Life Is a Mix Tape

Sometimes several wonderful moments come together and — like a great mix tape — become something even better.

Tonight was one of those nights.

Let’s get the squeals out of the way first: I chalked up my first liter-hottie moment of ’08. And this may be the best one yet: Rob Sheffield, author of Love Is a Mix Tape, inspiration for Mix Tape Fridays, grooviest man on the East Coast, high on my list of fantasy BFFs. Rob’s a writer for Rolling Stone — and, I found out tonight, he’s on a lot of those VH1 best-of list shows (I may start watching them now that I know that).

Rob did a reading at my friendly neighborhood Wordsmiths Books — the first event in the Baby Got Books Reading Series.

That lucky Baby Got Bookster Tim posted an interview he did with Rob Sheffield. Be sure to read it.

It was the biggest crowd I’ve seen at a Wordsmiths’ gathering. Granted, Rob has family here — but there were lots of fans lining the walls and snaking the shelves.

Rob read two chapters — “Sheena Was a Man” and “Roller Boogie” — adding asides and quips. He was cool, he was funny, he was entertaining. His comments about music made me giggle and swoon — in a music-geek way, of course. To hear Rob Sheffield wax poetic about the J. Geils Band, explain the brilliance of "Funky Cold Medina," sing the Pips' part in "Midnight Train to Georgia" was worth the price of the free ticket.

We loving lemmings then lined up to get our copies signed.

I stand in the presence of greatness.

Rob Sheffield was very cool as he signed our books. He took the time to chat, seemed genuinely flattered as we gushed over him — and actually seemed interested as I wildly explained how he had inspired the weekly mix tape posts. He even thanked me. How cute is that?

Why can’t I act my age and leave my hair alone?

But the thrills didn’t stop with the autograph, kids. I notched another blogger on the meet-up post: Paul from The Yellow Stereo (great music blog, if you haven’t clicked my link), who drove over from Auburn for the reading. We got to hang out, obsess, and share a beer post-reading. I never got around to our back-of-the-bloggerhead shot, so I’m running the photo I took of Paul with Rob Sheffield.


I nearly forgot! Look at the groovy USB stick I got tonight — it’s a stick with a mix-tape case! Rob Sheffield got one, too.



For more news coverage on the social event of the season, click over to BGB's post.

To summarize:
• Rob Sheffield: Cool
• Yellow Stereo's Paul: Cool
• Baby Got Books’ first event: Smashing success
• Cup: Geeky and ready to buy any unnecessary thing that looks groovy

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Baby, It’s Cold Outside

It’s snowing!!!!!!!!!

Yeah, so you frozen-tundra’ed citizens are giving me the so-what shoulder. But you have to remember we Deep Southerners don’t have white winters. Winters in Atlanta resemble black-and-white photographs, but not from snow. We haven’t had a really good snow in a few years.

As Dino croons, Baby, It’s Cold Outside.

It was lovely driving home tonight — flakes swirling, people giddy on the radio, friends calling and squealing. Yep, in Atlanta everyone turns into third-graders when it snows. I came home, through on my cycle boots, and tromped around in the barely-an-inch snow. It was fabulous.

My front porch. My footprints in the snow.
My sad, sad geranium. It still had blooms a couple of weeks ago.

Which reminds me to share my frozen-tundra tale — twenty-six years ago this past weekend.

Snow Jam '82

January 12 started out as a typical winter day. We’d had a warm December, but the temps had finally gone down into the thirties and low forties. There was talk of a snowstorm coming that evening from the west — but we get all giddy about snow whenever the temp dips.

I worked in downtown Atlanta in those days, at Peachtree Center. My dad worked a couple of miles north of me at The Coca-Cola Bottling Company. He called me around 1 p.m. to tell me the snowstorm was coming in faster than expected, so he was coming to get me, to leave my car in the garage and meet him in front of my office building.

The streets were a mess, crowded with panicky Atlantans trying to hit Kroger for bread and milk before we were snowed in. I waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, nearly an hour later, OM walked up. Traffic was at a standstill, so he left his car at The Varsity and walked, carrying the dry cleaning he’d picked up earlier.

“Let’s just get a hotel room, Hooter, and ride it out.”

Yep. He called me “Hooter.” Long story — one that doesn’t involve what you’re thinking of.

“There aren’t any available rooms downtown, OM. The Bobbin Show’s here, and every hotel is booked through the week.”

The Bobbin Show was a big deal back in those days, thanks to the Apparel Mart.

“Then let’s start walking home.”

“But, OM, I’m wearing my fabulous new Anne Klein suede three-inch espadrilles. They’ll be ruined.”

One glance and I was saying a tearful goodbye to those lovely heartbreak-red shoes.

So, OM, his dry cleaning, his eldest child, and her lovely espadrilles started the trek north to Vinings. We walked along Williams Street, coming upon his secretary — still in her car trying to get on I-75 at 10th Street. We told her what we were going to do, so Karen (and her lovely three-inch leather boots) parked her car and joined us.

We walked onto I-75 northbound. At this point, the highway looked like Mad Max: Below the Mason-Dixon. Cars were barely moving, pointing every which way from skidding on the ice. Coming into the curve at the downtown connector was kind of cool: As if in slo-mo, cars in the far left lane would slowly … oh, so slowly … slide into the car in the lane next to them.

We were smart to leave our cars downtown.

It was weirdly festive along the interstate. We all knew we were trapped in a freak storm for the city, so everyone just went with the flow. Many folks were walking, and we were leaving the cars behind us. Every once in a while, a driver would open his door and let us ride for a quarter mile, just enough to warm us up.

Six miles and a couple of hours later, we made it to our exit. There was a McDonald’s at the bottom of the ramp (the same McDonald’s where the sister, Renae, HollyC, and I worked in high school). People had shown up with bread and meat, making sandwiches for us snow-wearied travelers while McDonald’s served free coffee. We got a bite to eat, OM called Mama from the payphone to report our progress, and we hit the road once again — OM still with his dry cleaning slung over his shoulder, Karen and I whimpering about the death of our stylin’ shoes.

When we got to Paces Ferry Road, a car was stuck in the ice, its wheels spinning. The three of us pushed it from the back bumper, getting it back on the road. The son of a bitch sped off — no wave, no offer of a ride. OM dropped his dry cleaning and flipped the angriest bird I’ve ever seen. I was so proud of my daddy at that moment.

We finally crossed the bridge over the Chattahoochee River, up Woodland Brook, then Orchard Knob, finally making it home to 4230 Brookview Drive — where hot soup and cocoa, a warm fire, and Mama awaited our arrival — three hours after we left. According to Mapquest, it was an 11.11-mile trek.

But we were smart. It took those who tried driving about eight hours to get home. Many others were stranded. Several bars and restaurants — most notably, the newly opened Longhorn Steakhouse on Peactree — became instant institutions.

We were snowed in for about a week — another rarity in these parts. Our snows, in generally, barely last a day.

And my espadrilles? A good cleaning by the shoe-repair shop, and they were still suitable for wearing with jeans.

So that’s my wintry tale — as good as any Jack London ever told. And now I’m off to snow-angel the back yard …

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Freewheeling It

The Occasionally Beloved Engineer and I saw one of the best shows of 2008 Saturday night: The Freewheeling Yo La Tengo. Okay, it was my first show of the year, but I have a feeling it’s going to be on my Best Of list come December.

The show format was … well, freewheeling. Ira, Georgia, and James sat in folding chairs, answering questions and playing requests. Well, most of them; they turned down shoutouts for the much-too-requested “Speeding Motorcycle” and “Autumn Sweater.”

The OBE and I also went to last February’s Yo La Tengo show, but stayed just twenty minutes at that one. Too much fun and too much beer before the show + a bit too Yo La Emo = restlessness. Glad we stayed for this show.

Ira answered most questions and told most of the stories, with some help and funny asides from James, occasional comments from the quiet Georgia. I laughed more than I sang along. I was sure I'd remember several stories to tell here … but, well, I’m on the edge of old and can’t remember them in full. It was fascinating, though, to hear them talk about their love of records and music, and “meeting” Lou Reed.

I can’t even remember the setlist, dammit. They played great tunes, though, including “My Little Corner of the World” and a Rolling Stones cover (the title has now slipped this foggy ol’ brain; I should really write these concert recaps when I get home from the show). The encore was their cover of “I’m Your Puppet” and “Mr. Tough,” one of my favorite tracks from I Am Not Afraid of You and I Will Beat Your Ass.

Not familiar with Yo La Tengo? Here they are performing “Mr. Tough” in a radio studio, very much like Saturday’s performance.



Go see The Freewheeling Yo La Tengo Review if it rolls into your town.

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Mix Tape Friday: Georgia Dance Party

Georgia boasts some amazing musicians. We’re probably among the top five music states throughout this vast nation of ours. Three of the most influential artists of the nascent rock ‘n’ roll era — James Brown, Little Richard, and Ray Charles — hail from Georgia. My fellow Georgians include Otis Redding and Gladys Knight, Jessye Norman and Johnny Mercer, Widespread Panic and The Allman Brothers, Moe Tucker and Gram Parsons, Kelly Hogan and Chuck Leavell, Ray Stevens and Mac Davis. Some of the best producers live here, too, including Brendan O’Brien, Butch Walker, Jermaine Dupri, Dallas Austin, and L.A. Reid. The ATL is home to many rap and hip-hop artists, as well as Southern rockers (um, that’s a duh, isn’t it?). Country music is well-represented by Chet Atkins, Trisha Yearwood, Travis Tritt, and Alan Jackson. And Athens is a goldmine of great music — it even has its own Wikipedia page. Bob Mould and Matthew Sweet lived there for a while, and Camper van Beethoven/Cracker helmsman David Lowery lives there now.

And R.E.M. is an Athens band. But you knew that.

Let’s quit with the musical history lesson. It’s a holiday weekend. Everybody’s home for Thanksgiving, and I’m catching up with farflung friends who flew in. So we’re throwing down a Georgia dance party. You may not be familiar with some of these artists, as they’re local acts from our new-wave era. But give ‘em a listen. Introducing you to new artists is the goal of this weekly feature.

Take it away, B-52’s.

The B-52’s: Party out of Bounds

Gnarls Barkley: Gone Daddy Gone

The Producers: She Sheila

Guadalcanal Diary: Watusi Rodeo

Outkast: The Way You Move

Kanye West feat. Jamie Foxx: Gold Digger

The Basics: Sexual Object

Of Montreal: She’s a Rejecter

Brick: Dazz (Disco Jazz)

R.E.M.: White Tornado

Oh-OK: Lilting

The Method Actors: E-Y-E

Cee-Lo feat. Timbaland: I'll Be Around

Jermaine Dupri feat. Ludacris: Welcome to Atlanta

The Swimming Pool Q’s: Rat Bait

Butch Walker: Bethamphetamine (Pretty, Pretty)

Neutral Milk Hotel: Love You on a Tuesday

R.E.M.: Catapult

The Black Crowes: Jealous Again

Gregg Allman: I’m No Angel

Gram Parsons feat. Emmylou Harris: Ooh Las Vegas

Drive-by Truckers: Aftermath USA

Dixie Dregs: Take It off the Top

Elton John: Saturday Night's All Right for Fighting

The Woggles: People Come On

James Brown: Get up Offa That Thing

RuPaul: Supermodel (You Better Work)

Olivia Tremor Control: Love Athena

Pylon: Dub

Apples in Stereo: 7 Stars

Art in the Dark: Calling Everyone

Elf Power: Let the Serpent Sleep

Modern Skirts: Seventeen Dirty Magazines

Man or Astroman?: Italian Movie Theme (Pylon cover)

Magnapop: Cherry Bomb

R.E.M.: Ages of You

Usher feat. Li'l John + Ludacris: Yeah

Danger Mouse + Jemini: The Only One

Vic Chesnutt: The Night the Lights Went out in Georgia

Loving every song? Then give your right-click a rest by downloading the entire playlist.

Some of you may consider RuPaul a New Yorker, but he grew up here in Atlanta. One friend loves to recount the first time he saw RuPaul — in Piedmont Park, wearing a bridal gown and army boots. The best I ever saw him look was at the old Celebrity Club. He was dancing on the bar, wearing nothing but a loincloth — and was beautiful.

Elton John, Georgian? Yep. He has a two-story condo on Peachtree, at Jesus Junction, and spends a good bit of time here. Tower Records used to open early for him every Tuesday he was in town so he could get the latest releases, and I hear Neiman-Marcus opens up just for him, too.

I used to live in an apartment next to a beautiful but dumb model, who had an equally beautiful but dumb beau. The beau came over one day with a Rolling Stone, beaming and bragging that he was mentioned in the beginning of a Black Crowes article. Chris Robinson told a story about how he hated his pretentious high school (same high school the Beloved Ex attended) and classmates. Soon after The Black Crowes hit it big, he went to The Buckhead Diner (one of Elton’s favorite spots). He was making fun of the valet, who was in the popular clique at his high school, and was now gushing all over this now-rockstar he once ignored. The beau was that valet. He was so beautiful but so dumb, he was proud of the mockery.

I get a lot of Google hits from folks looking for Bruce Springsteen’s “I’m No Angel.” Maybe it’s because I grew up listening to both Bruce and Gregg, but I’ve never noticed the similarity in their voices.

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The Festival of Bookworms: The Cliff Notes Version

I hope you had a good holiday weekend. Chances are, unless you’re that wicca freak who won my lottery jackpot or you finally bedded that long-lusted love, my weekend was better than yours … because I spent my Saturday and Sunday at the second annual Decatur Book Festival.

The festival was better than I expected — and I had great expectations. Writers left and right. Shakespeare performed on the rotunda, poetry slams just steps away. Booths of books and small publishers and writers groups (and beer). Who wants to stay outside on a lovely day when you can go inside darkened halls and listen to authors talk and read their works? Not this wormish woman.

At any given afternoon moment, there were five readings or panels. Not quite a Sophie’s choice, but decisions such as whether to see Hollis Gillespie or Peter Case were tough — which was, in a way, rather thrilling because it meant there were a lot of great writers hanging in my ‘hood this weekend.

Here are the weekend highlights.

Wesley Stace

Maybe you’re unfamiliar with the name, but you may know of his alter-ego’ed John Wesley Harding, a helluva great musician. Stace’s second novel, By George, was just published. His grandfather was a ventriloquist in England during the middle twentieth century, and half the book is narrated by George, his grandfather’s dummy. Yes, Stace tracked it down, and George is touring with him.

Wesley Stace, on stage with George

I got tweener giggles as I walked into the room — Wesley Stace was chatting with Sherman Alexie as I walked by. They both smiled — probably because I had that “golly!” look on my face and kept sneaking peeks at them. I’m such a dork.

This was the first proper long reading of the book, and Stace did a great job with the reading. He was adorable — very British, very charming and witty. Oh, and he’s cute as hell — and he pronounces “papier-mâché” the British way (also the French way, I assume), which made my toes curl. He did a ventrilo-bit with George, which was fun since Stace has no skills in that area.

His John Wesley Harding self was scheduled to perform that evening, so I looked forward to a tale of two Wesleys.


Sherman Alexie

Alexie has been on my top-thirty shelf since I first read The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven in 1993, right after I started working at the bookstore. If you haven’t read him, you should. Maybe you saw the movie Smoke Signals, which was based on those stories.

The worst photo of Sherman Alexie … ever

Catching his appearance was at the top of my festival must list. And Sherman didn’t disappoint. He was personable and funny, alive when he read from his soon-to-be-released young adult novel, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-time Indian. This was his first public reading of the book (we got a lot of those this weekend), so he called his editor so we could all yell hello and took a photo of us.

I picked up a copy of his new book, Flight, earlier Saturday, and read it Sunday morning. Great book.

He took a lot of questions from the audience, sharing parts of himself such as he writes in his head 24/7 (just like I do!) and telling us how he found his poet’s soul in college. I walked out of the sanctuary smitten; two for two for the day.

I almost forgot*: As he was signing my copy of Flight, Sherman sang Kiss’ “Beth” to me. I’ve hated that song since it came out in 1976 … that is, I hated it until 6:12 p.m. Saturday.

*Do you really believe I almost forgot that tidbit?


Wordsmiths Books Panel: Blogging

I got to Wordsmiths a bit late, thanks to enjoying a burger and beer with Scrivener and Mike, but I saw the last fifteen minutes. Wish I’d made it in time; they were paneling about blogging.

I stole this from Baby Got Books; that’s Tim with the microphone.

Later that same evening …

I was excited about Wesley Stace as John Wesley Harding wowing me with his live music … but I ran into a former someone an hour before the show … who charmed me into a beer … which led to another beer … which, well, I had a lot of beer. And no John Wesley Harding ringing in my ears.

Sunday arrives. The simple plan was to hit the festival around noon, in time to see Edmund White, then Robert Olan Butler or Karen Abbott, but Alexie’s book kept me in the bed until I finished it around noon. Still had plenty of time to hit Klosterman. Hit the square an hour before he hit the stage, so I picked up an overpriced gyro and wandered the stalls, watched a bit of Shakespeare, bought even more books. And then I headed to the library, with ten minutes to spare.


Chuck Klosterman

Ten minutes, though, is too late for a Chuck Klosterman appearance. The room hit capacity, so we were led to an overflow room for a simulcast of the interview. Klosterman was thrilled — it was his first time being simulcast. Klosterman was interviewed by Paste magazine founder Josh Jackson (Paste’s HQ is a mile or so off the square).

Paste’s Josh Jackson interviewing Chuck Klosterman

I expected Klosterman to have a snarky, surly edge to him — but he wasn’t. He was funny and entertaining and excited to be talking. He talked about some of his better-known columns, including a good discussion on the Advanced Theory (that day’s example: R. Kelly’s “Trapped in the Closet” — Klosterman said the video of him urinating on that young girl is the least weird of the bunch).

I saw Josh Jackson after Hollis Gillespie’s appearance, so I stopped to tell him he did a great job with the interview; he thanked me and said it was a lot of fun. What I really wanted to do was grab him by the knees and beg for a job at Paste, even as a proofreader. And yet I behaved, shy Cup that I am.

Klosterman had so much fun, he said he wouldn’t mind going over the allotted time to take more questions — but, alas, there was a schedule to follow.

Oh: He has yet to watch an episode of Real World: Sydney.


Hollis Gillespie

Do I even need to write it? Hollis Gillespie was funny and loopy — and inspiring. She appeared with some other blonde writer from Atlanta for a Q&A, and she kept the room laughing. She’s as disorganized a writer as I am — but she puts forth a bit more effort than I do outside my cubicle.

Hollis Gillespie signs my book.

Hollis wants to be my best friend — she just doesn’t know it yet:



She gave us the scoop on her first two books being optioned for television: Mitch Hurwitz, who wrote for "Arrested Development," is heading the project, with Laura Dern in the lead role. They're now shopping it around.

And ... Ms. Gillespie's third book will be published next year.

As I said, Hollis inspired me. She offers a series of writing classes here in town, and I told her I planned to sign up for one this fall. Keep me to that promise, okay? And you can one day say “I read her when” after I’ve become the next NPR star.


Aaron Petrovich

I first heard Aaron Petrovich read at Brooklyn Comes to Decatur, part of a writer’s conference held here in February. His novella is pure dialog — two men talking — and he performed a part of it then and on Sunday. And “performed” is meant here more than anywhere else on this page. It was more theater than reading. He’s captivating, and I’m now a fan. I didn’t take a photo of Aaron Petrovich because I didn’t want to distract him from his reading/performance. Too bad, because he’s damn cute. And that voice — *swoon*.

Petrovich is associate editor at Akashic Books, and I stopped by their booth earlier in the day. He recommended another book from the imprint … and I got to hear him speak. Nothing better than a handsome man with a sexy voice.


Later that same evening …

I was excited about finally seeing Peter Case perform — and meeting Intravenus de Milo’s Tony Alva — but the tug of the books was too strong. I opted for bed and a book; specifically, Wesley Stace’s By George.



Yep. I picked books over music.

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A Groupie’s Dream Weekend

For most of you, this Labor Day weekend will revolve around barbecues and boats and benders.

Not for me.

I’m spending the weekend hanging out in my neighborhood.



Writers both brilliant and banal will be at the Decatur Book Festival for readings, panel discussions, book signings — and to thrill my little bookwormed heart. Baby Got Books also has info on the weekend’s events.

If you love to read, why haven’t you visited Baby Got Books? The Tim formerly known as DJ Cayenne and the rest of his gang keep me up to date on the latest literary news — and their book reviews are quite good.

Here’s the schedule, with the wheres and whens. Map out your must-stops, and let’s plan a meet-up. I’ll have my cell for tracking purposes, if you have my digits.

Where can you find me?

Friday
8:00 p.m.: Kinky Friedman


Saturday
4:15 p.m.: Wesley Stace
5:30 p.m.: Sherman Alexie
7:00 p.m.: Wordsmiths Books panel* — with Baby Got Books’ Tim
8:00 p.m.: John Wesley Harding

*Not affiliated with the Decatur Book Festival, but it's happening in Decatur just around the corner from the bookish festivities.


Sunday
12:00 p.m.: Edmund White
1:00 p.m.: Hollis Gillespie and Roy Blount Jr. signings
1:15 p.m.: Karen Abbott or Robert Olen Butler
2:30 p.m.: Chuck Klosterman
3:45 p.m.: Hollis Gillespie or Peter Case
5:00 p.m.: Chuck Rosenthal + Aaron Petrovich
8:00 p.m.: Peter Case

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