Another chance to turn it all around.

Queue the dream sequence

Yesterday was one of the weirdest days of my musical life, to be certain. The first time I saw Two Gallants was in a house show in my friend’s living room, in either late 2001 or early 2002. The first time I saw Death Cab for Cutie was at the Crocodile Cafe, a rather tiny venue in Seattle - right around when We Have the Facts… came out (granted, it was so packed that I could hardly actually see them). Yesterday, I saw them both at Bumbershoot.

Two Gallants played a set for KEXP, and then played on the Broad Street Stage. After their main performance, there were people waiting to talk to them and get their autographs, and it was so strange and yet adorable to see the two men who gave me a ride from Jersey to Brooklyn after one of their shows treated like celebrities. In line for their KEXP session, one man said Two Gallants played their daughter’s birthday. He had come up from San Francisco just to see them. Someone else came from Idaho. I’m glad to know that everyone still has such lovely stories about them, because they’re such good people. I talked to Adam who, despite my unreasonable worries each time, always remembers me, and it was nice to talk to him, even though some of the things he told me were a little heartbreaking.

Death Cab played Memorial Stadium, and while it wasn’t the first time I had seen them there (they opened for Presidents of the United States a couple years ago), it was even more surreal this time. I left during the middle to find a restroom, and as I walked back to my seat lightly singing “I Will Possess Your Heart” to myself, I noticed that everyone was singing it, and it was a strange, strange feeling. Being so far away from the band was so distancing, and even though Benny Gib gave it his best rockstar impression (still, unfortunately, looking like Neil Young), I’m not so sure that they’ve learned how to be the best stadium band yet. Still, I had a good time, despite the oddity of the whole thing.

The word of the day is: enervate

Home is always keen on reminding you that it is indeed - and always will be, to a certain degree - home.

Feeling simultaneously excited, nostalgic and anxious, I boarded the plane in JFK not entirely sure what I was walking into. Oh, sure, I had/have my vague notions of what this trip would be like, but every time I come back, there’s always that question of how comfortable I’ll be. Almost each time before I meet up with a random old friend, I wonder, “How will this go? Will this be the conversation where we run out of things in common, and henceforth speak less and less until yet another Seattle friendship has drifted?” But in most cases it doesn’t happen, the weeds were pulled out of this garden long ago, though they occasionally threaten to re-appear in the form of MySpace and Facebook messages, the ultimate indicator of wanting to keep up appearances but not much else. I can’t help but chuckle at the people who contact me through those avenues, obviously wanting me to notice that they’ve just been engaged/married/promoted/whatevered, and I feel a brief twinge of happiness for them, and perhaps occasionally jealousy, both quickly replaced by the amusement of their wanting me to know. Oh, it’s a twisted and smug satisfaction, to be sure, the same I feel when my strongest adversaries read my mp3 blog, ask me to edit their work or still can’t get over something I did on/for the campus newspaper. I know enough to know that this means that whatever I’m doing, it’s working.

More than anything, that’s what Seattle represents to me now. I don’t disdain anything about the city or anyone who lives in it. But to me it’s almost always been a pretty place with ugly insides. It just takes a long time to notice them because everything else is so pretty!

Still, it throws in my face that I did, once upon a time, and in some ways still do love this city, and flaunting the fact that it’s constantly changing - and yet, constantly stagnant. There’s Southcenter, my mall from my high school days, completely renovated, while gawking at which I staggered around thinking how much it looks like Roosevelt Field on Long Island. There was my birthday dinner at Canlis, the standard special occasion restaurant, where my mother’s and my candor earned us free wine, free champagne, and a tour of the kitchen, wine cellars and private dining rooms (stuff like that doesn’t ever really happen in New York unless you’ve got an in or a friend that works somewhere, which I do, but it’s not quite the same as charming it out of your waiter and the sommelier). Drunk on wine, champagne and nostalgia, I floated to bed surprised at how easy it was to leave.

And then there was Bumbershoot, which I explored on my own after mother and I watched Neko Case. Everyone in Seattle still dresses the way they did when I left, still watches shows with the same passive interest they did when I left, still keeps to itself like it did when I left. As I stood on my own at three shows, not only were strangers not kind, three people who know me actively passed me by (in New York chances are pretty good I would’ve been chatted up by strangers and friends/acquaintances alike). I went to Nada Surf wondering if I could ever learn to like them the way that so many people I know here do. But it was freezing (or at least it was in comparison to the weather I was in four days ago), and I was irretrievably bored, unimpressed and unwaivered from my opinion that their songs are not only forgettable but sound alike, so instead I drove around my city, proud of my ability to still effortlessly navigate it, even the areas I’d never been to before. I drove up to Kerry Park, still brought to a standstill by Seattle’s beauty, despite my mixed emotions for it. I drove down along the water, past the Aquarium, past Safeco Park, over to Beacon Hill (my second favorite Seattle view), then back down Denny, around Lake Union, past Fisherman’s Terminal (I actually meant to go to Fisherman’s Terminal, but the sign for it popped up right at the exit instead of before), through Ballard, through the U-District and back to Capitol Hill, where I found more comforts of home in a half beer, basket of ultra-greasy fries, cup of coffee and game of catch-up with a dear friend (who is hopefully moving to NYC soon.) I don’t know what it is about driving around this city, but it’s the only way I can really bring myself to any sort of peace here.

I stayed indoors today and finished a book that’s left me a little conflicted (Post-Birthday World), played catch-up with another dear friend, and enjoyed being fussed over by my mother who, not having been able to fuss over me in person for eight months, is not only happy but eager to do so. Having cast aside both the dependable and erratic love interests in my life, the dueling personalities of the men in Post-Birthday World served only to remind me of the two cities in my life. Seattle, which I really do love, though I pick on it plenty. New York, which I just love more, though it can be quite the battle.

I’m only a few days in and in the meantime have discovered that I’m sorely underpacked, which I don’t think has ever happened to me in my 24 years of existence. If there’s a more fitting simile for the out-of-sorts mental state that 6 months of unemployment followed by a trip home can produce, I haven’t found it.

So, uh, I guess I should’ve anticipated that that Stranger cover was going to start some sort of middle america vs. the coasts and/or cities vs. suburbs vs. country debate, and that was totally not my intent. If anything it was supposed to be more in reference to how things are finally looking up for the Democrats - contrasted with the kind of desperation that Dems felt after Kerry lost. NOT some sort of starter for an argument about cities being “better.”

For the record, I personally have no disdain for people who don’t live in Seattle, or New York, or any kind of big city. (I was not the one who added that “Screw middle America” comment.) Do I think New York City is one of the best places in the world? Absolutely. I mean, obviously. I live here. But I also know that that’s my opinion, that that is in reference to my own life, tastes and experiences, and it’s not a feeling that everyone shares - and thank god, because then the hunt for apartments/jobs/boyfriends would really suck. Personally, I love the country life - my familiy is a family of farmers! I just know that I couldn’t live there year ‘round.

In an ideal world, I’ll have two houses when I’m older. One in a big city, one out in the middle of nowhere.

It’s the suburbs I hate. (Note: SARCASM.)

I am proud to announce that when you type my full name into Google, you no longer have to hunt through tons of James Taylor: Long Ago and Far Away links for results that are actually related to me. Two of the top three are mine.

This is both exciting and frightening.