now i feel old
I went to a museum a few weeks ago. A Walkman was on display. Walkman isn’t even in my phone’s dictionary.
This hurts me inside.
I’m currently listening to Death Cab’s Stability EP and posting this is making me think how much better 20th Century Towers would sound with the cassette hiss in the background.
If all goes well, I’ll have brand-new D.C.-area photos for next week.
home.
This is home. The house in Hampton is my mom’s house. Legally, it will be mine in a couple years and I’m selling it. This house in Richmond is home. Period.
It’s home because adulthood truly began here. I clung to college up until 2009. It was then that almost all the undergrads to whom I had been closest graduated.
It’s home because it wasn’t awkward. I didn’t feel like I was just renting a room in someone’s house. It was our house.
It’s home because of the parties; the hanging out on the deck and the balcony until way after dark; the walkability of the neighborhood; the feel of the living room couch; the adventures with my roommates; the adventures with Loaf.
Richmond is Home.
I don’t have that right now. My roommates get married in a few weeks and my lease is done June 30. I probably could stay if I wanted but I shouldn’t. I’ll probably stay in the area until Renée and I completely settle on where we’re living. Or our company gets sold and the situation isn’t cool. Or someone throws a bag of money at me.
In all likelihood, I won’t move back to Richmond again unless someone in RVA has a job opening and thinks of me or I finally get around to getting my novel published and it takes off.
But it’s OK because I made the most of every second I spent in that beautiful city and that’s what counts. Because of that, in a year or two, Renée and I will begin to make our home but, regardless of where I am, Richmond always will be Home.
Unless I end up in Portland or Austin because I’ve been told I’d absolutely love both cities.
No.
Hampton was where I was born but Richmond is Home.
receipt
I don’t know if I should be insulted or flattered. It was an OK dish of drunken noodles, by the way.
all your cookies are belong to us
A couple of three weeks ago, I got Chinese food and, when I opened the bag, I saw that I hit the jackpot.
That is seven fortune cookies. I HAD ALL THE FORTUNE COOKIES. AND I ATE THEM.
If you were expecting all of these to be long and thought out and everything, obviously, you’ve come to the wrong place.
My subject lines are totally capable of capital letters. I just haven’t used any since January 2011 because I think lowercase looks better. Actually, January 2011 was an outlier and late 2008 was the last time I used capital letters consistently.
But I digress.
This is No BS Brass!
tuba!
i'll explain in a second.
second favorite photo of the band
Some of these photos are repeats from 2010. I think the first two are from 2009. I have more. I didn’t write much more to go along with the photos the first go around so I won’t count this a cheating. Besides, I added three bonus photos so far this month.
Anyway, I can’t say all of my No BS! photos are good but, if Reggie wants to look at them and put some on the site, have at it.
Let’s work our way up. Left-hand corner. Reggie Pace. I went to middle and high school with him. He now plays with Bon Iver. He co-founded No BS! I consider it to be the greatest band ever. We aren’t as tight as we were because, in 2001, him being in Richmond and me being in Newport News pretty much meant I wasn’t going to see him again until our reunion. What primitive times 11 years ago was! Thankfully, the invention of Facebook fixed connectivity issue. It allowed me to be around in 2006 during some of their first gigs and becoming an early fan. Back in 2006, we would take a shot at some point during their shows if I managed to get near him. There were some times when that was impossible. I then started bringing my work camera so everyone assumed I needed to be front and center. We started with tequila shots, although I haven’t really been able to stomach tequila since my 22nd birthday. We’ve switched to bourbon. I long for a day where we get hammered. I thought this was going to be something special but them I remembered that I still talk to one person back from Burbank Elementary School regularly and I’ve run across some Eaton Middle School kids in Downtown Hampton over the years. Regardless, I want to party with Reggie. We haven’t since we were in middle school and had a Mortal Kombat II tournament in my living room and everyone was only drunk off sugar then.
But I digress again. Posting every day is getting my rambling mojo working again.
Anyway.
I’ve told this story here before so I won’t bore you with it again. I just love that one of my friends wrote my favorite song. I kinda want them to play at my wedding but I already picked the officiant and photographer. The bride is supposed to be the one planning things but I want this to be an EXTRAVAGANZA. I really want to hear Khan! during the reception or RVA All Day because my wedding has to involve Richmond. There aren’t enough words to explain why I love RVA more than any other place I’ve ever visited or lived.
Hidden behind the trombones is Bryan Hooten. I would say he’s the biggest showman of the group after Reggie. The guy on the right is former member Reggie Chapman. I miss his bass trombone, especially since it stood out in some of the recordings (e.g. Landmines) Holding down the back is Stefan Demetriadis. Stefan will destroy any and all of your notions about the tuba. See Hadji.
Middle photo: Taylor Barnett. Plays the trumpet solo on my favorite song. Total man crush because of that. He is my second favorite trumpet player after Roy Hargrove. Middle: David Hood. Saxophone. Yes, it’s not a brass instrument but he earned his spot in a brass band with a drummer. Iron Palm and their cover of Take On Me prove that he belongs there like how VCU, where they all went to college, proved themselves worthy of the NCAA tournament two years in a row so far.
This is my favorite song. I was there when this was recorded. If you look hard enough at the effects, you can see me. I mention some of the songs suggested on the side. If you have the time, check them out then go buy their music.
Marcus Tenney is my third favorite trumpet player. I feel bad about having Clifford Brown as fourth because it’s Clifford Brown but they No BS! is keeping live instrumentation alive. If they were in Brownie’s or Freddie Hubbard’s time, those two probably would win or there would be an epic trumpet battle that would be the greatest thing I’ve ever heard.
Top photo, taken during them playing Cinnamon Girl. I really want to hear them play this to my girlfriend. Dillard Watt’s trombone is the one sticking out at the bottom. I follow his father on Twitter. I think he wins as biggest fan.
lance
It’s hard to get a photo of Lance Koehler, who is the other fonder of No BS! The drums are in the back and there are points where all of the other nine member of the band are directly in front of him. Nia knows his girlfriend. As if you needed another reason to donate.
I don’t have a good photo of Rob Quallich, another trumpet player, at all. At all. I even have a couple photos of Dillard.
e.g. dillard, far right. rob, face barely visible between taylor and reggie c.
But Rob and Craig Smith share a story. And that is good enough. Trust me.
Trust me.
the manifest
This is how I do the paper. I could have the actual dummies (graphical representation of the ads and open space) but the manifest is easier.
I outline all the pages that are mine in green. The blue asterisk is an additional reminder that the page is in black and white (more on that in a second). I cross off pages when I’m done.
After I claim pages, I open them on my computer to look at the ads. Now that I know that it’s roughly 78 column inches to the page, I subtract the ads from 78 to help judge what goes where. The blue numbers denote that.
Sometimes, there are blue letters. H is house ad. I can enlarge, reduce or delete these generally. W means the page is more or less wide open and T means the news hole is tight to the point that a photo will not work.
Yes, our jargon can sound really dirty. “I need 12″ to fill this hole.” “Seven is too tight for that many inches.” “It can only take 8″ but I can shove it in.” &c.
Haps means the church and area happenings should fit nicely on the page. AWATT means only the weather map will fit on Page 4 (all weather, all the time). On Page 6, PFL means the obit page is tight and may affect where copy goes (pray for life). PFD means the obit page is open and copy is low (pray for death). Today was a PFL day but there were 90 inches of obits. I had to steal a wire page. XWII is the location of the second crossword puzzle I need to know that for the index. I made up this system myself. This is how I think.
I write the edition number and the morning lottery on one side of the manifest and the weather on the other. If there are definite items for the front promos, I write that in the margins too. As I place stories and art (and make absolutely sure the text makes sense), I cross them off on the budget (list of articles that must run and those that can wait). I get the inch count for those in a program called Falcon. It’s usually wrong but close enough. (I really wish, upon opening, the program said, in a booming voice, “FALCON,” and a falcon cry followed. It would warm my heart every day.) When a page is done it either goes in a color folder or black and white folder. If the pages go in the wrong folder, a kitten is killed. After approval, it all heads to the press workers.
Piece of cake.
Except for when I lop off the end of story I’m copying and pasting from email or I have to tear up the front page because the art is completely the wrong shape and I already crossed off the promo. Fail.
i call him cecil
This was the original post 19.
This is Cecil. I bought him in a tiny, tiny pot for less than $2 at Walmart in June 2004. His full name is James Cecil Wheatley. In 2008, I got a second plant from Mandy’s mom that I named Phyllis Wheatley (after the poet; Cecil’s surname in relation to this was coincidental). Phyllis is extraordinarily fragile and I knew she wouldn’t make it to North Carolina so she is now Shaunelle’s.
As I have mentioned before, I got being good with plants from Grandma (as in Grandma Elliott as the rest of my grandparents were dead by the time I got out of elementary school; in fact, Grandpa Elliott was born in the 1890s … MY MOM’S FATHER WAS BORN IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY; ONLY JOHN TYLER’S GRANDSONS CAN TOP THAT ALTHOUGH I MAY BE AMONG THE YOUNGEST PEOPLE WITH A NINETEENTH CENTURY GRANDFATHER).
But I digress.
I’m proud of Cecil since I got him when he was so small. If I stay this far south, I want to plant him outside. A house down the street has one of his cousins by the mailbox.
I know he will get very large. I give him another decade before his growing gets ridiculous. I hope, if I don’t stay down south, my children understand that one of them is getting him in a gigantic pot in my will. I’ll give that kid more money with the understanding that I’ll haunt the ever-loving crap out of him or her if Cecil dies from neglect.
I named a character in my novel after him. Once I get around to getting it published, I hope Cecil is proud of that.
"send me a ridiculous photo of yourself."
This is Bill. To be more correct, this is the bottom of Bill’s foot. I’m assuming it’s his right foot.
He was the first to donate to Nia’s art project by way of here and it was a $100 donation. (If you can donate $50 or more, you get bonus perks from me.)
I first met Bill at a party at my house my freshman year. He quickly went from some guy to my brother to my best friend.
Given the string of stupid photos we send each other, an arbitrary example of how the Army has taken its toll on his feet with no caption information isn’t that strange.
At some point, I need to visit him in Texas. I should be able to in or by November if I have vacation days. I currently have negative two days. Seriously.
On Sunday, when Bill made his donation, he told me of how he spent St. Patrick’s Day in Texas. It involved a golf cart, an old man on what used to be a riding lawn mower, barbed wire and fire. I’m so jealous.
Part of the reason we work so well together is that we generally have ridiculous stories when we’re alone and they are downright outrageous when we’re together. Example: We saw at least three vehicles get destroyed on a single road trip. We weren’t even fully out of Newark for the first two.
I miss him a lot but, thanks to modern technology, he is always a call, text or picture of his foot away.
TDF.
sign/sigh
I have a different flavor of homesickness this time around. I guess it is because I knew moving away from Richmond was inevitable. The only time I heard back from a place in the city to which I applied was after I more or less rescinded my rejection of this position. It’s close to how I ended up at CNU.
I took this photo a few seconds after accepting the job here. That was an interesting week that I may explain fully in October if my prediction is correct.
I had been meaning to take a picture of this sign atop Chimborazo near the end of Broad Street but never got around to it until I set moving away in motion.
I wanted to take a better shot but Loaf was having none of that standing still nonsense.
At some point, I became a Richmonder. It feels more like home than Hampton ever has. I left my heart in RVA. Regardless of what I’m doing, I am so there if the opportunity to come back arises.
I’d especially love to return to North 33rd Street.
tru-ade
There are several preserved ads for Tru-Ade in Richmond. It got annoying because I wanted to know if it was any good. I guessed it wasn’t since it was more or less defunct. Originally, it was a non-carbonated soft drink with real orange and grape juice involved. I later found out that it made a comeback of sorts in some select states but, since Virginia wasn’t one of them, I didn’t care.
When I got to North Carolina, I saw this in the vending machine at work and got excited. It’s not the orange flavor that was advertised in RVA but it’s frickin’ Tru-Ade! We also have the lemonade version. It’s not bad. I guess it was more of an unfortunate moment in marketing that killed it.
I can get the orange version but I haven’t yet because I’ve recently decided that I’m not buying packs or two liters of soda. Unless I have no choice or I want something fizzy, I typically only have water, coffee or alcohol any given week. I’m trying to cut coffee back out but I can’t take a swig of bourbon at work when I want some variety.
If only these were the glory days of journalism.
