Kate's Queen City Notes

Blundering through Cincinnati, laughing all the way


by Leave a comment

In My Block

I have struggled to keep shooting. For a myriad of reasons, my inner critic is particularly ruthless with any visual artistic work. So, with every design, illustration and photo comes abuse; no human has ever been as cruel to me as my inner critic. The difference between what I intend to capture vs what actually turns out is vast, and I am continually disgusted with myself. My inner critic uses lots of phrases that start with “I should…”.

I have grace with myself in writing. I know I am still learning, and I accept my poor editing abilities. I have grace with myself in playing guitar. When I make a mess of a tune my first thought is what steps I will take to improve, rather than “I should be able to play this.” That self talk with “I should”, it’s not useful. Who cares what should be? What “is” is all that matters.

I’m working to shush my inner critic. As part of that I decided to walk around my block and shoot. Sure, while taking and editing these pictures I was shouting down my inner critic with, “RESPECT THE JOURNEY!!!!”, more often than not. Here’s the results.

I am a crazy cat lady. You will suffer my furry friends.

I am a crazy cat lady. You will suffer my furry friends. Also, look at him. He’s adorable.

The letters ALLRIGHT stained on concrete

ALLRIGHT… ALL

Urban Scenes

Paint rusting off

Everything changes.

A picture of a no trespassing sign on the ground

No man shall pass

Black and white photo of old granite foundation.

Beauty in all things.

Ghost sign on McFarland Street.

Ghost sign on McFarland Street.

The side of a brick building with some numbers written on it.

Put to order left to time.

Fire department water spigot with a patina

Antique twitter.

A picture of the exterior of a building on Plum Street with the year 1905 impressed in the decorative brick work.

So much struggle was on the horizon.


by Leave a comment

100 Books by 40: DOUBLE ACT

Book: Double Act
Author: Jacqueline Wilson
Published: 1995

Sometimes people need to grow apart. That is difficult as an adult, but the twin children in this book are emotionally unequipped for this reality. Shit, I am emotionally unepuipped for this situation, and I am approaching forty.

The twins have some other obstacles in their path, like losing their mother and their dad’s subsequent second marriage. For a book aimed at chidren aged nine to thirteen, I think it does an adequate job of managing the big emotions inherent in the plot. The twins’ perspective of adult decisions resonates.

But I see no reason for an emotionally intact adult to read this book. It’s not particularly imaginative the way that Roald Dahl’s books are. It’s a short inoffensive read, but in a life of limited time and unlimited books to read this one doesn’t make my cut.


by 2 Comments

The Night OTR Exploded Local Music

The Woodward and MOTR were booked with great bands on Saturday. They staggered the set times such that listeners could take a couple strolls across the street and catch all the bands with ease. Local bands the Yugos and The Harlequins were booked at The Woodward, and with tickets at 5 bucks a great value. The Ready Stance and The Locals, ironically the only band that isn’t local to Cincinnati, played MOTR Pub. MOTR is always free. Net, for 5 bucks you could get 4 hours of indie rock goodness.

All the bands sounded great, but the primal energy of The Harlequins popped out for me. I stumbled upon Iggy Pop’s “Lust for Life” on Sunday; it struck me that The Harlequins energy reminds me of Iggy. I also enjoyed their approach to audience participation. In preparation for their last song, they inquired fast or slow, fast or slow. This simple decision was in harmony with the band’s raw sound and understated stage presence. I loved it.

The Yugos on stage at The Woodward Theater

The Yugos filling The Woodward with their atmospheric rock goodness.

The Yugos performing at The Woodward Theater

The Yugos and, apparently, specks of dust. It’s probably historic dust from The Woodward.

The Yugos on stage at The Woodward Theater.

The Yugos on stage at The Woodward Theater.

The Ready Stance performing at MOTR

The Ready Stance at MOTR

The Harlequins on stage at The Woodward Theater

The Harlequins on stage at The Woodward Theater

The Harlequins on stage at The Woodward Theater

The Harlequins delivering a rock and roll punch in the gut.

The Harlequins playing The Woodward Theater

The Harlequins on stage at The Woodward Theater

The Locals playing at MOTR Pub

The Locals are tearing up MOTR.


by 1 Comment

Sidewalk Chalk and Eclipse Movement Make White People Dance Afool at The Woodward

All horns all the time, that’s what I want in many live music situations. Sidewalk Chalk and Eclipse Movement nail that requirement. If there’s rapping that isn’t disparaging to women, that’s also a big plus.

I like hip hop. I like the beats. I like rapping. I don’t mind trite lyrics. But as a bearer of lady parts, I can’t put my dollars into something that’s disparaging to women. Sidewalk Chalk’s and Eclipse Movement’s cerebral, positive lyrics are an oasis in a desert of lady objectification.

Eclipse Movement performing at The Woodward Theater

Eclipse Movement driving the beats.

Eclipse Movement opened for Sidewalk Chalk at The Woodward Theater. I haven’t seen them play in a year and a half; I was overdue to check in with them. The musicians in this band are highly skilled. It shows in the face-melting guitar solo that closed out the last song of their set. It shows in their dynamic and textural range. They tore into quoting “Immigrant Song”; it was a shockingly perfect interlude.

Eclipse Movement performing at The Woodward Theater

There’s a keytar. That equals immediate awesome.

Eclipse Movement performing at The Woodward Theater

Eclipse Movement was an excellent opener for Sidewalk Chalk.

Eclipse Movement performing at The Woodward Theater

Who doesn’t like horns? And carpets.

Sidewalk Chalk regularly brings huge energy to their shows, but last night was exceptional as I had a bird’s eye view of the crowd.  Beardy white men clad in ugly sweaters shook what God gave them in each and every awkward way possible; they did so with such enthusiasm and joy that permanent grinning was the only possible response. When Sidewalk Chalk finished off “Us, Them” chanting that we must better love each other, the crowd gleefully joined. It was a joyous 60 minutes that I will cherish.

Sidewalk Chalk perfomring at the Woodward Theater

Get ready!

Sidewalk Chalk performing

There might have been some hands in the air.

Sidewalk Chalk performing at The Woodward Theater

The plane! The plane!

Sidewalk Chalk horns at full tilt!

Sidewalk Chalk horns at full tilt!

Can I take a moment to enthuse about The Woodward? The Woodward Theater is nailing it’s infancy. At 4 months old, they have stellar bookings coming up. Cloud Nothings and Will Butler (member of Arcade Fire) booked as part of the Music Now Festival. The Church, a band with one of my favorite early 90’s hits “Under The Milky Way”, will come all the way from Australia to play in humble Cincinnati. The Antlers were just announced for this May. Rubblebucket, one of the bands I missed at MPMF2014 due to the venue being at capacity is coming up in April. Tonight, while the Woodward hosts The Harlequins and The Yugos, a mere 20 paces away, MOTR will host The Ready Stance and The Locals. All these shows are under twenty bucks, and in a venue where there’s a view of the stage nearly everywhere. Oh, and I can walk to it from my house. Basically, this is perfect.


by Leave a comment

“So This Is The New Year”

“And I don’t feel any different.” Those words adequately express how I feel about closing out 2014 and opening 2015. Most years I would have said that knowing that I failed to make progress on the things that really mattered. But this year these words take on a different meaning. I have spent my time in ways that I aspired to. Now I approach those words looking forward to more of the same in 2015. Thank you Death Cab for Cutie for your words; words morph in their significance as time passes.

I worked my first two photography gigs this year. I brewed my first two batches of beer. I am on the last twenty books of the BBC’s 100 best books list. I forecasted to achieve that goal by 40; I am tucking this one in early before I turn 39.

I started refreshing my web development skills so I can migrate my blog to my own custom site. That probably won’t happen until late in 2015, but I am laying the ground work to make the transition pretty easy. JavaScript’s applications have changed in ways that were difficult to foresee in 1998.

And I’ve been writing. I just missed the deadline to join NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) this year, but I will be ready next year. I can’t explain why I like writing. My experiences aren’t remarkable. And often my perspective isn’t novel. And yet, I like writing. It’s exhilarating when words surge out from the empty space between my ears.

Is this what 40 is about? A clear vision of desires paired with honed execution skills makes a potent cocktail. If this is what my 40’s are ushering in, I will take it.


by Leave a comment

Christmas Jazz

I have a love/hate relationship with The Comet. I love that they are a music venue. I hate that the volume takes a year off my ability to hear without mechanized assistance. I love their reasonably priced burritos, quirky jukebox, and excellent beer selection. I hated that all of their bartenders were arrogant and surly. The Comet has been the setting of most of my poor bartender interactions.

To be fair, the bar staff has been considerably nicer in recent years. Unfortunately, this transformation occurred after I moved out of Northside. The surly service is what kept me from being a regular.

I went there for Christmas Jazz. The Steve Schmidt Organ Trio is played jazzy Christmas tunes. If you were ever wondering what a 10 minute “Frosty the Snowman” sounds like, you should attend this event next year.
image
I don’t like Christmas music. Many Decembers have passed where I have listened to Dean Martin’s “Baby it’s Cold Outside” a mind-numbing 759 times each shift at Starbucks. Often there would be a screaming child across the counter, in the arms of an oblivious parent who can’t figure out what to order despite 20 minutes waiting in line. Who knew the line would end like that? The people in line behind this person are giving me the stink-eye as I am describing all of our herbal teas. Baby, it’s cold outside and inside my soul.

Improvised organ solos drowns out all of my retail Christmas nightmares. I experience Christmas music as something new. Steve Schmidt has made me enjoy Christmas music. Next year, go, even if you’re a grinch.


by Leave a comment

100 Books by 40: THE RAGGED TROUSERED PHILANTHROPISTS

Book: The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists
Author: Robert Tressell
Published: 1955

The past comments on our present.

It may be objected that, considering the number of books dealing with these subjects already existing, such a work as this was uncalled for. The answer is that not only are the majority of people opposed to Socialism, but a very brief conversation with an average anti-socialist is sufficient to show that he does not know what Socialism means. – Robert Tressell, The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists

I worked at Starbucks in the late 90’s. Memorable patrons abounded; I served as caffeine bartender to many jittery addicts. I continue to count myself among them. Socialist Rick was among a colorful list that included Iced Venti Americano Rick and Double Tall Latte Patti.
Rick came in most afternoons and stayed for an hour or two. He was polite, and his drip coffee couldn’t have been easier to prepare. Unlike Grande 2 pump Sugar Free Vanilla Skim Extra Hot Latte Hair Plugs for Men, his drink never seemed to be right. It was always one of the following: too hot, not hot enough, not enough vanilla, too much vanilla, or was more generally bad. He would bark this at me after having flung the lid off his 220 degree latte and taken two impossibly huge gulps of it. It’s a wonder the interior of his mouth had sensations at all given that it must be dead scar tissue in there. After bad drink number 50, I started keeping his drink behind the bar and offered him a baristas choice on his first go. I was vaguely gratified when one morning my choice happened to be a cast off Americano. Those are blistering hot due to the fact that they are comprised of espresso shots and 280 degree filtered water. His eyes watered just a bit when he took his pulls. I wasn’t sorry. He returned his drink less often after that.

In comparison, Rick was an easy customer. Overbearing isn’t an accurate word to describe Rick. My coworkers, already familiar with him, warned me of his fringe beliefs. But a coherent picture of Rick’s views didn’t develop until I had poured him at least thirty cups of coffee across weeks. My coworkers’ warnings looked to be unwarranted, as Rick wasn’t over-eager to discuss his views, but he certainly wouldn’t hold back should discussion wander into economics or politics.

Hindsight demonstrates that I was responding to Rick with indoctrination from history class and our capitalist culture. Going to a conservative Christian school, we were told ghoulish stories of all the martyrs sacrificed to the steely god of socialism. Innocent Russian boys and girls were thrown into the gaping maw of atheism only to be rended limb from limb by satan in the afterlife. (I realize that The USSR was a communist country, but communism and socialist were both painted with the same sloppy brush, so I didn’t perceive a difference between the two.) You should think I use hyperbole, but I don’t. I was raised to be terrified of socialism.

Terrified, I was. When my coworkers told me that Rick was a socialist; they might as well said that we molested children. I coolly responded to Rick’s polite small talk. You can’t let your gaurd down when something so sinister approaches.

Across weeks of interaction, I started to relax. Rick was pleasant. He treated us like people. For those that haven’t worked in the service industry, it’s not uncommon for people to bark orders at you and wholly ignore you otherwise. The most common response to good morning or how are you was GRANDE LOW FAT LATTE with no eye contact or any other non-verbal acknowledgement. This was the case prior to smart phones. I can only imagine that this behavior grows more frequent with each passing day.

This is when the cognative dissonance started. Rick was pleasant and warm. Our interactions only occasionally touched on politics or economics, but when they did he said reasonable things. How can a socialist be kind and say sensible things while simultaneously being Satan’s child molester in chief? HOW?

I opted for the intellectually lazy path forward. I put Rick in the crazy box in my head, and responded to him as such regardless of his kind behavior and reasonable criticisms of the capitalist system. Occasionally, he would say something that would break out of the crazy box. But my discomfort at questioning my indoctrination, caused me to quickly push this away.

I have regrets. I regret that I closed myself off to Rick. Mostly because in the intervening decade I have become disillusioned with the glories of capitalism. I have come to believe that an egalitarian society needs labor to be valued more than capital. And it’s mystifying that of the seventy bucks that are spent on GAP jeans only pennies go to the Vietnamese laborers who made them. WHERE THE HELL DOES THE OTHER $69.96 GO? And more importantly, why does this arrangement make sense?

The Ragged Trousered Philantropists is a socialism text book masquerading as a novel. Typically I am annoyed with this dress-up game, but I appreciate that this book provided the most thorough argument for socialism I have ever read. I bet my indoctrination regarding socialism is representative of most Americans’ indoctrination, mostly lies sprinkled with threats of ruthless dictators. Which is to say that Americans don’t actually know what socialism is. The way the word was bandied about in the last presidential election cycle supports my point.

At other times the meeting resolved itself into a number of quarrelsome disputes between the Liberals and Tories that formed the crowd, which split itself up into a lot of little groups and whatever the original subject might have been they soon drifted to a hundred other things, for most of the supporters of the present system semed incapable of pursuing any one subject to its logical conclusion. A discussion would be started about something or other; presently an unimportant side issue would crop up, then the original subject would be left unfinished, and they would argue and shout about the side issue. In a little while another side issue would arise, and then the first side issue would be abandoned also unfinished, and an angry wrangle about the second issue would ensue, the original subject being altogether forgotten.

They did not seem to really desire to discover the truth or to find out the best way to bring about and improvement in their condition, their only object seemed to me to score off their opponents. – Robert Tressell, The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists

I won’t be waving the socialist flag just yet. But this book was excellent. There are valid criticisms of how we choose to organize ourselves economically. And if the data is right, and we are headed into another guilded age, shit is only starting to hit the fan.

Here’s where I am in my list.
Reading Now
78. Ulysses, James Joyce
79. Bleak House, Charles Dickens

Books that have been read
1. The Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien
2. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen
3. His Dark Materials, Philip Pullman
4. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams
5. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, JK Rowling
6. To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee
7. Winnie the Pooh, AA Milne
8. Nineteen Eighty-Four, George Orwell
9. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, CS Lewis
10. Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë
11. Catch-22, Joseph Heller
12. Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë
13. Birdsong, Sebastian Faulks
14. Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier
15. The Catcher in the Rye, JD Salinger
16. The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame
17. Great Expectations, Charles Dickens
18. Little Women, Louisa May Alcott
19. Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, Louis de Bernieres
20. War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy
21. Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell
22. Harry Potter And The Philosopher’s Stone, JK Rowling
23. Harry Potter And The Chamber Of Secrets, JK Rowling
24. Harry Potter And The Prisoner Of Azkaban, JK Rowling
25. The Hobbit, JRR Tolkien
26. Tess Of The D’Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy
27. Middlemarch, George Eliot
28. A Prayer For Owen Meany, John Irving
29. The Grapes Of Wrath, John Steinbeck
30. Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland, Lewis Carroll
31. The Story Of Tracy Beaker, Jacqueline Wilson
32. One Hundred Years Of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez
33. The Pillars Of The Earth, Ken Follett
34. David Copperfield, Charles Dickens
35. Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, Roald Dahl
36. Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson
37. A Town Like Alice, Nevil Shute
38. Persuasion, Jane Austen
39. Dune, Frank Herbert
40. Emma, Jane Austen
41. Anne Of Green Gables, LM Montgomery
42. Watership Down, Richard Adams
43. The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald
44. The Count Of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas
45. Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh
46. Animal Farm, George Orwell
47. A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens
48. Far From The Madding Crowd, Thomas Hardy
49. Goodnight Mister Tom, Michelle Magorian
50. The Shell Seekers, Rosamunde Pilcher
51. The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett
52. Of Mice And Men, John Steinbeck
53. The Stand, Stephen King
54. Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy
55. A Suitable Boy, Vikram Seth
56. The BFG, Roald Dahl
57. Swallows And Amazons, Arthur Ransome
58. Black Beauty, Anna Sewell
59. Artemis Fowl, Eoin Colfer
60. Crime And Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
61. Noughts And Crosses, Malorie Blackman
62. Memoirs Of A Geisha, Arthur Golden
63. A Tale Of Two Cities, Charles Dickens *I read this when I was too young to appreciate it; I would like to read it again as an adult. I will do so if I have time.
64. The Thorn Birds, Colleen McCollough
65. Mort, Terry Pratchett
66. The Magic Faraway Tree, Enid Blyton
67. The Magus, John Fowles
69. Guards! Guards!, Terry Pratchett
70. Lord Of The Flies, William Golding *I’ve read this twice. I will read it again if I have time.
71. Perfume, Patrick Süskind
72. The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, Robert Tressell
74. Matilda, Roald Dahl
76. The Secret History, Donna Tartt
77. The Woman In White, Wilkie Collins
87. Brave New World, Aldous Huxley
90. On The Road, Jack Kerouac *I’ve read this twice. I will read it again if I have time. I have the unabriged unedited version and will probably take on that if time allows.

Pending reading:
68. Good Omens, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman
73. Night Watch, Terry Pratchett
75. Bridget Jones’s Diary, Helen Fielding
80. Double Act, Jacqueline Wilson
81. The Twits, Roald Dahl
82. I Capture The Castle, Dodie Smith
83. Holes, Louis Sachar
84. Gormenghast, Mervyn Peake
85. The God Of Small Things, Arundhati Roy
86. Vicky Angel, Jacqueline Wilson
88. Cold Comfort Farm, Stella Gibbons
89. Magician, Raymond E Feist
91. The Godfather, Mario Puzo
92. The Clan Of The Cave Bear, Jean M Auel
93. The Colour Of Magic, Terry Pratchett
94. The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho
95. Katherine, Anya Seton
96. Kane And Abel, Jeffrey Archer
97. Love In The Time Of Cholera, Gabriel García Márquez
98. Girls In Love, Jacqueline Wilson
99. The Princess Diaries, Meg Cabot
100. Midnight’s Children, Salman Rushdie


by Leave a comment

100 Book by 40: SECRET HISTORY

Book: Secret History
Author: Donna Tartt
Published: 1992

I started Ulysses and Bleak House this week. I missed this in high school and college. I’m sure I missed it in high school because the content was too scandalous for my conservative Christian high school. I probably missed it in college due to the fact that my only literature credits came in the form of Ancient Greek Lit. In retrospect this seems like time poorly spent, as I recall virtually nothing from The Iliad or The Odyssey.

Secret History would have been a page-turner regardless of my alternate reading option being a bit difficult. I hesitate to call it a murder mystery, because the book tells you all from the outset. If there’s a mystery it’s about laying out the context for a motive.

But it does this so expertly. I am fascinated with the characters, and buzzed through the five hundred plus pages to understand what drove them. The narrator, a California native trying to make sense of affluent New England cultural norms let me ride on his shoulder. His voice as outsider there, let me naturally assume his observations.

My acceptance of the narrator drove my curiosity. I related to him. I found myself accepting his rationalizations for his actions. And that’s the power of this book. Not only did I feel bad for the obscenely wealthy murderers, but I grew convinced that they took the only path open to them.

This book was super. Read it. Prepare to creep yourself out.