A Series of Miscellany

Rediscovered
* 99x Morning Show
* Random songs - Bush's "Machinehead", The Cranberries' "Linger", Live's "Selling the Drama"
* How much I love driving alone to work in the morning
* Can go to Weaver D's any time I want (The Goofball said he'd go with me)

Noticed
* A very cute drawing in the graphic designer's sketchbook of -- and labeled as -- "bee"
* Friends -- real friends -- and how important they are to me right now
* Details of new commute - the morning sky from the top of the Atl. Hwy. by Peking
* How nice everyone is to me at the office - like the creative director who just "wanted to chat" with me today while I was in the Big City

Embarrassed
* Inability to communicate properly with one of The Owner's of the Company due to my nervousness and his intense pauses which seem to prompt me to say, "I'm excited to be here" eighteen times
* Calling the Big City office today when I got lost on the streets of downtown Hotlanta (thanks to Eva, I at least made it to Peachtree Street)
* Failure to connect senses of humor with any of the men in the office - do only women find me funny?

Only in ATown
* Going to happy hour tomorrow with coworkers preceding our viewing of a documentary about gypsies at the new art house theatre
* Plans for lunch downtown Friday to take in the opening game weekend Dawgs madness
* Next company outing to see coworker who is lead singer of a band

Feeling
* Sad
* Hopeful
* Ready for bed

Cure All?

Click on the photo to see Dillon's two new teeth.

Dillon giggles are the very best kind.

Sister Mary Sunshine Gets Sucker Punched

Sometimes you just can't anymore. Can't act brave. Can't give them the stiff upper lip. Chin up, smile on. When they ask if you're worried, sometimes you can't find that place inside yourself that makes, "No, no, not at all" sound natural. And when they ask you the questions you don't know the answer to, it gets hard to say, "I don't know" onemoretime.

Sometimes you just don't believe your friends when they tell you how great you are. Or if you can really hang your hat on how infinitely talented you are in your parents' eyes. Sometimes you really don't know if you're going to be fine. You don't want to get past this, because you know after this, there is something else and something else. (At the same time, you know that it could be worse, but, another voice says, "This ain't so great either.")

And all those things that everyone says are out there? Isn't it possible that they don't exist? Sometimes, you have to wonder if this or that is out there. And if they aren't, what then? If you live in anticipation of fulfillment by what's out there, and it never comes, how do you reconcile?

On top of that, there's what's behind you. All that you gave up to be here that sometimes gets ignored. At times, when people ask you about that place, those people and events, you are reminded that no one really knows you. And you feel the sudden disconnect between then and now and you wish (maybe) that you hadn't done this to yourself.

And sometimes, there's the quiet to contend with, the solitude, the oneness. Sometimes you can't believe one more person is asking you when you're going to buy a house, get married, have a baby, write a book...become something else other than what you are. And sometimes, you think that it's just going to take one more time to put you over the edge. Just one more time and you aren't going to be able to say with a sweet, sweet smile, "In good time...when the time comes"...when, if, then, etc. etc. The time is going to come when it all gets to be more than you can bear and then...then it's going to get ugly. Because you can't be take-it-as-it-comes every second of your life. For every day that you get up and get brave and get through it, there's a day or maybe just an hour that you think, "I'm going to punch somebody in the face."

What Dreams May Come

Last night I had a dream. It was the kind that doesn't have any linear structure, so that when you try to tell someone what happened in it, you find yourself describing the scenes of the dream and trying to make a story out of it and finding it impossible. The dream had several threads, the extraneous ones, I won't explore. But in one part, my brother took me from an auditorium or a theater while I protested that I wanted to stay there and see whatever it was we were gathered to see. He told me that I to meet someone important. He took me out to a fence where a man was waiting, and the man turned out to be someone I went to high school with and hadn't thought about for a long, long time. Someone I wasn't even close friends with that I would have no reason to recall. I remembered this part when I woke up, the name still printed on my mind.

Today, I went to a meeting with a client I had never met before. In the course of the conversation, something my coworker said caused him to veer off topic and tell a story about something his fraternity brother was doing. And his fraternity brother was the person from my dream. For a second, it was like my ears were ringing and time stopped for a moment and I could see the name and the flash of the dream and the fence and us talking there and then I popped right back into the moment.

This isn't the first time something like this has happened to me, and it makes me wonder if there is something to clairvoyance. If it's possible, if I can make it happen, or if I just get to open the window every once in awhile on a part of my brain that functions in an entirely different universe.

Missed Opportunities

Because of my poor timing, I have missed the opportunity to be Federline's next baby mama. He's in Wilmywood right now filming episodes of One Tree Hill. Supposedly, he's playing a "cocky rock star." Anyone else who thinks K-Fed's appearance on the show will seal its demise?

Since I have moved away and will be unable to attend, I'll have to count on the ladies I left behind in Wilmywood to bask in his greatness. Pen? Mel? I wonder that he's able to take the gig since he's working so hard in L.A. to prove himself worthy of sole custody of the Federspawn. Of course, Britney's making it easy for him to look good, since the most recent reports I read said that she's fled the country. Oh, K-Fed.

The First Day Impressions

* The players: The Bossman, The Goofball, The Rockstar, The Clone, The Exotic and The Violinist

* Entrance into our hallway is the guts of the old freight elevator

* Stuffed monkey sailing over the partial wall of my office, donated by The Goofball to make my office more personal

* Lunch at the eatery of my choice (tuna melt, pita points, fresh fruit)

* Unlimited sick days??? (If you don't feel well, don't come to work.)

* First addition to desk: 5 x 7 of the Dilly Monster

* Worked on Client projects already (copywriting, conference call)

* Curbing desire to say, "At my old job, we..."

* Email from The President saying welcome

* The Clone and I talk and use the same phrases

* Email from the absentee Rockstar and voicemail from the absentee Bossman to check on my first day's progress

* "Does anyone have a quarter for the parking meter?" "I bet Ashley does. That's the biggest purse I've ever seen."

* Nice light in the afternoon through my window and I can see big oak trees

* 5:30, so very glad to go home

T-Minus

Nine hours from now, I will be on the way to the new job. I know where to park. I know where my office is. And I know the name of the girl who sits at the front desk. Everything else is a little fuzzy. Biggest concern: what will I do for lunch tomorrow?

Fashion Smashion

Dear Men of the A-Town:
Please stop wearing mirrored sunglasses with those little straps. Especially offensive is wearing them indoors around your neck and turned to the back. Oh, and stop with the dress pants/no socks and loafer combo.

Love,
Dame Fashion

The Georgia Identity

The reason I didn't start work this week is because a) I'm not insane and b) I am still an illegal alien in the state of Georgia. The time has come at long last for me to surrender my NC self and convert back to a true Georgian.

First step, the DL. Getting a driver's license in any state under any conditions is generally a pain. But this time around, it was downright humiliating. I had to provide proof of residence - you know, bank statement (not converted to GA yet), utility bill (not in my name), canceled rent check (nonexistent), or proof of employment (sighs...aha). So I was forced to email the HR director at my new job to request a letter of employment since I'm living with my parents and have no other proof of residence. Yes, I had to make it overtly clear to my new employer that I live at home. The experience itself was rather painless - even though I went to the DMV armed with the iPod, Northanger Abbey and a notebook for thoughts and observations during what I estimated would be an interminable wait. They called my number before I could even get the forms filled out.

I have to say that it was with some sadness and definite reluctance that I surrendered my NC driver's license to the examiner. That license is like a badge of honor, and I have a particularly fond memory of the day I got it (even though the NC examiner called me a cyclops because of my terrible vision in one eye). [An aside to the great state of Georgia - please improve your camera equipment. My license photo looks like it was taken with a bad camera phone in a bar. And the composition. It's not flattering to any lady to have a photo that cuts right across the middle of her bustline. But I digress.] Plus, the state requires me to send my plate back, too. The injustice!

As I trade in my planes for peaches, I can't shake the feeling that I'm surrendering a little bit too much. And perhaps it's horrible to admit, but I suddenly feel Just Like Everybody Else. Like somehow, having gone outside the bounds of Georgia qualified me as Being Different. It's like some sort of superhero who gives up her powers for the good of mankind and agrees to live like a mere mortal among them. I had taken the road less traveled and then I backtracked all that way to the most benign, most familiar of lanes. At least now, it's legal for me to drive on them.

Cause for Alarm

1) Perez Hilton is reporting that John Mayer is now dating Cameron Diaz.

2) I have been called in to the *new* office tomorrow to begin orientation, dispelling my sense of security about having three more days before finding out that I can't actually hack it.

3) I just found out that Jennifer Ehle, portrayer of the beloved Miss Elizabeth Bennet in the BBC version of Pride & Prejudice, is from Winston-Salem, NC.

Working Girl

After several hints and allegations here on the blog, I'm going to come right out and say it: I got a job. Somewhere among the six interviews and the 90-minute writing test, I impressed someone enough to make me an offer. Plus, I was wearing a shirt that, according to Eva, said, "Give me a job and then take me disco dancing."

I know I glossed over that writing test part until now. I confess, I lived in absolute fear that I would suffer the greatest humiliation of my life in holding an MFA and failing a potential employer's writing test. Although, I'll tell you kids, it wasn't anything to thumb your nose at. My disco shirt was wringing with sweat at the end of 90 minutes.

But I was offered The Job, I accepted The Job, and I start The Job on Monday. I'm still a little vague on what The Job is. And whether I can do it. But I prefer not to dwell on those things for now. For now, let's merely celebrate that I don't have to write any more heinous cover letters.

That's Impressive

Bug: head full of hair, running, stair-climbing, desperately cute pronunciation of the word "Elmo"

Pene-lo: patience with teething Bug, heartburn from N. Lo., heatwave, licking dog, house guest

Storm: great streams of forked lightning criss-crossing the sky, buckets of water pouring down

Becoming Jane: James McAvoy in breeches and Hessians

Becoming Jane Ashley: copious tears (and snot, I am sorry to report)

Bowling alley: hotter than the 7th circle of hell, no A/C

Bowling prowess: unbelievable skill followed by spectacular decline

Bowling alley food: angry resurgence of acid indigestion

South Carolina temperature: 106 degrees, heat index unknown

John Mayer: 12 hours on repeat - Continuum, Heavier Things, Room for Squares, Inside Wants Out

Mel: tan from Dominican Republic, free movie passes, insanely ambitious teaching schedule

Office: reconfigured

Boss: surprised by sudden reappearance of Ashley

Sweet & Savory: Cinnamon raisin French toast (J. Lo.'s generosity in picking up my tab)

Military Cutoff: construction nightmare

Old friends: still wonderful

Covered in Gray

To tide us over until his next original offering, David Gray is releasing A Thousand Miles Behind, a collection of covers performed live between 2001-2007. The disc features his take on some classic songs by his inspirations - Dylan, Cash and Springsteen. From the clips I heard, it sounds like Gray at his best: stripped down and acoustic.

A message posted on his official site back in June made it sound like he was hitting the studio to start recording new material. Until then, this will be a nice treat. Available August 20.

A Thousand Miles Behind
1. Song to the Siren (Larry Beckett/Tim Buckley)
2. To Ramona (Bob Dylan)
3. One with Birds (Will Oldham)
4. Long Black Veil (Danny Dill/Marijohn Wilkin)
5. I Think It's Going to Rain Today (Randy Newman)
6. Mansion on a Hill (Bruce Springsteen)
7. In the Morning (Barry Gibb)
8. I Tremble for You (Johnny Cash/Lewis Calvin De Witt, Jr.)
9. Buckets of Rain (Bob Dylan)
10. Go Down Easy (John Martyn)
11. Streets of Philadelphia (Bruce Springsteen)

Leaving: Part Six - Love Letter to a Ghost Town

Dearest Wilmywood:
I fought you for so many years, unable to see the ways that you were slowly, inextricably becoming a part of me. Your landscape was my landscape - your streets mapped out in my brain, your buildings in my mind's eye, your river and ocean made my boundaries. I know your steepled skyline, your cobbled streets, your ancient trees and your columned houses. And while I was fighting to let go, I found so much to hold on to that now you haunt me.

And flashing over the bridge, I saw the familiar riverfront and I met my ghosts. There was the ghost of my life past, an eerie shadow of all that belonged to me that no longer does. An apartment I no longer have a key for in a house that still seems like mine. And the office that I sat in has two desks and someone who started the day after I left. Three have joined the company and another is leaving, such that in just a few months time, the cracks have shifted and filled and the place that I was is gone.

On your streets, I saw strangers and tourists and realized that I am a stranger to you now. This is the ghost of my present life, a subtle shift in things that reminds me that change has come. New buildings, construction along familiar streets, a sudden moment driving when I couldn't remember where to go. I've left and you've gone on. You're a different city, and I am a different person, and we simply can't be what we once were.

All of this made all too real by a phone call on the way to see you in which I accepted a new start. And here we meet the ghost of my future life, the hollow-eyed face of the unknown. Even as I was there with you, I was thinking about it - this life in another place that I'm headed towards. This ghost is the most frightening, for it tells me that, to go with it, I must let go of more of what I'm holding.

And, Wilmywood, I must tell you, I don't want to let go. I want to hold on to you and Grace Street and the river and the places that I know. I want to make friends with the ghost of the past, change the ghost of the present and turn my back on the ghost of the future. But we both know I can't do that. We both know it was time for me to go.

But it doesn't mean that I don't miss you. That I don't know now that I loved you. That I didn't cry when I drove away from you, on the street I know so well, past the buildings that marked my existence. And even as I leave, it's all printed in my mind. I'm going now, taking hold of that future, but we'll always have what we shared. And, if we're honest, I think we both know, you'll still be a part of me.

Love,
Ashley

I Heart John Mayer, Part 2

A couple of photos from Mayer's official site of the Philips Arena show. I love black and white photos, so I couldn't resist snagging these. The one of the left is definitely from the "keep us where the light is moment" during "Gravity." Can't be sure when the right one is, though I'd wager that is was one of the slower guitar solos, so maybe "Dreaming with a Broken Heart." Either way, at this point, I've relapsed into a full-blown case of Mayerholism.

Harry Potter and the King of Horror

I confess that I cannot read the bulk of Stephen King's cannon - too scary, too real, too visceral for me to handle because I am a giant 'fraidy cat. However, my inability to read his work has never hindered my ability to give him credit as a great writer. How do I know this, having only read Carrie? Because he tells stories that captivate readers so much that they keep coming back for more - for more than thirty years. And that, in my estimation, makes him exceptional.

He's written a stellar article for Entertainment Weekly about the Deathly Hallows and the Potter phenomenon in general, and I think it's a smart review and a generous hat-tip to Rowling's mastery. He's one of the few to try to scratch beneath the hype and give Rowling credit for an unbelievable talent with plot, which I think has been glossed over by most reviewers. He also points out that Rowling's writing grew with the books, that her choice in language and her rendering of emotional moments was far more flawless by the last page of Deathly Hallows than it was when we began our journey with the Boy Who Lived.

My favorite line from the article?

"But reading was never dead with the kids. Au contraire, right now it's probably healthier than the adult version, which has to cope with what seems like at least 400 boring and pretentious 'literary novels' each year."

Sometimes it does my heart good to see The Establishment taken one upside the head.

4 comments:

Megs said...

I was so happy to read that article the other day...he's actually been writing smart reviews of the Harry Potter books all along. It sort of warms my heart to think that my first favorite author reads and loves my second.
I started the series again from the beginning two weeks ago, and am now back in Deathly Hallows. Next stop, Stephen King's IT, which bears a number of similarities to the HP story.

I'm hoping to write about the connections when I'm done.

August 13, 2007 7:22 AM

penelope said...

Too bad SK didn't happen onto this blog, though. We've scratched below the surface!

August 14, 2007 11:31 AM

j.elliot said...

one starving musician came by to say: i've just plunged into Pottermania. Book 3. I'm a bit behind the times on everything it seems.

j.e.

September 7, 2007 12:05 AM

MicheleMania said...

i read the book as soon as i got it, which since i'm usually like every other hp fan, at Barnes and
Noble. took me seven hours. so around eight i fell asleep after mourning the loss of a series and excellent characters. i felt that the epilogue, although it did tie up ends, i felt like it was more of a tied up knot.

February 1, 2008 2:30 AM

Happy (Belated) Birthday!

Happy belated birthday to Niki! She joined the 28s yesterday. Not only is she the sainted person who introduced me to Harry Potter, she also shares a birthday with Ginny Weasley. I hope your birthday was filled with good times, good drinks, good friends, and single men (who had come-hither stares like this one).

It Does Exist

I've blogged in the past about the mecca of yard art along Highway 74, and now I have the proof. I wasn't quite quick enough to capture a photo that does this place justice, but you can see the polar bear, the flying pegasus, and the newest addition - the beluga whale. It's a little blurry, but in my defense, I was also trying to drive a car. Really, this photo is just an appetizer. But what fun would it be if I showed you everything?

Update on Little Sam

Over the last few days, Sam has been getting better and better. The doctors have taken him off the respirator, and he is improving "by leaps and bounds," according to Mommy and Daddy. Further tests need to be run to confirm there are no further complications, but he may get to go home by the middle of next week. Laura and Russ have both been able to hold him and feed him - and Laura's been able to change a diaper (lucky her!). It looks like Sam is only getting stronger. Thanks for pulling for him! I know Laura appreciates it.

Going Coastal

As I write this, I'm downing a yogurt for breakfast and thinking about the last few things I need to throw in my bag. That's right - this little nomad is hitting the road once more. I'm squeezing in one last summer trip to Wilmywood, in part to surprise my boss at her surprise birthday party this evening. I was looking for an old beach postcard to post with this, but instead, I found this undated archival picture of the back of the house I used to live in on Grace Street. I'll definitely be driving by there just to give the house my love.

Also, I wanted to say to all of you who have been following my progress with the j-o-b, I received an Official Offer yesterday. I think I'm planning to accept it, but I've got six hours in the car to be sure. (And to listen to Continuum on repeat. Ah, John Mayer.) Soon, this freeloader may be back on the payroll. More on that upon my return.

If you're in NC, get ready. Here I come.

Rest for a Weary Soul

Frost Chapel sits up on a hill overlooking Berry's mountain campus. I'm a little rusty on my history, but I think it was built in the early 1900s. For me, it is a sacred place. It is a place where I feel most spiritual, most calm, and always, always at home.

I made one of my regular pilgrimages to Berry last week, and I couldn't resist driving up to the old chapel to wander around for a little inner peace. The stones themselves have a particular smell to me - and it's like inhaling serenity. And for the few moments I stood on the steps looking through the archway and over the mountains, all the outside noise - and the interior noise, too - seemed far below me. And the quiet was just perfect.

Good Thoughts Requested

My very good friend from college - and specifically from the hallowed halls of Oak Hill - Laura had her third baby last Wednesday, August 1. Samuel Owen is her first boy, weighing in at 6 lbs., 11 oz. and measuring 19.75" long. Little Sam is having trouble breathing on his own and is in NICU on a respirator. Please keep him, his mother and father, and his two big sisters in your prayers and good thoughts.

I Heart John Mayer

In the dark arena, John Mayer walked to the microphone and said, "My name is John Mayer. I was born in Bridgeport, Connecticut. My music was born in Atlanta, Georgia." The lights went up, and the band launched into "Why Georgia." This moment launched my love for John Mayer into full-blown euphoria.

He really built a lot of great guitar solos into the new songs, like "Vultures" and "Belief." The jumbo-tron shots of his fingers moving over the frets were astounding, and it seemed that he was trying to see who among his fan base would get a thrill out of his well-developed guitar chops. He purposefully (I think) stayed away from "Your Body is a Wonderland" and other softer hits. "Belief" was actually my surprise of the night - I like the song, but the performance made it come alive. And when he closed with "Gravity," man, he rocked it. He and the band jammed, really working the song over.

I thought his voice sounded better last night than the last time I saw him live. He made some of his bizarre faces, but I thought he'd cut down on some of the mouth contortion that overly affected his singing. Particularly "Heart of Life," he sang cleanly and simply. And for a moment, I remembered when this album came out, and I couldn't stop listening to it, and I blogged about listening to this CD on the drive home, and my heart ached for Wilmywood and all that I'd left behind. So much so that I was transported for a moment back to the fall, back to MLK, and I watered up a little bit before returning to my body in Philips Arena.

The entire concert had me amped, but the encore for the show was what made the price of the ticket all worth it for me. "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room" acoustic with three-part harmony. Absolutely gorgeous. And then, the moment where me and Johnny went one on one. Where he looked into my soul and knew the song I most wanted to hear. Sitting alone on a stool under a white spotlight he simply said, "This is the first song I ever wrote." And started playing "Comfortable." From his EP Inside Wants Out. I never thought I'd hear him play it, and certainly not acoustic. It was haunting and wonderful and the only moment that I totally girled out on my brother and squealed.

As if that wasn't enough, he started playing "Georgia on My Mind" while the band reassembled, joined him, and then somehow turned it into "I'm Gonna Find Another You." And as I said to Justin, "Now that's an encore."

Set List
Why Georgia
No Such Thing
I Don't Trust Myself (With Loving You)
Vultures
Covered in Rain
Bigger Than My Body
Belief
Dreaming With A Broken Heart
I Don't Need No Doctor
The Heart of Life
Waiting on the World to Change
Gravity

-- encore --
Slow Dancing (acoustic)
Comfortable (acoustic)
I'm Gonna Find Another You

Alka Seltzer to the Rescue

On Thursday, I had an i-n-t-e-r-v-i-e-w in Atlanta that qualified as the most intense 4 1/2 hours in recent memory and included a quickly-eaten egg salad sandwich. For future reference, do not eat egg salad when nervous.

I felt fairly ill for the rest of the day, but marked it down to prolonged anxiety and tried to sleep it off. On Friday, the awful feeling resurged after dinner, but I dismissed it as the result of dwelling on all the things I said wrong in the i-n-t-e-r-v-i-e-w and the contemplation of possibly starting a new job, new life, etcetera and so forth, and on the other hand convincing myself that I'd flubbed the whole thing and would be back to square one. On Saturday, following dinner, the overwhelming nausea reared its ugly head.

I tried deep breathing and sitting upright while watching The Prestige, because I figured Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman would make me feel better. But the stomach pains and biting nausea refused to subside, and I started to worry that I was having a panic attack. After the movie, Justin and Eva asked me if I was okay. But I wasn't. I was positively green. And on top of that, my stomach was hard to the touch, which convinced me that an evil being was waiting to burst forth at any moment. Around midnight, Justin went to Walgreens to consult the all-night pharmacist.

The pharmacist figured that prolonged anxiety had caused me to brew a raging case of acid indigestion in my stomach that had gone unchecked for several days. Prescription? Two Pepcid AC chased by a double dose of Alka Seltzer. Ack. The remedy itself almost made me toss my cookies. But I am pleased to report that within ten minutes, my belly had deflated a bit to its normal gushy state and I didn't feel quite so sick. I'm pretty certain that if I were a superhero, my Achilles heel would be my stomach. With the nervousness and motion sickness, whatever my great powers were, all it would take to defeat me would be a series of speed interviews aboard a cruise ship.