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For one blissful day at Apple Hill, the campus was bathed in the sweet, sweet mist of wireless internet access. I should have known not to get attached. I should have known it was too good to be true.
Sigh.
The good news is that there is a a great coffee house in Keene where I can grab a few minutes of the interwebs if I get up really early and drive for fifteen minutes to get there. I have discovered that the interwebs are like my morning coffee: non-negotiable. My day is no good without it.
Well, tomorrow I go charging off into the woods for another year of Apple Hill. To say that I am unprepared to leave is the understatement of the century. My house is a mess, I am unpacked, and I am in denial. I love Apple Hill, but it is traditionally exhausting, and I am already exhausted from a particularly tiring stretch of work activity. Oh well, life moves forward! This year’s musical faculty is chock full of my favorite people so once I am there, the laughing will come fast and furious. I have no doubt that Apple Hill will be incredible, as usual. Getting out of town tomorrow on the other hand…..that could be dicey.
If I have not returned your call recently, please forgive me. If I have not returned your email recently, please forgive me. If I have been a general knucklehead to you recently, I am genuinely sorry. I don’t know how I ended up so overwhelmed this Spring, but I did. (I still think it’s Spring, that’s how out of touch I am these days.) I might be hard to get a hold of in the woods. Email and cell phones are always a little iffy out there, but I’m bringing my computer this time, so at the very least, I can drive my butt into town and find a signal to civilization.
Probably the best thing that could happen to me right now is two weeks in the deep woods- like it or not.
Gigantic wooden sculptures have been popping up all over Buffalo, and today I stopped to read the little plaques. This statue of Frederick Law Olmsted was carved out of a tree killed in our October storm. Isn’t that nice? Consider the cockles of my heart officially warmed.
Guess what? The delightful Neil over at Citizen of the Month, has crowned me his "Blog Crush of the Day". I know! As far as I can tell, this is the most action I’ll be seeing in the near future, so I’m really quite excited. Now, don’t worry loyal readers, my new (24 hour) title will not interfere with our relationship. I’m still the same Kate I’ve always been, it’s just that now you’ll have to compete for my love! (at least until tomorrow when I return to groveling for your affection.)
Citizen of the Month is a charming combination of funny, sweet, and dirty. I can highly recommend the Pigeon on the Patio series if you are looking for a laugh out loud, wistful-for-your-Dad, kind of experience.
Now that I think about it, that Neil has quite a racket going on here. I have just devoted an entire post to him because he put "Oh For Fun" and "Crush" in the same sentence. Clever.
In the fall of 1993 I entered Oberlin as a freshman. Like most good Oberlin newbies, I fancied myself quite the little radical. Upon entering the student body, as is every freshperson’s rite of passage, I promptly stopped shaving my legs and promptly started using expressions like "the dominant male paradigm". In truth, I was never a very good radical, and neither were my friends. Our forays into angry-feminism pretty much started and stopped with the expression "strong independent woman of the nineties".
I can’t remember who first used the expression, "I’m a strong independent woman of the nineties", but it became a rallying cry amongst my female friends. Part empowering slogan, part tongue-in-cheek silliness, "strong independent woman of the nineties" was destined to become a lifelong fixture of our lexicon. Even as 18-year-olds we delighted in the fact that eventually our slogan would be hideously outdated, and dare we even predict, ironic. (Do not forget, this was 1993; Alanis Morissette was our Angry Woman Queen.)
1993:
Courtney: I dunno. I keep making him mix tapes and he keeps trying to make out with me, but every time I ask him about his supposedly ex-girlfriend, he gets all cagey. I’m really confused.
Kate: Toss him in the dumper! You don’t need this kind of hassle. You’re a strong independent woman of the nineties!
Courtney: Good point.
2007:
Kate: So then this asshole tries to tell me that it’s gonna cost $600 to fix my car door, and I tell him he can eat shit, and then I storm out of the garage all huffy-like.
Ashley: Oooh. You are such a strong independent woman of the nineties!
Kate: No doubt, sister.
Now, on the dawn of my 32nd birthday, I find myself evaluating my Strong Independent Woman of the Nineties status. Non-reliance on a man for personal and financial security? Check. Preference for being single rather than dealing with guys I’m not really into just for the sake of having a boyfriend? Check. General bad-assery and fierceness? Check, and check. Sophisticated tastes, and grown-up approach to fanciful crushes? Er…um…weeell. Not so much.
My status as a strong independent woman of the nineties has been severely handicapped by my new obsession with hockey. A big part of the problem is that although my obsession with hockey continues unabated, the hockey season ended weeks ago. Now trust me, I have ravenously devoured all legitimate hockey news I can get my hands on (as such, I am now practically an expert on the National Hockey Leauge’s CBA. Seriously. Ask me anything), but there is only so much a gal can read about hockey players before she has no conclusion available other than, "Dang. He’s a dish." Hockey has made a fool of me, and my long tenure as a strong independent woman of the nineties is now in jeopardy.
Also, Posh and Becks? I love them.
Posh and Becks are just wrong by strong independent women of the nineties standards, and yet, I love them so. Look at them there all hot and disgustingly sleazy. Admit it, you love them too.
Conclusion: Not only am I a strong independent woman of the nineties, I am also a giggling teenager of the naughty-aughties.
(Note: in a googling effort to find any sort of term for the first decade of our current century, I discover that no such term exists. This decade has no convenient counterpart to "the nineties". I have taken a fancy to the expression "the naughty-aughties" and will proceed to promote its usage.)
Today, I was supposed to play an outdoor concert downtown over the lunch hour. It’s really windy today in Buffalo, and when I arrived at the gig, everyone was in a tizzy because the music stands were blowing over. So, because of excessive wind, the concert was canceled and my workday (which was scheduled to last all of 55 minutes) was over at 11:45am.
My life is very, very difficult. I mean, I had to get up at 9:30 AM to get to that concert. Plus, I had to find a clean white top and two matching black socks. Couldn’t someone have called me before I drove an entire mile to the concert? That seems like the least management could have done. Someone really screwed the pooch on this one. I couldn’t even get back to sleep when I got back home at noon.
I’m calling my union rep.
:D
I’ve been a shitty blogger lately, and I’m sorry. The truth is that I have nothing interesting to say.
Almost three years ago, on the night our beloved friend Scott died so suddenly, I had an amazing dream. I didn’t find out about his death until morning, so that night I went to sleep unaware of the unfolding tragedy.
In the dream, I was playing the viola in a beautiful, empty concert hall. Playing was effortless and hugely enjoyable. One part of the dream I remember vividly is making a huge shift and then laughing out loud as I totally nailed the high note. Unlike any real life experience playing the viola, in my dream, playing was just pure joy. It was fun, and exciting, and easy as pie. I have never had another dream like this, before or since, and I’ve always kind of thought of it as a little gift from Scott. As crazy as it sounds, I believe he was trying to teach me something on his way out of my earthly life. When I think about this now, when I really stop to consider that dream, I can remember it, and I can stop the constant churning in my mind.
I learned a lot from Scott, both in his life and in his death.
I miss him so much.
“We think, and many people think, that the town needs to win a major sports championship, to correct the inferiority complex in the psyche in the community.”
-Byron Brown, Mayor of Buffalo, NY
Welcome to Buffalo, New York.
So, the very worst has occurred. The Buffalo Sabres have lost our super star co-captains to free agency. Both Daniel Briere, and my beloved Chris Drury have moved on to new teams. Personally, I took the news surprisingly hard. I’m not going to lie, there were tears at Kate Manor when the news broke that Chris Drury had signed with the Rangers. Actual tears. For a sports star. The loss of a man I have never met, but who I have crowned as my zen-hockey hero, reduced me to tears. As I sat on my couch, absurdly crying, I realized that I wasn’t crying for Chris Drury. I was crying for Buffalo, and for the frustration I feel living here, and the for my honest hope that Buffalo can thrive as a community.
It seems that Chris Drury chose a near identical deal to the one he turned down in Buffalo, to play for the Rangers in NYC. There are a million reasons he might have made this decision. I couldn’t begin to speculate on all of the factors involved with his choice, but the one thing I can tell you with absolute certainty is that Buffalonians took his choice personally. I took his choice personally. When I realized that Chris Drury was leaving Buffalo, my very first impulse was to blame the town. My hackles went up. How dare he leave us? Why does no one understand the charm of Buffalo? What is wrong with Buffalo?
In conversations online with fellow Buffalo hockey fans, I have come to more fully understand how deeply this community feels it needs to win a championship. Don’t forget, in the early nineties the Buffalo Bills lost FOUR Super Bowls IN A ROW. Four times. In a row. That is a tough pill for any community to swallow, but even tougher for poor, scrappy Buffalo. This is a town aching to be recognized, begging for validation and, and starving for victory.
This town is insane about sports. Nuts. I got completely wrapped up in it this spring. The Buffalo Sabres charmed the hell out of me and I finally start loving Buffalo. The city came alive. I saw the very best of what this city can be: hopeful, bold, joyful, and brave. But, in the aftermath of the underwhelming playoff performance, and now the free agent debacle, I’m seeing the worst of Buffalo: furious, desperate, insecure, and whiny. Now, this is all stuff that I might not have noticed even last year, but this year, I am all over the sports news. I have invested myself in what the city clearly holds most dear, Buffalo sports, and I have to say, it’s freaking me out.
Sadly, I don’t think that it will be the collective fan enthusiasm that we as a community will remember from this year of hockey. I think that all we will think about when we consider the 06-07 hockey season is the heartbreak of watching our captains willingly leave as soon as they had the chance. I have never, ever, ever, ever heard anyone talk about how enthusiastic the town was about the Bills in the early nineties. It’s all about “wide right“. I have NEVER heard anyone talk about the ‘99 Sabres, without wailing “No Goal“. No, this town absolutely clings to lost championships. I don’t point fingers of blame. I’m a Buffalonian now, and as such, I carry the burden of our perpetually losing ways, right along side the born and bred. (And if you want proof, may I remind you that actual tears of sorrow were shed at my house yesterday.)
I think that Buffalo needs to surrender the OH MY GOD WE’LL DIE WITHOUT A CHAMPIONSHIP thing. It’s not working for us. At all. The best thing about this town is it’s grass roots, tenacity. No sports championship is ever going to save us. We have to save ourselves, from the bottom up. It’s the only way. Winning the Stanley Cup or the Super Bowl is pretty hard to do, and worse, it is something no amount of fan appreciation will ever accomplish. We can’t will our teams to victory with the sheer force of our fandom. We can’t. I’m not saying that a championship wouldn’t be awesome for this community (hell, it would be the greatest parade the world has ever known), but I think we are doing ourselves a true disservice by insisting that we need a championship.
Many Buffaloinians wear the MUST WIN badge with pride, including apparently, our mayor. Many Buffalonians would argue that our hunger for glory is our greatest strength, and I can agree with that to a point, but really, at the end of the day, I believe this “hunger for glory” is just a gigantic chip on Buffalo’s shoulder. For some reason, we think that the Stanley Cup will take our baggage away. It won’t.
Now, I would never, ever want to take even a little away from the passion with which we all cheered this spring, but please, let’s not confuse passion and desperation. It’s a fine line, but it’s incredibly important. Passion is hope and vitality. Desperation is just pure shame. The love of Sabres hockey has swung from passion to desperation pretty damn quickly over the last month. I don’t think this town deserves to treat itself this way. I really don’t. We can do better than this Buffalo. We owe it to ourselves to do better.
And one last thing, I think that Chris Drury was very uneasy with his role as “Savior of Buffalo”. He seems like a pretty shy guy, who, at the end of the day would just like to be another anonymous dude. As much as it hurts to say it, I don’t think he was comfortable with us. Danny loved us for worshiping him, but Chris was wary. Let’s not feel badly about this. He just wasn’t the guy for us. Not only was he not our guy, but worse, it turns out HE WAS A RANGER ALL ALONG! Yesterday’s sorrow has devolved into today’s acceptance. I will desperately miss my sexy, passionate warrior, but sadly, Chris Drury has left me no choice; he is now dead to me.
R.I.P, my beloved.
It seems the learning curve on being a Buffalo sports fan is very sharp indeed.
——–
Part One: The Obsession With Chris Drury Leads to Thoughts on Music
So, what I want to do is make a little series of 3-5 minute episodes about Sid. The project is called Chasing Sidney and it’s a reader challenge over at my very favorite website, IPB. This whole donut hole thing got started because of IPB. I’ll tell you all about the specifics of the challenge as I get closer to a finished project, but for now all I have is this little "opener" that I will put at the beginning of each episode. I’m pretty happy with how it turned out.
