So…I might be a little late with the times, but I just stumbled across Pandora this weekend. You know, Pandora…the free internet radio sans commercials. You just simply type in the band that you want to listen to and it magically leafs through hundreds of bands with music that matches up with your taste. It’s magic and I love it. I feel like I’m having an affair on my iTunes shuffle, which might I mention often misinterprets my music mood.
Right now I have “Animal Collective” in my station info. and I’m happy as a clam. (Who knows if clams are really happy?)
Happy Pandora-ing. In your face, Apple.
I don’t listen to anything with the word “pod” in it. Every iPod I’ve owned has been stolen by thieves more interested in making a pretty penny than my musical happiness.
Podcasts are foreign to me. Maybe I just don’t understand the point of them, but when I listen to anything on my computer (or iPod if I had one) it’s music. I’m an old-fashioned type of learner who prefers print over other forms of media. On top of that, I have a short attention span and don’t often hunt around for new forms of media.
The closest thing to a podcast I listen to is the radio…which I don’t even know if there is any relation to the two. I despise public radio and all forms of commercials and advertising, however, two exceptions are NPR and 88.1 WYCE - a Grand Rapids, MI based independent radio station.
Chicago’s city streets preceeding Obama’s speech.
After a friend of mine living in Italy asked me what I was still doing home at 7 p.m. on election day, I quickly grabbed my things and walked to the train to witness history.
Once I heard the eruption of cheers coming from the lakefront it finally felt real. It wasn’t just conversation in the caffeteria at work, or a photo with headlines on the newspaper. It wasn’t just a sign in my neighbor’s lawn or a voice heard over a TV. What happened in our city was something entirely monumental, and I was part of it. Some of my peers used their journalistic instincts and reported that night - I went soley as a civilian.
My heart beat - the crowd was enamoured. Chants rang out, tears were shed. When Obama took the stage his voice filled the city streets - bouncing off the skyscrapers.
We welcome you, President Obama.
I met Tom Wolfe Thursday at The Chicago Public Library’s One Book, One Chicago event. Check out a blog post I wrote for Fringe Magazine.
Also, something for your peepers below:
“You have to see life to write about it” — Tom Wolfe
Tom Wolfe
I was part of a heated political “debate” this weekend. Surrounded by conservative republicans in a dingy basement, I played the solo independent who embraces Obama and his policies with open arms. “She’s a Chicagoan!” they yelled. I beamed from the inside…until things got started. Did I mention I was in western Michigan? Enough said.
Trying my damndest to understand the views of the males dominating the sofa, I became provoked with their intellectual lack.
“You want to steal from the rich and give to the poor?” they asked. “Change? What change.”
Be patient, creatures…time will tell.
My face got closer to theirs once I started ranting and my words got louder after each sentence ended. Middle fingers flew and I even got out of my seat at some point. I had to remind myself that not only was I talking to a bunch who vote republican because “my whole family does, and I do too,” but I was talking to an intoxicated bunch who vote republican because “my family does, and I do too,” who don’t get out much, according to their wives, and possess extreme research-negligence.
So this is why I never joined the debate team in high school.
My friend’s husband and I were splitting a small case of beer and ended up splitting the room later that night. Right down the middle - Obama and McCain - making sure none of the bottles touched in the case and making sure to steer clear of each other for the remainder of the night - until of course they had to bring me home when we shook on it. “Agree to disagree.”
November 4, my sofa-sitting-conservative-friends. Let truth prevail.
I hopped a train to my hometown in Michigan last Thursday. I’m a fullest-time student taking an internship, a voluntary blog position and work, so it was against my best interest to dodge town. I was feeling utterly stressed, so I allowed myself.
The minute I sat down my eyes had a moment’s rest. With no internet connection, newspapers, television, interviews, books, or other nagging priorities barking at me, I was napping before I had the time to think - with homework in hand and all.
Autumn in Michigan is a place where I can look at the stars - really look at them. It’s a place where I can breathe in deep - the smell of the beautifully dying trees. The trees in the country have nothing on the planted trees in Humboldt Park near the man-made pond.
Sitting on a cold bench with Dad drinking black coffee in a styrofoam cup watching high school football and talking about fishing and politics beat interviewing a stranger anyday. Taking my two-year-old neice to a pumpkin patch and watching her attempts at pulling the red wagon full of pumpkins beat waiting for the bus or train. The annual Pulaski “DAZE” and meeting up with an old friend beat shuffling off to an eight hour day of work. Catching up with high school girlfriends over a drink beat losing myself in homework. Watching cheesy horror films with my sister until the wee hours beat waking up early for class.
I enjoy learning. In fact, I would stay in school for as long as possible if it didn’t cost so much. But more than anything, I like getting back to my self. I love the fact that I have a home in Chicago and a home in Michigan. I like knowing that if times are tough, my family is a four-hour train ride north. Going back reminds me to breathe.