holidays in vegas

Don't really have time for an update, because we're in Vegas, but we're thinking of everyone and wanted to wish you all some love with this, our number one song of this holiday road trip:



Proof that Dan's iPod has absolutely EVERYTHING. (And that we might need some social contact with people other than each other).

later gators

feel good inc?

It all started when Dan's friend Adam sent us a DVD in the mail of some documentary that Christian wanted Dan to see. In the package, presumably to provide some sort of stiff backing to the disc, Adam included a piece of corrugated cardboard, onto which he had drawn, without much thought I'm sure, a cartoon smileyface and the words FEEL GOOD. This piece of cardboard had its first funny-strange moment when it arrived in the mail exactly as Dan was yakking all the contents of his food-poisoned stomach into the upstairs toilet. We said "heh Adam says 'feel good' Dan!" and watched the DVD, and the piece of cardboard was cast aside in the livingroom.

A couple weeks later, my uncle Pat contracted a mysterious illness that made him super lethargic. He didn't know what it was or how to kick it, so he came over to the Big House to watch some West Wings and eat his mom's bologna sammiches on white bread. He was sitting on the couch feeling crappy when he noticed a piece of cardboard sitting behind the lamp on the side table. He picked it up and shouted, and I mean shouted: "Who drew this picture of my dad telling me to feel good!?"


My late grandfather, Jack Brickley:


It's possible that the similarities might not strike you immediately. Especially if you didn't know my grandpa Jack. But it really does look like him! The downturned eyes, the short nose, the broad smirk! Who are you, Adam?! Are you part of some interdimensional conspiracy of souls to make people feel good?

Anyway, Pat started feeling better and Grandma got all teary-eyed and huggy, and now the cardboard cartoon is propped against the lamp, beaming down upon the livingroom. Pat is making plans to have it matted and framed. Thanks Adam! (And welcome to a spot on the King's wall). Moreover, thanks to Grandpa for having the kind of character that can manifest in anything, even in six lines drawn on cardboard, and make everyone feel good.

can't get my head out of doors

Dan told me he spent his whole bonus nap yesterday (bonus nap = while I take a shower in the morning) feeling abruptly sad about leaving, looking around our spacious bedroom, remembering life without this sense of space. I was feelin him. Now that we only have ten days until we leave, we've stopped being homesick; instead, we're getting pre-emptively homesick for Indiana. Sheesh. "Travel broadens the mind / Till you can't get your head out of doors." (Hey that was my first Elvis quote yet on this thing).

But if my head must be stuck in doors, I'm glad the doors are as beautiful as these.
Pat just sent me this photo with the subject "Now that's an office." True dat, Pat. I'm in there as I type this, actually, and I'm very very aware of how much I'm going to miss this when I'm back in the office of the Masonic Ave house listening to Igby whine outside the door and looking out at the paint-peeling wall of the airshaft, and the descending column of fog, and the reusable feminine hygiene products laid out to dry on the hippie neighbors' windowsill.

Then again, friends. And family. And dancing. Dear god, dancing. Can we all go to Leisure or Soul Night or something really old and familiar that might not even exist anymore and get ridonculously sweaty and pull some muscles and sing along so loud to Ain't Too Proud to Beg or whatever that we can barely croak out our cross-streets to the cabbie? THX.

the cure for homesickness

Rachel and Christian came to visit! It was so fun! Guys! I can't even tell you how fun it was! We did practically no work the whole time and just laughed and drank wine and ate food and omg we are sad they are gone now.

Here they are being all like "woah this house is beautiful / Indiana rules":


Their reaction to our surroundings made us remember how much we loved it during our first several weeks here -- not that we don't still love it, but with the combination of homesickness and the natural taking-things-for-granted-ness that always builds up, the thrill had somewhat faded. It was invigorating to watch them exclaim at the huge house, the sense of space, the remarkable amount of architectural beauty, and of course the awesomeness of the uncles/grandma.

The first night we went to Tim's studio for beer and geez ("geez(sp?)" = Tim's name for his particular genre of music, generally but not exclusively made by people over 40, i.e. "geezers"). Then we spent a weirdly warm sunny afternoon running around Fountain Square, a 50's-style 'hood with a wonderfully preserved old theatre and diner, bowling alley, lots of vintage/antique places, and a bar called Radio Radio which obviously rules.



We wandered through the nethers of the art-studio complex by the Big Car Gallery and stumbled upon this monster made of, I dunno, whiteout?, but Rach wasn't skeered:

My uncle Pat had a party, so we finally got to see his house in all its glory. There are no words, really, and the pictures definitely do not do it justice. How do you describe a party at the home of an insanely generous and witty bachelor who calls himself "The King" and built a karaoke stage and a bar in his home and has nine-foot paintings of Madonna that he commissioned himself displayed on the wall? You just can't. Somebody needs to make a sitcom or reality show about my uncle Pat and his roommate Jay. Seriously. It's just way too hilarious and awesome not to be enjoyed by the masses.


Then we went to Chicago for one night, which was a lot of driving for a little stay, but it was really fun to be running around a big city again.


And then Dan got food poisoning from the restaurant in Chicago. Aaaand it was his birthday dinner. We arrived back in Indianapolis just in time for Dan to have one night of complete hell, and then it was over. We spent the day lounging around the fire, watching movies, and playing Catan while rain poured against the windows. (Note the transfer of the Catan Winner's Medallion from Dan to me WOOO.)



Their last night here, Rachel and I sat on the couch and had a long awesome talk while Dan and Christian went to Tim's studio to sip tequila and record what Tim called a "space jam," which apparently doesn't put anyone but me in the mind of some Bugs Bunny / Michael Jordan movie from the nineties. Dan and Chris were both super inspired by the night, mostly by Tim's laid-back and less-cerebral (i.e. un-Lyon-esque) approach to music-making.

And then they left and Dan and I were both hit with a TON of actual work. Like, I immediately began twelve-hour workdays. It sucks because their whole visit was so invigorating (that's just the perfect word) that we wish we could transfer the energy to creative stuff. Sigh/reality.

More soon about our plans for the short remainder of our trip and the drive home. Thank you Rachel for taking pictures!

homesick

California, we miss you! Public transportation and sidewalks and Malcolm (sorry Igby, not you) and all of our friends and family, we miss you too! That Girls/Cass McCombs show at the Great American, we really missed you! Vietnamese sandwiches and Herbivore's fake chicken! The ability to wear contact lenses without our eyes becoming insanely red!

What do contact lenses have to do with California, you ask? WELL. Since one week after arriving in Indianapolis, I've been unable to wear contact lenses (and I've worn contacts all day every day with no problems since I was 12). My eyes get really red and bloodshot and emit a strange goo. I saw an optometrist twice, and he said everything looked okay and gave me some different lenses to try, but nothing worked. Internet research revealed that it could be the result of a "change in environment" (allergies to pollen, water, etc) or it could be a "normal resistance to contact lenses experienced by women over 30" (I do qualify for this category albeit by the slimmest of margins). But then Dan started noticing the exact same symptoms. WTF? We're both stuck wearing our glasses all the time, which is kind of a pain. My personal theory is to blame the midwestern water, which tastes and feels and smells really quite strange -- much worse than tap water from other places I've lived, including LA and NYC. Either that or our eyes are allergic to the feeling of being relaxed and inspired? Anybody have any experiences or information about this problem?

Anyway. For contacts and many other things, we're getting really homesick. Luckily some heroic visitors have come to alleviate the pain. My dad spontaneously bought a ticket on Priceline last week and arrived less than two days later. We let it be a surprise for Grandma (she dropped two handfuls of silverware when he walked into the kitchen). Then we took some time off to try new restaurants with him, drink some delicious Dad-approved beer, and watch the World Series (and by "watch" I mean play Rock Band and pinball at Pat's while the game played on another TV upstairs). And this week, starting Thursday, Rachel and Christian are coming! Um YAY.

In other news, we've decided to delete the Tuscon portion from our trip. I have to be back in CA a bit earlier than anticipated because of a work presentation, plus our Christmas party date is creeping up earlier -- there just wasn't going to be much time in AZ to make the change of location worthwhile. Plus, we've settled in here so nicely; water aside, we're really enjoying it here. It seems to make more sense to stay put, keep our momentum going, and then drive straight across the country home in December.

I haven't been taking many pictures but here's Pat's cat lounging on his pinball machine and an autographed copy of Ted Nugent's World Bowhunters Magazine, Issue #1, spotted at a flea market.

two years ago

A couple nights before Halloween 2007, my friends Jesse and Lloyd threw a party with the theme "Come as You Were in High School." I wore an Elvis Costello shirt, cutoff jeans, black tights, and Doc Martens. It was a blast. Near the beginning of the party, I met a very handsome gay man named Dan.


As it turns out, Dan was coming from a more generic Halloween party and was not, in fact, gay in high school. He couldn't get my number because his spandex shorts did not allow for a cell phone, but he gave me his. I texted something cute and never heard back and assumed that was that.

Luckily we ran into each other again on the actual night of Halloween, when I was Captain Fun and Dan was Brian.



Dan explained that he'd accidentally given me his brother's phone number, and then he told me all about his sensitive singer-songwriter music and his awesome job making ringtones and his brother's band that was about to be signed by an indie label. *SWOON*

Tonight we have no costumes but we're gonna go to Pat's and hand out candy and play Beatles Rock Band. Happy anniversary us. (And congrats to my cousin Sarah who's getting married today! Wish I could be there.)

this makes me feel smug and proud

"Easier graphed than done," captioned my friend Dave when he recently posted this image. But we did it! We really did! The "no" then "yes" path of this chart totally visualizes the basic structure of our thinking when we plotted this trip and we are now quite a great deal happier.

I can't believe it's almost over though. Must work harder. We can't let down the optimistic early-'09 versions of ourselves who actually managed to have such thoughts. I'm at 100 pages but my first chapter is all wobbly; Dan's latest song is so incredible it makes me want to do aerobics, but he's still uncertain about his singing. In other words: our momentum is strong, and that is good, because here comes the hard part.

less talk more photo

The front yard, falling. / My sneaky attempt to photograph Dan in his jeans.


We bought some sweet painted gourds and ornaments for the Masonic Christmas tree at Grandma's bazaar, which was a couple weekends ago. Several of her painting friends set up their goods throughout the house and Grandma made lunch for all the shoppers. I manned my aunt's jewelry station and judging from this photo I must've gained an instant twenty pounds that morning from candy-corn grazing.


Tim and Susan took us to see a play called The Heavens are Hung in Black, a really interesting psychological portrait of Abraham Lincoln. Abe spent a chunk of his childhood in Indiana so he's a bit of a hometown hero here (along with John Mellencamp, whose name we've heard more in the past two months than in our entire lives). Anyway, the play was excellent and the old downtown theatre was beautiful:


The "Soldiers and Sailors" monument downtown is supported by some hilariously relaxed bears.

status update / it's late

I hit 85 pages sometime last week, followed immediately by a brick wall of work. I have several paying gigs over the next while, then a break, then a serious descent back into marketresearchland for part of November and early December. I'm not stressed, though; that urgent need for vast amounts of writing time has faded. I know the characters, I know how they talk and how they behave, I can even see their town perfectly in my head (it no longer looks quite like Hope). I'm fairly confident that I can pick up my laptop at any point and jump back into that world, which honestly makes this trip already sooo worth it, just to have arrived at that place. A friend tweeted this Woody Allen quote yesterday: "It's a wonderful thing to be able to create your own world whenever you want." I'm pretty sure I've only ever felt like that, as a writer, exactly three times in my life: once during the summer between grade 9 and 10 when I started and completed a collection of (unintentionally hilarious) linked stories; once during grad school when I wrote my (unintentionally obnoxious) novel; and now, during a sabbatical. All times when the world wasn't asking much of me.

It makes me want to find a more appropriate outlet for all those times when the world *is* asking. Because obviously this can't last forever. I described my current creative state to my dad on the phone a couple nights ago and he was intrigued -- he knows well that home-free feeling when you're onto something good and the distractions don't bother you as much, but his art forms (haiku poetry and songwriting) are, well, shorter. They don't require world-creation, at least not in the same way. It's a bummer I've never been able to write poems, because I do think they would fit much better into the realities of daily life. Anyway, for now, I'm loving this feeling of having this world waiting patiently at the edge of my mind, ready for me to jump back into whenever I get the chance. So fun. Hopefully this one ends up seeming intentionally, um, something. (Hah).

OKAY OKAY WHAT ABOUT DAN, you're probably asking. He's ruling, suddenly! We've realized we have very different creative challenges, now that the challenges are becoming more nuanced than finding time and motivation. Dan's is finishing things. So starting last week, he set up a strict schedule for himself: every Wednesday, he has to show me 2 songs. (Lyrics can be "scrambled eggs" if absolutely necessary). He just showed me his first Wednesday 2 and they are, expectedly, ahhhhmaaaazing, and now he feels like finishing things isn't so hard after all, and he won't come to bed even though it's two a.m. because he's in his music room making more.

He also got a pair of jeans. I got so excited in the store I texted Giovanni.

What else. Fall is still raging and awesome. I have some pictures from Grandma's bazaar but I'll post them next time because my camera is downstairs and I'm upstairs and it's a big house.

fall and other surprises

There are many benefits to this trip that don't have anything to do with its stated purpose. Some of them have surprised us; others we expected, but had no idea how much daily joy they would bring us. So, creativity-related benefits aside, here's what we're loving...

First: FALL. Dudes. Fall is amazing. Indiana has still not apparently reached the peak of fall season, and it is already so gorgeous, we can hardly drive down the street without running straight into a tree. As Dan put it the other day, as we drove past a particularly amazing tri-colored tree leaning out from the edge of a yard to greet the street: "I've just never seen anything like that." This tree was green in parts, yellow in others, and then the leaves around the edges seemed to have been dipped in a can of red paint--and the red is not reddish, not that amber-brown dead-looking red, which is also beautiful but more familiar; this is a practically fluorescent shade of red that just doesn't exist in California. So yeah, we're loving the proper seasons. We've been pretty gay about it actually. Mulled cider, pumpkin pancakes, sitting around a fire made with wood that my uncle has been drying in the backyard for years. I'm telling you. These midwesterners are on to something.

Second, of course, is family. My grandma is the sweetest lady ever and it's pretty much impossible to eavesdrop on one of her five-minute conversations with the cat and not feel really good about the world. (That cat talks back, for real). My uncle Tim and his girlfriend Susan are like our personal tour guides, arranging road trips, showing us some tasty Thai and Indian restaurants, and on weekend nights, indulging in a game of Catan or two (yes, you heard me, two). Susan even made this insane necklace with a picture of Klaus Teuber on the pendant, to be worn by the victor. My uncle Pat has every good television series ever on DVD, not to mention two full bars in his house (yes, again, two!) plus a karaoke stage. We haven't used the karaoke stage yet but we have a dream of somehow incorporating it with Beatles Rock Band.

Third: feeling relaxed, like, all the time. It's not bad.

And now for some pictures! We drove down south a couple hours last weekend to a forgotten-by-time town called Story that had an amazing dive bar in the basement of its only hotel, the Story Inn. Several men and women were very rowdy and drunk in there, and then they left on horseback. Grandma was glad they weren't driving.

who's boring now

So it's come to our attention that our blog is kind of like insanely boring. OHH OKAY I guess we'll tell you about all the crazy parties and events we've been promoting and stuff. It's been pretty bonkerstown. I guess you could call us scenesters among a certain crowd here in Indiana. They're called the Indy Decorative Artists and they paint flowers and animals on wooden objects and clothing.


All right we just made the flyers. Dan's is clearly awesomer but it's a bit too edgy for the occasion so it looks like they're gonna go with mine YAY I WIN SEE WE HAVE TONS OF FUN!

Keywords: indianapolis toll painting craft bazaar holiday sale wreaths china pumpkins gourds santas

drove to chicago

We spent the weekend in Chicago. Dan's brother Matt is there all week on a business trip, and he flew out early so we could all hang out for the weekend. It was fun; we did touristy stuff all day and on Saturday night we had legitimate Mexican food (the Mexican food in Indianapolis is beyond terrible) and went to a blues bar. It felt strange to be, um, well, doing things. My brain was sort of stunned to have been removed from the world of the novel, while my body was exhausted from not sitting in a chair all day.

The Art Institute was free to Bank of America cardholders, randomly, so we went twice.


We took a boat tour of Chicago architecture.


Why doesn't San Francisco have better public art?


Before driving home on Sunday we stopped at the Chicago Diner, "Meat-free since Eighty-Three," and Dan was so happy I thought he might faint. Here he is with a vanilla-chai tofu milkshake, a vegan chocolate chip cheesecake, and a coconut lemon cake. Yes, we got three desserts. Dan's lost 25 pounds in five weeks; he took the weekend off.

when i'm sixty-five

I have sixty-five pages written, and I'm super happy with all of them. (I would have a lot more if I included those I'm not happy with.) I'm especially happy because Dan read the whole document and gave me some sincerely positive feedback, along with a few suggestions that made it way better. YAY. I'm getting excited. It might actually get finished and it might actually not suck.

Today we ate lunch at Jenxie's, a vegan restaurant in the basement of a methodist church downtown.

Dan likes this picture.

This weekend: Chicago!!!!

cease-whine / rocky ripple

Okay, I'm done whining about all our work. I've written twenty pages of the novel in the last three days. And they're good! (I think).

Dan, though, has had an irritated throat and a slightly hoarse voice ever since he took a sip of one of those 5 Hour Energy drinks somewhere just east of Seattle. (There is absolutely no convincing him that this month-long ailment is not solely to blame on the 5 Hour Energy drink.) It's very slight and apparently not painful, but it's making it hard for him to sing, and therefore hard to complete songs, and he's understandably pretty cranky about it. Anybody have any miracle cures for persistent throat irritation? Brian?

Yesterday we went to a "festival" in Rocky Ripple. Rocky Ripple is a small neighborhood of houses clustered along a canal in the dead center of Indianapolis, just a five minute drive from my grandmother's house. But Rocky Ripple is pretty secluded, despite being inside the city; it's incorporated as a township and they even have their own mayor. It has a legacy of settlers from Appalachia and Kentucky, and is also described as "bohemian," and I've always been curious to visit. Turns out, Rocky Ripple is weird and kind of creepy and fairly awesome.

There were missing teeth and teenagers with babies, like we were a hundred miles outside of the city. Octogenarians hobbled about everywhere, a good 25% of the population in attendance, some of them wearing obviously homemade clothes. Others wore shirts made for the occasion that said, "I'm not lost, I live here. ROCKY RIPPLE." A group of old men cooked corn in the husks in a cast-iron oven. The ex-mayor sold magnets and had Weird Al hair to match his Weird Al face. A woodworker sold rolling pins. A blacksmith sold chainmails. Twentysomething dudes played southern rock on a gazebo and sounded like they were in their sixties. This is an exaggerated comparison but I swear it reminded me of that scene in I'm Not There when Billy the Kid is hiding in that weird town and Jim James sings "Goin to Acapulco" and everyone is dressed for Halloween.



Anyway. It was one of the many moments on this trip when I've turned to Dan and said, "Don't you feel like we're in America?" and Dan has answered with a slow, awestruck nod.