A Farewell Post From Stephanie

Something happened on my birthday yesterday, and it was life-altering.*

I feel like Jim Carrey towards the end of The Truman Show...that's the kind of curveball I've just been tossed by life.

So I'm saying goodbye (at least for now) to Rider and his Block.

Rider is cool with me leaving. He says I'm welcome back whenever I want. He is currently immersed in his writing projects and has said he'll get back to blogging soon. His exact quote:

I'll return to the Block sooner rather than later. I was bitten and infected by the blogging bug years ago, and it's in my blood. But right now I'm having too much fun writing my fiction. My readers will understand. (Well, maybe not McGone, but he's a big boy. He'll deal.)

I thank him for inviting me to contribute. I had a great time. I also thank you for reading and commenting on my posts. I had more stories I wanted to tell here, but they'll have to wait until I sort stuff out.

I leave you with a quote that probably means more to me than it will to you. Extra credit for the commenter who can name the artist and song without Googling it like a punk.

Mama told me when I was young
Stand tall, girl, you’re number one
She said, You can be what you wanna be
But you can’t change the course of your destiny

Stephanie P. has left The Block. Peace and love.

* I mentioned it briefly on my original blog yesterday, but you won't find any details. It's more of a note to myself than anything. If you really care though, it's posted here.

"Dotty? Blueberries, Dotty!"

I try not to overhear conversations people have at work despite the theme of my previous blog, but sometimes it's not possible.

I was serving a customer the other day, and he was on his cell with a woman who apparently did something horrible.

"Dotty?" he bellowed.

I almost spilled his coffee as I poured. He'd startled me.

"They pick up freezer, Dotty?"

That isn't a typo, mind you. He didn't say "the freezer." This gray-haired man in a shirt and tie was talking to someone like they were: A) non-English-speaking, or B) three years old.

He was also pronouncing "Dotty" like "Dod-dee."

"They pick up freezer, Dotty?"

Heads began to turn in his direction.

"You get my note, Dotty?"

I walked away, trying to ignore him, trying to act like I wasn't amused by his tone or his nonchalance at allowing others to hear his conversation. I couldn't tell if he was hard of hearing, but I confirmed later he wasn't wearing a hearing aid.

"The blueberries, Dotty, did you take out blueberries?"

Now the entire coffee house was listening. Blueberries were involved. How could they not want to find out what happened to them?

"On the Post-it, Dotty! I put it on the Post-it! Didn't you see the Post-it?"

Now the gray-haired man rubbed a hand over his forehead and eyes. He was in emotional distress. He looked like Harvey Keitel towards the end of The Bad Lieutenant.*

"The note said to take the blueberries out of freezer, Dotty."

He slammed his hand on the counter. Several customers nearby jumped. A sugar bowl in front of him clinked as the spoon inside flew out. Then the gray-haired man shouted his first non-Dotty statement into his phone.

"The blueberries are gone."

The blueberries were gone. All gone. He was very clear about that fact. He once had blueberries, now he didn't. It was like a Greek tragedy, except it concerned blue fruit. It was like the simple, to-the-point plot of a Lifetime movie. Tori Spelling is "Tori Johnson" in Mother, May I Buy More Blueberries?

"The blueberries are gone now, Dotty."

His statement was so devastating I saw people lower their heads throughout the house. A moment of prayer, perhaps, for the lost berries. Then he summed up.

"All gone now, Dotty. I left a note. Blueberries."

He finally hung up, rubbing his forehead. He eventually snapped himself out of his funk, and summoned me over. In a regular voice he asked for a muffin to go.

"Blueberry?" I asked.**

Ba-dum-dum.

* A movie I'm sorry I watched, btw.
** OK, I didn't say that. But how funny would that have been?

Giving Thanks (And Excuses)

I didn't blog the whole weekend. (Rider hasn't been in touch with me, so I assume he's back to his novel or he spent time with loved ones.)

Saying, "I didn't feel like posting," won't cut it, right?

Saying, "I worked long shifts every day before and after the holiday," isn't good enough.

Saying, "Very few of the regular lurkers on The Block posted on their blogs, either," is weak.

So what did I do that was so important?

I don't want to get into it.

But, hypothetically, I could say that on Thanksgiving my "dad" entertained a "lady friend" named "Candyce-with-a-Y," which resulted in an empty bottle of Jäger and a Friday morning walk of shame to her red '95 Fiero that needed a battery jump. Hypothetically.

Meanwhile, I had a leftover five-dollah-foot-long turkey sub from Wednesday. I stayed in my room, listened to CDs, looked at photos, and played my Gibson.

If any of that were true, it would sound sad.

Honestly, though, as lame as my family situation is, I am thankful for the way my year is ending. Last spring my status quo improved drastically, I made many awesome friends, I have a job, my creativity is at an all-time high, and I have my health.

That's better than most folks, right?

I hope you had things to give thanks for, too.

Our Search For A Band Name, Part 2

Our band is back to voting on potential names.

I'm trying something a little different: picking a news story and coming up with variations on that theme.

A few days ago a Beijing student strolled into a panda cage and was attacked by a bear named Yangyang. It seems he wanted to cuddle the animal but didn't think it would attack. He is recovering in the hospital from multiple bites.

Possible band names:

• The Endanger-ous
• Jumping Fences Towards Furry Doom
• Stupidity Trumps Judgment
• Hugs From Beasts
• Touching Yangyang
• Skidoosh
• Bear Orders In
• You Can't Have My Bamboo!
  
• Black 'n White Blur*
  
• Forever Avoiding Panda Express
  

Please leave your feedback in the comments.

* This would be better if we actually had a black guy in the band; unfortunately we're all pale suburbanoids.

I Also Am Lame

I've been saying a commercial catchphrase for the past week.

Have you seen the Dunkin Donuts commercial where the woman gets up on top of her roof and says how much she loves Dunkin Donuts coffee? The announcer says taste tests or whatever have shown that people like it better than Starbucks. Meanwhile other people are getting up on their roofs, hoisting their steaming cups, agreeing with the first woman.

That's when one guy on a distant rooftop shouts, "I also love it."

That's the phrase I've been saying. It's an odd sentence, considering you could just say, "I love it, too." I say it with the same inflection as the guy in the ad. But now my meme has already sort of mutated into a random catch-all slogan with my circle of friends and coworkers.

My best bud Tom was in her Honors class yesterday, and when the teacher assigned a huge project that everyone groaned about, Tom said, "I also love it."

So now we're using it in situations that don't even apply to the meaning.

I encourage you to use it today. Say it to the boss when he tells you he loved your work on the TPS report. Or as a swear-substitute when you stub your toe.

Hand It Over, Hand It Over

Golden God, the guitarist in our band, gave me a Smiths CD. He wanted me to know who one of his influences was.

"Listen to it for Johnny Marr," he said, putting a (heartless) hand on my shoulder. "Plug in a good pair of headphones and listen to his guitar. It'll change the way you play yours."

I hadn't listened to The Smiths before (besides hearing "How Soon Is Now" in a movie somewhere). I wasn't sure what to expect, especially after reading McGone's post the other week. But I'm always open-minded when it comes to new music.

After importing the tracks into my iTunes library, I'll say this: "Shoplifters Of The World Unite" may be my new favorite musical discovery of 2008. (Check out my play count.)


Yes, it's partly because of the Marr guitar solo. It raises shivery bumps of gooseflesh every single time I've listened to it. But it's also because of Morrissey's attitude and the lyrics themselves.

Does anyone else have any great music they can recommend for a youngster like myself? I'm looking for that defining track that changed everything when you first heard it.

Odd fact: There's no Smiths albums on iTunes. What's up with that?

Who's Sorry Now?

I find politics boring, and I never thought I'd blog about them before today. But something happened at work and I need to address it somewhere. (Sorry, Rider.)

I worked a long shift right after school yesterday, and the house was loud and buzzing with folks who had just voted.

A bald guy wearing a suit and tie came in, and as I filled his cup he asked, "So did you vote today?"

I explained that I was a month and a day from legal voting age. Unfortunately.

He sort of settled back and studied me for a moment before asking, "Tell me then, Stephanie, who would you have voted for?"

I told him I didn't know. Both candidates had their strong points.

"Well," he sighed, looking as if he wanted a fight, "are you a Democrat or are you a Republican?"

A Democrat, I said.

He began shaking his head in disgust. In a very condescending tone he actually said, "Oh, I'm sorry."

That's why I don't talk about politics.

Rachel Barton Rocks My World

Have you ever stumbled across a song you haven't heard in ten years? You hear it and you think, "Jeez, why is this not on my iPod already? How did I miss that one when I was racking my brain for 15 great tracks when I got that iTunes gift card?"

I was seven when my mom played "One" by Metallica for me; it was the cover version by violinist Rachel Barton. I remember because it was probably the last talk I had with Mom about music before she died.

As the song played, Mom explained that by the time she was ten, Barton was playing with the Chicago Symphony. "Just three years older than you, Sandpiper."

Anyways, I heard "One" on our school's radio station last Friday, and the DJ said Rachel Barton Pine (she's now married) would be appearing this Sunday at a Best Buy two towns over.

I talked fellow band member Meg White Jr. into giving me a ride (since I'm vehicularly challenged), and we arrived just in time for her concert to begin.

As she played, I sort of teared up, if you want to know the truth. My mom was mostly into rock, but she loved classical music too. She said she'd read about how Barton had been the youngest person, and the first American, to win a gold medal in the J.S. Bach International Competition in Germany when she was only 17. My mom was in high school herself at the time, and she was truly inspired.

I was happy when Meg White Jr. bailed early and sequestered herself in Best Buy's drum room for the hour-plus concert. I was able to sit and enjoy the performance without feeling stupid as I wiped tears from my eyes.

Rachel is so unbelievable. She told stories about her world travels. She joked about the history behind some of the classical pieces. She spoke passionately about her love for heavy metal music and the guitarists she idolizes. Then she played her own rock composition ("Rash," I believe she called it). Her blurred fingers seemed to ignite plumes of smoke from the strings.

She did a quick medley of tunes about her hometown, ending in "Sweet Home Chicago," and she made me proud to live here (even though I'm technicaly in the 'burbs).

It was so cool. She was so cool. Her violin case had embroidered patches of bands like Judas Preist and AC/DC sewn on it.

She got a standing ovation. She took a few questions from the audience. Then folks lined up as she signed her latest CD. Even though there were only about 25 people in the queue, I didn't wait for her autograph. It was all too much for me.

So I downloaded "One" when I started this post, and I'm about to click play.

Mom would've loved today's performance.

This one's for her.

Note: You can download two of Rachel Barton Pine's rock tracks for free at her official site here, including a medley of Sabbath's "Iron Man," "Crazy Train," and "Paranoid." Just register with an email address.

Potential band name: Sarah

Potential band name: "Sarah Going Rogue"

Stephanie Enters The Dead Zone

My friend Michelle was eligible to upgrade her phone, so I went with her to a cellular store. When the sales guy finished activating her expensive touchscreen device, Meesh was about to toss her old one in a donation box. Then she said to me, "Do you want it?"

The sales guy's eyes got really hungry. That's the only word to describe it. Hungry. He turned into Fat Bastard from that movie. He wanted to sign me up for a contract so bad he drooled a little. He wanted my money in his belly.

I haven't owned a cell phone before. Up until this past March I had no one to call. That's changed. So I was interested except...no credit rating.

He pitched a prepaid option, but it was more expensive than just adding a line to Meesh's brother's account. So that's what we did.

I offered to pay her the ten bucks a month, but she said not to worry about it. Except I don't like owing people. We made a deal instead: when I'm working she gets free coffees.

I love the phone. It's a "Chocolate." I'm loading some Kaki King tunes on it right now. I found a Heath Ledger Joker jpeg online for the wallpaper. (It's in my Photobucket album here.)

Anyways, I'm happy because now I can blog from my phone* and Meesh is happy because when she's driving I'm the "dexter" (designated texter).

The sales guy was happy because we fed him commission. He burped a little.

* I found out you can put an email address in your contacts, so you can send a text to your blog (under the Settings tab and Email option) which will publish as a post. SMS only allows 160 characters max, though, so it'd be a short entry. But still.

Another Reason To Avoid Fashion

I don't wish accidental death on any person. (I'm gonna have that embossed on my business card someday.)

There are times, though, when I have a good laugh at a freak occurrence in which someone is hurt.

Don't you judge me!

I avoid fashion like it's Ebola. Once infected by either it all goes downhill rapidly and you bleed out, cash or bodily fluid, until your stone cold dead.

So when a fashion contest winner in Australia couldn't collect her prize because she'd been bitten by a deadly snake, I vowed to never succumb to spending more on clothes than necessary.

Fashion kills, is what I'm saying.

This is the extent of my fashion sense.


Note: The above jpeg is part of a series of images I have deemed too "cute" for Rider's Block. When the pix were taken earlier this year, I referred to them as "My Chucks Now Match My Guy's Chucks." I was sad/pathetic/weak at the time, and I like to think I've matured. Here's the rest of that image, if you care. Know my respect for you will be diminished if you look.

Our Search For A Band Name, Part 1

I'm in a band and we're trying to choose a name that would look good on a flyer.

I'm on acoustic guitar and vocals. The bass player is a guy named "Peely Feet." Another dude named "Golden God" plays guitar and also sings. We have a female drummer named "Meg White Jr." (Names have been changed to protect the unaware.) Here are a few of the names we've come up with so far. My suggestions are in bold.

• Pageant Mom
• Blame It On Aiken
• Vegan Zombies With Bulemia
• BallSack SpeedBag
• Chillaxin' Fetal Pigs
• Olmos and the Pockmarks
• Everyone Is Autistic
  
• I'm A PC And I Sell Feesh
• Angelina's Forgotten Children
• Wee-wees 'n Ginees

Please leave feedback in the comments.

Stephanie Introduces Herself To The Block

Hello, Rider's Block lurkers. My name's Stephanie. I'm not exactly sure why I was asked to contribute to this blog, but it's flattering (I guess). You must be doubly confused.

I met the guy who calls himself Rider three years ago at a Neil Gaiman book signing in Naperville, Illinois. I wrote about it last year on my blog. Rider asked me not to link to it probably because I use his real name, but he did say I could post a jpeg. (And although he told me to "do whatever you want," he still sent some rules, which I'll get to.)


A few years went by and my life spun out of control. Remember that movie where Elijah Wood got electrocuted on the guardrail and his dead body slowly slid down that icy road? Ice Storm? I'll never forget that scene. If you could run that scene in reverse, that was my life leading up to my sudden electric shock. Boring, boring, boring, drifting slowly, slowly uphill, then ZAP!

I ended my blog after the ZAP (long story), but I was way into blogging for six months there. (I created my Blogger account in 2002 but I'd never gotten serious about it, because, hello?...no life!)

So anyways, last November I got an email from someone named "Rider." I didn't know the name. He blind-copied a Blogger URL to me. I clicked the link and read the very first post on Rider's Block, having no idea it was the same guy who took a picture of Neil for me. I read a few posts and even commented, which is totally unlike me. (I'm a proud lurker.)

Two weeks ago, I was with my boyfriend outside the Tivoli Theatre in my hometown, waiting in line again for Neil Gaiman (pimping The Graveyard Book), when a voice behind us said, "Stephanie?"

It was him. We talked, and he said he liked my writing. He'd discovered my blog after I commented here on The Block. Tracked it down through my profile. (Who doesn't immediately click someone's profile to see whats what, right?)

Long story short: he emailed me later asking if I had anything pop-cult related I wanted to blog about. He was taking a leave of absence. Would I help out? I told him between my job, my boyfriend, and my music, I didn't think so.

But I got ninja'd by another life-ZAP just a few days ago. Again, long story. My life's a disaster. I feel more like writing than ever before. So here I am.

Bored yet? Hope you come back for my first regular post anyways.

Oh yeah, I'll end this by C & P'ing the rules Rider sent me:

• If Valerie returns from her self-imposed Facebook exile, put her back on the Blockroll. (Never forget, though, she is our arch-nemesis.)
• Don't look directly at Slinger's head in sunlight, and don't feed him after midnight or he'll spawn evil mohawked clones. Remove him from the Blockroll if he hasn't returned to blogging by Hallowe'en.
• If I ever spell "Halloween" with an apostrophe between the Es, kill me.
• Dean Xene is size of a leprechaun. If you meet him, be careful so you don't trod upon him.
  
• Don't disclose what our Site Meter reveals about Zibbs. He'll be less smug and no one wants that.
• Don't get Jenks started on Notre Dame or chemistry or sports.
  
• McGone is your blogging ally, but he can turn on you without warning and is known to use the word "fucktard." He is like a drunken, Irish werewolf with Tourette's.