Poptarticus

Shannon’s Super Sexy Blog. Music. Travel. Randomness. And a Lot of Wine.

Tales from a Stinky Land

You know how it is when you are watching the news and there is bad weather somewhere and there are people stranded at the airport and you are like, thank god that isn’t me?

Today it IS me. Stuck in fucking HOUSTON of all places. Everyone knows how much I love it here.

I’ve been working here at few days at the Texas Wine and Grapegrowers conference, and today I was oh, so ready to get home. I was so ready I showed up for my flight five hours early, hoping to stand by on something earlier. And yes, I called; I called yesterday and they said it would be no problem to stand by, through Dallas and on to San Diego. An hour before I left for the airport, I called and they said the flights were now full, but I wanted to get the fuck out of dodge so bad I decided to go to the airport and pray.

So I got to the airport and what did I see? A long string of CANCELLED all the way down the board. I got a really yicky feeling in my stomach. The line was already long. I started asking people how long it would take to drive to Santa Fe, New Mexico. (Too long.)

So there we are all in the Houston airport, all pretty much screwed, with a non-moving line. The thought of staying the night, much less two or three, was making me feel queasy. A woman came around with little squares of paper with a phone number to CALL American while we were in line. So I called, and the wait was twenty-two minutes, but a super cool guy behind me got through before I did (he was on the phone to them way before that lady started passing out the phone numbers) and he let me talk to the agent after he was done.

The agent was like, well, can you fly from Hobby Airport? And I was like, I’ll do whatever you want, just get me out of here. And she told me she had ONE seat on Monday.

“NO.” I told her. “I ABSOLUTELY cannot wait until Monday, I have to get out TOMORROW.” I wasn’t mean, or bitchy, but there must be something resembling angst or desperation in my voice because she put me on hold for a really long time and then came back and told me she got me on a non-stop on Continental, first thing tomorrow.

Here the poor guy who lent me his phone had to wait around for me for like twenty minutes. As I was thanking him profusely, practically offering sex (no not really but you get the idea) he said “we’re all in the same boat” and walked away.

If I would have arrived later, I would have been screwed. Well actually, I probably would be DRIVING home right now. I am telling you, I would not spend another day here. I wouldn’t.

So I am here at the Hilton Garden Inn where the airport van is bringing another ten stranded passengers every fifteen minutes. I can’t believe I am getting out tomorrow.

Well I gotta go, because all these people are walking by looking meaningfully at this computer. Tomorrow, I will write about some of the crazy shit that was going through my head about an hour ago as I sipped from a crappy glass of pinot grigio on a barren strip of land with nothing, and I mean nothing, on it except for a bunch of boring airport hotels on it.

It could be worse, but it could be better. How come I never get stranded in Paris?

The Countdown

Two weeks to go ’till Neon Bible comes out, and I can hardly sit still. ARCADE FIRE, dudes. Remember?

Call this number NOW: 1-866-NEON-BIBLE. My god, could they be any cooler?

NPR has a live Arcade Fire show up – check it out. And this song gives me chills:

As for me. I am seeing Arcade Fire next month – IN BERLIN. I love that all the best bands sing in English. It’s definitely a plus for me. Plus I can ask the bartender for Rot Wein. Whoo hoo!

Voros Bor, Por Favor

The other night, I was in the Vine and started talking to one of the other regulars about my upcoming trip to Berlin.

“Know any German yet?” He asked.

“Entshuldigung Zie! Bitte! Guten Tag! Weiss Wine! Rot Wein! Uh… uh….” I tried to remember something else. How are you… how are you… vie… vie… “uh… uh…”

“Rot Wein. That’s a good one to know.” Whew.

It is a good one to know, and I have been meaning to put together this list for some time. It’s a work in progress, so feel free to comment if you have anything to add. I, for one, am dying to know how to say red wine in Polish, just in case.

HOW TO SAY RED WINE IN MANY LANGUAGES.

rot wein – German
vino rosso – Italian
vino tinto – Spanish
vin rouge – French
voros bor – Magyar (Hungarian)
sheraaz – Australian
rode wijn – Dutch
rodvin – Danish
vinho tinto – Portuguese
czerwony wino – Polish (Thanks Angie!)

As for any more, uh… uh….

Put Yourself in My Shoes

I think I can count the things I love on one hand. Well, maybe two hands if I really think about it. Once thinking, you’ve got to think about things in terms of; do I really and truly love something, or do I just like it? Because those are two completely different things. It’s a the difference between merely living, and orgasm. Or even, between living and something better than orgasm. If that makes any sense.

Observe, then, a moment that completely and totally slays me – a moment so perfect, so atmospheric, so Totally Killer, that I can’t really imagine anywhere else I would rather be.

Imagine you are me for a minute, if you can. In a big, dark cavern, with a musty, wet smell, full of the most incredible anticipation, surrounded by like-minded people. About to touch, briefly, something you listen to and think about and even dream about for months beforehand. Close your eyes, and imagine you are me, in this dark spot, practically falling over with happiness.

It makes you want a little more, doesn’t it? It’s a bit of a harsh reality at the end there, isn’t it? But thankfully, there is more. THERE IS MORE!

Pretty fucking awesome, I must say. My current obsession with The Shins won’t be over anytime soon.

Give Me Back My SOS

Well, I’m back, and ready to start boring you all again with my too frequent music posts.

I guess, to be totally honest, I am not sure how I feel about this. Actually I am pretty sure it kind of freaks me out.

Yeah, they rock it, even though the crowd in front doesn’t really seem to give two shits. And now, the Police have announced they’ll tour. The Police! Who hate each other! I always figured that when the Police gave in and forgave each other, I’d have to hang it all up.

I guess I am just being unrealistic, also selfish. I also hated the fact that Prince was on the Super Bowl, but then I loved his show. I think I mostly hated that stupid ad. Even though I hated the ad and the fact that Prince was on the Super Bowl, I still couldn’t wait to watch his performance. Does that mean I will have to go to one of the Police shows? God, I hope not.

There are some things that are sacred and shouldn’t be dredged up after over twenty years. Like, 1984. Though I have to admit that I was totally thrilled, during the freeking Super Bowl Halftime Show of all places, to hear those first seconds of 1999 (which actually came out in, what, 1982?) I think I am mostly horrified to think I will be one of those aging yuppifieds that will go to this show and be all happy and start screaming “sending out an SOS” over and over when they play “Message in a Bottle.” I am terrified of getting old. But I AM old. Also, GETTING OLDER.

I guess it could be worse. I guess I could have been into a band like, I dunno, someone who is currently tearing it up at some random casino in the middle of nowhere. Instead I am horrified that I might spend several hundred dollars to see a band that I used to love but now sort of hate because they stopped hating each other. Also, the thought of Sting practicing his Tantric love shit on a new wave of groupies just makes me want to hurl.

Oh well. At least, to date, The Clash remains sacred.

Home

Is where the heart is.

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More later.

What Would Anthony Bourdain Do?

Still on the road, and I ask this question like, ten times a day. When confronted with a problem or situation, or a crappy hotel room, I ask myself, what would Anthony Bourdain do?

I read this interview with Rex Pickett, the guy who wrote “Sideways,” where he said he didn’t want to do some TV show qwhere he would be an “Anthony Bourdain type.” Dude, even if someone injected you with cool syrum, I don’t think you stand a chance. Actually if there is one person who could never be anything like Anthony Bourdain, it would be Rex Pickett.

Anyway. I am almost home, sorry about non-posting in the last few weeks but it is troublesome from where I currently reside (nowhere for very long.) In the meantime, here is the Shins new video, from their new record Wincing the Night Away. It is awesome.

Home Saturday! Yippee!

On the Road Again

Yes, I am alive. Just on the road… one week down and three weeks to go. I’ve listened to Anthony Bourdain read “A Cook’s Tour” (twice) and driven over the Golden Gate Bridge (twice) listening to Spoon’s “A Mathematical Mind” (both times.) For the past few days I have been taking care of my 15 month old nephew Ryan. Kind of. Actually I have been helping my mom take care of my nephew. I have learned that it is virtually impossible to watch a fifteen month old by yourself. Not impossible, I guess, because people do it all the time. Maybe the right word is exhausting. I don’t know how people do it. As a single, childless person, I can do whatever I want. If I wake up with a hangover and decide to lay on the couch all day, I can do it. If you have a kid, that’s just not a possibility. I already had a lot of respect for the job of a parent. Now I have a sort of awe going on. How on earth do you do it with more than one? Also, if I was a parent I think I would be constantly worried that the kid was going to choke on something or fall off the slide at the park or somersault themselves into a head injury.

Tonight is our last night. I have a sort of empty feeling in there somewhere, along with the borderline exhaustion and emerging homesickness. I did learn a new skill – changing a diaper without puking. I have never changed a diaper before now, and I am forty-one years old.

It’s been a dream of mine to have no home, and to just travel around and blog about it. But I am not so sure I am really cut out for that anymore. Could be age, could be that I really love where I live and don’t want to leave for too long. Like being gone a month is… hard. Even with constant movement, with seeing all my old friends up here in the Bay Area.

So. Onward. I wish I had time to write what I wanted to write about the Golden Gate Bridge, I wish I had time to write about my now almost overpowering desire that I could not only meet Anthony Bourdain, but that I could BE Anthony Bourdain. About Top Chef: everyone knows what a mess this season is, and how it should be about the food (but not Kraft or Nestle) and not about these weird, petty squabbles. It’s just getting really old now.

I’m off to Sacramento tomorrow for the Unified Grape Symposium, one of the only trade shows I like working. I’ll try to write more after. Also, I had to turn off comments because I was getting spammed pretty bad, so go ahead, authenticate yourself. You know you want to.

Boy from the Hood

I almost forgot.

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Lest you think I have given up on Top Chef, you’d be mistaken. How could I with bizarre head ensembles such as this? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA….

Marlena’s Daughters and Energy’s Son

Isn’t it weird when you meet people and it feels like you have known them forever?

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This is Kasch and her daughter Antonia, my brother Tom’s new family from Berlin. I haven’t written too much about this because I wanted to make sure it was cool with them first. Basically, Tom met Kasch when he was on tour in Germany last summer, and now he is moving there!

Kasch and Antonia were here for a little over two weeks and now that they are gone there is a void. When my brother moves, there will be an even bigger void. Thankfully I myself am going to Berlin for two weeks in March, otherwise I would be hella bummed. I am sort of fantasizing about moving there myself, but of course I won’t. I don’t think. The problem is, I am an urban girl living in a beach town. I love my beach town, but I really get off on subways and outdoor cafes on big boulevards and bridges with statues on them and stuff. Though if I lived in a big city I would probably be fantasizing about sunsets and the smell of the sea and fried clams. Was it Hemingway that said, write about the summer in the winter, and the winter in the summer? That is the way I think, all the time. If you get my drift.

Anyway, I love Tom’s new family. They are both beautiful and, well, the epitome of cool. Kasch is already Cool Beyond Words and Antonia is The Coolest Chick In Town Waiting to Happen. For now though she is a Cool Little Girl. She loves, LOVES, my nephew Ryan. Here she is with Ryan and Ryan’s mama Carrie:

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Speaking of Cool Little Girl Antonia last night was pretty funny. She hasn’t been speaking much to me since I can’t understand German, though I think she understands quite a bit of English. But last night, I went to Tom’s for dinner with Kasch and Antonia, Scottie Blinn (from the Mudsharks) and his wife Roxanne and kid Little Man Jackson. After dinner, the four other adults wanted to go down to Tony’s bar so I stayed with the kids. Little Man Jackson is basically a meteor trapped in a child’s body, and spent the first twenty minutes carreening off couches and walls like a pinball. It was some pretty intense energy expenditure, let me tell you. Antonia and I wanted to play Uno with the Hello Kitty Uno cards I got her for Christmas, so we kept asking Jackson but he was like, “no way, I ain’t playing with no Hello Kitty cards!” (Good boy, Scott would later say.) I finally talked him into it because you can’t play Uno with only two people so I was kind of desperate. Anyhow, I was like, “Jackson, you are CRAZY.”

Then, out of nowhere, Antonia says, completely deadpan, “Crazy Boy.” Then she proceeds to play Uno with us, SPEAKING ENGLISH THE WHOLE TIME. I was blown away, she just turned 10 but obviously has a mind like a steel trap.

Jackson continued cracking us both up, saying stuff like “I’m the weirdest!” and doing break-dancing moves on the floor when his energy got to be too much. Later, when his dad mentioned my blog Poptarticus, Jackson exclaimed “I’LL HAVE A BLOG TOO, AND I’M GONNA CALL IT FARTICUS!” Dude. I almost fell down laughing.

Antonia and Jackson got sick of Uno after three hands and started instant messaging each other on their little handheld Nintendos, drawing each other pictures and teaching each other words from their languages. It was really cool.

Kids. What a trip. FARTICUS. Too much. I wish I was that creative.