Mixtape: The Best Traveling Music Ever

"Vacation, all I ever wanted. Vacation, had to get away." Yeah, it's that time of year again, time to get in the car or on a train or airplane and get the F out of town for a while. I've already taken a few vacations so far this year, and I've got three more coming up in the next two months. (One of them doesn't really count, though, because it's with my in-laws, but I'm going to try to make the most of it—I hear there may be horseback riding involved. And I've always wanted to do that.) Anywho, I can't go any damn where without the appropriate music. For serious, I can't even run short errands without having something appropriate to listen to. Picking the day's CDs has made me late for work more than once. On longer travels, I have a few stand-bys that accompany me. But everywhere I go, so go the tunes. And so, I present to you, my favorite traveling albums and songs. Ramble on, y'all.

Albums
U2 - The Unforgettable Fire
Sheryl Crow - The Globe Sessions
DJ Shadow - Endtroducing
Everything But the Girl – Back to Mine
Morcheeba – Back to Mine
Calexico – The Black Light
Kristen Hersh – Hips and Makers
Mojave 3 – Excuses for Travellers
Mojave 3 is made up of some of the members of Slowdive, one of the better shoegazing bands of the era. Mojave 3 doesn't sound a bit like those bands. Instead, they've created a sound that is somewhere between folky and low-fi, but also modern and rich. Neil Halstead's lyrics and melodies are slightly mournful and searching. The perfect soundtrack for moving, or leaving the house of the person you just dumped, or quitting your job then taking the train home and looking forward to what's next.

Velvet Underground – The Velvet Underground & Nico
Jonathan Richman – I, Jonathan
Juliana Hatfield Three – Become What You Are
I bought this album at World Record, in Columbus, Ohio, sometime in the fall of 1993. My dad let me drive to Columbus to visit Victor for the first time—only for the day, mind you—and I stopped there on the way back to Warren to get some music. The song, "My Sister," had been playing on the radio and my friends and I had taken to yelling at each other, randomly, "I miss my sister! I miss my sister!" Why? I don't know. It was catchy. The whole album is catchy. Oh yeah, let me tell you something—this is how old school I was: I bought it on TAPE. Yeah, that's right. On tape, motherfuckers.

(Editor's Note: I also purchased My Bloody Valentine's Loveless on tape, so per the request of one of my favorite record reviewers at Turntable Lab: "And if you bought it on tape, big ups and I will personally kiss your ass if you hand deliver your tape to me out in Bushwick." I'm on it, baby. I'm on it.)

Bob Dylan – Blood on the Tracks
Mos Def - Black on Both Sides
Lovage – Music to Make Love to Your Old Lady By
Erykah Badu – Mama's Gun
There are four good reasons to buy this album: 1) "Penitentiary Philosophy"; 2) "Didn't Cha Know"; 3) "My Life"; and 4) "Bag Lady." Bonus Points: Get the "Bag Lady" remix. It's a mash-up with Dr. Dre's "Xxplosive" and it is the bomb. I had an mp3 of it once and it got deleted. Damn, I sure wish I could find it again. The aforementioned Turntable Lab did have it on vinyl a while back, but no more.

Songs
Erland Oye – "A While Ago and Recently"
Ryan Adams – "Shadowlands"
JSBX, featuring Killah Priest – "Greyhound Part 2"
Madder Rose – "Car Song"
I don't know what it is about "Car Song" that I love so very much. I think it's because the album, Panic On, is one of those albums that entered my life at just the right time. Madder Rose's twang and slide guitar and dirty sound was just I was looking for in the spring of 1994. I wanted to be in the song; I thought of it as a mini-movie. Getting in the car, it's hot, you're going somewhere, looking up at the sky, your feet resting on the dashboard.

Portishead – "It's a Fire"
Strange note about this album: I bought it on vinyl not too long ago, and this song isn't on there. Weird.
Robert Plant – "Big Log"
PJ Harvey – "Cat on the Wall"
Queens of the Stone Age – "Go with the Flow"
Foo Fighters – "Everlong"
A Tribe Called Quest – "Award Tour"
Yeah Yeah Yeahs – "Maps"
Ben Folds Five – "Smoke"
See if you can find the live version of this. I think it's from "Sessions at West 54th"?

Bob Marley – "No Woman, No Cry"
The Kinks – "Nothin' in the World Can Stop Me Worryin' bout That Girl"
Lords of the New Church – "Dance with Me"
The Church – "Under the Milky Way"
Fuel – "Shimmer"
Grant Lee Buffalo – "Truly, Truly"
Digable Planets – "9th Wonder (Blackitolism)"
Tracy Chapman – "Fast Car"
Better Than Ezra – "Desperately Wanting" and/or "At the Stars"
Don't hate; appreciate. BTE usually get lumped with bands like Del Amitri and the Gin Blossoms, but that's not fair. They're more in the Fountains of Wayne and Shins-lite crew. Alls I know is that when I heard "At the Stars" on the radio for the first time, I was so into it that I got lost. I was on some country road outside of Columbus and in the distance, I saw a black lump on the road. As I got closer, I could see that the black lump was actually two black lumps and they were moving. When I reached the black lumps, I discovered that they were vultures! No lie! Vultures in Ohio, man. Who knew?

This is nowhere near the end of the list, but I'm tired. You have any you want to add?

Guilty Pleasure Video Favorites

When I'm bored at work, I like to peruse the video selections over at Launch, Yahoo!'s music Web site. Ever been? It's a fabulous place to kill time. I don't have the cable, see, so when I want to watch music videos, this is where I go. What I like about Launch is its back catalogue. Whoa Nelly, are there some gems in there! You want to see the video for Robert Plant's "Heaven Knows" where he does this kind of tai chi dance in the sand? Got it. Want to relive the gruesome shotgun accident where Bushwick Bill of the Geto Boys loses his eye because he's all messed up on the Joy Juice and wants to die? "Mind Playing Tricks on Me" is on there. Yo, it's graduation season all across this great land and maybe you're worried that you're never gonna get to see your boys again after you get that diploma. Watching the video for Vitamin C's "Graduation (Friends Forever)" may just be the salve you need. Done.

Now, Launch doesn't have everything. I don't know this for sure, but if I did a little research, I bet I'd discover that most of what they have in their archives is there because it's on a label that is somehow part of the media empire that owns Yahoo!. But they have enough to keep you entertained for many an hour. So I present to you a few of my Guilty Pleasure Video Favorites, all of which are available for your viewing enjoyment on Launch. Go get you some.

Winger, "Headed for a Heartbreak"
Premise: Tortured Musician is reeling from the pain of losing Skanky Girlfriend. SG has an unhealthy love for satin gloves and spandex dresses. TM's grief is expressed metaphorically though such devices as an exploding piano, a near-drowning, scattered sheet music, and lots and lots of pained facial expressions.

Winger, no thanks to "Beavis and Butt-Head," is probably the most maligned of all the hair metal bands of the era. No matter that Warrant, the Bulletboys, Great White, and Enuff Z'Nuff were arguably less talented and more absurd, once Steven, whipping boy of Beavis and Butt-Head, appeared on the cartoon wearing a Winger t-shirt, their credibility as a band was shot. That, coupled with the Grunge juggernaut, effectively ended the reign of the hair-metal band for good.

Of course, it's Kip Winger who gets you to the video—he is, without question, one of the hottest male musicians ever—but it's the smiley drummer that keeps you there. For whatever reason, every time they cut to him, he's drumming in slow motion. Around 1:51 in the video, he sort of breaks it down and looks positively giddy. He's like, "Crap, I can hear Kurt Cobain behind me shaking the death rattle of metal. This may be the last time I ever get any screen time so I better look at least half as good as Kip's hair." Kip's hair was impressive, but collectively, it's unbelievable how much hair they had. Locks of Love would have been flush for decades if they'd donated it.

Other things that make this video great: The video appears to be in black and white, but if you watch closely, there are certain elements that are in color. It's like those black-and-white greeting cards of the little kids dressed like hoboes where only their cheeks are pink and there's also like, a bunch of pink roses or a pink heart-shaped box of candy in there, too. Perhaps that was where the director got the idea, given that those cards evoke such a deep emotional response in the people who buy them, i.e., corny single women who wear high-waisted jeans and still have stuffed animals on their beds, AKA, Winger's (unintended) target audience.

Boomkat, "What U Do 2 Me"
Premise: Gang of hipster LA-types, many of whom are wearing roller skates, lounge around austere room in party mode, pretending not to hate that Taryn and Kellin Manning got a break, obsessively checking their messages to see if their agents called to say yes, they got that toothpaste or coffee commercial that will be just the thing to launch their career, only it won't because there are countless other beautiful people out there who are more talented and better looking, and in reality, they are destined to a life of shitty service-industry jobs or prostitution, Hollywood dreams effectively shattered, all over a backdrop of catchy Casio-created beats and ProTools-massaged melodies. Oh, and something about Taryn thinking some guy is "beautiful" and "[hoping] it's mutual."

Taryn Manning is no dilettante, I assure you, and this video proves it. We get to experience not only her masterful skills as a singer, but also as a dancer, roller skater, AND, I can only assume, based on what she's rocking in the video, her own stylist and makeup artist.

The end of the video is a shameless rip-off of the climatic scene in "Xanadu" where Sonny Malone busts through the wall where the mural of the nine sisters is painted and somehow skates into…the…heavens? I don't know. But there he is, begging Zeus to let Kira come back with him to Venice beach where she can continue to be his muse and wear diaphanous prairie-whore dresses and ribbon barrettes all the live long day while he pursues a career as a painter. The dude in this video, however, doesn't look like he knows what the fuck is going on. He's all, "Oh shit, am I in a k-hole?" But then Taryn/Kira rolls up and he seems to be somewhat comforted, hoping that she'll nurse him through it, except that she's in the k-hole, too, only she's totally into it, like, "Ride it out bra. Ride it out." The end.

Sunshine Anderson, "Heard It All Before"
Premise: Sunshine lets her no-good man know that she has, in fact, heard it all before, and she's done. With the support of her girls and the help of a trusty "Women's Remote Control," she rewinds and fast-forwards through all her man's bullshit, no longer pervious to any of it. They laugh at him. She eats "Single Girl" ice cream and drinks a Slurpee and wears a t-shit with the Black Cat brand firecracker logo that I want to get my hands on, like, today.

This should have been 2001's summer jam, but it wasn't. I think that honor went to Destiny's Child's "Survivor." I'm not sure—if you can remember, mail me. But anyway, this song is so good! It's got this kind of 1970s soul thing going on and her voice is world-weary and slightly slurred, but not in a crack-head kind of way. The lyrics are of the classic "my man done me wrong" variety, but with a little more creativity:

What were you thinking bringing her into our home/
In our bed, you must have fell and bumped your head/
Messing up my sheets and violating me/
Have me bout to call my peeps and take it to the streets…

There isn't much in the way of substance to the video; I get the impression that there was more they could have done, or maybe wanted to do, but didn't have the budget. And if memory serves, this song didn't get nearly as much play as it should have. It's possible that this was the only good track on her album. I haven't heard it, so I can't say. Hence, she's doing her video in what looks like one of those generic apartment complexes that you usually find just off the highway near a Meijer and not in a slick, Richard Neutra-looking house in the Hollywood Hills.

Dishonorable Mention
Willa Ford, featuring May, "A Toast to Men"
Premise: You're a guest at the most fictional sorority party ever, because, for real, I fear that the closest any of these women has ever been to college is as the roofie-filled jailbait guest at a Tappa Tappa Keg mixer. There's also seriously tacky lingerie, the most orbicular breasts in existence, stripper cops, and hella bad dancing. It's a disaster.

I came across this by accident (no, really). It is quite possibly the worst song and video ever. No, I mean EVER. Wow. Seriously, it's really bad. The video is offensive in its own low-rent porn-lite way, but the song is utterly abysmal. This is the chorus:

Here's to the men we love to love/
Here's to the men in love with us/
Here's to the men who passed on us/
Fuck the men, let's drink to us, y'all!

And when Willa sings this, she and her dancers make some kind of bizarre "va fongool!" gesture and grab their crotches. Class-ay. They make Vanity 6 look downright respectable. Lady May is on here to, I guess, provide Willa with some kind of streed cred. May, I liked your rap better when it was called "How Many Licks" and you should be slapped with a copyright infringement suit for shamelessly biting Lil Kim's style on that track. Then Willa sings us the bridge—a reggae bridge. No, I'm not making it up. You CAN'T make stuff like that up. It's a terribly misguided female empowerment anthem; all it does is make Willa sound bitter and ignorant. I put it on here because it's shocking to see this kind of lame sexist behavior in the 2000s. Did anyone seriously buy this record? And if you did, will you please write me and tell me why? Thanks.

The Pixies, Surfer Rosa

Part Two, Read Part One

That they moved—it wasn't nearly as dramatic as it sounded. They moved to a neighboring suburb, but when you're too young to drive, anywhere that you can't get to on your bike seems very, very far away. Over the years, Jedi, too, saw less and less of Mise and Mase. Then Mise and Jedi went off to college, and Mase and I started high school—Mase at the Catholic school, me at the public one.

Every once in a while, I saw Mase in the crowd at parties or games and wondered what he was like. We'd wave or say "hey" to each other in passing but never anything beyond that. I assumed the worst because I knew he'd gotten into soccer and lacrosse, hung out with the khaki-pants and "Cocks"-hat wearing crowd. Then I heard that he was dating Ashley S_____, the daughter of a doctor in town. I saw her zipping around in her cherry red Cabrio, gaggle of adoring girlfriends enveloping her everywhere she went. She was the kind of girl who came into the clothing store where I worked, tried on a bunch of things, and complained to her girlfriends that nothing fit because she was "sooooo fat." Meanwhile, you could see her clavicle jutting out from beneath her shirt. And she'd sashay out of the place, leaving a pile of size zeroes in her wake for me to clean up.

Mase resurfaced in the spring of my junior year. I leaving work, praising Jesus that I didn't have to fold one more goddamn t-shirt until the weekend when I saw him walking past the food court. He waved and I waved back but instead of walking on, he stopped.
"Hey, Iseult. What's up?"
"Uh, nothing. You?"
"Nothing. Just hanging out." He stared at me and smiled, then shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned back on his heels, "So, actually, I was looking for you?"
"Really? How did you know where to find me?"
"Mise told me that you worked here. I mean, your brother told him, and he told me. And anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out."
I thought I'd heard he and Ashley split up and it seemed to me that you didn't get many chances to date your childhood crush. It sounded kind of interesting.
"Sure. Give me a call."
He wrote my number down on his hand, "Great."

****
I'd written down directions to his house on a post-it, which I stuck on my knee. It was so easy to lose your way in a subdivision as big as his was. I turned into Pheasant Glen, left on Cherrytree, turned right on Meadow Ridge, turned left on Fox Hollow, turned left again on to Fox Valley, then turned right on Pleasant Ridge. His house was generic looking, but huge, with white pillars in front and a four-car garage. Mase was waiting for me in the driveway.
"Hey. Let's go."
"Where?"
"For a drive. To the causeway. Let's take your car."
"Why the causeway?"
"Because—because we—I like it there." We walked toward the truck and he stopped. "On second thought, let's take my mom's. Wait here."
He ran back across the street into the house. A few minutes later, the right-side garage door groaned open and he backed a white Mercedes station wagon down the driveway and over to me, motioning for me to get in.

We drove through the subdivision, past dozens and dozens of homes that looked almost exactly like his, and out on to Route 11, heading away from town.
"Music?" He leaned over and opened the glove compartment, took out a stack of CDs. "How about the Pixies?"
"Don't know much about them."
"Oh, really?" He sounded disappointed. "This album is really good," he handed me the case. "It means a lot to me. You should take it with you." It was Surfer Rosa and I was taken by the picture on the cover, a beautiful, topless, Spanish (I guessed) woman—maybe she was a flamenco dancer. I stared at it for a long while. I did what I always do when I get a new CD—opened it up to look at the album credits. A photo fell out onto my lap. I did a double take because the girl in the photo looked an awful lot like me. I turned it over and read:

Mase,
Here's to a great summer. I hope its [sic] as great as I think it will be! I love you so much!Love, Ashley
Class of 1994

As much as I'd seen her around, I'd never noticed how closely Ashley and I resembled each other. It was stunning, really; we could have been cousins, sisters, even. I was taller and bigger than Ashley, but we had the same hair, same coloring, same large, brown eyes and slightly pointy chin. I figured I shouldn't mention the photo or the resemblance, so I slipped the photo back in the case and listened to Kim Deal sing, "Walk her every day into a shady place…"
"What do you think?" Mase asked.
"It's awesome," I replied, as we drove along the two-lane road, past silos and barns, deeper into the country.

****
For our next date, Mase suggested that we hang out at his house. He had the whole thing planned out.
"First, we'll play Ping-Pong. Then we'll take a break and get some chocolate ice cream. Then after that, we'll watch "Say Anything."
Aside from the Ping-Pong, none of it sounded particularly appealing to me, but I liked him and thought it was adorable that he'd created a blueprint for our entire evening. We played Ping-Pong for a while and I was kicking ass. Mase didn't seem too pleased. "This isn't how it's supposed to go," he said.
"What," I laughed, "I'm not supposed to win because I'm a girl or something?"
He furrowed his brow, "No, that's not what I meant. I mean, you're not supposed to—" he paused. "Never mind. Let's get some ice cream, okay?"
In the kitchen, he was rummaging through a drawer looking for the ice cream scoop. I was sitting on a stool flipping through Good Housekeeping.
"Oh! I didn't know you had company! Hi, dear," said a woman with a twinkly voice.
I swiveled around and her eyes grew wide for a moment, then she looked confused.
"Uh, Mom, this is Iseult."
"Hi," I shook her hand.
She still looked confused, "Nice to meet you." She continued to stare at me as if I was on display. "Do you go to Kennedy, too?"
"Nope. H______."
She looked over at Mase who was aggressively scooping ice cream into a bowl.
"Well," she walked toward the kitchen entrance, "you two have a nice time, okay?"
"Thanks. Bye," I waved at her and she waved back, a look of befuddlement still on her face. "I don't think your mom likes me."
Mase handed me a bowl, "Forget about it. Let's go downstairs."

We took the ice cream down to the family room and Mase put in the movie. I went to sit on the left side of the couch. He said, "No. You should sit there," pointing to the right side.
"Okay," I did and tucked my feet underneath me.
"You can put your feet on the table," Mase was hovering over me, "I mean, if you want."
"No. I'm good like this. Thanks." He looked upset. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," he turned off the lights and sat next to me. "Let's watch."
Halfway through the movie he leaned over and kissed me. It wasn't an especially exciting kiss, but I figured this was a warm up. I faced him and tried to get comfortable. The problem was that Mase was fighting me every step of the way. I'd move right, he'd move left. I'd adjust my arm, he'd move it back. On and on and on until finally I said, "Hey, maybe we could go to the floor or something?"
Mase sat back. "No. We never kissed on the floor."
"Yeah. I know. I've never been here, remember?"
He looked at me and blinked. "Oh right. Sorry." He turned off the movie, "Listen, Iseult, I'm kind of tired."
I already had my coat on. "Okay. I'll take off."
"I'll call you later."
"Sure. Whatever." I couldn't drive home fast enough.

****
Fully expecting him not to, and not really wanting him to, I was surprised when he called, apologizing for the Ping-Pong night and asking if we could hang out on Wednesday.
"I'll come to your house and we'll watch 90210, get a pizza, and play cards, then we'll—"
He sounded so eager that I thought I should give him one more chance, "Whoa, there. I'm with you on the 90210, but let's get Chinese. And I'm not really into cards."
"Okay. That'll work, I guess."
"Great. I'll see you later."

When he came in, he looked so cute that I almost for got how weird he was the last time we hung out. Almost. He took off his sweatshirt and handed it to me.
"I thought you might want to wear it. In case it gets cold in here."
"I'm fine right now, but thanks." I reached over to drape it across a chair and he grabbed it back.
"I'll hold on to it—until you're ready."
"Really, I don't think I'll need it."
He was insistent, "But you might."
"Okay…"

I went to the kitchen to order the food, glad to be away from him. He was starting to get on my nerves. We ate and didn't say much to each other. The show came on and he sat right next to me, head on my shoulder. I stared over at him and he looked happy, so I just let him stay there. At a commercial, I got up to go smoke a cigarette on the porch, "Be right back."
He looked at me in horror, "You smoke?"
"Yeah, sometimes. Does that bother you?"
"You're not supposed to."
"Yeah, I know that, too. Thanks for the PSA."
When I came back inside, he thrust out the sweatshirt, "Put this on, okay?"
I tossed it on the couch. "Mase, what is it with you and the sweatshirt? I told you I wasn't cold."
"Yeah, but you're supposed to wear it."
"Supposed to? What the hell are you talking about?"
He looked frantic, "Look, I know you're not her, but you're close enough, so maybe you could just pretend?"

Then it all made sense, of course. The photo, his mom's reaction toward me, his insistence on having things go a certain way, on wanting me to act a certain way. He wanted me to be Ashley.


*****
Two summers ago, Jedi and I were both in town visiting our parents. We sat on the porch drinking beers and catching up.
"Hey—remember Mase P_____?"
I rolled my eyes, "Sure do. Wish I didn't. Why?"
"Hold on," he went in the house and brought back the newspaper. "Look at the wedding announcements."
"Wow," I glanced quickly at the photo accompanying Mase's announcement. "He ended up marrying that Ashley girl, huh?"
Jedi laughed, "Not exactly. Look again."

From left to right: The groom, Mase P_____; his best man and brother Mise P_____; The bride, Cassie S_____; maid of honor and sister Ashley S______…

The Pixies, Surfer Rosa
Gift of Mase P_____
Spring of 1993

Run DMC's "It's Tricky"

Part One

Jedi, my brother, was four grades ahead of me, and for years, I gleefully played the pesky younger sister card as much as I could, always hanging around under foot whenever any of his friends came over. One of Jedi's friends, Mise, had a younger brother, Mase, who he'd bring over sometimes. Both Mise and Mase went to the local Catholic school; Mise, like Jedi, was a junior in high school, and Mase was in eighth grade, a year ahead of me. When I was younger, I thought that kids went to Catholic school because they were religious, that they paid to go there specifically for the religious part. I couldn't imagine anything lamer than that. I just figured Mise and Mase were both boring, nice kids, much like the boy scouts Jedi also hung out with. How quickly I discovered that Catholic-school kids are far from angelic. In the course of my eavesdropping, I heard Mise tell Jedi about a crazy party at some kid's house in some rich-sounding subdivision where some girl got really wasted and flashed everyone. I heard Mase tell Jedi and Mise about how Mase and his buddies egged someone's house and that one of his friends peed in someone's pool. I found all of this information to be very intriguing. I learned so much about boys and boy-life from listening in on those conversations. It sounded like they were having way more fun than I was.

One afternoon, I came home from school and Mase was sitting on our porch steps. I remember how small he looked in his Vision Street Wear t-shirt. I asked him what he was doing there; he said that Mise was inside and he was waiting for him. I said, "Oh," and just stood there. We both looked around and past each other, not really sure what else to say. I didn't know what to talk about with an eighth-grade boy. Boys to me were a curiosity, then, like gawky aliens with bad skin and squeaky voices. I wanted to ask him more about the pool-peeing incident, like did the pee turn the pool water green? But since I found out about that while snooping, I kept my mouth shut. Mise came out and punched his brother in the arm. "Let's go, ass-face," he said. Mase looked embarrassed and scowled at Mise's back. Mase muttered, "See ya around," and followed Mise down the street.

A few weeks later, I was standing in my driveway, trying to set a leaf on fire using a magnifying glass. The closest thing I got was melting some of the rubber off my right sneaker. I was deep in concentration, so when I heard Mase say, "Hey," I dropped the magnifying glass on my foot. "Oh hey," I said, rubbing the top of it. "Jedi's not home yet."
Mase hopped off his BMX bike and leaned it against the fence. "Okay. I'll wait."
I shrugged, crouching back down on the asphalt, maneuvering the magnifying glass toward the direction of the sun.
"What are you doing?" Mase laughed.
"What does it look like I'm doing?"
"Trying to burn your foot off, that's what."
"Look, if you want to wait in the house, the door's open."
He grinned at me, "I think I'll wait here."
"Whatever." I went back to my science experiment, acutely aware that he was staring at me.
"Maybe if you move the leaf to the left?" Mase scooted it over.
We both watched closely, and after a while the leaf started to smoke."Wow! That's neat!"
Mase nodded, "Yeah. It is, isn't it?"I stared at him in admiration. At that moment, I thought Mase was the coolest person on the planet. My marveling was interrupted by the sound of Jedi and Mise pulling into the driveway. Mase ran to his bike and hoisted it into the back of Jedi's truck. "See you later, Iseult," he yelled and waved, jumping into the cab.

That night, Jedi came up to my room and flopped on my bed.
I looked up from my homework, "You better not get any mud on my blanket."
"Oops," Jedi said as he pretended to wipe his sneaker on it.
I rolled my eyes, "Do you want something?"
"Well," he said, "it makes me want to barf telling you this, but Mase likes you."
I didn't fully comprehend what it meant when a boy liked you. It sounded nice to be liked, I wanted to be liked. "No he doesn't."
Jedi threw my Rainbow Bright pillow at me. He said in a sing-song voice, "Mase likes you, though I can't imagine why since you're such a dork—"
"Shut up," I threw the pillow back at him. "No he doesn't. Get out of here."
"Dork," Jedi laughed and sang, "Iseult's got a boyfriend, Iseult's got a boyfriend," all the way down the stairs.

After Jedi left, I couldn't stop thinking about it, Mase likes me. I liked him, too. I liked his confidence, that wonderful arrogance that teenage boys alone possess. I liked that he was nice to his elders; he made frequent trips to visit his grandma in her nursing home. I liked that he was so good at videogames. I liked him. A lot. What happens now? I thought. What are you supposed to do next? I pondered it and pondered it and came up with nothing. These feelings were so foreign to me. After that, every time I saw Mase, I didn't know how to act or what to say. It rattled me so much that I just ignored him. Out of my bedroom window, I frittered away many spring afternoons staring down at Jedi, Mise, and Mase as they played Frisbee or sat on the picnic table and drank iced tea, while I remained rooted there in my room, confounded by the aliens below.

A few weeks and several consultations at the library with Seventeen magazine later, I decided I was ready to talk to Mase. Seventeen coached me to "learn about what he likes," and to "show interest in his hobbies." That didn't seem too hard: Mase liked riding bikes, so did I. Mase liked videogames, so did I. Mase liked the Violent Femmes. I didn't now who they were, but was confident that I could learn to like them, too. Suddenly, this didn't seem like such a big deal after all. The only problem was that I didn't know when Mise and Mase were going to come around again. I didn't want to ask Jedi because I knew he would tease me mercilessly, but after a few more weeks of not seeing them, I had to know what was going on.
"Um, Jedi?"
He was sitting at his desk, lip-synching to Run DMC's "It's Tricky." I could feel the bass under my flip-flops.
I tapped him on the arm, "Jedi?"
"What?" he yelled.
"Can you turn that down?"
"What?" he yelled.
"Can you turn that down?" I yelled.
"Why?" he yelled.
He could be so infuriating sometimes. I reached over and turned down the volume on the tape deck.
"Hey! I was listening to that."
"I have a question."
"Hurry up. I'm busy."
"Well, uh, I haven't seen Mase—or Mise—around lately, and—"
"That's because they moved."
I stared at him, "They did? When?"
"Like, a month ago," he spun around and turned up the volume.

Run DMC, "It's Tricky"
From the album, Raising Hell
Purchased at Used Kids Record Store in Columbus, Ohio.

Led Zeppelin's "Hey Hey What Can I Do"

John Bonham* was my first boyfriend. As you might have guessed, John Bonham was a drummer. Not just any drummer, mind you, but the head drummer of the _____ _______ High School marching band. He was tall and cute, in a very wholesome guy-who's-in-a-high-school-marching-band way, with brown hair, green eyes, and a crooked front tooth.

During football season, the band would march on to the field, play some edited-for-marching-band song like "Frankenstein," then march down to the band shell, located at the south end of the field. Because I was, at the time, a junior varsity cheerleader, I was relegated, along with my other JV colleagues, to the south end of the field, to cheer in front of the band shell. This was humiliating for many reasons: First, every time we would start a cheer, the band would start playing and drown us out. Second, every time we did flips or jumps, some wiseacre would yell that he could see our panties, and one of us would yell back, "They're not panties, asshole. They're called bloomers," which only made the heckling worse. Third, the brass players would empty their spit-valves over the side of the band shell, which, if it were the slightest bit windy, caused globs of spit to drift in our direction.

The only thing that made it tolerable for me was the information I'd received at the beginning of the season: "John Bonham likes you," Darcy Howell whispered to me before the first game. I spent the better part of that night trying not to look at the drum section, acutely aware of how silly I must have looked doing all of our stupid cheers. I tried not to yell too loudly, or kick too high, or be too enthusiastic, but it was very hard to act cool when bouncing around in a tiny skirt with an arrow embroidered on your ass. A few games later, Darcy said John Bonham had been asking about me. She said, "Can I give him your number?" I told her yes. At school the following Monday, she did me one better. She told him where my locker was and he was standing there waiting for me after school. We exchanged awkward small talk, there was a lot of blushing on my part, and finally the deal was sealed with an invitation to go out after Friday's game.

I noted, after that Friday night, a shift in how the band treated us. They let us cheer in peace, they waited for us to finish before they played anything, and if there were hecklers, we couldn't hear it. By the second half of the game, I'd finally gotten my courage up to give John Bonham a shy little wave. He waved back, I think he may have winked, too, and there was a collective "Awwwww," from the rest of the drum section, followed by a "Shut up, dude," from John. I was on cloud nine. The drum major and the cheerleader—a match as cute as Hello Kitty barf.

There were three things in particular I loved about John Bonham: One was his bomber jacket, or rather, the smell of the jacket when he wore it, a combination of leather and Irish Spring. Two was his car. It was an enormous boat of an automobile, an old Park Avenue or something, with dark blue interior and white trim. Three was that he was in a band. The band was called Argyle Tidal Wave** and because this was the early 1990s, they specialized in all manner of grunge covers—Pearl Jam to Nirvana—and assorted "Alternative Nation" nuggets from bands like the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Jane's Addiction, and Ned's Atomic Dustbin. They were terrible. But live entertainment was scarce in our parts, so terrible or no, everyone went because there was nothing else to do.

John Bonham considered himself a serious musician, and though he liked enough the music he played with Argyle Tidal Wave, his true love was Led Zeppelin. He so wanted to be in a Led Zeppelin cover band. He tried in vain to get Argyle Tidal Wave to play some Zeppelin covers; they pretty much laughed at the thought, for the other guys in Argyle Tidal Wave considered themselves serious musicians, too, with designs on getting out of the John Cougar Mellencamp song we called a town, and onto the cover of Spin. Grunge covers were going to be the ticket there. So John satisfied his need to rock out with his cock out by playing along to his Led Zeppelin CDs in his spare time.

John Bonham and I had a nice run together, but come springtime, I was growing bored with him. In what would become a theme throughout most of my dating life, I wanted to throw John over because he was nice to me. And I no longer wanted nice. I wanted to be treated badly by undeserving and emotionally unavailable, but ridiculously cute, skater boys. My fickle heart and roaming eyes were starting to become a real problem. He refused, no matter how mean or hurtful I was, to break up with me—something I wanted him to do because I was too much of a dumbass to simply end it like a mature person. Finally, because I couldn't stand to see the poor guy suffer any longer, I called it off. We both agreed that we'd always be friends, too young to understand just how big a lie and an impossibility that really is.

A few weeks later, Argyle Tidal Wave was having a big show at The Grange. The Grange was once an Elks Hall or a Moose Lodge and had been converted into something of a performance space, with a low stage and bad acoustics. My friends and I decided to go—I wasn't sure if it was a good idea, but, again, nothing else to do on a Friday night in Steel Valley Ohio, so we had a few drinks and drove over there. They were just starting when we got inside. Keef, their lead singer, was in the middle of a stunningly off-key version of "Alive." On the side of the stage, the parents of the band members were looking on in adoration, swaying out of time to John Bonham's drumming. He sounded so good, that night. He looked happy and was exceptionally cute, in his white t-shirt and beat-up jeans. And, following another theme that would haunt me for the rest of my dating days, I felt a twinge of regret.

From the stage, Keef said, "Alright! We want to thank all of you for coming out tonight—"
A "Woo! You Rock!" came from the back of the room.
"You rock, too, dude," Keef said. "And just to change it up a little, we're going to play a Led Zep song that our drummer, John, picked out."
Hey! I thought. John finally got them to change their mind. That's great!
"He's been feeling a little down on account of his lady leaving him and all—"
My eyes grew wide.
"And so we said, 'Hey, man. Pick a song that expresses how you feel.' And this is the one he picked. Here we go."
At first, it was hard to decipher what song it was. I knew it was a Led Zeppelin song I'd heard John play in his car a million times. Then I remembered: it was "Hey Hey What Can I Do," from the box set. Then I also remembered: it's not such a flattering song, if you're a girl. Keef was on stage, screeching the chorus and pointing at me:

I got a woman, wanna ball all day/
I got a woman, she won't be true, no/
I got a woman, stay drunk all the time/
I said I got a little woman and she won't be true...

People scanned the room, looking to see where I was. I headed for the exit, but the spotlight, manned by John Bonham's dad, no less, caught me and fixed me there, like an insect pinned to a wall.

Led Zeppelin's "Hey Hey What Can I Do"
From the box set, Led Zeppelin
Released in 1990

* Not his real name.
** Not their real name, although, if you can believe it, their real name was just as preposterous.

Editor's Note: Kittens, Unicorns, Rainbows, Etc.

If you're looking for any of those items or related items such as soft-focus lighting, International Coffees, Cathy cartoons, or Precious Moments figurines, clearly, you're lost.

"What are you on about?" you ask? Well, some of you have said that my stories are too depressing, that they're a drag to read. I feel you on that. They're not warm and fuzzy. But I don't find warm and fuzzy all that interesting. And as it happens, I seem to have an endless supply of stories that are somewhat macabre and/or unpleasant. I thank my small-town upbringing for that.

Fucked-up things happen everywhere, I know. City people are immune to much of the tragedy they read about or see because it doesn't affect them directly. When something fucked up happens in a small town, however, the gravity of the event is amplified because there's a much greater chance that you will be affected in some way. It might be your neighbor. It might be you. It might be your sister's friend's cousin's boyfriend. Whatever. The point is that suddenly you find yourself with information you wish you had never received. And what to do with that?

I am, in general, a happy, well-adjusted person, yet I find it so difficult to write happiness. Maybe that's something to consider, a challenge to take up in the future. In the meantime, I'll keep churning out these memories, telling these as-yet untold stories so that I can make better sense of people in general, and life in particular. When I'm through with that, I'll be sure to write you something about bunnies.

Singles Going Steady: Nine Inch Nails's "Get Down Make Love"

"Come on, Josh. Please?" I kicked at the side of the piano, leaving a black smudge on the top of my white Tretorn sneaker. "Please?" I was giving him the full-on doe eyes; over the years, I'd discovered them to be a valuable tool in getting what I wanted. "Pretty please?"
Josh sighed and finished playing whatever sonata he'd been working on, "Okay. I'll talk to Walter." He flipped through some sheet music and pulled out my copy of Ralph Vaughan Williams and Dante Rosetti's "Silent Noon." It was a difficult song to sing and we'd been working on it for a while. I was taking it to an upcoming choir competition and he was going to be my accompanist.
I stopped rubbing at my sneaker, "Really?"
He popped his knuckles and started playing, "Why do you want the job so badly, anyway?"
I hopped up on the top of the upright and dangled my legs down the side. "Because, darling Josh, I need to get a job. I don't want to do food service and I don't want to be a retail slave. This would be perfect for me, remember? That's what you said."

He looked up at me and rolled his eyes good-naturedly and kept playing. He was such a fantastic pianist, definitely the most talented one in the history of the school. Our choir teacher, Mr. Tune, took total advantage of him, too, making him play for every choir class, plus show choir, plus contests, plus concerts, plus any other time Mr. Tune needed him. Josh was a good sport, though; he never complained, never said "no." He seemed to truly love playing, which was why we were all so confused/surprised when he decided to go to pharmacy school. Mr. Tune set up tons of auditions for him, took him on dozens of visits to music schools. Josh went along with it at first, but he finally confessed to Mr. Tune that he simply had no interest in playing in college or professionally, for that matter. He wanted to enjoy his senior year and didn't want the stress of auditions to interfere. Mr. Tune didn't talk to him for a week, after that.

The job I was hassling Josh about was at the _____ Music Centre, where he also worked. He gave lessons, helped order sheet music, and did other miscellaneous piano-related tasks. A month or so before, Josh's boss, Walter, told him that he was looking to hire someone part time to run the register, help with the inventory, schedule lessons, things like that. Josh mentioned it to me—for my first job, it sounded fantastic. It was the closest thing in my town to a job in music. Work for high-school kids was hard to come by, so I'd been hounding Josh to get me an interview. I was extremely excited at the idea of making my own money, at no longer having to beg my Dad for an allowance. In my head, I'd already spent months of paychecks I'd yet to earn. I wanted this job bad.

At first, Josh was all gung-ho about me working there, telling me how good the employee discount was. He said that when he was free he'd give me piano lessons. He said that Walter was a little odd but seemed like an okay guy. But then Josh stopped talking about it. When I brought it up, he said things like, "You know, it's really not such a great job after all," and "It's kind of a drag working for Walter." I asked Josh if it was that he didn't want to work with me, and he assured me over and over that no, that wasn't it. And when I asked well, what is it, then, Josh said, "I just think you'd be happier working somewhere else." Eventually, however, I wore him down and he agreed to introduce me to Walter, but he could never give me a definitive time.

"This week?" I reached down got ready to turn the page for him.
"Uh-huh."
"Is that uh-huh 'yes,' or uh-huh 'no'?"
He looked up at me again and I couldn't ascertain whether he was annoyed or simply concentrating. I chose to believe it was concentration. "Yes. Turn it—"
"Yes what?"
"Yes, Iseult," he pounded the keys, "when I go into work tomorrow, I will talk to Walter and see when he's available."
I hopped off the piano and hugged him, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
He patted me on the back, "Okay, yes, you're welcome. Now do you want to sing this or what?"

****
Two days later, in the choir room between classes, Josh told me, "Okay, Walter said he could talk to you on Thursday. He'll be expecting you around 3:30."
"Great. Thanks again, Josh. I really appreciate it."
He bit his lip and looked up at the ceiling, "Don't thank me, yet."

****
I woke up early on Thursday morning, tried on a zillion different outfits. I kept running from my bedroom down to the kitchen asking my dad, "Does this look professional? Does this say, "Hire me?'"
Dad looked up from his Chex and tilted his head to the side, "Iseult, this outfit looks exactly like the one you just showed me."
"Oh Pop," I was exasperated. "It's a totally different outfit? Black loafers instead of brown? Navy shirt instead of green? Are you paying any attention to me at all?"
He looked befuddled, "Pumpkin, anything you wear I'm sure is fine. You're going to do great." He pointed to the clock, "But if you don't get a move on, you're going to be late. I don't think I can write you an excuse for lateness due to fashion problems."
I ran back to my room, decided to go with the black loafers/blue shirt combo. On my way out the door, I gave Dad a kiss on the cheek, "See ya, Pops."
"Good luck. They'd be fools to not hire you."

When I got in the car, I felt like listening to something exciting, something energizing. "Prince? No," I tossed Purple Rain in the back seat. "Pixies? Nah." I rooted through the tape case, "Holy shit," I laughed and pulled out Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch's single for "You Gotta Believe." Skatie claimed she bought it as a joke, but I knew she truly liked the song. I threw it in my backpack so I'd remember to give it to her later. No way was that staying in my car. Then I found it: I put the Nine Inch Nails "Sin" single in the tape deck, flipped it to side two, and blasted "Get Down Make Love" all the way to school. I couldn't get enough of that song, don't think I listened much to "Sin" at all.

For those of you not familiar with the NIN oeuvre, "Get Down Make Love" is a Queen cover all trussed up in Trent Reznor's dirty, goth-y, carnal style, but recorded before he started getting seriously fucked up and dark. I mean, he's always been fucked up and dark, but this single doesn't reflect the extreme darkness yet to come, e.g., like, every single song on his next album, The Downward Spiral.

I was reciting, "That's what I want to know, now, all of it, now, tell me, yes!"* for the third time, when I pulled into the school parking lot.

Josh was waiting for me at my locker.
I waved at him, "Hey! What's up?"
He looked very upset, his face was a deep red. "Don't go to the Music Centre today, okay?"
"What?"
"Look, just—forget about the interview. It's not going to happen."
With that, Josh bolted down the steps. I opened my locker, totally befuddled by what had just happened. I was more than a little peeved, thinking, What the fuck? I couldn't fathom why Josh wouldn't want me to have the job and nothing I thought of to explain it made any kind of sense. I kept my disappointment in check until fifth period show choir. Hell bent on tearing into Josh, I stomped into the choir room only to find Mr. Tune at the piano.
"Where's Josh?"
"Well, hello, to you, too, lady," Mr. Tune laughed. "He said he had somewhere he needed to be. Seemed awfully agitated when I saw him. Guess you'll have to deal with my plunking today..."

After school, I went to get a coffee and decided to drive by the Music Centre. I had no clue what I expected to do once I got there, but the decision was made for me once I pulled up and saw police cars outside the store. The sign on the door said "open," but all the lights were off and it didn't look like anyone was inside. So weird, I thought. More confused than ever, I headed for my house.

There were two messages from Dad on the answering machine:
"Iseult? Give me a ring ASAP, okay?"
"Iseult, it's Dad. I'd really like for you to call me. It's almost four. I'm in the office."
Then one message from Josh:
"Iseult, it's Josh. Call me."
God, why is everyone such a spaz today? I called my dad, but he didn't pick up. I was still pissed at Josh, but I decided I'd call him after I got the mail. I sat on the couch and sorted it and clicked on the TV. A local news report was on:
"Friends and family are shocked tonight to hear the news about Walter Bannerski, owner of _____ Music Centre…"

I stopped sorting.

"Police raided the store, located at _____ Market Street at around 2:30 this afternoon. Working from an anonymous tip, police officers arrested Bannerski who is being charged with allegations of child molestation and the possession of child pornography. Aided by the specific information police obtained from the previously mentioned tipster, police arrived at the scene to find a half-clothed, as-yet unidentified minor in the back room of the Music Centre. Police placed the minor in protective custody and arrested Bannerski. Bannerski, 46, of _______, has no prior arrest record. Delia Dyson, owner of Miss Delia's School of Dance, Baton, and Aerobics, which is located next door to _____ Music Centre, had this to say about the charges."
"He seemed like he was such a nice man. Quiet. Loved his job. Active in the small-business community here. I can't believe it."
"Mr. Bannerski, yeah, I knew him," said Chester Matzekis, owner of Apollo Bakery, located across the street. "Never expected anything like this to happen. Not in a million years."
"Police Chief Mayer says he is grateful for the information they received from the anonymous tipster and that Bannerski will be arraigned tomorrow morning. We'll continue to bring you more information, as this story develops, on tonight's five o'clock news. Reporting live from _____, this is Kandace Tessler, Channel 33 News."

Nine Inch Nails, "Get Down Make Love"
From the "Sin" single, AKA, Halo 4
Purchased from Musicland, Niles, Ohio, sometime in 1991.

* I did a Google search of the dialogue that opens the song, but nothing definitive came up. So this isn't verbatim or anything.