...had to share this nifty project: The Art of the Mix on Weekend America. Be sure to listen to the audio file of the excerpt from the show. Basically, 12 strangers became part of a mix cd club, with the only requirement being to make one mix cd, decorate the cover, and mail 11 copies out to the other club members. New clubs are forming--the email link is at the end of the article. I love the idea of how we form opinions of one another, sometimes surprisingly accurate opinions, based on our musical tastes. It is often a window into someone's deeper inclinations (or not so deep... or possibly even embarrassing...). Conversely, we often latch on to the similarities in another's musical taste, often making assumptions that are mere projections of our own reasons for enjoying the sound/lyrics, without necessarily understanding the other person at all.
Anyway, I love the idea of inflicting my musical leanings on 11 poor souls in return for a crapload of hopefully new music...
(by the way, the title's from "Kate" by Ben Folds Five... but you knew that already, didn't you?)
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Guess what I did at the county fair? Go on, take a wild guess! Oh, of course I saw the typical trashy fare of the fair... one girl with incredibly good legs wearing hot pants and stilettos caught my eye, but hey, who am I to judge? Why not wear six inch heels on the tilt-a-whirl? Your business, honey, not mine. Still haven't guessed, have you...
Well, let's just say I was facing a demon and the demon won.
Some back story: Long ago, as little hapless girls in pigtails and windbreakers, my sister and I went to a fair to support the rebuilding of an insane asylum. Yep, you read that correctly. The original building was not much more than a shell of wooden floors and crumbling brick and was basically destroyed in a devastating fire. So, what better tribute to this scene of tragedy than to host a fair on the very grounds, with all proceeds going to the reconstruction? Great idea. I received my first roach clip and wore it as a barrette (!)for years... it was trimmed with suede strings,beads, and grey feathers. I don't think my parents realized what it was for, or at least I hope they didn't, since I wore the thing to elementary school on at least one occasion. Anyway, we decided to ride the Zipper ride that was there for all to see, a hilarious good time of careening back and forth, round and round, over and over...
apparently full fledged, stomach churning merriment for a mere ticket or two.We gladly paid up and then clutched our cage in fear--my sister laughing uncontrollably and me crying uncontrollably, both transfixed with terror. The carnie laughed a good laugh and kept pushing the lever, waving at us as we spun by, our screams sucked out by the endless motion. When he finally decided to stop the ride, he acted like he'd done us a big favor, letting us ride for so long. Bastard. I remember clinging to the ground in relief, terrorized but free and vowing never to ride such a thing again.
Fast forward to the county fair, circa 2006. M and I decide we will ride said beast, the much bigger, more rickety Zipper that beckoned like a glittering beacon, the belts and gears still dripping water from a momentary rain shower earlier that evening. We stood in line, noticing the dazed looks of riders as they stumbled out onto the midway, and we both steeled our nerves. We were riding it. It's only a ride, after all, and a few minutes later, we could laugh, ridiculing our fear. And that's how it felt, at first...we were okay with the momentary stomach jerking tilt of the thing, the fluttery tip of the cage as it mounted the top of the frame and then cascaded back down, spinning. Then hell began. The Zipper really got going then, with full banging shaking thumping gear burning stench, the lights firing past our eyes as we turned over and over, thrown violently up and down and back around again. Every muscle tensed, I decided that this was one of the more stupid moments of my adulthood. M concurred.
Afterward, I could barely walk. I limped my way to a folding chair and sat down in defeat. M got our kids and got me a little closer to a bathroom, where I promptly staggered in and vomited. Nice. I later knelt in the wet dirt of the county office parking lot and vomited in the grass, disturbing a beetle who scurried away from my regurgitated funnel cake. Ahh. The ride home was hell. I finally bolted into the house, puked hard and fast, and fell into bed. Who knew? (Shh, honey, mommy got too dizzy on the Zipper ride and now she's comatose... Daddy will get you to bed). Aww. I am the poster child for motion sickness, apparently. Score two for the Zipper demon. I'm willing to lose.
(By the way, I ended up reading some interesting stuff about the history of The Zipper atthis guy's blog. Pretty interesting stuff.)
File under... memories