Sherry, Jess and I finished our Spanish I class this week. I was unfortunately unable to attend the last class (held at a Mexican restaurant) but was still determined to finish with all assignments completed.

For one of our assignments - translating several stories from the local Spanish newspaper into English - our teacher, Sr. Victor, said it would be ok to use Babblefish, or other translating tools if we needed to. While I originally thought going that route would be somehow cheating, or at least not the most effective means of learning a new language, upon waking up this morning I decided that having such a busy day ahead of me, as well as a weekend of traveling, I’d better just do whatever got the exercise done the fastest. I still couldn’t get over my snobby desire to learn and only used the online translating tool for every other paragraph, if not less than that, but after I while I found the system hysterically ineffective anyway, my rough translations just as good as any it could churn out. Luckily, in addition to the stress I was feeling, I had some good laughs sitting at my desk, typing in Spanish paragraphs, and checking out the result displayed on my computer screen. Kind of like Shakespeare. For crazies.

On a rabid raccoon discovered in Carrboro:

The dog was playing with its owner when I descry to the raccoon near the routes of the train, I attack it frontally and later I cause the death to him.

In the heated duel that maintained, the small animal but did not let emit unrecognizable sounds and showed a very hostile attitude.

Since several cases of the virus have appeared, the Service of antirabic bovine Animals this offering for mascots to very low cost.

Several months ago when deciding to attack any health issues head-on, rather than go, once again, to the doctor for another dose of antibiotics to cure my 145,276 millionth urinary tract infection, I went to Border’s and bought the most recent copy of “Our Bodies, Ourselves,” that age-old bible of women’s health. Much like “The Joy of Sex,” the book, even in its most recent edition, takes on a solid hippie/I-am-woman-hear-me-roar approach to health matters. All I wanted to do was look up herbal remedies, but I was sidetracked along the way by a picture of a large-nosed woman next to the headline “Why I love my nose” (an essay on the evils of plastic surgery). The very first of such educational essays, right when you open up the book, is on waxing our - uh - privates, and how in doing so women are trying to recreate themselves in the image of prepubescent girls, which men love. “Why do this to ourselves?” the book argues. “I don’t know, because it’s sexy?” my non-educated self wonders back. I happily showed J a drawing of a naked women complete with a diagram of her reproductive system. Her pubic hairs were drawn in full - a veritable forest of self-worth and independence. The book is full of such subtle (read: completely in your face) suggestions, and I love the authors for their completely non-hidden agenda. My favorite, however, is the section on vitamins, specifically pre-natal vitamins, and conceiving. Half the page is taken up with a large picture of two happy lesbians with their African-American child, like, “By the way, if you want to have a baby this way, we think it’s totally awesome!”

From: Fred Rotondaro
To: Justin McDonough
Sent: Fri Mar 24
Subject: Graduation presnt

Kathy and I would like to continue our new tradition of giving a gift of travel as a graduation present
We start this in may when vinnie graduates-well sort- of and then goes to istanbul. And. Would like to do the same next year for you.
We would like yo to take cara but this is not manddatory.

Fred

“If you could pick three characters from Harry Potter, past or present, to have lunch with, who would they be?”

“Well…I think Harry, Hermione and Ron, actually.”

“That’s what I was going to say! Because it would be so much fun to see them interact. Ok, if you had to pick three characters besides Harry, Hermione and Ron, who would they be?”

“Dumbledore…Sirius…”

“Nice!”

“…and…Hagrid, maybe?”

“That’s awesome. I wouldn’t have thought of Sirius. Not sure if I would have picked him though.”

“Yeah, he’s a little much.”

“What if you had to pick three characters to go drinking with?”

“Easy. Hagrid, Fred and George.”

“Yeah…I don’t know if I’d pick Hagrid…I mean, he’d partake and all, but I don’t know…I’m thinking Lupin, maybe Tonks…”

Most of us are taught, as very young children, the difference between “driver” and “navigator” when people are in the car, particularly our parents, and usually while headed on some trip to see the family for some holiday, which is normally plagued with traffic and bad weather.

The “driver” is usually the man and he can do no wrong, and the “navigator” is usually the woman, and she can do all kinds of wrong, wrong punishable by the driver. He goes on and on explaining exactly how exasperating it is when she decides to tell him to take an exit mere seconds before the turn-off. This goes on until a fight occurs and then the children take sides and everyone is yelling and crying.

You know. Sometimes. Sometimes that’s what happens, admit it.

One thing particularly unnerving to me about this scenario is how unshakable the setup (driver, carrying no blame and navigator, carrying all the blame) is. Let’s say we were headed to, oh, my father’s hometown of Pittston, PA, where he grew up. A place he’s driven to, and from, hundreds of times. Let’s say we missed an exit, or got into traffic, even. Mom’s fault. This might also occur when we’d go into D.C. for dinner, sometimes. D.C. where we live. D.C. where my father would drive every day. Every. Single. Day.

Another important landmark of the road trip is when a scary situation occurs - say, we almost run into a truck - and the passenger yelps, shouts, or says “Oh no.” When things have calmed down the driver shouts, “Don’t DO THAT! You almost got me into an accident!” Interesting, because a) the driver, not the person in the passenger seat, almost got into the accident (it’s just logic) and b) if the person you’re riding with ever has no reaction whatsoever to a near loss of life, check em’ out. Because they could be comatose or psychotic.

Not to paint a picture of my father as a tyrannical authority figure. Those of you who know him know that simply isn’t the case. Furthermore, this doesn’t just happen with them. It happens in my life too. J, before you scoot on down to the comment line to refute my claims, c’mon, think about it. It’s happened.

Luckily my husband is a really laid-back guy, far more upset when I see a hawk or something swoop overhead and he misses it than he is when we make a wrong turn. J and I, actually, have our own little version of road-trip stress. See, these weekend trips we sometimes take are normally to visit with friends, and that means staying up late and all sorts of debauchery. When we drive home Sunday, usually in J’s car, because it’s bigger and not a stick-shift, we are beat.

Everyone gets tired in different ways. Some get silly. Some get cranky. Some complain. J simply can’t stay awake. He just can’t. Which is as endearing as it is impractical. He gets this way on car trips a lot. If he’s in the passenger seat, forget it. He’s out before you hit the highway, awaking every now and then, maybe after you’ve calmly changed lanes or the radio station, to sit buck upright and yell, “What happened?! Are you ok?!!” before drifting off again. Endearing. And sometimes less endearing.

When he’s driving he gets tired, too. I found this out early in the relationship and was quick to coddle the boy should he seem even remotely sleepy. “Do you need me to drive? Do you want to stop and get some coffee? Pull over and let me drive. It’s fine!” Now that we have been together for several years I find less need to baby him and more often wish he would just get to the point when he’s acting out the whole “I’m-tired-and-don’t-want-to-drive-anymore” scenario which goes something like this: J gets hot and hungry and/or thirsty all at the same time, struggling to get his fleece off and turn on the AC. This is, of course, difficult while at the wheel, and so he gets frustrated. Sometimes he slams his head back against the seat and mutters, “tired” over and over. He makes other noises, showing me he’s annoyed and not feeling up to the job. Back in the day, like I said, I’d be quick to jump all over this, ensuring him I could drive and that he didn’t need to worry about a thing. Now I like to play a game, a game called, “Why don’t you tell me, in a full sentence, what you want from me?”

I mean, we are husband and wife, and before this we were a dedicated boyfriend/girlfriend team. I’ve never been much for people trying to get me to do or say certain things by passive/aggressive behaviors, so if he wants me to drive, why doesn’t he just ask me?

Have I asked him this? Sure, and he’s explained. His reasoning is actually very considerate - he doesn’t want to ask me to drive because he knows I’ll do it and he knows I’m tired, too. But, I explain back to him, we know I can handle my tired self on the open road far better than you. I mean, if one can stay awake, and one physically cannot, what’s the best option? I thought so. Plus, my driving while you sleep means constant listening to E! Entertainment radio on XM, which would be strictly unheard of otherwise.

One more scene is normally played out in this oft-repeated show and that’s the part that occurs while we’re exiting the highway and J, in one last attempt save me from driving and getting to listen to celebrity gossip for hours, explains that if we just pull off the road for a while he could take a quick nap and then he’d be ok to drive again. Taking a little nap in your car when you could be speeding home to a real bed is absolutely not an option for me, so I always refuse this kind gesture.

It works out. He drives for me, too, when I’m feeling tired, which happens less regularly, of course, but it’s still great to have backup. Plus, I’ve gotten to be a pro at ignoring those sudden but bleary-eyed check-ins delivered when I’m the one behind the wheel. It’s a pretty good way to become a calm and collected person, when your passenger slams his palms on the dashboard and asks “What happened?? What happened!!!?” after you’ve simply turned up the radio to hear exactly what is going on with Tom and Katie.

Thanks to Tom for snapping these pictures of J Sunday morning in the woods near Keith and Megan’s house.

By Eric

Blogging is easy.
You write whatever you want.
Even on Mondays, too.

The dog barks freely.
Something is not right for him.
Must need his walking.

Daughter learns to read.
So much for reading captions.
Bad words are easy.

By Chappy

East coast birds chirping
Pacific waves in my head
Just took the red-eye

No Wilco
Two mini-break-ups
The quote list!

By Jeff

What could that smell be?
I don’t know I can’t tell you.
Oh I hope it’s food.

Girls are the devil.
You can hate me if you want.
I like the devil.

What a bad haiku.
Don’t even read this poem.
You are now dumber.

haikus are quite fun.
It’s much more fun than i thought.
Gotta love haikus.

By Tom

Jeff writes good haikus
He makes me laugh in each verse
I wish I wrote good

By Mother of 3 Guys
Haikus not easy
My boys wrote pretty good ones
Mom needs writing school.

Last night J and I went to Cat’s Cradle, a music venue in Carrboro, to see the Silver Jews. They’re on their first tour ever and last night was apparently their fifth show, causing lead singer David Berman to mention a couple times, “This is number five,” and then tell us that he “didn’t feel comfortable” because of the size of the room, which is actually not very big. It was adorable.

The Silver Jews is a band that sounds kinda like the most rockin’, sometimes emotional guitar music you’ve ever heard crossed with…people who can’t sing too well. People who are maybe trying not to sing too well. But it’s beautiful. If you don’t believe me, don’t ask my friend Tom, because he hates them. This is the sound Tom Owens makes when J and I put the Silver Jews in the CD player:

“AAAauuuuuuuuuggghghHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

He calls them the Silver Chickens for no good reason except, I suppose, he thinks they deserve that.

For those of you out there who like this band, you know what I’m talking about and how great this concert was. It wasn’t like the band’s performance was even top notch or anything. It was more like we were in the company of heroes. Heroes of rock.

Before the show started, and after we’d bumped elbows with a few friends with similar excellent taste in music and chatted with them for a while, J and I were standing in the back of the building near the bar sipping some PBRs because that’s an incredibly hip thing to do when you’re at any kind of indy show. I actually think it’s required.

J looked over at a nearby couch and saw Bob Nastanovich sitting there drinking a beer and watching the UVA game.

“That’s Bob Nastanovich,” he said. “He’s watching his team.”

I know that most of you probably don’t know who this guy is, nor will you care when I tell you. Bob Nastanovich was a member of the great, now dissolved, band Pavement. He’s a drummer/manager for the Silver Jews, which is why he was there last night. Pavement featured singer/songwriter Stephen Malkmus and an assortment of totally kickass guys who prospered in the 90s. If you were at a college party and you liked Pavement, Goddamnit, you were cool. Especially if you whipped out some knowledge regarding “Wowee Zowee” or any of their other early albums.

Bob Nastanovich, he didn’t really do much in Pavement. He kinda danced around, and was the guy who answers “I know him and he does,” after Malkmus questions, “What about the voice of Geddy Lee, how did it get so high? I wonder if he speaks like an ordinary guy?” (”I know him and he does”) in the song “Stereo” which got mainstream radio play, people.

This doesn’t make it any less incredible that he was just sitting on the couch hanging out and all the hip concert goers who totally knew who he was weren’t even approaching him. So J, who normally flees from situations like this - never encourages them - told me I should go talk to him. I think it was the PBRs because at a concert in Raleigh once I threatened to go talk to Caitlin Cary of Tres Chicas/Ryan Adams fame and I think the boy considered getting in the car and leaving me there. Really. He gets nervous.

Since J knows way more about music and bands than I do, I wanted to figure out exactly who I’d be dealing with and so I asked the only question that mattered:
“Was that guy in the “Carrot Rope” video?”

The song “Carrot Rope” is on the Pavement album Terror Twilight, and is a happy, catchy tune that doesn’t really make much sense. I’ve always liked it, but then I saw the video which is perhaps the best video in the history of music video production. Honestly - you can dislike the Silver Jews, and even Pavement, but don’t go disliking the music video for “Carrot Rope.” That’s not acceptable.

The video features the five members of Pavement, in raincoats, standing in front of a blue tarp on a sunny day, dancing and singing the song. That’s all. But as they’re dancing and singing, they’re fooling around, walking on their hands, laughing, being cute and by the end of the thing you’re pretty sure you want to marry them all.

My friend Jennifer was visiting me once when we happened upon this video. It’s one of many on a DVD J has about the band. We proceeded to watch it 12 million times until we were able to perform Stephen Malkmus’s moves right on cue with him. We watched it a lot of times. Too many? Maybe.

The point is I wanted to know if this guy Bob Nastanovich was in the video and J told me, excitedly, “Yeah, he was!”

After that it only took a few more minutes of encouragement before I got up the nerve to go over there. And it turned out that this guy is so genuinely nice that I’m happy I did. Before I could even gush about how much I loved Pavement he had asked me what I did for a living, where I’d gone to school, how I ended up moving to North Carolina, all the while shaking my hand and saying how nice it was that I’d come over to talk. I was thinking, “Jesus, you were in Pavement and you want to hear about where I went to school? Well, ok!”

This was a highlight of the evening, but the evening as a whole was a great one. When we went home J and I promptly put in the Pavement DVD. Soon after we retired to get in some good hours of sleep before morning. I’m tired today, nonetheless, but it doesn’t matter because I met someone who was in Pavement, and I know…I know…some people like four-part harmonies or the dulcet tones of a country ballad, and that all has it’s place, but give me a little cacophony and five guys in raincoats any day.

Or do you really want a man who likes the booty?

“Before I came to the college, I had all the dreams about being with angels in the Heaven, and every weekend sit in my room and play simple games like candy land with friends or people passing by the hall I am living in. I forgot since when, I started to like going to parties, enjoying drinking with people, and being mad and angry with the world surrounding me.”

ROCK N’ROLL!

“Gutter cleaning,” eh?

Doppleganger.