Metro-area visitation, in pictures (Part Un).

My brother Owen, the lounge lizard I miss terribly living so far from New Jersey. He is literally glowing with awesomeness.

In spite of not missing much else besides family, I had a surprisingly good visit this week when I trekked home for my sister's graduation. The main event was tedious, as graduations typically are, but the rest of things were wonderful. There's not much to write by way of description of events, so I'm going to let the cell phone pictures do the talking.



I missed this room, and the lady it belongs (Galen, member of the Rohrs' posse from way back in the day) was having a birthday, so naturally, we had to celebrate. For us, celebration meant driving into Brooklyn after midnight to do some Bedford bar hopping.



The array at our first stop, The Gibson, where we did tequila shots with lemon wedges (which I actually liked better than the traditional lime), had beer adventures, were chatted up by strange men twice our age, did whiskey shots with said strange men. I performed a few poems on the sidewalk out front for Galen's friend Jesse who was drunk before we'd even gotten started on our journey. He told me that my writing was very violent, and though I'd never thought of it that way before, I now feel inclined to agree with him.

The bartender was adorable and hysterical and I feel awful because in the whirlwind of hysterics and storytelling, I forgot to leave him a tip. Ugh. In a happier (or perhaps stranger) vein, there was a three legged dog present, which made everything more special. We then moved on to the Abbey, where we were pleasantly surprised by $3 IPAs and the perfect atmosphere. SLZ and I had many an illuminating conversation over our beers.

By the time we started heading home, the sun was coming up over the FDR drive and the early bird morning commuters were speeding along on the other side. I can't remember the last time I was out so late. As a result of a combination need to pee and a desire to absorb the night from a pretty vantage point, we pulled off 9W for a pit stop at one of the many scenic overlooks.



SLZ, Galen, and Jeff checking out Yonkers from the wall

I'm not sure if I've ever been drunk upon the sun coming up, but I couldn't help thinking that it would be impossible to wake up later that afternoon with a hangover if my "night" ended like this:



Right now, I leave you with the view, and will return with (Part Deux) later today.

Girls, girls, girls.

So I'm doing this thing lately where I only listen to music sung by women that makes me feel somehow vindicated in my general disdain for any serious thoughts about the male half of mankind at the moment. Lots of Taylor Swift (who I didn't expect to like, but she gave me goosebumps on the bus today), always Lady Gaga, Kaki King (as has been mentioned at least once here), and now Paramore. I will say that I doubted this band, but my crush on Hayley Williams has proven too persuasive to continue to ignore her killer voice and their catchy-as-heck hooks. Just look at her, how could you not be in love?

Journalists?

I need a Patrick Fugit-type character. I turned on HBO as soon as I tumbled in the door with my suitcases and fell onto the couch more than happy to soak up Almost Famous. I just wish I could watch all of it instead of leaving for work momentarily.

Preventative technology.

There's plenty to talk about- the show on Tuesday went swimmingly, New Jersey is much better than I expected, bar hopping in Brooklyn is now part of my repertoire, etc. But I didn't bring home my laptop, and the computer I'm on now is barely functional, so there's no way I can trust it to allow me the huge update I need to make (which includes a litany of cell phone pictures from the BK adventures). I can't wait to share everything that's been happening these past few crazy days. But in lieu of making an attempt at the moment, I am going to give you more Kaki King:



And there will be a real update as soon as I'm back in the 401 with proper internet capabilities and the comfort of my futon. The Peter Pan bus tomorrow should be mind numbing, but I'm hoping to get some good poems out of it.

Feature face.

This is the face I make when I have a feature in a matter of hours, no matter how well prepared I am.

AGHHHH. Wish me luck?

Happy and not so happy places.

So tomorrow night is the night I have been waiting for since the week I arrived in this Noah's Ark of a city. Yes, ladies and gentleman, tomorrow night is my first real feature in the world beyond Hampshire. I am absolutely having a heart attack about it, but in a good way (if that's even possible). Being that work was canceled (again) because of the rain (it never stops), I spent a good portion of today memorizing and/or performing for Toby and Lucy (otherwise known as my sister's cats). Hopefully it shows. I want to do excessively well tomorrow night so that everyone under the sun buys product and puts lots of money in the hat so that I have at least some cash to tool around with when I'm home in the next few days. If you're in the area, come over to Blue State for organic, fair trade beverages and a decent-sized helping of poetry.

In further reference to the return to Jersey, this impending journey marks a turning point in the summer. Wendeline (my 1992 Cutlass Ciera S, who just recently reached the 60,000 mile mark) and I have to go our separate ways until the end of August, when we will triumphantly return to Hampshire together. Until then, she's got some work left to do for my family. I'm pretty bummed out about this, but in the process of dropping her off, I'll be stopping off at my little sister's high school graduation, possibly having a meal with my family (who knows how long it's been since that happened) and seeing SLZ. I'm trying to accentuate the positives of this visit, because going back to Jersey always destabilizes any kind of mental clarity I acquire, either at school or elsewhere, and based on how wonderful Providence has been for the restructuring of my world-view, I am worried that I'll get back to the apartment Thursday/Friday and be completely destroyed. Hopefully that's not the case, but I'm trying to be at least partially prepared for the worst. We'll see if it works out.

These are the two things I see when I close my eyes to go to my happy place currently:





As long as there are tapirs making funny faces and Kaki King in the world, I have reason to smile at least halfway.

Shoe porn.

Secret sneak preview of the new shoes I just bought:



I plan on wearing them at every opportunity. I think that I am in the process of phasing out my moccasins. Not permanently, as I'll probably buy a new pair. But the current pair are getting beat up beyond the point of return, and they have bad shoe smell, which is unacceptable.

Kait and I went shopping today and I was reminded of how I hate all of my clothes lately. The goal of the summer is to revamp my wardrobe. I'm hoping I don't get distracted halfway through.

Unplanned hiatus: zine and a haircut.

Sean was teasing me about how happy I am here the other night and said, "Jesus Emily, you've been living in Providence a month and you already made a zine." Above you will find that very zine/chapbook/most recent project I've been filling my days with. It's called Daily Silence and the sequence of the poems and drawings/collages illustrates the emotional arc of moving to Providence and the considerable shift in my outlook that's taken place as a result. Oh how deep and meaningful. Ugh. I hate talking about my work in abstract synopsis. You should just come to my show on Tuesday night and purchase one. With money. Or you can trade me other valuable things. Like your own artistic merchandise. Or you can bring me strange gifts. Surprise me. I can be fairly receptive to strange gifts.

I would like to say that I have been vastly busy lately, but really I've just been mentally vacant. I finally broke an involuntary poetry fast and wrote three or four things in the past few days. I feel good.

And I gave myself a haircut.



It didn't turn out the way I had anticipated because the trimmer went rogue. But we have good days and bad days. Hats tend to help with both. I am getting to the point where I don't even care that the back of my head is prickly and uneven because of an accidental buzzcut. I am trying to embrace the fact that no one has asked questions. Maybe the world just thinks I'm more punk rock than I see myself as when I look in the mirror.

Rebel scum.

A real post tomorrow when I'm having coherent thoughts again, but for now, something from the Digg Twitter feed:



Bad. Ass.

Okay, now I'm going to get back to No Reservations, but before I do, I'd like to make sure you all take a moment out of your day to vote for DC as best Providence singer/songwriter in the Phoenix poll.

Sports-related revelation.

I watched the NBA finals tonight. And was legitimately freaking out about the Lakers. New hero:



But really, who am I kidding? Derek Fisher's clutch three-pointers all over the place are where it's at. Maybe I'll actually stick with the sports thing this time because I have no team allegiance. With baseball, loving the Mets was a definite downfall in the end. All that Willie Randolph bullshit last summer really soured me on the whole scene. But with this, I am simply enjoying watching a good game. Yelling at the television never felt so good.

"I am only a word slut."

It seems that I am in reading mode today (with Bob Dylan on repeat in the background). I finished that coffee table book about Edie Sedgewick a little while ago and now I've picked up Infinity Blues again. But it's making me too sad, reminding me of DRA's blog and that time in my life when I was listening to Love is Hell on loop for about six months even though I was in a relationship. If I'm not careful, I'm going to end up in a funk. I'd say that I'm going to go read some happy book, but I'm pretty sure I don't have anything of the sort. Except maybe the Julia Child book that my uncle's girlfriend mailed to me a few weeks ago. Yes, maybe I'll try that. Otherwise I'll just get to thinking about depressing things like losing the password to summer.

The Narrows, the Ron, the universe crammed in between my ears.

Point B, which is our weekly artist shindig at AS 220, was fabulous. I am still inspired by the afterglow days later. It was like being in a multi-medium cipher, and we all had so much fun. Afterwards, Meg and Eric came over and we went for walk down by Roger Williams Park in the dark and told stories for what felt like hours. The friends I am making here are all because of the arts, and they re all exactly the kinds of people I need to be spending time with to keep the wheels in my head turning at the frenetic pace I want them moving at.

Yesterday work was canceled because of the rain, something I found out when I had already driven halfway down to Narragansett, but thankfully I had brought clothes with me this time, so I pulled over on the side of Route 4 near South Kingstown and changed, then hung a U-turn and drove to East Greenwich to chill with DC at work. We had many good talks and I wrote endlessly in the back room until we ventured next door to get delicious Mexican food. I am becoming convinced that a burrito is all I really need when I'm thinking complicated thoughts. After finishing our extended lunch, I said goodbye and headed back to the city for some quality time at Blue State Coffee with Meg and a bunch of her friends. We spent a few hours doodling and talking about old TV shows.

When the caffeine party adjourned, Meg and I headed to my apartment in Cranston to grab directions to Dan's feature at the Narrows in Fall River. I made her what she claims is the best grilled cheese she's ever had. We sang to the cats. And then we sang some classic Alanis Morissette on I-195 East.



Fall River is a very interesting place, as you can see by the graffiti. And I am pretty much in love with the Narrows. DC's feature was fabulous, and there were some really great acts on the open mic. Meg and I were melting into puddles over it for most of the night. At the end of the list, there was a block of four female performers, which was so exciting. I love seeing women perform. I got kind of upset earlier in the night that all the slots had been filled by men, but the quartet of women made it worth it, especially because the night was rounded out by my new friend Kayla, the only performer who played piano. She has the sweetest voice, and it was a pleasure to hear her a second night in a row after the intimate performance at Point B on Tuesday.

To finish off the evening, DC, Meg, and I stopped at Nice Slice on Thayer Street for final sustenance and talked with one of the staff there for awhile. He suggested this delicious creation he had concocted - margherita pizza with broccoli and chicken. We urged him to get it put on the menu and to name it after himself because we had been calling it "the Ron" all night anyway. After considerable ruthless people watching, poetry reading, and group hugs, we put a cap on everything and all headed home. I have been having some of the best nights of my life here, and I do not hesitate to say it.

Today has not been planned yet, but Saturday is the Providence Arts Festival and a whole bunch of the Point B kids are going to get together for a picnic and chill session. And then Saturday night, DC is playing a radio show, which will be destination number two. I could not have picked a better Neverland to steer my course towards. No matter what, I am sure that this is exactly where I am supposed to be.

Also, "Jolene" by Ray LaMontagne has been popping up everywhere, and I thought I should share it with you because it is one of my new favorite songs. Follow the link to see him performing it live at Abbey Road.

Thought collector, weighing in.

Safe among my books, arguably where I belong. Things have been whirlwind-exciting lately in terms of time spent exploring discussing experiencing writing doing shit. I have taken the past few nights off to recompose myself and absorb all of DC's guru teachings and the conversations I've been having with various people at various locations. Nothing has been finger-traced into cement yet, but on our way to work the other morning, Kait and I discussed moving in together next May after I graduate. I cannot see myself living anywhere but Providence. I haven't felt at home like this since New Jersey was the place that word was associated with. It would be silly for me to bypass something so right.

Work is still slow right now, but vacation season is right around the corner and I'm looking forward to reaping the benefits of that whole situation. Sometimes, I feel like the only person at my job with a positive attitude. Two girls have already quit, maybe ever three. And I see firings on the horizon. This bodes well for my wallet, but it makes me sad. Girls my age seem so unrealistic in their expectations for the restaurant industry. True, things can be difficult at times, but that's part of it. And no one's going to tip you any kind of spectacular with a perma-scowl on your face. It seems like common sense, or average logic at the very least, but apparently no one gets this. I constantly feel much older than my on-paper age because of little things like this.

I made my first Salvation Army trip since I've moved here and was not exactly overwhelmed by awesomeness. It wasn't awful. Maybe the rainy day killed my shopping buzz. I found a few things I was absolutely in love with, two of which I bought. The third was this fabulous arm chair I wish I could justify purchasing.



Sadly, I do not have sixty dollars at my disposal, nor do I have anywhere to put the thing. Even if we are in love, this chair and I, I'm just going to have to get over it. Even though it would be the perfect chair to have in bedroom to curl up with some Virginia and a fat cup of mint tea in the mid-morning. Agh. I must stop pining. There will always be this picture, I suppose.

Back at the apartment, I have been lazing on the bland, beige, decidedly un-funky faux-suede couch reading this coffee table book:



about Edie Sedgewick all afternoon. It's not very well written, but the bare bones information is interesting and the pictures are fun to examine. It's a very Andy Warhol attempt at a biography - all style and decidedly less substance, more of a reaction to Edie's stardom than a true assessment of it. But it's published by VH1, so I should have kept my expectations low in the first place.

Anyway, tonight is a night of community excitement - I'm heading over to AS 220 for an underground salon-type gathering of artists to exchange idea and enjoy one another. I am very excited. I'm thinking I'll debut a piece I just wrote this afternoon, some of the riskiest writing I've done in a very long time. And tomorrow night, DC is playing the Narrows in Fall River. Busy busy busy, and loving every second of it. We'll see how the week shapes up. I promise to keep you in the loop.

The 12 Step Poem.

For all of my friends who couldn't make it, this is the second poem I performed in the Grand Slam on Thursday that Jared Paul is pretty damn jazzed about. I feel pretty proud of myself here, in spite of the out of control nervous gesticulations.

More, please.

I am sad to admit that I was the only woman competing in the Grand Slam last night. Not too sad though, because two of the already-selected members of the Providence team are women. But it was still jarring, coming from a scene like Hampshire's where I'm surrounded by quite a few strong female voices in a pretty evenly split community, and from Boston, where people like Simone Beaubien and April Ranger routinely kick my ass with their command of the English language. I showed DC and another friend the two following videos last night, and both blew their minds to the point of speechlessness. I want to have that effect. And I'm proud to have found strong female role models in the slam community, but I feel like beyond a lot of the role models, there is a dearth of female writers on open mics and under the up-and-coming status in people's minds. I want to see more of us.

Job Hunter.

Maybe I'm just getting a little down on myself lately, but now that the slam is over with and I still feel out of sorts, I'm thinking it has to be something beyond competition nerves. The next circumstance in line to blame is my work situation. Don't get me wrong - I love my job. Being right on the water at the beach keeps me from letting myself feel downtrodden about anything while I'm there. But I also only get two shifts a week, if I'm lucky. They hired far too many people, and I am feeling the full force of that now, having been sent home from work as soon as I got there this morning because it was raining. I cannot afford to live here (even without paying rent) on two shifts a week. So I have made a plan. On Monday morning and/or Tuesday all day, I'm going to canvas for other waitressing jobs downtown. Or really any job at all. I'm tired of long days in the apartment by myself and only twenty odd dollars in my wallet at a time. I'm going to do something proactive about it.

Out of sorts.

Some days, I feel as destroyed as Ryan Gosling in Half Nelson, but I'm definitely not addicted to cocaine, so I have to explain it away as emotional instability. Today I think it has a lot to do with how run down I get before a big slam. The Grand Slam for the last slot on the Providence nationals team is tonight, and I'm competing. I haven't been letting letting myself dwell on it, but it finally caught up to me yesterday when I was at Tazza with DC. Afterwards we went back to AS 220 and half passed out on his couch. I could have slept like that all night based on how exhausted I had been feeling for most of the day, but I woke up to him having a nose bleed and realized that it was after two - parking ticket time. I didn't want to go though. I have serious trouble leaving ailing people behind, even if it's just a good friend with his head tipped back looking a little pale. I don't like walking out of rooms uncertain of how the people left in them will continue on. It's probably a symptom of the fact that I worry too much.

I woke up well into the afternoon today and ran poems while making falafel for lunch, and though I have at least seven of them stored up and ready to fire at any given time, I feel unnerved. Not nervous really, just a little frayed and jittery. I'm hoping to make a good showing tonight. I don't want to think about it. Not in the slightest. My sister is coming to see me perform for the first time. I feel a little ridiculous.

In less stressful news, I finished the proof for my latest chapbook at about 3 AM today. It's a little bit of a hybrid with a zine because everything is handwritten and there are collage aspects to it. I'm going to take it to a copy shop in the next few days and get some printed up for my feature in a few weeks. Something to look forward to. I got invited to perform tonight after the slam at Snookers, and I got another invite to perform during Sound Session at Tazza in a few weeks. Networking in this city has been very good to me. I feel like such a part of the arts community. It's going to hurt to leave this place in September. I keep having a feeling that if I leave and come back, it won't be the same. I want to finish school and I only have one year left, but I getting very attached to a life independent of academia and the strife constantly caused by college students. But anyway, a preview of the chapbook:



I promise better pictures when it's printed, cut, stapled, and ready for business. They'll be for sale on the 23rd, but if you want one and you're not able to make it to Providence that night, just let me know and we can work something out.

Evaporate and condense again somewhere cooler.

I know I have disappeared off the face of the planet, and while I'm not going to apologize because I'm really not sorry for having the capacity to enjoy real life more than virtual life right now, I will give you a little bit of an update on the goings-on in my life currently. But a short one, because there are serious things to accomplish today.

First off, work has been incredibly hit or miss, and I still don't have as many shifts as I'd like to. One day, I'll make over $100, and then others I'll make less than thirty. And my last paycheck was somehow screwed up. I'm trying not to stress about it. I really like all of the people that I work with thus far, which is a first for me - usually there's someone I cannot deal with, but I have yet to meet that person at this job. Also, because I'm standing on a deck next to the ocean every shift from ten AM until whatever ridiculous hour of the night they send me home (usually around eight or so) my face is incredibly tan and I'm not really sure what to think of it. All I know on that front is that I am happy to not have any kind of bizarre tan lines from my polo shirt. Yet. Keeping my fingers crossed that that never happens, but we can only hope about these things.

Changing directions quickly...



DC and I went to see UP the other night with his friend John who is visiting from Tennessee for the week (hear the band he plays guitar for here). I am not ashamed to say that I cried three times. It was a really fun, sweet movie, not Pixar's best, but definitely one of my favorite movies I've seen lately. Not that I've really been going to the movies much in the past few moths. Things have been too hectic to make such concrete time commitments. The following night a bunch of us went out for happy hour and then Kait invited us to meet up with her at Forbidden City on Federal Hill. None of us had ever been there, but I was excited by the prospect of walking up to a bouncer and saying "Emily + three" and getting to jump the line. Which we did, landing us in wall to wall Gotti blowouts, too-loud Lady Gaga, and some really skanky-looking go-go dancers. Kait bought me a drink and apologized for the intensity of the place (this was a Monday night, but apparently everyone there was quite alright with going to work smelling like someone else's hangover on a Tuesday), and we left soon after to head back to AS 220. I still do not know what to make of that place. An establishment with "Tea Room" in the title should not have wall-sized projection screens or even a bouncer. There should be tea. And that's it.

Yesterday I drove down to East Greenwich to have lunch with DC next store to his job and ended up hanging out with him for about three hours even though we were going to see each other at night back in Providence. We've been getting wrapped up in very serious conversations lately. Whenever I ask him what he's thinking about, he always says, "the universe", and I always tell him that it's impossible to fit the entire universe into your brain. Tonight we're going to Writer's in the Round at Tazza, a little show that DC plays with a few friends every first Wednesday of the month. He's been a little under the weather lately, so he might not end up doing it this time, but I gave him echinacea and vitamin C pills to try to fix the mystery sickness, and hopefully that will help. I'm missing the NorthBEAST regional slam to hang around downtown tonight, and it doesn't even really phase me. In another life, say about a month ago, I would have been devastated by my temporary lack of gas money, but lately I am loving Providence (and Rhode Island in general) far too much to leave.

Wrapping up, today's activity will be to assemble the chapbook/zine that I'm making especially for my feature at Blue State Coffee in a few weeks and begin the search for a copy shop of some sort to make such an endeavor possible. I'm going to make it have mostly Providence-specific poetry, which will hopefully make it sell well with the people who go to that reading. We shall see.

And I leave you with this - last night, someone sincerely called me sexy, and I actually believe him. I am a seriously changed person. I'm worried no one will recognize me when we're back at school in the fall, with how rapidly I feel myself changing.