Something Special: a product review

The original intent when I began this blog was to create a space to post my original knitting patterns. Now, over 3 years later, I had no idea it would become so much more, a space for poetry, advice, stories and photos of my ever-changing, artistic life. However, today I thought I'd get back to my roots and review a new yarn and knitting pattern we just got in at Nina: a well-knit shop. Knitters, enjoy! All others, ignore or... better yet, get some needles and become a knitter. It will clear your pores and help you find love. Guaranteed.

BUCKINGHAM HAT, a blue sky alpacas royal petite knitting pattern

Completed hat, pattern, alpaca picture and leftover yarn.

First of all, the marketing of these new patterns is brilliant.  The pattern comes in a petite, sweet folder. All the designs have a vintage sketch of a handsome 1950's model on the front, echoing old Vogue dress patterns and Mad Men. They remind me of something innocent and lovely from my childhood, like my Playmobil Victorian dollhouse or a piece of sweet candy wrapped in pale pink cellophane. Simply put, the patterns are cute as can be! Inside the folder is the pattern and a picture of one of Blue Sky's very own alpaca. The Buckingham Hat pattern contains the proud image of Colonel Mustard, "a handsome boy with beautiful fawn colored fleece." Each pattern, depending on the garment, takes one, two or three skeins of Blue Sky Royal Alpaca. The yarn, oh the yarn, is so luxurious!! I loved knitting with it and I recommend using metal needles.

Practically, the pattern is written very clearly and the directions are easy to follow, but please read them twice or three times. I made a few simple, careless mistakes because I had not read the pattern carefully. I love that the pattern includes a ruler on the page so that I didn't need to carry around my tape measure. This is a company that knows that excellence is in the details!

On Nina's suggestion (she had made the hat in black/brown as a shop sample) I did make a few ALTERATIONS to the pattern:

• The hat is intended to be quite short, as you can see on the cover of the folder. It ends well before the gentleman's ears. I wanted a longer version, so I knitted the hat to 7 inches before beginning my decreases.
• The pattern also calls for the decreases for the head shaping to be done using ssk (slip,slip,knit). I used knit 2 together, which worked just fine.

Blocking is absolutely necessary with this hat. Don't skip this step! Blocking really evened out my ribbing and the transitions between knitting and purling. The cascading ribbing is very unique, most hats for men are rather dull, but this one has a little flair.

This product also makes a unique, affordable gift. You can buy your favorite knitter everything they need to make a complete project for only $25-$50. The projects are classy, classic, and simple designs which are likely to complement any one's style. Knitting one of these patterns feels like an experience, start to finish. I made the hat for my boyfriend, Scot, who posted on his Facebook: "When you purchase wool from Colonel Mustard, you receive a picture of him standing resolutely on his farm, keenly surveying the distance. His noble countenance fills one with confidence that it will be a quality hat which will protect my head from the possibly brutal upcoming Chicago and Iowa winter months." If a man can be so moved by a knitting pattern, Blue Sky is doing something right.

A "petite luxury" indeed. 

On (good) habits formally known as bad habits.

Confession. I have a bad habit.  For at least 20 years or so, I've been a nail biter. Not proud of it. It's gross. But I'm not sure I can help myself. I've tried to quit; knitting or painting my nails helps a little. But a stressful day or scary movie sends my fingers to hide inside my mouth... because we all know that it is easier to win a argument with an official of the Chicago Department of Revenue or keep everyone alive in Inception if you have no fingers. In my defense, my nails are weak, so it's not totally my fault. All excuses aside, I may have to accept that I, Maura Elizabeth Clement, will always have the nails of a dirty, eight year-old boy from Fagin's gang. This is me accepting the things I cannot change... serenity prayer, right?

Truthfully, I have a number of bad habits. But I am not writing about those today because I want to explore a number of new good habits I am trying to develop out of my current bad habits.

Eating vegetables:

Actors (and everyone ever really) (blerg, we actors are so self-centered, another bad habit) seem to think that we have little control over our lives. As a result of late rehearsals, droll day jobs, pitiful stipends and general self-loathing, we eat most of our meals standing up, out of bags, with our hands. In the words of Valerie Mudek, "You eat what you find." Actors of the world (and everyone ever really), we must take control. Like our parents before us, we can sit down to a meal of different colored food, served on plates someone named Kurt left at our apartment before we moved in, at a table we bought on craiglist. It is our right. It is our privilege. It will help keep us from going slowly insane.

Have you tried ORANGE BEETS? I've been buying these orange beets from the Wicker Park Farmer's market. $3 gets you one bunch of beets which is enough for three meals at least. I've been dicing the beets and cooking them in olive oil, garlic, onions and kale. I know I'm like the last hipster in the world to discover kale but let me take a moment for my new found obsession with this crunchy green vegetable. It has the best of what broccoli and spinach have to offer! [While typing that sentence I discovered that I have no effin idea how to spell broccoli. I am no longer smarter than a fifth grader. Technology is making me dumb. See below.] Another confession: After I moved back to Chicago I only had butter to cook with. So when I say olive oil, I mean butter. But I ate my butter on a plate while sitting the dining room table. I even bought napkins. Fancy me.

Telling my technology to shut up:

 I recently noticed that upon waking up in the middle of the night for one reason or another, I reach for my iPhone and check for messages, Facebook notifications and e-mails. This is a bad habit if there ever was one. My body seems to stay the tiniest bit awake so I didn't miss any comets from cyberspace. This slightly conscious sleep feels similar to the unrest I feel when I have to get up very early for a flight or a big audition. I wake up and immediately reach for my phone... but unsurprisingly nothing important has happened since I fell asleep. Turns out, Broadway does not call at 2 AM.

I have replaced this bad habit with a new, good one: I now turn the phone off when I get in bed and do not turn it back on until morning. Unfortunately, on the iPhone, the alarm doesn't work unless the phone is on. So on nights when I need to set an alarm, I put the phone on silent, face down and across the room. Although I have no way to prove this, I'm pretty sure I'm sleeping better. My body now knows that no shooting stars of information are going to be flying through my room on North Avenue, so we can all actually sleep. Ride, Sally, Ride.

Even during the day, I am a Pavlovian dog slave to my cell phone. It goes bing and I jump up to see what delightful tidbit has come my way. My reaction to it has become unconscious:
Bing. Jump. Blerg. I'm in love with a robot that has no feelings.

I am now practicing rules like:
No checking the phone during dinner.
Phone always on silent when reading.
Phone stays off during the intermission of plays.

Our brains have become schizophrenic. I've barely typed a paragraph of this post and without thinking, I just opened a new tab to check my email. WHICH I JUST CHECKED NOT FIVE MINUTES AGO. Tabs will be the death of me. I know I'm the billionth voice in the "don't let the robots rule our lives/cell phones are making us dumb/i'm afraid of the technology my children will have/sexting makes me really uncomfortable" dialogue. But seriously, try turning your phone off at night. It'll make you sleep better which in turn will make you look more attractive which will increase your ability to actually get someone's phone number. You can then call them on your iPhone, before 9 pm.

Sending thank you notes:

When a house manager, a stranger or a friend of a friend gets me into a show for free or at a discount, I promise to find out who to thank and thank them. I made their job just a little more complicated that day and they saved me money. I want our industry to continue to provide opportunities for artists to experience work they otherwise could not afford. If I say nothing, my ambivalence could make them feel taken advantage of or unappreciated. On the other hand, my thanks might ensure that the artist after me also has a chance to get to see the play.

Remembering that my siblings can also be my friends:

This one is simple. My siblings are the only people in the whole world who know who exactly the Knights of Shanara were or what anoxeric Peter looked like or where Secret Beach was or what the lunches that Jenifer Clement made tasted like or how Dave Clement looked at you when you were in trouble. Our siblings are the only people who perfectly understand the world which made us. So why is it that so often our siblings are the last people we go to for advice or to share about our lives? Are we afraid that they will judge us... or worse, tell our mothers what we've been up to? Over the last year, I made a promise to myself to include my siblings in my life. I mean my whole life. I want to tell them the things I would tell my friends. The things I don't write about on this blog because I may want to teach children or run for president (of a knitting club or thespian [not lesbian] society) one day. Relationships are built out of habits. If you get in the habit of not talking about the important things, eventually you will stop talking about anything important. I didn't have a big sister to explain the hard stuff to me. I was on my own for the first time I got sick at a party, or left the party alone, or worse, left the party with the wrong person. So if you are a big sister or brother, make sure your kidsiblings know that, in the words of Irving Berlin, "Anything you've done, I've done worse..." That's how that song goes, right? 

Lastly:

Especially during a time when so much senseless violence is plaguing our country, the best habit of all is gratitude. When I feel let down or indignant or sad or selfish, I must remember that I am grateful for the farmers who grow the vegetables I eat. I am grateful for my family that loves me enough to tell me when they think I am wrong. I am grateful for my job at the yarn shop where I get to teach people how to do something with their hands. I am grateful for my boyfriend who believes in me and inspires me to create art. I am grateful for the technology which makes my faraway friends appear in the palm of my hand. I am grateful for the art which surrounds me in this amazing city. I am grateful for the god who gave me this one precious life.

And, dear reader, I am grateful for you. I wish you good habits and happy days.

Along Lake Calhoun, Minneapolis August 2012

On a Blessed Summer in Iowa

“For life is the best thing we have in this existence. And if we should desire to believe in something, it should be a beacon within. This beacon being the sun, sea, and sky, our children, our work, our companions and, most simply put, the embodiment of love.”
-Patti Smith

The joy of being unemployed every few months is that I have time to spend time with the people who made me and the people who made them. A day after the Riverside Theatre in the Park’s season closed, I land in Louisiana, the birthplace of my father. Within five minutes on the bayou, the gate attendant has called me “baby” in that sweet, albeit slightly condescending way that only Southern women of a certain age can. As in, “Get out of the way, baby.” Even in the airport, the air smells of caramelized sugar folded around fresh pecans. I’m craving a praline already; perhaps Yiya has some from Christmas in one of her three deep freezers. I’ve not been back to Opelousas in almost three years. We get out of the car on Hibiscus Street and the first thing my grandmother says to me is, “Well if it isn't Ethel Barrymore... You look so skinny!!" She quickly seeks to remedy my starving-artist-induced-weight-loss with an entire plate of ham, a sheet of heavenly hash, and caramel pecan topping with sweet potatoes under it. After all this food, I insist on doing my yoga in the garden… her response: “Well, that will be a treat for the neighbors!”

208 Hibiscus Street. Opelousas, Louisiana

Coming back to the home my father grew up in and the only place I’ve known my grandparents to live has helped me maintain my grounding during yet another transition from one job, one city, one relationship (or lack thereof) to different jobs, a new old city, and a new relationship. Endings and beginnings. Everyone’s lives are full of them; however, as an actor, my work revolves in two or three month cycles... so the endings and beginnings just keep on coming.

When I accepted the apprenticeship at Riverside this March, I focused everything toward that goal: On May 15, I move to Iowa City. I couldn’t have been more thrilled to quit my day job(s), sublet my Wicker Park  apartment and work only on my art for two months. I packed my Honda Civic, affectionately known as Elliot Smith, to the brim groceries from Trader Joe's, my sewing machine, bags of yarn and books on Shakespeare. (The car was bought for my pensive older brother when he turned sixteen. He named the silver car in homage to the ill-fated singer and the freedom a junkyard car provided for Good Will Hunting at the end of the film by the same name. Fortunately, the car continues to be in better shape than it’s namesake… and allows me to “go to see about an acting job.”) With the fierce tunnel vision which is simultaneously my greatest ally and fatal flaw, I was completely focused on getting to Iowa City and playing a fun, classic role at a theater I'd never been to. I arrived and began to play.

But it only took me a week here to realize that this job too would end. Eventually I would have to begin my second year out of school, which would look a lot like my first year. It’s amazing how the obvious can be so insanely surprising sometimes. WHAT?!? You mean I have to do all this over again? You mean I can't live in Riverside board member Natasha's basement forever? I have to move back to Chicago, work a day job, audition, mail out headshots, send email after email??? Chasing a dream sometimes feels like just that, a chase. I guess I’ve got to learn to love it because building a career is a marathon, not a sprint. And you don't really know if you are winning or what the prize is at the finish line. The prospect of another year in the theater is exciting and intimidating, isolating and hopeful.

I gotta say, things do get easier. Work begets work. Because of my job this summer, the Riverside artistic staff has cast me again in an upcoming new play. I shall return to Iowa City in the middle of December to be a part of The Exit Interview by William Missouri Downs. Riverside's production is a rolling world premiere produced through the National New Play Network. This production not only marks my first new play, but also my first professional show at an Equity house where I am not an apprentice. I feel I have graduated and for that I am truly grateful. But boy, do I appreciate being an apprentice with this fantastic group of human beings. These young artists are going places. 

Apprentice Class of 2012. Photo by Kelly Gibson

So it's back to Chicago for me for the fall. I'll be back at the yarn shop and standardized patient work and some other way to make money yet to be determined. I will say that if I'm going to do this vagabond actor thing, I must learn to pack lighter... I have too much stuff. Stuff is weight. Weight is burden. Burden is bondage. Bondage is slavery. Slavery is not freedom. I want freedom. To be fair, I did not think I’d be bringing back a person from Iowa as a souvenir. But I did and for that I am grateful. More on that later.

As I look back on my five years in college and my first year as an actor, I am amazed at how time and integrity change all things. Time changes us without our knowing or consent. Integrity ensures that we become the people we intend to be. I am grateful for this summertime and the splendid integrity of the artists I had the honor of playing with.

Residents of Arden during intermission on closing night. Photo by Kelly Gibson.

Audrey, Corin and Phebe's Big Adventure

As many of you probably know, I've been teaching myself simple video editing and production over the last few years. I was excited to get the chance to put my skills to work on a promotion video for As You Like It at the Riverside Theatre. I firmly believe that theaters must begin to fully embrace online media. The Great River Shakespeare Festival has been leading the way in this field, at least in the Midwest. Their promotional video for the 2012 season, The Real Housewives of Shakespeare, has 16,000+ views on youtube. Besides hopefully drawing up audiences, videos like these humanize Shakespeare's characters to modern audiences, create visual references for viewers who attend the play, and are just plain fun. I would argue making videos like this also support the storytelling of the play. Taking a character out of the play and into the world, like all character-based improvisation, strengthens the caliber of the actor's work onstage. We, as the actors, now have new memories, new muscle memories as our characters.

So if you have a good idea, speak up. Actors are often the most creative people in a room. Chances are someone will love your idea and let you run with it.

Enjoy the adventures of 3 country folk in the "big" city.

Watch Audrey, Corin and Phebe's Big Adventure

On booking a job so you can perform in the rain.

"The task of theatre is to find action that creates such vibrant resonance in our imaginations that it enables us to reach a mutual understanding." -Why is That So Funny? by John Wright

 

Last night, As You Like It opened to a very warm house. The audience deserves the true applause because it rained for the entirety of the second act. I told Riverside's production manager and founding member Ron Clark that I really liked the theater they built, but they seem to have forgot to build a roof. We were all drenched. Audrey looked like a wet goat. I've never done a play in the rain and I thought the show stayed strong, albeit slightly measured for safety's sake.

Many of my readers are theater practitioners, but most are soldiers of other infinite multitudes and probably have little to no understanding about how actors get jobs. I thought I would explain the journey of one way an actor books a job and gets to opening night. There are countless ways... but here's mine for this job.

Audition, Audition, Audition

My friend and fellow actress Katie Hartke says, "You audition for your career, not for a job." The fact that most often theater companies do not employ an actor after their first audition proves her point. Although most auditions last less than five minutes, the process of auditioning takes time because many auditions only come around once a year. It took me about 8 months to make my way into the audition rooms of all the major theatrical houses in Chicago... and that was just the first audition for each company. But the exciting thing is that I will only get more castable as I get older. There are many early twenties women pursuing acting, less late twenties, still less early thirties, etc. Which is why it is so important to work, work, work during these early years so that my skills are sharpened and ready if (but I shall say, when) a break comes my way.

Jody, the Artistic Director of Riverside Theater, has a relationship with my alma mater and every year auditions our students. I auditioned for her in Minnesota in early 2009 and a few times since then. Ron and Jody run a very generous audition room, laughing and always making sure to learn a little bit about you as a person. This year, I auditioned for the company in Chicago, where most Midwestern theaters come to conduct their season audition. My audition consisted of performing two monologues, Perdita from A Winter's Tale by Shakespeare and Jennie from Chapter Two by Neil Simon. Auditions generally call for contrasting monologues; these particular two contrast because Perdita is classical, in verse, serious, gentle, fearful and Jennie is contemporary, in prose, intense, humorous, loud, demanding. Monologues are innately silly, because you are talking to someone who is not, in fact, actually there. But we do our best to share a piece of ourselves with the auditor who generally knows within the first six seconds of you walking in the room whether they want to work with you or not. Sorta like speed dating, except you want them to pay you. So sorta like speed dating for prostitutes. However, unlike prostitution, you also need a headshot and resume. Mine currently looks like this...

Jody contacted me shortly after the audition to offering me an apprentice position in the company and the role of Audrey in As You Like It which I obviously accepted. When I received my contract, I found I was to understudy Rosalind, Shakespeare's most loquacious heroine, a thrilling and fun challenge.

After accepting the contract, I moved to Iowa, rehearsed for four weeks, memorized over 200 lines, opened the show and drank the rain like it was my job. Cause it is. I'm playing a goatherd named Audrey whose most famous line is, "I'm not a slut." It's a good life, who can really be upset when they are wearing ruffles like these? Don't tell Ken Washington, but I'm really just in it for the ruffles.

Audrey and Touchstone, photo by Bob Goodfellow

On growing a brave, thick skin.

I've come to the conclusion that my insecurities are boring. There is nothing more boring than continuously thinking of all the ways I will fail at this completely insane artistic career I have chosen to pursue. I will no longer give these insecurities, or bad movies, life because they stand in the way of what I want. Whether it be in personal relationships, your career, or at a sushi bar*, it is hard to know what you want... It is even harder to admit what you want once you know what it is, especially if you want whatever it is really bad. If we admit how much we want something, then we acknowledge how much we will lack if we fail to attain it. I want to be a professional actress. (It was even hard for me to write that simple sentence. I deleted it twice.)

Recently, after a long rehearsal and over a drink at the bar, a fellow actor offered me a critique about a role I had recently played. His critique was simple and I acknowledge the validity of his suggestion for a missing piece in my characterization. It was a great note, actually, which I wished my director had given me. However, my response to his criticism took me on the following journey of emotions in my mind. I was... taken aback, defensive, angry at myself for being defensive. Next, I overcompensated by being overly receptive, beat myself up, felt sorry for myself, and then finally got over it.

I've thought a lot about this interaction and the idea of criticism in general over the last few days. Why was my initial reaction to be threatened by this criticism? Because I have insecurities about my own abilities, talents and work. Because my pride and vanity were hurt. This criticism seeps in through the holes created by my insecurities and hits at my core. But criticism is essential for growth. I want to be the type of artist who can take critiques and use them to make my work strong. I will not learn or grow by compliments and accolades. When I think about it that way, critiques are more important than accolades, especially during an artist's formative years. Rather than using criticism to cripple us into self-pity, we must use it to fuel the depth of our work in the future.

That said, we as artists must be discerning with our criticism for others. I have a few simple suggestions to offer:

1. The bar is probably not the best place to give criticism. Flirt with the bartender or whisper to your whiskey instead. People will be more receptive if the sun is out anyway.
2. If you are going to offer criticism, it doesn't hurt to offer a compliment too. 
3. When critiquing a role that an actor (or anything that anyone) is over and done with and has no chance to alter, may I suggest wording along these lines: "Next time you play a role like that, I'd love to see you delve deeper into your..." as opposed to "What I think you were missing was..." 
4. Let's also acknowledge that we don't always need to share what we think.
5. Lastly, we don't always have to care what others think. Choose whose opinion matters to you. It's similar to what I've said before, "Strangers will shout things at you, especially in a big city. You have the choice to ignore these things. You don't have to "Go F*** Yourself" if you don't want to."

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.”

-Theodore Roosevelt

In the rehearsal room, a director's criticism is the lifeblood of a production. As actors we cannot step back and look at our work like a visual artist can. A painter can step back from her canvas and say, "That doesn't look anything like a goat." But I cannot step outside myself and watch me perform a scene as Audrey, the saucy goatherd. Our director, Ted Swetz announced on the first day to remember that everything that happens in the rehearsal room is professional, not personal. Theater is our profession, yet our work is innately personal. Ted constantly says to us, "More self... you need more self." He pushes us to speak through our characters from honest places within ourselves. The "more self" an actor allows onstage, the more present he or she can be with her partner. Another actor in As You Like It, J, sings an English folksong in the production. During tech, he jokingly busted out the chorus with an R&B, soulful riff. Ted shouted from the back of the theater, "You can do it like that!" J responded, "You're opening a whole big can of worms" to which Ted replied, "I've been trying to open that can for two weeks. SELF!" The new flavor J. had added to his character held his own intrinsic truth, which is more interesting, more electric than a body onstage trying to be a 1562 minstrel. When someone in any profession brings so much of themselves to their work, it's hard not to take criticisms of that work as personal failings.

John Carroll Lynch once told my acting class that there are three stages to taking a note:

1. F*** you.
2. I suck.
3. Wait, what was the note?

I hope that bringing my "self", giving and taking constructive criticism, not taking things personally, and abandoning insecurities becomes easier with age. One of my favorite actresses, Helena Bonham Carter recently said, "Everybody has an inferiority complex when they step into a room. But then, when you have children and you get older, it doesn't really matter. When I was young I had so many inferiority complexes... Then it gets tiring. And you do get bored of it."

In the mean time, I'm dressing up like a pirate wench and picking goat fur lint out of my belly button in front of hundreds of people in Iowa. Because I'm a professional actress.

The beautiful festival stage in Lower City Park, Iowa City, IA.

*If you are at Takanami in Iowa City, get the Dragon roll. Shrimp tempura, avacodo and eel. It will cure whatever ails you.

On boys, music, and boys who love music.

Look at the two people dancing on either side of you. 

If you don't see a girl, you are dancing incorrectly.

-The Keyboardist for LCD Soundsystem

Greetings from Iowa City where I'm currently in rehearsal for As You Like It at the Riverside Theater for the summer. This Shakespearean play begins with a usurped Dukedom watching a wrestling match and ends with a quadruple wedding of the play's lovers. When talking about these lovers (of which I play one, more of that anon) our director, Ted Swetz says, "Being with your beloved is the best thing; talking about your beloved is the next best thing." It got me thinking, what is my best thing? For me, music and boys are the best things, so talking about music with boys is the very best. I'm not sure what it is, and I know I'm not alone here, but the mention of Paul Simon or Fleet Foxes or John Darnielle makes my little heart skip a beat. I can trace my first boy/music cataclysmic shudder back to my high school crush making me a mix CD entitled, "Probably the Sweetest Mix Ever" which included the Mountain Goats, the Avett Brothers, Stars, Ryan Adams, Iron and Wine, and Old Crow Medicine Show to name a few. I still have the CD, which is too scratched to play anymore  and I've not talked to the boy in years, but the mix is still probably the sweetest ever.


Friday night, I decided that what I needed was real people, live music and a beer. The universe proved accommodating; Deer Tick was playing at the Blue Moose. I could get my fix for music and men who play music and men who love to watch other men play music. Indeed, the concert hall was filled with all sorts: the tattooed lead singer of Deer Tick in leather pants, the nerdy guys with glasses up front who knew every word to every song and jumped with one hand in the air after hearing the first few chords of each song, the boyfriends who have brought their girlfriends to "see this band that is so awesome and you're gonna love them," the bearded head nodders, the wrinkled townies... the one type there wasn't much of was girls alone in overall jorts. I actually think there was only one. Her name starts with M and rhymes with Shlementine.


I was the only person in the back room of the Blue Moose when the opening band, Teenage Mysticism, began except for the girl who sold me a PBR Tall Boy . I particularly enjoyed the band for the lead singer's unique lisping quality and upbeat vibe. As the room filled, I sat smiling on the upper bench to the left of the stage, singing along when I could pick up the chorus. At the end of their set, an older woman next to me leaned over and asked, "Okay, which of those boys is your boyfriend?" Why else would one be here alone? A guy later in the evening asked me if that woman was my mom.


Between sets, I noticed a square young man near me wearing a backwards cap enthusiastically taking photos of his two cans of PBR on his phone. He then noticed me noticing him and began to attempt to take off my boot. I can only assume this was him flirting with me, a sort of reverse Cinderella story... My love, I have found you, let me take off your $300 shoe in this bar. Any other woman who owns a pair of Frye boots will agree with me here... no man takes my boot from me! So I curled my toes and denied his solicitation. To be fair, he did offer to buy me a "whiskey drink," which I kindly declined. The rule to follow with drunk men trying to flirt with you is the same with Greenpeace canvassers on Milwaukee Ave and coyotes in the wild... Don't make eye contact. It only encourages them to touch you, ask you for money or eat you, respectively. Fortunately, his friends shortly came and collected him. I told them I was new in town and they apologized on behalf of the State of Iowa. I chatted with one of Prince Charming's friends. He was nice and asked for my number. I gave it to him... but then he left two songs into Deer Tick's set list. Another rule, you don't want to be with the guy who leaves when the good music just got started. Where does he have to go? Deal breaker, ladies.

Deer Tick, Blue Moose, May 18, 2012

The second band, Turbo Fruits, has the stupidest name ever... they weren't quite my style, but their drummer was very handsome. He wore his arm in a navy sling which he only removed to play drums or cowbell. What charm, an injured drummer! Yet he continues to play, a noble self-sacrifice to the gods of Rock. However, this broken winged gent brings up two more hard and fast rules for me: When you find yourself attracted to someone, you must ask yourself, "(your name here), does s/he look exactly like your ex?" In my case, seven times out of ten, he does. Now this doesn't mean one should abandon all hope for said doppelganger, but it is a good observation to make. Are you looking for someone new or are you looking for something that you lost? Second rule, if you don't like his band, don't bother. You will have to tell him his band is good and they probably aren't. No one wants to live a lie. I didn't talk to him.


I don't think I'll ever solve the mystery of why indie rock music and the boys that love it melt my heart. If you want to read more on the gender relations through music subject, I suggest Rob Sheffield's Talking to Girls about Duran Duran. He says simply, "I could claim that Duran Duran taught me everything I know about women, but that's not exactly accurate: I learned it from listening to girls talk about Duran Duran."


Now, I ain't looking for a musician, everyone knows musicians are bad news... but if anyone wants to talk about Patti Smith or road trip to see the Hold Steady or throw around ideas for a Mountain Goats tattoo, you know where to find me...


Iowa.