We started this morning with a bike ride. OK, I started this morning with a PB&J, and then we went on a bike ride. The first 10 miles felt great, just following my lovely bride, jumping ahead on the little hills because I can, but sitting up and waiting for a second or two for the red flash to come through.
The corn is nice and tall. The sun is high. The roads are quiet. Everything is going great.
Somewhere around mile 13 my legs reminded me that they have been underused of late, and they stopped pedaling well in protest. It was squares from there on in, and I have to ride more, I know it, and my legs do, too. But the views were lovely.
And even though my ride was feeling clunky, I did remember to take a photo of this sign which surely means … something.
I think it’s recounting the local legend of the bird that celebrated the building as a deity, and brought it fish sacrifices, in the hopes that the building would give plentiful thermals in return. Silly bird.
Around mile 18 my legs rallied, if only for a moment, and then they stopped being productive at all. There was no more hanging on the wheel. No more catching up, not even on the gentle rollers. I was merely dropped. I managed to set four PRs on Strava. She set PRs on five Strava segments.
After that, The Yankee went for a run.
I sat in the shade.
Today was, I think, the first day I didn’t do anything involved with house settling. That’s about the tasks, not the mentality. That may take a while, I guess. But I did make a list of things to do tomorrow. And a long term list of things we might want to do, one day. Also, I did some paperwork for work, but there’s not really a good tale emerging from paperwork. Not one like this …
Late this afternoon we took some garbage to the garbage taking place.
The waste people decided they don’t manage service in this neighborhood anymore, despite having just closed a contract with the previous owners. And despite evidence — actual garbage cans that will go out tomorrow — of all of our nice neighbors receiving said service. We called this company twice on different days and times, just to see if that was a fluke, but it was not. Not sure what’s going on with that company, but I invoked Smith’s First Rule of Economics.
Don’t make it hard for me to spend my money with you.
So I found another company. Feeling very proud of myself, I shared this information. I didn’t know what the relative rates were, but it turns out this contract will save us a few bucks. They’ll start pickup next week, and deliver one of those giant cans later this week, supposedly. Which meant we took a few bags and some recycling to the transfer station today.
Transfer station being a term that sounds better, but isn’t necessarily an improvement in the olfactory region.
Being a warm summer day, we enjoyed our evening outdoors, and then had a fine steak dinner. It was a wonderful day, thanks for asking. I also introduced my lovely bride to Ray Stevens today. It was a topic that just evolved from a regular conversation. To my great relief, she found him funny, too.
I don’t know what comedy track we’ll get into, but tomorrow could be even better!
Somehow the day passed quickly. It doesn’t seem like I got a lot down, and, on a Wednesday in July, that’s as it should be. I did get some things vacuumed. Moved a few more boxes and straightened up that sort of thing. Stuff that needed to be done, some which was past due, but nothing big, and nothing which should have filled the day, but there I was, 4 p.m., getting ready to call it a day.
Why, you ask? Because it was a Wednesday in July, that’s why. And also because we had tickets to see a show in Philadelphia.
We did not watch an opera. But we did hear an operatic song.
I think it was 2000 when I last saw John Ondrasik. It was at Five Points. Was he opening for Guster? Edwin McCain? Train? Probably someone else. This was right about the time Five for Fighting was getting a lot of airplay off that second record and I saw a lot of bands in those days. Anyway, that was a great venue. They existed at a time when the local Birmingham radio play was helping set the tone, and the people that book shows put those things together and you could see all manner of up-and-coming acts and an eclectic mix of true artists with their share of road miles in there. Five Points South Music Hall existed from 1994 to 2003. Then it became a night club, and then the shooting happened. That joint had been around for five years by then, but late on July night a fight turned deadly. Two killed, two wounded and the neighbors and the city had enough. That club folded. But the next year, 2009, it opened as Five Points Music Hall again. New owners. It last for less than a year. No one seemed to figure out why they shut it down. It got torn down in 2015. (I was in town, but not in town.) A hotel is in that spot these days.
Someone is probably singing Bohemian Rhapsody in there right now, but I bet they’re doing it un-ironically.
Anyway, tonight’s headliner was Barenaked Ladies. And it was a singalong kind of night.
And Kevin Heard serenaded us. This is, I guess, the fourth time I’ve heard this live. They’ve been using that multimedia show for the song for several years. They should keep it up. It works and the synch is pretty great.
I’ve got nine or 10 of those to consider doling out over the coming days. It was, as ever, a fine, fun show from BNL.
Today I tightened the bannisters, which were too wobbly. Now they are less wobbly. Also, they are cleaner. It’s the little things, really, finding the little things you’re actually capable of doing, and to do them sorta well. Also, I vacuumed. It wasn’t until late into the evening that I moved anything. Progress! In doing so I discovered more things I hadn’t realized were missing. Missing, in this case, meaning sitting under things in the garage. The two extra hacksaw blades will come in handy. And a box of wood stain was out of place, explaining why one of the shelves was so bare. Fixed that problem straightaway.
I still can’t find the main kitchen knife, though. Somehow it didn’t get packed with the rest of the knives. Also, the kitchen scissors are missing and this is all going to be hilarious when they turn up in October.
I set three Strava PRs this morning as we repeated the same route we rode on Saturday. Overall it was a bit faster, and less painful. The last quarter of the route is a slow and gradual uphill — nothing to write home about, but definitely something to include in your blog — and that was a slow grind. After a few more rides everything will start to feel much better. I’m willing it so.
But the views! Doesn’t this water look nice?
The Yankee was good enough to take a photo of me in a moment where my form wasn’t entirely terrible, but I wish she’d gotten one of those moments where I was leaned over the hoods, all intense.
The cranberry bogs are out there somewhere. No floating cranberries at the moment, though.
Here’s a very brief video of a few nice parts of the ride.
This evening, I’m going to try to get used to this.
Artistically, I made a hole in the waterfall. Surely there’s some rule about thermodynamics at play here. Or, perhaps, another rule about thermodynamics being violated. A hole! In a waterfall!
How cool is that?
On the subject of singalongs, as we drift back to The Ryman in June, sometimes you don’t need to pretend or preamble. Sometimes you just play the first chord and let the crowd do the rest. Sometimes it seems like everyone would be happy that way.
The self-titled, second album from the Indigo Girls was released in early 1989, went gold late that summer, platinum in 1992 and was certified double-platinum in 1997. Hothouse Flowers and REM famously appeared on the record, which won a Grammy for Best Contemporary Folk Recording and was also nominated in the Best New Artist Grammy category. It came in at 22 on the Billboard Hot 200 that year, and there are easily a half-dozen songs or more that are deep cut classics.
But none more than “Closer to Fine.”
Amy Ray gave an interview in 2021 talking about age and longevity, and the people they look up to, and what it’s like to still be touring at (now) 60.
“When people go to concerts, it’s sentimental and fun, and reminds them of the old days,” she said. “I don’t want to be a purely sentimental act. And that’s hard. Because when you enjoy what you are doing, you don’t want to stop.
“Emily and I are like: ‘We want to keep doing this while we enjoy ourselves.’ And I’m like: ‘What if we still enjoy ourselves and we look like fools?’ And, sometimes, who cares? It won’t be the way it was 30 years ago, so what does that mean? Does it matter?”
But they’re still finding ways to share their happiness on stage, and their fans love it. (That pop song is almost 35 years old.) And it’s a multi-generational thing now. Fans bring kids. Musicians bring kids. I believe that’s Carol Isaacs’ daughter singing the last lyric.
You always wonder: what becomes of rock ‘n’ roll, the sound of noise and youth and angst and rebellion, when the performers get quieter, older and more settled? We’re now watching the third generation of rock ‘n’ roll stars hit those points. The answer is, it just gets more fun.
Did you catch the news about us moving? Did you read, with a sigh, the bit about loading and overloading cars and then driving them for 11 hours across some 20 percent of this great nation? Do you know what I did during this time? I listened to a lot of CDs as part of the Re-Listening project. And I am now well behind in writing about them here.
Remember, these aren’t reviews — because no one cares — but just a bit of reminiscence about some (occasionally) good music. Also, it’s an excuse to pad the blog and embed some videos. And the best news of all is, in six or eight more discs we’ll (finally) be out of 1999, because the joke here is that I’m listening to all of these in the order in which I acquired them. And, apparently, I picked up a lot of music in 1999. Today we’ll breeze through two records, both from California bands. This first one was released in February 1999. The second was released in September. No idea when I got them. And, in the case of this first one, why.
Wikipedia tells me Oleander is considered a post-grunge band. And on the page for this record there’s a list of some of their greatest touring achievements. None of it makes sense for me. I don’t like any of the acts they were playing with. And the writing is basic and, honestly, this sounds like a buzzy version of a Parks and Rec song.
But that could be because we’re watching Parks and Rec again. Speaking of TV, the first single was featured on Dawson’s Creek and a few movies. And, look, before we entirely fetishize the 1990s, not everything makes sense.
Somewhere around Columbus, Indiana this song came on, and I remembered this from too much radio play. But I couldn’t name the band until I fished out the disc to write about it here.
Not everything can be committed to memory.
There’s a “Boys Don’t Cry” cover that was released in the UK, and it makes you wonder how record labels make those decisions. Was it a test case for an American followup? Would this have worked on radio over here?
The record went gold, and topped the Heatseekers chart. Those two singles each did quite well on the Mainstream Rock Tracks and the Modern Rock Tracks charts. They put out another album after this, took a long break and then reunited. Oleander’s most recent album was released in 2013, but there’s not much online to suggest they’re presently performing, and that’s OK too.
That’s OK because the next 1999 act is a band still playing limited dates these days. They’re just a radio band to me, and I got this on the strength of the single, but “Nasty Little Thoughts” has good hooks all over the place, and some clever, and funny, lyrics.
This sounds much more like 1999 to me.
Both records, do, but from any distance you get to choose things.
This song got a lot of airplay on alt and modern rock stations at that time when they were the same thing.
But this is the track that I played over and over. Someone rightly pointed out that it was worth hearing, and decades later, that person is still correct. It still works.
Over the years Stroke 9 has released seven records. And this is cool, here’s a little livestream show they did in May of 2020. It’s neat to see bands when the artifice is stripped away, they’re playing on the back deck in hoodies, just being people, not trying to be the things that the industry wanted them to be.
That show, if you watch the whole thing, is basically this record. If you watch it for more than a few seconds you might notice the video is, for some reason, mirrored. It turns out that some of the songs they’re playing on this record were written right there in that house. It’s an interesting bit of personal continuity for the band, but it’s a real thing, and something authentic for fans.
I wonder how secure the handrails are in that house.
Today I had a helper, and he was helpful all afternoon.
So now my desk has been reassembled, and I just have to make my home office space work. But! I have a concept, almost an idea, if you will, in mind.
In my last home office I think I rearranged everything three or four times. I kind of want to get it right from the start this time.
Otherwise, I am still very much in the mode of trying to remember which box I put that one thing into (Nah, I told myself 138 times while packing this up last week. I’ll remember which box and bin those things went in and why. It’s only a few days after all …)
As ever, The Yankee has been a total champ.
By next week I am hopeful we’ll have moved beyond taming chaos and into doing something more productive, or not at all productive.
Do you know how long this drive is? Hint: the answer is, “Longer than online maps suggest.”
So this is a quick photo post. We are staying at my godsister-in-law’s (just go with it) tonight. Tomorrow, we do the last walk through on our new house, sign 1.2 million documents to make it ours, and then watch all of our stuff come out of a truck and into the house. Ya know, the easy part.
I am so tired.
When the bucket of the dozer needs a series of supports, you’re talking about some serious machinery.
Do you know what it is like to stare at your bike for nine-plus hours, and not be able to ride it?
Yes, there was a lot of traffic like that. But, then, somewhere in eastern Pennsylvania, around dinner time (because we’d driven through breakfast and lunch already, so why not?) all of the cars just disappeared. Everyone had gotten where they needed to be. That’s always a warm thought, especially when you’re not there yet. But the sun was getting low, which meant we were getting closer.
And it was good to see it in the mirror behind me.
