For Hester

So here’s what I know about Iggy Pop, gleaned from movies and general pop culture participation:

He was in the movie Coffee and Cigarettes where he appears in one of the better vignettes with Tom Waits- they are sitting in a bar, (spoiler alert) drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. Their conversation wanders all over, at one point Tom Waits tells Iggy Pop that he’s a doctor and delivered a baby on the way over. Iggy Pop is impressed, until he checks the jukebox and doesn’t find any of Tom’s music in it. Tom is dumbfounded and Iggy slinks away. I imagine he sort of slinks everywhere.

He also played an insane character in the “sequel” to The Crow, The Crow II: City of Angels. This was my first introduction to Iggy Pop aside from Lust for Life featured so brilliantly in Trainspotting and then sort of creepily, years later, in cruise commercial. He was most excellent at being the psychotic junkie, Curve, in The Crow II and that impression was firmly cemented in my memory. Heroin use being a pattern in his own life.

Iggy Pop unsettles me. I quite certain that this is not a unique or original reaction to him. But, I really like the way he unsettles me.

I know that he spent some time in mental hospital after his time with The Stooges. Right after he got out, his first call was to David Bowie. Because, really, who better to call? This is supposedly the fodder for Velvet Goldmine.

He is from Detroit.

His first foray into music started with blues and jazz, naturally, he was living in the birthplace of Motown at the height of its heyday. His high school band, The Iguanas, spawned his name.

Richard Avedon captures him, stereotypically but perfectly: shirtless, ropey armed, hollow eyed and sneering, leathery, blonde.

I don’t really listen to Iggy Pop. Not regularly. I know Lust for Life, I Wanna Be Your Dog, and my most favorite song by him: Success. I have toyed with playing Success as Matt and I exit the ceremony after our vows.

Most recently, I was driving back to work after a completing a long distance donation pickup and NPR was talking about Iggy Pop. He has a new album out. It is blues inspired. They played a clip. His voice, ragged and hard, came at me from the speakers. It was the perfect crossover. All the things I know and like about jazz and the blues, having seen the one-man play about Jelly Roll Morton- the man who claims to have invented jazz- how blues clubs are always portrayed in movies, the jazz and blues clubs I’ve been to in real life… melded completely in his rendition. I associate Iggy Pop with seediness, the underbelly of things and a tremendous amount of confidence. His life history and his exuberant performances lend themselves extremely well to my romantic idea of blues and jazz. His voice was almost tangible. I could feel it in my teeth. And again, I liked it. I like that Iggy Pop exists. That he is still doing things, perhaps tirelessly. Undoubtedly, tirelessly.

I have found that what I am most attracted to in life, in people, is unabashed excitement. The act of being thrilled is thrilling to me. If you are excited, jazzed, psyched, into something to the point of obsession, to fanaticism and you wanna tell me about it, chances are I will be into it too and also into you. I am bored, bored, bored by apathy, by the too cool, by the lukewarm reaction to someone else’s empassioned rant about their new favorite thing. I want the vulnerability of loving something, even if it’s weird, especially if it’s uncool or even creepy. If you are going to spend the energy getting hyped about it, I will damn sure expend the energy to listen.

That’s how I feel about Iggy Pop. I imagine him to be in a constant state of excitement, of curiosity, as evidenced by his jazz to blues to power punk inventor to glam rock back to blues and jazz musical trip. And for that, I will always be all about whatever he is all about.

Part Animal, Part Machine*

I subscribe to Domino Magazine and also Lucky. I'm OK with that. I'm also OK with Domino as a substitute for Blueprint. There was much kerfuffle over the abrupt demise of Blueprint. Rightly so- it was a good magazine, attached to the Martha Stewart Omnimedia juggernaut. The conspiracy theorist in me says that Blueprint achieved a popularity that Martha Stewart Living hasn't seen in a long time and the plug got pulled for ego reasons. It's a shame because everyone lost out.

I do enjoy Domino for their ideas, recipes, room layouts and stories. I think the most attractive thing to me is that it feels like an amalgam of lists of things. And there is nothing I love more than reading (with pictures!) people's lists of things. Things they love. Things they can't live without. Things they avoid. Things that changed their life. Things they pack on trips. Things in their purses/backpacks/make-up bags/suitcases/lunchboxes. Things they do in a given day and where they go. Things they buy from their favorite stores. Things they wear all the time. Things they are obsessed with.

Both Domino and Lucky meet this need for me so very well. This is most definitely a secondary gain- because first and foremost they want me to buy stuff. Which I might.

But the culling of lists! The itemized details of insignificant stuff! The devouring of other people's lists. I feel like a raccoon in a pile of tin. It can't be just a plain list. It has to have pictures and blurbs of why this thing is important. What does it do? Where can I get it if I wanted it? How much? What do you use it for? Why do you love it? How'd you find out about it? I almost can't read it fast enough. I have to slow down, savor it, re-read it. Dog ear the page and come back to it. So I can read it again. So I can look at the montage of things.

I think it's a form of voyeurism because I have little interest in creating my own lists. I only want to read yours.

*A Henry Rollins thing. I think he meant in a much more uncontrollable intensity/inhuman drive to produce. But I like in it an inoccuous curiosity/repetitive sense. Part magpie/part bike pedal.

Delicious

I really don't think there is a simpler or better flavor combination than brownies and lemonade.

+ 2.5 kids

The wedding trip to Alabama came full circle. Matt proposed! Would you call that a meta-wedding experience where, as a bridesmaid, you get engaged at a wedding? Perhaps.

There I was, reluctantly standing with all the other girls to catch the bouquet per Matt's goading: "You're NOT married, you SHOULD be up there!" "But I'm not SINGLE!" "Just. Go."

We were all shouldering for position when Bride Kelly turns around, looks at us to judge aim, turns back around and throws! It headed right for me.

And I ducked.

The girl next to met caught it, which I thought appropriate, as she's Kelly's brother's girlfriend. I congratulate her. Kelly turns around expectantly and mouths at me"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" I shrug. She stomps over to me, yanks the bouquet out of the poor girl's hands and puts it in mine. And then here's how I remember what happened next:

All the girls around me clear to reveal Matt down on one knee with an open box in his hand. I see him ask "Will you marry me?" I clamp my hands to my mouth to stop any shrieking that might occur and nod vigorously. He slides the ring on my finger, the band says our names and begins to play "Beyond the Sea." I might be crying, I can't remember. Everyone is taking pictures and clapping. I am stunned.

See, I knew this was coming, I just didn't know when or how. I helped choose the style of ring (Vintage Art Deco) and color of diamond (yellow!). I even knew when it was delivered by UPS to the apartment. I did NOT ransack the place to find it even though, oh man, I knew it was gonna be beautiful and I really wanted to see it. I would harass Matt daily. He had a poker face about it and when I asked for hints, he merely said, "One word: plastics." I was mystified. Plastics? Is it going to be in the bottom of a plastic cup if we go to a baseball game? Jumbo tron? Ikea? Will it be cleverly disguised as the umlaut in the name of piece of furniture?

Matt has had some serious concerns about measuring up to the degree of surprise all of our other friends received when their now fiances asked. One thing you should know about Matt, that kid is a master planner. He is responsible for booking all plane tickets and hotel reservations when we travel. He wrote to our congressman when we went to D.C. so we could get a semi-private guided tour of the Library of Congress (everyone can do this!). He called me back after we arranged out first date to ask my birth date (with year) and time of birth (with time zone and location) in order to check out our astrological compatibility. We're a match!

So I honestly don't know why I expected anything less orchestrated. He has had this plan formed since January. My parents knew. Kelly of course knew and was so very, very gracious in sharing her wedding with me. The band knew. All the other bridesmaids knew. Julia knew. This whole thing is sort of a private joke between us, because by July, I will have been in 3 weddings in the last 10 months. So Matt figured what better place to ask than at a wedding. Good one, Hebert.

So we are planning our wedding now. It's gonna be a great party. On New Year's Eve. In the not too distant future.

However, apparently, one thing we should start planning for is babies. Because that is everyone's question after "when are you getting married?" Societal assumptions aside, the wedding is a year and a half away!

We're going to try our luck with a dog first.