I recently finished reading a biography on famed 90’s “foxcore” band Babes in Toyland by Neal Karlen. In mid-January, while browsing the nonfiction section of the library, I stumbled across this book propped up on a round platform as part of a monthly thematic display of suggested reading. The theme of this particular platform was “Rock & Roll” and was comprised largely of classic schlock, er, rock “behind-the-music”- type tomes. Spying this gem of a book among the rest made me first giggle, then thumb though, and finally check it out and spend night after night pouring over the details of the making (and disintegration) of a smaller-time major label act.

 

While I was never a Babes fan, this book drew me in deeply as it chronicled the inner-workings of both the music industry and the indie rock “scene” – the fans, musicians, alternative press, critics, club owners, and other characters that enter into the Big Picture. While offering an incredibly intimate portrait of the band, Karlen is also careful to be non-judgemental and is more than fair in his treatment of the “suits” who give the Babes their break into the Big Time.

 

While the so-called grunge “movement” was my era, I never fully identified myself with it (i.e. – I never wore flannel or doc martens.) Nonetheless I did adore many of the Sub-Pop-esque tunesmiths of the time (Mudhoney, The Fluid, etc.)  along with myriad other hipster bands, especially those generating a lot of positive energy in Chicago during those years (Jesus Lizard, Urge Overkill, Eleventh Dream Day, Poster Children.)

 

In my high school and early college years, I had a soft spot for so-called “garage punk”, as well as late 80’s “paisley underground”. In my mind, the sugary L.A. pop I adored by Three O’Clock, The Pandoras and the early Bangles was nicely balanced out in my record collection by the Dead Kennedys, Black Flag, Circle Jerks and anyone else who was part of the Repo Man soundtrack. Toss in there some Brit and Aussie gloom-miesters (Nick Cave, Jesus & Mary Chain, Spaceman 3) and my collection could be summed up as “poppy/punky/purgatory.”

 

Working at a college radio station I spent way more time at the types of dive-y clubs mentioned in Karlen’s book, than in the library! Thus my wardrobe priority was not comfy sweats for studying but fun and foxy vintage polyester minidresses – the louder the print, the better – for wearing to the sweat-and-beer-soaked nightclubs that gave me my real education. Since I so loved those “retro” Mod-look garage bands, I opted for acid-colored prints, short boots, colored tights and a hairdo that would make Marlo Thomas smile – the quintessential flip, straight bangs and all. Essentially I looked like a time-warped extra off the set of The Monkees’ tv show.

 

One of many themes that ran through Karlen’s book was the media-designated War of the Shmatte – a phrased attributed to Courtney Love to describe her falling out with former high school best friend Kat Bjelland (of Babes in Toyland.) Apparently each accused the other of stealing the babydoll dress and little girl barettes look. (Shmatte being Yiddish for “rag” – the raggedy old thrift store dresses favored by grunge goddeses at the time.)

I found this hype and anguish utterly ridiculous, as I recall gals in Chicago (myself included) sporting the altered 1960’s housedresses (I used to hem mine with Stich Witchery iron-on tape) in bars and clubs before I had ever heard of the aforementioned Ms. Love or Bjelland.

 

Not to mention that my “sisters” in the vibrant rockabilly revival scene in Chicago also favored little bangs, and tiny barettes or headscarves to accompany their goin’-out gear.

 

I loved this look because I felt cool and yet girly all at once. I didn’t grunge-up (or should that be grunge DOWN?) myself with frazzled hair or other signs of deliberate sloppiness. If the venue was crusty enough, I certainly had no issue popping on some combat boots with my daisy-print minidress, but only for the sheer practicality of the matter. Let’s face it: Robert Clergerie pancake heel go-go boots and puddles of beer and god-knows-what just don’t mix!

 

Of all of my old clothes, the few I have saved are the thrift store-purchased and home-altered shmattes that embarrassed the hell out of my parents, raised a few eyebrows on campus, and made me feel like Queen of the Scene in the early 90’s.

 

(me and best friend, "B", circa 1991, Rainbo Club, Chicago, housedresses in full effect.)  

 

                         

I spent some time this week loitering around the card aisle of a neighborhood drugstore searching for an appropriate Valentine for my husband. I am hardly one to be un-sentimental, but even I was audibly wretching after reading verse after verse of syrupy nonesense. Some of these cards literally embarassed me. My embarassment erupted into to annoyance as I realized that a flipping CARD was causing me to blush and sputter as I shoved each schmaltzy paper greeting back into its holder.

I have found the solution to this saccharin dilemma.

Although significantly less than in the spirit of the "holiday" (I give wide berth to that classification), some of these e-cards are pretty stinkin' amusing.

Hubby already sent me the one about dying in a room smelling of cat pee...how ROMANTIC! *sigh*

Without any forethought (but with encourgemnet from a nice sale at the supermarket), I cooked up two great quality NY strip steaks for dinner last night. Complimenting the sizzling, simply prepared (salt & pepper then 16 minutes in the broiler) strips were steamed whole Haris Coverts (sp?) (French green beans) and a salad of baby spring mix greens with dried cranberries, roasted pumpkin seeds and goat cheese crumbles. Since we had no red wine in the house (we try not to drink alcohol on weekdays, anyway) we opted for simple ice water to drink.

I noted to hubby, "Gee, what did I make for Ash Wednesday but STEAKS!"

He and I (both non-practising Catholics) chuckled and then began our philosophising:

"Well, LIKE Jesus said we had to eat fish? I think He cares more that we don't eat alot of junk."

"Hmm, I think it'd be more offensive if we ate bread, since that's the physical form He takes on earth these days!"

Yeah! That's the ticket!

So, in a wierd twist, I have come to the conclusion that a strict  breadless ( and pizza-less, etc.)  Ash Wednesday and Fridays of Lent will become our family act of reflection and self-sacrifice. I think I'll go get some lamb chops for Friday...

Tonight we are heading to the local indor pool when hubby gets home for our semi-regular (barring business trips, viral infections of a family memeber, etc.) family swim night.

In the past, when feeling stricken by SAD (seasonal affective disorder) I used to pop over to a tanning salon for a 15 minute session enjoy some UV and "brighten" things up. However, a family friend recently developed a very scary case of melanoma on her scalp - an area that I am particularly susceptible to, having very thin, auburn hair and fair skin.

So I have shied away from the "fake 'n bake" while still clamoring for SOMETHING to make me feel a little more "bright."

I was enticed into my local Vitamin Shoppe (yes, they actually spell it that way) with a coupon, and while gathering various essential oils, teas, and low-carb oatmeal items, I spied the "Lumiram Chromalux Full Spectrum Lamp" lightbulb.  The packaging and website state that the bulb is designed to mimic actual sunlight. I decided to put it into the desk lamp where I sit each day, typing my blog entries, reading my sparse amount of email, and organizing bills. I have fingers crossed that it will do something...

this is a test of the emergency blogdrive system. This is only a test. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

It looks as if Philly native and Eagles fan Kevin Eubanks will be taking a swim in a dunk tank full of New England Clam Chowder, per the Super Bowl bet he concocted with his boss, Tonight Show host Jay Leno (a Pats fan.)

I was disppointed in the outcome but, actually not surprised. McNabb played JUST like he did against Atlanta in the playoffs - running out of steam and confidence to make connections in the last quarter. Not unlike a certain diminutive Philadelphia-area horse who also ran out of steam during his chance for the history books at Belmont.

Sooooooo...

Last night after dealing with a 101 fever and BAD throat pain I suspected that I was not dealing with a mere "cold."

A quick trip this morning to the 24-hour acute care center confirmed it: Strep Throat.

Delicious!

Today all that is on my agenda is chugging lots of tea, water, juice...I just made some sugar-free juice popsicles...

Last night my husband returned home after 9 days (and many, many hours of travel) in Hong Kong. Apparently he now has at least one employee reporting to him from that office and because of his new responsibilities (he got a promotion to a newly-creted position) he will be visitng there more often.

As expected, he was utterly wiped out from some 24-hours of travel including a layover in Tokyo. He began unloading multiple bags of goodies - mostly cheap watches and "hello kitty" toys for our daughter. He thoughtfully brought back a pretty deep lavender pashmina shawl for me, even though I told him not to get me anything. Awww!