play records. He was headed back to the Navy on Sunday and it was his birthday, so it was all kinds of bittersweet.

Yeah.

This French guy was there and told everyone that he had traveled to Pittsburgh, “in ze canoe,” and demonstrated his rowing technique through some interpretive dance. The sister-in-law found his antics hilarious, but then realized that she probably sounded exactly like that dude during her time in Argentina. “Me llamo Bolt. Yo me gusto Pittsburgh. N’at.”

After we left the club, we saw the French dude approaching random people sitting on their porches. The husband, who had heard all about ze canoe at length, hissed at us to cross the street. Luckily, Shadyside has plenty of alleys that one can sneak through when escaping odd French men. And I think Pittsburgh needs to promote that aspect of our fair city much more.

I made you a muxtape.* Mostly chill stuff, very good for laying around and staring at clouds. Also good for humping. Just sayin’.

*I am all on top of internet trends from like 4 months ago.

I am in serious need of some levity today (is that a contradiction?), so in honor of the 50 greatest conservative rock songs and the subsequent hilarious responses, I give you my top 15 conservative songs:

1. The Beatles “Norwegian Wood” – The line “Isn’t it good, Norwegian wood?” refers to the glorious benefits of a global market and the commercial opportunities afforded to us by imports and free trade. Look for Ringo Starr’s follow-up anthem for Ikea, “Swedish Particleboard.”

2. The Rolling Stones “Start Me Up” – This song was written to celebrate the release of Windows 95 and the overall capitalist success of Microsoft. Only in America!

3. The Beach Boys “God Only Knows” – “God only knows what I’d be without you,” is a sweet ode to The Creator’s omnipotence and psychic powers.

4. U2 “Sunday Bloody Sunday” – In the line, “How long? How long must we sing this song?” Bono expresses his exasperation with singing such liberal anthems.

5. The Sex Pistols “Anarchy in the U.K.” – The call for anarchy is obviously sarcasm. This song is actually just a call for an end to big government.

6. Metallica “One” – “Fed through the tube that sticks in me/Just like a wartime novelty/Tied to machines that make me be/Cut this life off from me” speaks to the glory of dying on the battlefield…er, well, almost dying on the battlefield.

7. The Kinks “Lola” – “I pushed her away/I walked to the door/I fell to the floor/I got down on my knees
Then I looked at her and she at me” refers to the physical altercation that always ensues when a manly man realizes that the chick he’s been macking on is actually a dude. It happens to the best of us.

8. Bob Dylan “Masters of War” – In the line, “You fasten the triggers/For the others to fire/Then you set back and watch/When the death count gets higher” Dylan acknowledges the fact that those who are drawn to politics aren’t that great with all of the killing and stuff and that it’s better left to people who are more predisposed to rage…like pissy broke people.

9. The Pretenders “Brass in Pocket” – The title line is an homage to how it’s better to have money than to not have money and those who do not have money should get some so that they won’t be poor anymore and then they can stop whining about being hungry all the time.

10. David Bowie “Suffragette City” – A plaintive song about how women gaining the right to vote directly led to men refusing to help their buddies in favor of shagging.

11. Ben Folds Five “Song for the Dumped” – Folds rails against welfare queens when he screams, “Give me my money back, you bitch!”

12. Led Zeppelin “Stairway to Heaven” – Proof that God is a capitalist: “And she’s buying a stairway to heaven/And when she gets there she knows if the stores are closed/With a word she can get what she came for.” THERE ARE STORES IN HEAVEN! We can shop ’til we die and then just keep shopping!

13. Pussycat Dolls “Don’t Cha” – The obvious lesson from this song is that good ol’, healthy American competition gives us all character…and results in hotter chicks who will fight and/or make out to attract men with five brain cells. Everyone wins!

14. Chumbawamba “Tubthumping” – Sure, the band members are all anarchists and anti-corporate, but you can’t miss the Horatio Alger pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps of “I get knocked down, but I get up again, you’re never gonna keep me down.”

15. Jimi Hendrix “Purple Haze” – When he sings (I think), “‘Scuse me while I kiss this guy!” Hendrix is apologizing for his homosexuality because he knows it threatens my marriage.

Bonus: Heidi Montag “Higher” – The song is being considered as the new theme for No Child Left Behind.