theology&geometry

Photo by IndieRockLance

Regina Spektor is brilliant and funny and she made me cry. But that could have been the wine.

The show was really great. Packed house, despite this being her third attempt to play the Ryman this tour (both previous shows were canceled due to her inner-ear infection). The crowd loved her. She was wearing this ridiculous silver ruffled dress that made me think of a clogger. Everyone but me (but I?) had a camera, including two girls behind me who, for some idiot reason, didn’t think to turn the beep-boop-boop-beep sound effects off so that every time they snapped a picture — which was constantly — Kristin and I were ready to start ripping up pews and throwing them. Okay, maybe that was just me. Note to aspiring concert photographers: TURN THE SOUND ON YOUR CAMERAS OFF, JACKASSES.

No matter, it was still fantastic. To think her voice sounds just as amazing in person as it does on her albums kind of blows my mind. I mean, she has a transcendent voice. And I love that she can be silly and unself-conscious about how she sings, throwing in percussive beats and random syllables and heavy breathing and funny pronunciations for effect. (And, during “The Ghost of Corporate Future,” during the lyric about never watching the 10 o’clock news, she ad-libbed, “especially Fox,” which got a good chuckle from the pinko commies in the crowd.) Pretty mesmerizing.

Even her opening act was awesome. My spies tell me that she and Only Son are a bit of an item, so it was neat to see him come back out and do “Hotel” with her doing the encore. I love me some skinny white boys beat-boxing. His solo act was good, too, though. He riffed on Elvis Priestly and Jimmie Cash, and said he was going to do right by the Ryman’s history and play along to his iPod, which he did. Kristin and I agreed that there was something distinctly Flight of the Conchords about that. And we laughed and laughed when he and the iPod talked to each other. Good times.

Bonus friend-spotting action: Jeremy and Krissi and Maddie (whom I’d never met before) came into the Brewery while we were getting dinner, and waved right at me, and I saw them waving, but here’s what my brain decided for me: There is a group of slightly silhouetted people waving in this general direction. Based on previous experience, when you have waved back only to realize that the people are, in fact, not waving at you and you have disgusted and amused them by waving back, you moron, I would advise that you play it cool and keep your hands on the table. Which means Jeremy had to walk over and practically knock me in the head with a barstool to get my attention. So they pulled up chairs and we all got to get drinks and dinner together before the show. LIKE WE PLANNED IT. People from the Dirty South stick together.

I’m at my parents’ house. All evening we’ve been watching old home videos that I coaxed my brother to get out of the safe. So far we’ve covered 1992 and 1993. I have been rolling in the floor laughing until I couldn’t breathe and tears streamed down my face. There is a Fourth of July clip in which all you can see is some fireworks going off in the yard and our stupid fire-eating dog Bo trying his best to knock them over, while all you can hear is everyone in the family taking turns screaming “Bo! BO! BO BO BO BO BO!!!” at the top of their lungs. I lose my shit when my brother, who was five at the time, screams at that dog repeatedly in his little five-year-old way. He was such a ridiculously cute and precocious kid. Funny that when I was eleven, he didn’t seem nearly as cute. In fact, I spend much of my time on film screaming at him and acting like a general ass. Especially when we’re flying kites and I can’t get mine to take off. I sit on the ground and pout, claiming that my kite and only my kite is a dud. Boo frickin’ hoo, chump. Jesus!

You know, I always wondered why boys never liked me in elementary and middle school. Now that I have some distance and perspective, I understand with complete and absolute clarity and don’t blame any of my childhood crushes for thinking I had cooties. Oh lord, the high waistlines, the poofy bangs, the headbands, the white Keds, the wedgies, the goofy teeth, the flat butt, the spandex, the sweater vests, the puffy paint and glitter, the drawl, the bark laugh, the stupid jokes. Yikes.

Why my parents weren’t constantly smacking me around for being an ass, I’ll never know.

Update, 12:46 a.m.

You have not lived until you have seen my mother and me cover “I Saw The Light” — that wholesome ditty about adultery by Wynonna Judd — in our matching white T-shirts crowned with hot pink bandannas, bejeweling, and fringe. And matching white Keds.

Have. Not. Lived.

What the sign actually said: “We offer a degree in public administration.”

What I read: “We offer a degree in public humiliation.”

The worst part about being a grownup has got to be the paperwork. A constant stream of it, coming from store clerks and bank tellers and the mailman, pouring in, day after day, filling every pocket, every purse, every drawer, every shelf — paper everywhere.

And I’ve even opted in to paperless billing and opted out of credit-card offers and whatnot. Still, the stuff overwhelms me.

I had a frantic ten minutes today when I realized I’d forgotten to pay my student loan yesterday, and ripped around the apartment, looking for the current statement or an old statement — any freaking statement — so I could call and make my payment over the phone. (My particular loan cannot be paid online, which is so stupid I can hardly stand it.) I pilfered through drawer after drawer and stack after stack and couldn’t put my hands on a single old statement, even though I know I’ve saved lots.

(Those of you readying lectures in your head about how I need to have that information organized and/or written down in an easily accessible place can just feel bask in the notion that you are a better adult than I am. I’m not ashamed.)

Finally, after making up roughly seven new curse words and squawking them all, I found a statement from November under the tray on my coffee table. I made the call, paid the bill, and then cut out the account number and taped it to the fridge. Because that’s the only fucking way I will not lose it again.

I surveyed the paper carnage left in the wake of my hissy fit, and decided it was time to get rid of some shit. And how cathartic it is to excavate drawers full of old bills and statements and mail not even meant for you, and stand there, ripping each and every piece of piece of paper and tossing it to the ground in a symbolic fuck-you to the clutter of meticulously documented adulthood.

Granted, I probably didn’t rip diligently enough to thwart the identity thieves who pilfer through our dumpster every week, but, luckily, I have a very professional shredder on retainer.

Actual conversation that just occurred between me and my cats as I arrived home from work:

Cats: Meow!

Me: Oh my god, kitties, it is cold as balls outside! Do you know how cold that is?

Cats: Meow!

Me: Actually, balls aren’t cold at all.

Cats: Meow!

Me: It’s a figure of speech.

Ain’t it cute? Black with tan interior. Rockin’ stereo system. Excellent visibility. Plush interior for an entry-level car. Smooth ride. Shiny as shit. (For now.)

We need to get a room. I’ll admit it. Because we’re in love. And I can’t stop gushing. It’s embarrassing.

And let me just tell you how stupid in love I am with this car. Actually, love has nothing to do with it. I’m just stupid. Tonight at about 9, I was headed north on Cooper, toward my apartment, when a big police Suburban flashes his lights at me and pulls me over just past Union and Cooper.

Shit, I’m thinking, I was going the speed limit! WTF!!! My insurance already went up the moment I bought this! Now this?! What did I do?!

Dude asks for my driver’s license, and asks me what kind of car I’m driving. I explain, and say, “I just bought it today and I’m still learning how to use it!”

“Obviously,” he says, “since you were driving without any lights on.”

Oooooh, right. I’m not used to a car that doesn’t have daylight running lamps. Thankfully, he let my idiot ass go. And from now on I promise to remember to turn on my headlights.

I haven’t updated my self-indulgent 100 Things list in a long time. So long that several of those things aren’t true anymore.

So, because I’m bored and trying to kill time in ways that don’t involve television (but are admittedly just as stupid and pointless), here’s a new 100 Things list. I’m not even kidding when I say that I started making this list more than a year ago, forgot about it, added to it, forgot about it, etc., until just now, when I found it and decided to plug in the last few and slap it up.

1. I wear the same Doc Martens I’ve worn since 8th grade. Which, if I’m doing the math right (which I’m probably not; see No. 90), means they have cost me less than 2 cents a day.
2. When I type, my pinky fingers stick out to the side.
3. One time at band camp, a fellow trombonist and I did a rain dance and it actually ended up raining.
4. Yeah, I played trombone in band. Shut up.
5. It gives me a little thrill when I notice “open” signs left on in businesses that are, in fact, closed.
6. When I had braces, I color coordinated the bands to correspond with seasons and holidays (red and green for xmas, orange and black for halloween, red, white and blue for July 4, etc.).
7. The first concert I ever saw (not counting ones involuntarily witnessed at the Mid-South rodeo) was Weezer at 328 in Nashville.
8. My entire family insisted on driving my then-boyfriend and me up to the event and making the weekend of it.
9. I guess I can understand; I was only 14.
10. I went to the high school prom three times — twice with the same guy.
11. The worst prom I went to happened to be my own.
12. I wore fake nails to the first two proms.
13. I spent many hours during high school working in my parents’ video store.
14. I pretty much ran that place.
15. I have an irrational fear of dropping my keys down the elevator shaft at work.
16. I tend to have lascivious dreams when I nap.
17. I was once interviewed for a San Francisco Examiner story about people who hate Star Wars.
18. I worry about the day that my nephews will stop thinking I am fun to hang out with.
19. I also worry about their awkward teenage years, which are just beginning, because I know how much those years can SUCK and give you neurotic tendencies.
20. My wine habit stays manageable only because I refuse to buy bottles that cost more than $15 unless it’s a special occasion.
21. Sometimes I pick up things off the floor with my feet.
22. I figure by the time I die I will have spent roughly 33 percent of my life rummaging through my purse.
23. Memphis has finally started to feel like home, although I still can’t shake the wanderlust lurking in me.
24. All my life, people have wanted to call me “Leslie.”
25. I don’t like spicy food.
26. Or most seafood.
27. Despite my self-deprecating protests to the contrary, I am actually pretty good with kids.
28. That doesn’t mean I feel qualified to have any of my own.
29. I don’t balance my checkbook. Ever.
30. It boggles my mind that anyone reads the crap on this blog.
31. I talk to my cats in complete sentences.
32. And lots of curse words.
33. I dread the day Felix gets sick.
34. I miss Gonzo.
35. My nails look nice when they are painted.
36. I absolutely hate hanging up clothes.
37. It is physically, emotionally, and psychologically impossible for me to de-clutter my life.
38. I think I’d like the gym better if there weren’t mirrors everyfreakingwhere.
39. The car is pretty much the only place I sing at the top of my lungs.
40. I have an unfortunately nasally, monotone voice.
41. And sometimes I bark when I laugh.
42. I have not yet explained my complicated lack of religious beliefs to my parents.
43. That would probably introduce a whole new era of weirdness into my family relations that I’d rather avoid, because I get along with the family for the most part.
44. It makes me uncomfortable when people witness to me.
45. I often wonder how I went from being The Quiet One to being The Obnoxious Profane One in so many different settings.
46. I wish I could dance, or that I had any desire to do so.
47. One of my pet peeves is when people don’t use “myriad” correctly.
48. I have never fainted.
49. I like to eat ice cream and cereal out of cups.
50. My brother is such a stud it kind of makes me jealous that he is able to attract all these cute young ladies, while I have absolutely no game and couldn’t attract a cluster of flies even if I had a rotting piece of meat strapped to my chest.
51. I worry about the day I will have to take care of my parents.
52. There is no way I can return all the favors they’ve done for me over my lifetime.
53. Every day I fret over my Next Move.
54. The one thing keeping me from going back to school is going deeper into debt.
55. I am straight, but I’d go gay for Regina Spektor, Jessica Alba, and Laura Prepon.
56. I used to think I was not a beach person, but spending a week in Honolulu convinced me that I could absolutely work at it.
57. Part of my super secret five-year plan is to ease my way into a job that includes mostly daytime hours.
58. I downloaded my first ringtone in September.
59. I did not see what all the fuss was about.
60. I have lens lust and no money with which to feed it.
61. My biggest weakness in the world is wine and cheese.
63. One of these days I hope to host legendary wine and cheese parties. Because I’m a friggin’ dork.
64. I love my Mac, but I am not in love with it.
65. I prefer my milk to be skim and my bread to be wheat.
66. One of my favorite smells is a wine glass after it’s been emptied.
67. I look and feel better with a tan.
68. I sometimes wonder what my life would be like if I decided to move back to Saltillo or Savannah.
69. It would probably not be so bad, considering how cheap things are there and how easy it would be to rely on family.
70. My bones pop constantly. All of them. And many of them (wrists, jaw, neck, fingers, etc.) will pop on cue.
71. Others may suffer, but I like having coffee breath.
72. I want my parents to pay attention to their health and weight.
73. I still think they’re both beautiful.
74. Quite foolishly, I feel like moving into a house would solve half my problems.
75. My sister helped me cheat in a church Easter egg hunt one year. She was old enough to hide and I was young enough to hunt, and she steered me in the right direction and I won lots of chocolate.
76. I can’t remember if that was the same year she put a real egg in my grandmother’s tailpipe or what.
77. That egg stunk for weeks.
78. I secretly hope that Tamara and I share a few strands of DNA.
79. That would explain a LOT.
80. I have no plans to attend any class reunions.
81. But what I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall to just watch.
82. And probably get really bored.
83. It took me 26 years but I finally understand that some pants just work better with a belt.
84. Seeing Amber twice a year is not enough.
85. I miss Tolstoy Tuesdays and think maybe we should pick them back up now and again.
86. I haven’t written a poem in forever.
87. My first boyfriend wrote this in my yearbook the year he graduated and — two months after writing this — dumped my freshman ass in the aisle of a grocery store while he was working there: “Keep your head on your shoulders and your feet on the ground and you’ll go places, kid.”
88. I’m not sure any future kiss-off will ever top that.
89. I have lots of dreams, and I try to document them as often as possible.
90. Me and math, we don’t get along.
91. I still think I’d like to be a teacher.
92. I really do like helping people learn things, and that moment when someone figures out something on his/her own is a cool feeling.
93. I eavesdrop on neighbors whenever I have the chance.
94. I cannot exercise without my iPod.
95. I love making mixed CDs for people.
96. There’s not a day that passes that I don’t wish I was a musician of some sort.
97. I’m okay with being a word person, though.
98. I tend to crop mugshots a little too tight.
99. I always turn down the stereo when approaching an intersection.
100. I squeeze from the middle of the toothpaste tube.

Here I sit, trying to plug in my last two photos for Project 365, when I realize I’m a day off. I’m ending up with 364. Is this right? Then this project is horribly misnamed.

So off I go through the archives to see where I screwed up.

Two weeks ’til Christmas, I’ve not yet started my shopping, I’m broke, etc.

Commence freakout now.

Every Saturday the paper runs an agate listing of all the marriage licenses obtained from the county that week. In today’s paper (on B2, specifically), you’ll be able to see that four 14-year-old girls are being married off to lads of ages varying from 19 to 25.

While I won’t begrudge anyone her right to young love, I will just offer this (extraneous and unnecessary) proof that 14-year-olds aren’t of sound mind to make such monumental life decisions:

When I was 14, I would sob and scream and throw an inconsolable fit when I had a bad hair day.