The Suburbs {live}

 

Image from Live FM

I have never really considered myself an Arcade Fire fan. I really liked the Funeral album when it was first released and was digging a few tracks from Neon Bible, but honestly hadn't given it much attention, the band isn't one I've followed up on. Then there was the whole unexpected Grammy '11 win which is very cool for them. On the flip-side I don't have TV and I really don't pay much attention to the awards other than catching the day-after highlights and best dressed list. Grammy's have virtually no affect on what I'm interested in listening to. Cut to a few weeks ago when I walked in the house to music playing, "What's this? This is nice" as I set my bags down. Darling responded that it was the newest Arcade Fire album The Suburbs and that they would be coming to the Orpheum (the gorgeous theatre where we saw Robert Plant) soon. Stub hub so graciously provided us with some Orchestra Level seats to the sold-out-for-weeks show for less than their original prices. Sa-weet!

To follow up on my intro, last night I may have converted to an Arcade Fire fan. To sum up  the show, it was great. A few songs in particular were fantastic. I think few things are as unique and stimulating as the energy from a good live performance (of any variety). 1} The large group of Canadian musicians has so much talent. Reminded me of the Von Trapp family or Mormon kids, they all played 4+ instruments impeccably and really understood how to harmonize their vocals. Speaking of vocals, love Régine Chassagne's voice. It falls in line with my affinity for the voices of Joanna Newsom and the Coco Rosie sisters. 2} The acoustics of the Orpheum are remarkable. It's such an amazing theatre. See something there if you ever get the chance. 3} Winning Best Album at the Grammy's = a lot of cash for stellar live video projection art, amazing lighting, and a whole roadie crew that makes bouncing from song to song seamless. 4} Playing bells and/or violin never looked so fun.

Not the Memphis show, but a nice taste for you.

Memphis in May's Beale Street Music Festival kicks off tonight. The line up is pretty impressive this year. Maybe I'll see you there on Saturday (Cee-lo Green, friends)? For now, I plan on playing it by ear.

Happy Weekend 

xo

Camping: Earth Day Edition {In Photos}

Here are some photos from our Earth Day/Easter weekend.

A big thank you to the Camping ELF for bringing her fancy camera and getting some great shots!

 

Recent tornado damage in Marianna, AR.

xoxo

What is the Grass?

Walt Whitman. Leaves of Grass. "Song of Myself" Section 6.

6

A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more
than he. 

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green
stuff woven. 

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see
and remark, and say Whose? 

Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the
vegetation. 

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I
receive them the same. 

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. 

Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,
It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out
of their mothers' laps,
And here you are the mothers' laps. 

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths. 

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues,
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for
nothing. 

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and
women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken
soon out of their laps. 

What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and children? 

They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the
end to arrest it,
And ceas'd the moment life appear'd. 

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

"Take A Hike..."

... was, sort of, my initial mantra for the extended Easter weekend. Wait, hold up--that's exactly right extended weekend because, you see, in the South, Good Friday is a holiday for schools and businesses (Holla!) (this certainly was not the case where I grew up). So with that, we got a few friends together for camping at Bear Creek Lake, AR. And I was all geared up to do just that, "Take a Hike," get outside, expend my energy, take a dip in the refreshing cold lake, make vitamin D from the rays of the healing sun, eat good food, and, generally heal my soul.

Cut to reality. There were 5 humans and 4 dogs. All of us so desperate to get outside and indulge ourselves that we really over did things (I assume each of us had our own reason for doing so, not to mention the power of peer pressure). I would guess that we each consumed 8,000 calories Friday (we were car camping after all, plenty of room for coolers!) and boy did we do it up right! There was cedar smoked salmon with peppers + lemon + huge sprigs of fresh dill, bulgar, asparagus, dutch oven strawberry cake, smores, cold cuts, fresh pico de gallo + chips, deviled eggs, multiple s'mores... and I'm going to stop there because the list starts to become embarrassing after that... We did take a dip in the lake but otherwise getting up to add wood to the fire doesn't count as an "activity". 

Each of us basically needed all-day Saturday to recover from Friday, taking the food consumption down a notch (fortunately) (*don't hear me wrong, it was still totally out of control*). And by Sunday, when I was all set to get physical and go hiking, it was time to pack up camp and leave. 

Moral of the story: Get out to the woods more often. (And I do hope to take my own advice on this one as soon as dancing frees up weekends.)

Aside from being far lazier than anticipated, it was a most excellent weekend. Great to connect with Darling and friends, great to have Cash with us, so great to breathe some fresh air, sleep on the ground, read in the sunlight, swim in the cool water AND with all the pent up energy I had on Sunday I was able to unpacked everything before 1 and got started refinishing a set of side tables I've been wanting to work on. So, win (small victory).

It was Cashman, believe it or not, who had the worst hangover of anyone. Cash thought that we had moved to the woods (Although Darling was careful to explain, "Cash, this is a state park, it's much larger than a city park...") and there wasn't anything finer in the world according to that little pup's heart. You heard me the first time, 5 humans 4 pups, private lake access (oh man, he loves swimming), all the food and sticks in the world. Cash overdosed on fun. Once we arrived at home, had all ticks plucked and his coat bathed, he set off to bed with his over-sized-movie-star-sunglasses and a water bowl-- we've hardly seen him since. :)

Hope y'all also had a wonderful holiday

xo

Wanderlust

I remember sitting in Willemstad,
the blistering Caribbean heat (inescapable) who
sat on our cheeks, and shoulders
dripped through each lock of our hair
kissed noses and knees with freckles.

With you,
beneath an obnoxious, acid-yellow, sunbrella
we sipped margaritas (yours blended, mine on ice) and observed
through sweat streaked lashes, the Queen Emma Bridge
swing open and closed. Each toll of the bell,
tugs, ocean liners, fishing boats traverse.

Wealthy Dutch retirees on holiday,
drinking Amstels and chilled whites--
patterned button-downs, gold watches, straw hats.
Their patchwork of languages.

Dont' Ask

It made sense but looked so bizarre, there on the screen.

Bookish {- Adjective. 1. given or devoted to reading or study.} 2011

The Sun Also Rises - Earnest Hemingway

After completing The Paris Wife I instantly began scouring our bookshelves for Hemingway, specifically A Moveable Feast but it was not to be found i.e. we didn't have it. (I remedied that this weekend when Darling and I traded in a stack of paperbacks at a local used book store--Burke's for you Memphians.) Believe it or not, I actually managed to graduate with an English degree and ravenous love of American Fiction without ever before reading Hemingway, and, as it turns out, Darling is not a huge fan (prefers Faulkner, figures). So I took the infamous The Sun Also Rises in lieu of "the feast" to get started. More than I was struck by the awe or beauty of the writing in The Sun Also Rises, I recognize that, in its historical context, Hemingway's style was incredibly modern, revolutionary, in the 1920s. But to the present-day reader, myself, I found the verb-driven prose came across overall as dry and lacking in expression or development. This is not to say that I did not enjoy the read, because it is good, but not mind-blowingly so. Reading about Jack and his posse's journey to Spain to view the running of the bulls in Pamplona recalls the thrill of traveling in general, bringing to mind my own traveling stories (my experience riding the bus from Prague to Budapest, for example) and the pace moves very quickly. The boisterous and masculine dialogue, drinking, and general swagger of every character felt a little monotonous, however. We are told all differentiation among characters as it is embedded in dialogue, (he is nice, he is needy) rather than really ever being shown the different qualities. This struck me as an odd, counter-intuitive notion for his writing considering the prose is so verb-driven (I guess for me, action signifies "doing"). I think the best writing occurs in the last 50 pages, where the bull fighting takes center stage and is given full attention. The episode almost feels as if pulled from another novel in the way it stands out from the other 200 pages. It's this snippet that displayed for me, the reputation of Hemingway. I've not given up on this guy, like I said A Moveable Feast is in the queue and from what I gather, Hemingway at his best is an essay writer and not a novelist. This conversation is to be continued. 

Hands {Mano.Main}

Most images from pinterest

I'm all about videos lately. Sorry if you're not down with video watching, although, I do hope you watch and enjoy them.

xo

Frame By Frame {Dance Choreographed for Film: PINA}

We've seen some incredible dancing choreographed for film on this blog before

but

A friend recently shared this trailer with me that takes this concept to a whole new level.

Pina is a German film and releases in various EU countries over the next month or so.

I can't believe there are no US release dates scheduled yet.

I'm so intrigued.

Dance and film, you really do get along beautifully.

She's Got Steve Buscemi Eyes

 You can thank me later.

xo

Yeah, Me Neither

 

 Image via The Blue Hour

 

Remember when teachers, public employees, Planned Parenthood, and PBS crashed the stock market, wiped out half of our 401Ks, took trillions in TARP money, spilled oil in the Gulf of Mexico, gave themselves billions in bonuses, and paid no taxes? 

Yeah, me neither.

 Pass it on

 

Frame By Frame {Trajectory}

I didn't even realize it previously, but I think this is my frame by frame piece. It's certainly the same trajectory/story arch. From creepy dream world to train wrecks spiraling out of control...

...like that with a bit of Alice in Wonderland + Pinocchio + Gangs of New York + 1930s Cartoons

...

like that.

duh.

God, Dumbo is such a gorgeous film. I could write 2 thesis' and choreograph and paint a thousand pictures based on it.

Hair Lust

This is why I'm continuing to grow my hair out...

 

Via Bumble and Bumble

So Pretty.

One day I'll actualize the part where I never wear makeup or do my hair and will never look like this girl. Dream on...

I dreamed we were in Budapest last night.

Fried Chicken + Salsa {Dancing}

 Image via Rockstar Diaries

+

 

 =

The finest Friday night I ever did heard of.

I mean, c'mooon... 

Gus's Fried Chicken (+ fried pickles + chess pie) (gah, gah, gahhh) and Salsa Dancing with dancey friends??

I double dog dare you to come up with a better Friday night plan.

It certainly doesn't occur often enough...

+++

Was also lucky enough to take Little Sister to see CND2 on Saturday.

Compañía Nacional de Danza 2 is a contemporary ballet company based in Madrid, Spain.

The performance was stunning. Particularly the partnering work. Such strength both physically and technically. Gave all sorts of inspiration to take to Sunday rehearsal.

+++

Speaking of, rehearsals are going really well. It's amazing that the dance has a life of it's own at this point. So much so that I need to be more mindful in recognizing that I can edit the piece as it comes out, that editing is ultimately the biggest and most difficult job. And that it doesn't have to run out from under me. Although, it's been happy surprises and lots of fun to discover along the way.

More to come...

Hope you are well friends

xo

ha!

On Pinterest

Bookish {- Adjective. 1. given or devoted to reading or study.} 2011

The Paris Wife - Paula McLain

I've been contemplating how to begin describing The Paris Wife to you. Without doing the novel disservice, my first impulse is to classify it as a Chick Lit-esque novel for non-Chick Lit readers. The writing's too good for me to leave it under the umbrella term without some explanation. The Paris Wife is the story of Hadley Richardson, Ernest Hemingway's first wife, but unlike the version told in A Moveable Feast, this version is told from Hadley's perspective. As the life of Hemingway is so well documented, McLain pushes the jargon to a place where she can  fictionalize the emotional plane of the characters while remaining very true to the events that we know occurred. The writing is uniquely adjective-driven, in direct contrast with Hemingway's stark, masculine, verb-driven prose. In this way, structurally, McLain sets Hadley apart as "other" from Ernest and indirectly and immediately makes the reader aware that the intertwining of these lives is temporary. Not destined to be but distinctly and fundamentally different. Our protagonist is not the doomed "starter wife" but neither is she an insider in the roaring 20s Paris art scene with the likes of Gertrude Stein, Ezra Pound, James Joyce, and F. Scott Fitzgerald that her husband became encircled by. She's not an exhibitionist, but rather a smart, Midwestern girl with a good head on her shoulders and is slightly more practical than she wishes. We see Hemingway through new eyes; less macho, less swag, more humanistic (those traits that turn out to be blessings and curses) and how their brief but intense love story sorrily but surely, inevitably, unravels. The book is not life-changing, but the writing is good and moves quickly and fluidly. If you're planning on any sort of fun, summer adventure/travel reads to take with you pool-side, I think it would serve you to add this one to your list.

Another Birthday

{Joe + Hannah, 2001}

Little brother Joe's birthday today.

The big 21, sheesh.

It all feels so much closer than I suppose it actually is. When did we grow up?

Miss you. Love you. Remember you every single day.

Birthday Tomfoolery

Guess who is turning TWO today?!

 (well, estimated birthday--which is just as special)

{Day One}

...

{Lately}

I'm suspicious that the shelter estimated he was a bit older than he actually is because he was such a big puppy, but April Fool's Day is just so fitting to celebrate my silly boy.

It's bone shaped squash + cheddar cookies with cream cheese + honey frosting for the puppy friends tonight! Little Cash has totally changed and enhanced our lives. He immediately became an integral part of our family. It's one of those occasions where I believe it was meant to be.

Love you Pooh Bear! 

xoxoxoxo

mama