Alexandra477

The State Library: A Theme Park of History from Ohio and Beyond

 

 

                          Until recently, I didn’t believe it was possible to hold a letter that George Washington wrote in 1788. Or flip through a 15^th-century medieval manuscript. I definitely didn’t think I could do so less than a mile from home. But thanks to a friend, I discovered an endless world of history and possibility at the State Library of Ohio.

 

 

 

The State Library was founded in Columbus in 1817 and provides a dizzying amount of free services for Ohio residents, libraries, and state employees. Located in the historic Jeffrey Manufacturing Building in Italian Village, it offers a statewide resource sharing service to more than 500 libraries. Its catalog contains more than 800,000 items.

“We can impact just about everyone in Ohio,” said Marsha McDevitt-Stredney, the State Library’s Director of Marketing and Communications.

 

 

 

 

                    The State Library is the only regional federal repository in Ohio. You can access federal government information for free, including congressional records, executive branch documents, census statistics, house and senate journals, topographical maps, atlases, and U.S. patents. On the state level, you can explore rosters of Ohio soldiers from the Civil War, Spanish-American War, and World War I; Laws of Ohio from 1803; agricultural reports (including history of Ohio State Fairs); Ohio Supreme Court decisions; and election statistics.

 

 

 

 

                         You can also get suggestions from librarians about what to read; access digital audiobooks, eBooks, music, and video; request help with genealogy projects; find jobs and get assistance applying for them; take practice tests and learn workplace skills; foster early childhood literacy; encourage other Ohioans to read; support the works of Ohio writers, artists, and musicians at the Ohioana Library; obtain recorded books, magazines, and playback equipment for blind, visually impaired, physically handicapped, and reading disabled Ohio residents; access a collection of materials related to deafness and American Sign Language; and research thousands of electronic resources and databases.

This place is cool.

 

                             As I explored the 98,000 square feet of history heaven, I found highway maps from 1919, vintage atlases, hundred-year-old New York Times microfiche, and 1916 U.S. soil samples. I also saw old FEMA flood insurance maps and an 1896 U.S. Army guide to drill regulations for light artillery.

 

 

 

 

 

Without question, one of the highlights is the Rare Book Room. It’s lovingly tended by Shannon Kupfer, who’ll be glad to give you a tour if you make an appointment. Among its 7,000 items are the aforementioned Washington letter and medieval manuscript, the complete works of Martin Luther circa 1539 (in German), and the exquisitely illustrated Birds of America collection.  

 

 

 

 

 

     “So many people don’t know that we even have a State Library,” said Beverly Cain, State Librarian of Ohio. “It's an incredible treasure trove.” 

 

 

 

 

                    The State Library is open Monday through Friday from 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. and parking is free. New expanded online resources will be announced on July 1. Sign up for a free library card here. 

 

 

 

 

                         See you in the stacks.

Short North Hidden Gem: Dames Bond Marketplace

 

 

 

 

 

Covert parking spots. The identity of Vinchen. Jeni’s Salty Caramel recipe. Some Short North secrets are best kept hidden. Dames Bond Marketplace shouldn’t be one of them (even if its name is inspired by a certain secret agent). The 1,500-square-foot Garden District boutique opened last October and offers a smashing array of apparel, jewelry, accessories, artwork, candles, body care, and home décor.

 

 

 

 

 

But here’s the thing. It only sells items made by women in our community. The brainchild of Dames Bond founder and CEO Mary B. Relotto, this place truly is one of a kind.

 

 

 

 

 

“The Marketplace gives women an opportunity to showcase their talent and participate in a retail experience, Mary said. “I did a lot of research, and there’s nothing like it in Ohio or the Midwest.”

 

 

 

 

 

When it opened, the Marketplace featured 30 vendors. It now has 43, half of which use Dames Bond as their only brick-and-mortar location. Mary designed and merchandised the space, and the vendors work on consignment. It also serves as a small business incubator, offering vendors monthly workshops about trends and marketing.

 

 

 

    “This is all about championing women and giving them an opportunity to create something,” Mary said. “Social norms have stopped us from being our best selves, and I want to break that.” 

 

 

 

       Two new vendors joined the Marketplace yesterday: Sweet Simpliciteas dessert tea and Dragon Ikka Japanese jewelry and gifts. Upcoming events include a Bella Beads trunk show for tonight’s Gallery Hop; a silversmith demonstration tomorrow by Kristi Ross of KK Makes Things; and mother/daughter make-and-take journals with Thrive Theory on May 11. 

 

 

 

Gilmore Girls: My Secret Show.

Courtesy of Warner Brothers.

The expression on my face reflected against the laptop screen was a little embarrassing. Thankfully I was alone. Staring back at me in the blank screen between episodes was a teary, goofy mishmash of joy and catharsis. I didn’t know I could even contort my face like that.

Gilmore Girls took over entered my life a few weeks ago when a dear friend dropped off the first season at my house. Like any respectable dealer, she started casually. I was hooked during the opening credits of the pilot and plowed through season one faster than you can down a glass of Nesquik. As anticipated, I begged her for seasons two and three and will reach the seventh by Labor Day if I keep it up.

There are many reasons why I’m smitten with this show. It follows the lives of independent, freethinking women¹. It has love triangles². It takes place in Connecticut³. It features a private high school with uniforms⁴. It’s almost always fall⁵. There’s a lot of candy, cake, and pie⁶. Obscure music references abound⁷. Melissa McCarthy is in it⁸. It entertains me yet inspires me to appreciate and improve upon the relationships in my own life.

My husband isn’t allowed in the room when I watch GiGi. Only the cat. This is a sacred viewing experience that mustn’t be marred by the judgments (or perceived judgments) of those who don’t share XX chromosomes. I don’t always nail a “No boys allowed” sign to my door, but when I do it’s for Gilmore Girls.

1 Score. A million times score.
2 Show me a girl who doesn’t like a good love triangle, and I’ll show you a short giraffe.
3 I lived there.
4 I went to one of those.
5 There’s fall and there are the other 275 days of the year.
6 Hi, three food groups.
7 Have we met?
8 Dude.

Letter to My 8-Year-Old Self.

I wrote this after hearing about the book Dear Me: A Letter to My Sixteen-Year-Old Self.

Dear 8-Year-Old Me,

The Star Wars people are going to make more movies, but they’ll be called “prequels.” Just go with it. You’re going to have braces. Twice. Throw a mild tantrum at your orthodontist’s office to get them removed early. You’re never, ever going to like brownies with nuts in them.

Some girl in elementary school is going to pick on you. Your mom will convince you to thwart her evilness with a Whatchamacallit and a smile. This will be a valuable lesson about the Power of Candy. People will make fun of your hair so much it will make you cry. Later in life, you’ll discover a straightening brush and anti-frizz balm, and you’ll have the last laugh. Also, you’ll find out about this stuff called Sun-In. It will tempt you. Don’t use it.

You’re going to have an amazing education. You will study hard and it’ll be a lot of work, but you’ll graduate from college and create a career that gives you more purpose than you ever thought possible. And you’ll have a pink office. With shelves for your My Little Ponies. I know.

The world will soon be overrun with technology. These things called “computers” and “cell phones” will take over. Play outside now as much as you can. Exercise your imagination. Smash lots of rocks with your hammer, carry them around in your tacklebox, and always wear your safety goggles. Heck, just keep those orange puppies around your neck in case you need to start pounding at a moment’s notice. One day, you’ll meet a guy who’ll give you Smurf tumblers, just like the ones you drink from now. You will marry him. When you’re older, your dad will call to say he dreamt that you were a kid again. He’ll remind you that to him, a part of you will always be a spunk-filled sprite. Try to hold onto some of that youthful zing. Find new ways to have wonder. And keep bribing people with chocolate.

CAW Presents "Strands" at Carnegie Gallery.

Hair. We brush, cut, pull, twist, shave, dye, and tease it to a near pulp. Many of us define ourselves by it, while others mourn its loss. But rarely do we dedicate an art show to its very existence. Until now. The ever-clever ladies of CAW (creative arts of women) opened their latest show Strands at the Columbus Metropolitan Library’s Carnegie Gallery last night. Curated by Stephanie Rond, it explores the mystique-laden intricacies behind hair, filaments, and fibers. Proceeds from the show will benefit the Hair Theater Fund, which helps chemotherapy patients purchase wigs and hats. Featured artists include Laine Bachman, Allison Buenger, Betsy DeFusco, Patty DeMaria, Linda Diec, Sharon Dorsey, Judy Chesnut Gerdeman, Helma Groot, Mollie Hannon, Bethany Jozwiak-Butler, Colleen Leonardi, Lisa McLymont, Angela Matteson, Peggy Mintun, Kristin Morris, Amy Neiwirth, Mabi Ponce de Leon, Jessica Prunty, Stephanie Rond, Cat Sheridan, Sherry Simone, Linda Skelley, Carolyn Slebodnik, Catherine Bell Smith, Roxanne Smith-Mansell, Brittany Bird, Amandda Tirey Graham, Barb Vogel, Heather Wirth, and Wendy Yeager. A dance piece called one single thing x twoⁿ debuted at the opening reception. It was choreographed by CoCo Loupe, performed by Noelle Chun and Nicole Garlando, and featured original music by Noah Demland. Strands runs through October 21. Click here for more photos.

 

Emily Barr.

Many years ago, my dear friend Kristin told me about a British author named Emily Barr and a book called Backpack. Kristin has smashing taste in prose, so I bought it. And I read every page of that thing so hard it should’ve turned to pulp. Since then, I’ve ravaged every novel that Ms. Barr, a former travel columnist, has ever written. I just finished her latest work, The First Wife, in less than three days¹. When I read a Barr Book, the world basically (and gloriously) stops, and I basically (and gloriously) can’t do anything else until I complete it. As with books by Isabel Allende, Laura Esquivel, David Sedaris, and Laurie Notaro, I scribble the release date of every forthcoming Barr treasure in my planner and pre-order it. Her books are only available in the United Kingdom, so I always have to ship them across the pond. If you like pithy thrillers about strong (or soon-to-be-strong) women, have an obsession with Europe, Asian, and/or Australian travel, and love learning new British catchphrases, you just might enjoy Emily Barr half as much as I do.

1: I also just finished Tina Fey’s new memoir Bossypants, which was hilariously bright and candid.

   

Why I Wore Red To My Wedding.

Traditional weddings aren’t really my thing. Don’t get me wrong, I like dressing up and shaking my booty like the world’s ending, but typical bridal expectations make me sick. I got married a couple of days ago. To a charismatic, ambitious, outrageously funny human being who doubles as my best friend. This meant that I had to make peace with the wedding process and find a way to make it mine.

I’ve never been one of those girls who dreamed about her wedding day. I’ve dreamt of winning large PR accounts, living in Spain, and owning a horse, but not traipsing down a petal-covered aisle swathed in white lace. Me wearing white to my wedding felt about as natural as a pink moose. For me, there was only one choice: Red. As in 1940’s-era scarlet with a shot of flamenco. Unsurprisingly, most wedding dress designers didn’t share my enthusiasm for a red wedding dress. Thank God for Monqiue Lhuillier, whose staff embraced the idea with fervor.

Weddings don’t have to be what people tell you they have to be. They can be as individual as the people tying the knot. Otherwise, what’s the point? You have one day to unite your family, friends, and lifelong confidantes. I see it as an opporunity to create a unique experience. So for anyone who seeks nontraditional ways of planning a wedding, I submit these alternatives. They all worked for me.

1. If you don’t feel like reading bridal magazines or attending bridal shows, skip all of that. For me, it was liberating to dilute the power of the traditional bridal industry by not buying, reading, or attending any of its stuff.
2. Veils were traditionally worn to hide brides’ faces from other men. If that creeps you out, don’t wear one.
3. If you consider tossing a bouquet to be humiliating for single ladies, don’t do it. And if you plain just don’t feel like carrying a bouquet, don’t. There are no rules.
4. If spirituality and human kindness impact you more than organized religion, hold a nondenominational ceremony.
5. If awkward party games and penis lollipops don’t appeal to you, ax the wedding showers and bachelorette parties. Have a small dinner with your best friends.
6. If you feel badly making bridesmaids (or groomsmen) buy expensive outfits they’ll never wear again, ask them to wear a color. Let them choose something that works with their style, body type, and budget.
7. If registering for gifts makes you uncomfortable, set up funds with charities that mean something to you, and/or ask guests to donate to nonprofit organizations of their choice.
8. Write thank-you notes as you receive gifts (and/or donations) instead of doing them all at once after the wedding.
9. Don’t let anyone, at any time, tell you what to do or how to feel, and never allow them to make you feel badly about breaking tradition. They had their time, and this is yours.
10. Remember that just because you’re participating in an act that’s considered traditional, nothing else about it has to be. Modern women (and men) have a chance to show future generations that our world is continually moving forward. Own it.

Why I Threw Out My Scale.

On Friday afternoon, I visited an area department store to check out some jeans. As I sifted through stacks of overpriced Italian denim, an associate approached me. She asked for that dreaded bit of information: My Size. I told her. “Really?” she asked. “You don’t look that big.”

You don’t look that big.

I don’t know about you, but when I ponder the purchase of $150 jeans, I kind of want to feel good about it. Perhaps this was a misguided attempt at a compliment. “You don’t look that small” would have hurt harder. And I’ll admit that I’m more sensitive to these things than most people. I’m not big, I’m not small. I’m Alex. And I have struggled with my weight for most of my life. I’ve worked damn hard for a damn long time to feel good about my body, and I’m winning. Moments like this remind me of that. So I tried on the jeans and left empty handed. And in case Ms. Talk Too Fast was wondering, they looked really good.

Opinions are like egos and fragile quirks. We all have them. Retail professionals can’t always stifle their judgy outbursts. I should have pointed out to Ms. Blurty Face the ridiculousness of her comment, or at least shared that like a million bucks she did not make me feel. I’m learning. I worked for a women’s clothing store when I was much younger and made sure that every woman I assisted felt good about herself and her shopping experience. It’s shopping, after all. It can be fun. The more we enjoy ourselves, the more money we spend. I’m no statistician but am pretty sure that helps the economy.

Many years ago, a friend recommended that when I run into people I haven’t seen in a while, I should remark how happy I am to see them, not how great they look. In her mind, telling people that they look beautiful (or handsome) makes them subconsciously feel that we’re judging their appearance. I love this concept and try to subscribe to it, but sometimes I just can’t help myself. Again, I’m learning.

I take steps to shrink the power of weight obsession. I don’t talk about my clothing size. I threw out my scale seven years ago. I don’t buy beauty magazines, read celebrity gossip websites, or follow fashion blogs. I don’t broadcast when I’ve exercised. I delete all diet-related advertisements from my Facebook page and flag them as offensive. When I get weighed at the doctor’s office, I turn around and ask to not be told the number. Whatever that amount happens to be is whatever that amount happens to be. All that matters is how I feel. I’m worth more than some number, and so are you. So is that department store lady. Simply being mindful of each other carries the most weight.

Courtesy of modern50.com

The Book That Took Me 11 Years To Read.

I recently finished reading White Teeth by Zadie Smith. Even though I bought a copy in 2000 when it was first published, I couldn’t manage to tackle its layered complexity. So after several years and multiple attempts, I stashed it in the bookcase. Until a couple of months ago when I read it, relished it, and subsequently had my socks blown clean off. Without giving away one morsel, I will say this: It’s astoundingly and feverishly written. It profoundly captures the voices of numerous characters. And it baffles me to the core that Ms. Smith wrote it when she was 24 years old. I look forward to marveling at how she owns every word of her two remaining novels.

   

Stephanie Rond: Eye Candy.

There’s only one Stephanie Rond, and she wants to make you feel something. She’s as strong as she is kind, cool as she is charming, and she takes humor very seriously. So it makes complete poetic sense that this Columbus born-and-bred artist layers each of her creations with pure aesthetic beauty and wry social commentary. On Saturday, she’ll launch her latest show, Eye Candy, at Image Optical in the Short North. It’ll feature more than 30 multi-sized pieces of spray paint on canvas.

Stephanie uses spray paint, which she interprets as a traditionally male-dominated medium, to skew gender roles through ardent female themes and artistic traditions. Promoting and destigmatizing feminism is something that she has explored for the past 16 years. “The work that I created for this show is pretty and humorous,” she said. “But if you look beneath all of that, you’ll find intellectual satire. The smaller works are subtle commentaries on words that objectify, which is why I camouflaged those words into the background.”

 The opening reception for Eye Candy will take place this Saturday evening from 6:00 to 10:00. Wine and refreshments will be served, and local deejay CMC will make his debut performance. The exhibit will be on display through June 30 and its pieces range in price from $35 to $375. “My art tends to produce a wide range of emotional responses,” Stephanie said. “I honestly don’t care what emotions they evoke, as long as they evoke something. I would much rather someone look at my work and hate it than be complacent.”

Girls kick so much ass.

 

Laurie Notaro At The Columbus Performing Arts Center.

“We’re all friends here,” famed author Laurie Notaro said last night to a giddy crowd of multi-aged women. And I believed her. After reading every one of her books, I do feel like she’s my pal. Laurie made her first trip to Columbus as part of the Thurber House Evenings With Authors series. She read excerpts from her new book Spooky Little Girl, which was released nationwide on Tuesday, and portions of her unnamed forthcoming essay collection.

Laurie’s warmth and easy smile immediately reminded me of Annabeth Gish. She was relaxed, gracious, and lightning-witted. Instead of talking to us, she was confiding in us. We were all in her attic with a towel shoved under the door and a pack of contraband cigarettes. There was only one other time in my life that I got to see a favorite author, so this was big. The flutterings in my stomach quashed those of going to Jeni’s or winning a bagged goldfish at the state fair. “I’m freaking out right now,” I kept whispering to my boyfriend.

You know how they say guests on The Daily Show shouldn’t try to be funny, because their “jokes” will just tank that much more epically against Jon Stewart’s? I think Laurie could pull it off. She gloriously recounted Ambien hazes and familial absurdities. She lamented underappreciated Halloween costumes, such as Anna Nicole Smith in clown makeup, Ann Coulter eating a baby sandwich, and Bette Davis’ character from What Ever Happened To Baby Jane? My boyfriend, who has never read any of Laurie’s books, was the evening’s loudest cackler on more than one occasion.

In person, you see Laurie’s strength and kindness. She respects her fans and believes in the graceful power of serving as sidesplitting neo-feminist. During the question and answer session, she awarded inquirers with homemade tin bookmarks from a baggie in her purse. Each woman prefaced her question wit heartfelt remarks about how Laurie’s books have unequivocally inspired them. I didn’t ask a question or stand in line to have my copy of Spooky Little Girl autographed. Those types of situations make me squirrely and typically result in blushing, sweating, stammering, and sometimes fainting. Instead I took with me Laurie’s mantra about writing. She said that she writes quickly and doesn’t look back, so as not to kill her natural magic with scrupulous rehashing. Now that was some sage advice from a true friend.

 

Laura Veirs: Dealing Like A Natural Woman.

I’m a little obsessive about my favorite musicians. Those who know me know this. I recently ran into an old friend that I hadn’t seen in years. “Every time I hear Laura Veirs I think of you,” he said.

We all have different parts of our personalities. Laura Veirs and her diorama of crystalline sounds spark my inner naturista. She’s feet in the grass and warm wind in the face, but with a dash of cerebral grit. I once knitted an entire blanket listening only to Carbon Glacier and Year Of Meteors. Thankfully I got to see her perform at Little Brother’s shortly before it closed. Two months ago, she released July Flame, her seventh album and first release in three years. The 13-song collection features contributions by Jim James and the Tosca String Quartet, as well as such empyrean instruments as the jaw harp, thumb piano, viola, and archtop guitar. One song was even inspired by a historic French poet. Similar to Hayao Miyazaki, Laura paints a world that's inherently and uniquely transportive. She lives in Portland and speaks fluent Mandarin Chinese. I bet she has a killer quinoa recipe and owns more than one pair of hiking boots. 

 

Sade Keeps Sultry in a Chokehold.

Last month, Sade released Soldier Of Love, her first studio album in 10 years. The ponytailed and ear-hooped goddess with a knack for penning love songs that apply to people with pulses has proven that, at 51 years old, she’s still got it. 

Love is and always was Sade’s muse. When you listen to her music, you’re forced to contemplate your current (and past) love situations. I’ve always admired that about her. Countless artists claim not to write love songs so as not to be deemed over-passionate, but she has been unapologetic about doing so this whole time. She’s what you throw in when you want to feel sexy and understood, and sexy and misunderstood.  

Even though I have been a fan of Sade’s for most of my life and own all of her albums, my expectations for Solider Of Love weren’t high. I’m just glad that she still feels the desire to write and produce music. She doesn’t need the money; the woman has sold more than 50 million albums and continues to be Britain’s top solo female recording artist. I think that she recorded this album for her family and her conscience. The rest of us are just fortunate enough to be able to access it. Her voice sounds a little deeper and her lyrics are a little wiser. “The Moon And The Sky” and the title track pack the most unchartered fervor, while the remaining eight songs serve up her trademark cocktail of breathy vocals atop digital beats, hip-grinding bass, and earthy strings. Her teenage daughter sings backup vocals on “Babyfather.”

Soldier Of Love debuted at number four on the UK Albums Chart, which is Sade’s highest debut in 22 years. It also garnered her first number-one debut in the United States, selling more than 500,000 copies in its first week. Good things come to those who love.

 

Columbus Women's Artist Collective.

Last night was a happy one for Columbus Girl Power. The ladies of CAW (Creative Arts of Women) held an opening reception for their first official exhibit at the Main Library’s Carnegie Gallery. More than 250 people attended Definitions of Character, a self-portrait exhibition featuring 36 Central Ohio female artists. Refreshingly, there were no limitations placed on the artists, meaning that they could interpret “self-portrait” however they liked using whatever materials they preferred. The result is a fiercely inspirational and emotional array of pieces designed with acrylic paint, oil paint, spray paint, paper, wood, ink, silk thread, ceramics, and found objects. A portion of the proceeds from the opening reception was donated to a local charity that provides counseling, shelter, crisis intervention, and education to people facing domestic violence. Definitions of Character will be on display through February 19.  

Founded in August of 2009 by two Columbus-based visual artists, CAW is an open-membership collective enabling women to share work, host shows, perform community service, and support each other’s careers. The group of 50 women (and growing) meets monthly to discuss each other’s short- and long-term goals. CAW plans to host two more exhibits, including a Sadie Hawkins art event, later this year. You can read my Columbus Underground article about CAW here.  

  
  

Where the Mild Things Aren’t.

Sometimes a movie snatches your heart in its mammoth claw for 101 minutes and there’s nothing you can do but jostle through its forest of emotion. Such was the case with Where The Wild Things Are. I loved the book and was curious how it would translate to film, even though my friends warned me that its melancholy level rivaled Bambi’s. I was tempted, at the last minute, to avoid certain sadness and dart into the adjacent theater for The Gloved One’s final moonwalks, but I stayed the course. Spike Jonze deftly and fearlessly commandeered a journey through the volatile imagination of a troubled child. 

As a young girl trying to cope with my parents’ divorce I often drenched myself in solitude. I created my own impenetrable universe filled with daydreams and blankets and stuffed animals. In the first ten minutes, this film opened the secret door and beckoned me back into my fort. Those old stomach-pit feelings of sorrow and escapism came barreling back. Yes, the animatronics were breathtaking, the acting was outstanding, and Karen O’s soundtrack was gorgeously uninhibited. But the adaptation of a 1963 children’s story into a raw, poetic exploration of a child’s mind was a brave reminder to respect our youngsters.

 

Sarah Borges: Babe With Guitar.

There’s always a lot happening in Columbus this time of year. I’ll be praising our city's indie culture at Independents’ Day this Saturday, but a foxy Boston chic named Sarah Borges and her band Broken Singles plan to unleash some alt-country punk and roll at the Columbus Maennerchor. I had never heard of Sarah until her publicist contacted me a few weeks ago, but after a little reconnaissance I found several reasons to like her. She has spunk. She wants people to dance. She covers NRBQ and Tom Waits, and her favorite band is X. This Sarah Silverman lookalike released her third album this past spring on Sugar Hill Records and was recently nominated for Best Emerging Artist at the 2009 Americana Music Awards. Tickets to her 8:00 p.m. show on Saturday cost $20 and can be purchased by calling 614-462-2636.

  

Goodale Park Music Series: Megan Palmer.

Our second concert was a one-of-a-kind community experience. Megan Palmer & The Hopefuls sounded so fresh and uplifting; they were perfect for a breezy Sunday afternoon at the Gazebo. I think that was her fifth gig of the weekend (if only her cowboy boots could talk). She covered Gillian Welch’s “Look At Miss Ohio” and Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” and taught us that Engagement, Ohio is somewhere between Dayton and Marion.

There were elaborate potluck lunches. There were Frisbees, bubbles, and hula hoops. But perhaps the most remarkable display came from two theatrical dancers who didn’t appear to know each other before the show. They danced alone on either side of the stage until dramatically joining forces and proving that love and acceptance truly know no boundaries.

         

Hiding Aimee Mann.

If you asked me about my favorite musicians I’d probably recite a litany of artists from J.J. Cale to The Black Keys, but I wouldn’t mention Aimee Mann. I recently realized that she’s my secret music catharsis.

I have most of Aimee’s albums and listen to them often. Her lyrics and the cadence of her chords shoot straight through me even though I’ve heard them a thousand times. She’s like this modern-day feminist soothsaying nightingale. So many times I plunk CD’s in my stereo trying to match my mood, and so many times I rotate disks until I find one that can move and flow with my head at that moment. Aimee always sinks perfectly into my mind.

I’m not sure I could handle seeing her perform live in front of hundreds of other people unless I was wearing nine layers and hiding in the back corner. It would feel more personal than having someone read my diary. But I did survive seeing (and meeting) Kathleen Edwards a couple of months ago without bawling my eyes out…so there is hope.

Image courtesy of aimeemann.com

Why I Stopped Reading Beauty Magazines.

A long time ago, a friend suggested that I cancel all of my subscriptions to beauty and gossip magazines. She said it would be a mini statement to help weaken the publication empires that make women feel like doody. What she didn’t tell me was that it would be unearthly liberating. I haven’t touched a fashion or celebrity gossip rag for five years. Sometimes I glance at a cover while I’m tossing items onto the grocery store conveyor belt but am quickly reminded of why I quit them.

They’re no good for me.

I read all of that stuff for years. I memorized every star’s diet tips and knew who was going out with whom. I studied all of the season’s top colors and examined all 502 ways to keep a man coming back for more. I didn’t realize that there were thousands of (way more interesting) things that I could have explored that had nothing to do with changing myself. After I kicked the beauty mag habit, I realized how awful they made me feel. I didn’t notice it at the time because I was too busy practicing office chair calisthenics or discovering which jeans best fit my body type. I replaced my subscription to People with one to The New Yorker and traded Vogue for Bitch. Sayonara Mademoiselle, hello ReadyMade. Instead of empathizing with Marlena from Dallas who hired four spies to follow her third husband, I learned how to create a lantern out of chopsticks. Reading about larger-than-life female Mexican wrestlers was significantly more inspiring than Alissa’s extreme eyelash transplant. I may not be wearing the right shade of pink this spring, but I’ll have a big damn grin on my face.