I just finished a wonderful book by Larry Brown. It’s the second book of his that I’ve read. The first one was Fay, a novel. Billy Ray’s Farm is a collection of essays and non fiction.

The writing is lyrical, smooth and graceful. Passages that are haunting, brutal, and overflowing with the author’s feelings cut into my heart and head.
Harry Crews has this effect on me, as does Faulkner and Flannery O’Connor.
What is it about the South that breeds such amazing artists?
I don’t think it’s the land itself but who knows. It’s as much a mystery as is the wealth of their talent.

I think about writing every day yet have been able to do so for some months now. Looking back I think maybe my father’s death contributed to my sliding off the rails a bit. My ‘coper’ broke and an inability to concentrate, take care of mundane daily tasks or find motivation for the things which made me sing died.
Note: The dust hasn’t settled over dad’s passing and as of two weeks ago I’m no longer speaking with my sister or my step-mother. More on that in another post.

My daughter arrived from southern California last night. She’s 14, 15 in August, and will be with me for a little over a month. I’m flying her back here again at Thanksgiving and again at the holidays. Then I’ll have to wait until next summer and hopefully three months then. If she doesn’t decide to stay here with me, which I doubt. She’s been with her father for a little over a year and seems settled there now.

Thus far I’ve seen Cate for about 20 minutes. Her friends here in Reno have consumed her time already. Several of them had taken a bus to the airport to meet her at the plane, unbeknownst to her or myself. Waiting for her plane to land a familiar gang of teens surround me, resplendent in their teen Goth glory. They had all taken a bus out to the airport.
I fed them pizza and cokes and her best friend spent the night.

This morning I took the two of them to Zephyr Books. Afterwards Cate announced that she was going to another friend’s house to have pink (or purple) streaks put in her hair and also have that friend use her ‘professional piercing kit’ to pierce another hole at the top of her ear.
I rolled my eyes and said “Okay. This should well.”

In 15 minutes I’m off to pick the little demons up at the Starbucks down by the Truckee River, across from the movie theater.
Then I’m taking best friend back to her house.

Cate wants to watch Shawn of the Dead tonight and eat popcorn and candy. Sounds like a plan.

Goddess only knows what tomorrow will bring but it’ll surely be interesting.
Hormonal Outsider Teenager + Angst = Rachael’s Interesting Summer.
If only I could put my thoughts into the kind of writing which lifts me up. Maybe my favorite authors will send a muse over in dreams tonight.
I can hope but better yet I can start writing again.

~Miss R

After languishing in bed for a full 4 hours of sleep last night it was up and off to a waiting room full of desperate uninsured indigents to wait for a doctor’s appointment.
Yes, that would make me one of the above mentioned group.

First come first served (and boy do you get what you pay for) so it was a long-ass wait. For a short-ass visit.

On the way home I passed by the courthouse where I was treated to a group of fabulously bedecked women playing rhythm instruments and waving a sign proclaiming “Prom Queens for Peace!”
Since I’d already driven through our neon strewn downtown, narrowly avoiding tourists, drunken businessmen, gamblers, Stephen Hawking in his souped-up diet coke-menthos powered wheelchair and the homeless this didn’t strike me as particularly odd.
Crosswalks and streetlights mean nothing in this town. Drive at your own peril my friends.

As a trip to the doc’s is normally depressing it seemed a fine idea to stop by Zephyr Books. This is a fairly new used book store located on Virginia and only a few blocks from my house. I was in the mood for another Harry Crews book.
Nothing like a bit of seriously twisted southern gothic to cheer me up.

I asked the proprietor where to look and he directed me to the fiction section where, alas, there were no Crews books to be found. So I diligently looked for something else to cheer me up. Perhaps John Fante, Bukowski, or Augusten Burroughs.
Seems I’m going through a fiction phase right now. I vacillate between this genre and the physics and science tomes. Depends on my mood.
Doesn’t everything.

Well I did find Running with Scissors (recommended by my friend Rebecca) which cheered me up. I also found The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins, which surprised me since I was about to order a new copy from Amazon this week. The latter was recommended by TK who is reading it now.
So a bit of fiction and a bit of non-fiction in the mix for this week.
It’s a nifty bookstore. Check it out.

This afternoon it was time to get out of the house again. The sun came out even though the fucking Reno afternoon winds are blowing. I took a walk around my new neighborhood. A strange mix similar to my old place. Immaculately kept Craftsmen homes from the 1920’s next to unkempt 1930’s bungalows next to beautiful brick homes built anywhere from 1910 to the mid 1940’s.
It’s pretty cool. There’s so much to look at if you have an eye for architecture and, well, life in general.

The reason I was able to take a walk was that damned wind. I was supposed to be out on the Reno Chicken Cam Project.
Suffice to say that it involves Nino (one of the other Producers from the TV station where I used to work), similar video mavens, and of course a live chicken fitted with a harness and wireless video cam.
The shoot was supposed to start downtown in front of the El Cortez (a hotel and peculiar bar) at 4:00 and move on from there.
I got an email informing me that the possibility of the chicken literally being blown down the street may put a damper on the project. So, shooting was cancelled for today.

That brings us to right now; where I sit at my desk listening to Joe Jackson, American Spirit burning in the ashtray, beverage of choice at hand and typing this treatise. I gotta tell you that tomorrow may not bring me as many glimpses into Life in Reno.
Unless I leave the house.

~Miss R

I sat at the end of a pier in New York City, wrapped in the arms of a man who was making me smile. I felt wanted, safe and secure. We giggled at something which struck us as funny and I laid my head on his shoulder. His arms tightened about me making the warm blood flow to my cheeks and head.

There were others about as well, all gazing at the skies and the moon, a plane taking off into the few clouds wispy in the nighttime sky. Ordinary people laughing in small groups, nodding at shared thoughts and talking softly with a look of wonder upon them.

It was a night of lost time and felicity, and all of us out there. This man and myself, all of the strangers, we felt a bond with this sultry and moonlit evening. A bond with each other and life. I felt a joy which had been missing for so very very long.

I awoke from a lovely dream.

~Miss R

1. No elephants trampling about upstairs and moving cinderblocks and 50 gallon barrels at 7:00 a.m.
2. My next door neighbors are also Burners. Only 117 more days ’till the Man burns!
3. The landlord owns a very cool Gay bar and there’s a chance for a piano gig at the end of the proverbial rainbow. Miss R started out her professional career playing piano in the Long Beach Gay bars. It would be a nice full circle kind of touch doncha think?
4. There’s a patio that DOESN’T resemble Little Tijuana in the slightest. I even have a patch of dirt (I shall command it to be grass soon) of my very own.
5. The neighbor’s cat gives Lizzie Borden something to obsess on during her lazy days perched in the window.
6. There’s room for a grand piano in this place!
7. The windows are strategically placed for maximum sunshine in the mornings. It does a morose and misanthropic soul good with a cup of fresh coffee.
8. I can play Ziggy Stardust at Maximum Volume as per directed on the album cover. There’s also room to dance around in a scantily clad manner given my mood.
9. No one takes my parking space. It’s mine all mine I tell you!
10. My 1930’s and 40’s antique pieces go perfectly in this old cottage. Much funkiness is to be had despite the lack of closet space and noticeable lack of electrical outlets.

Things I Miss About the Old Place

1. I knew where everything was
2. ummmmmmmm okay that’s it.

~Miss R

Currently Listening to:

Jimmy Eat World
Clarity

I think that the Audi is a gonner.

A friend of a friend was over here along with the friend and her two daughters, for 10 hours on Sunday. The entire car was taken apart and the water pump and heater core replaced.
Trust me. This involved taking apart the dashboard, console and every other portion of the damned front end.
The Audi now runs but the stereo no longer works and oh yeah….it spews smoke.
Diagnosis: the engine went sideways when the car overheated due to the water pump and heater core.
Bottom Line: the new (new for me and was to last for 5 years) car I purchased three months ago, and drove for 3 weeks, is now a pile of shit.

Wait (I hear you say) what else is making you kvetch?
Well (I hear myself say) it could be the move.
Grrrrrrrrr.
There’s a reason no one likes moving. It sucks ass. Oh yeah it’s time consuming as hell when you’re single. There’s the triple reason no one wants to help. It hurts your back and every other part of your anatomy. Including the psyche.

So I’ve got two two two stressors going right now.
Stress bad. Alcohol good but if I drink I can’t accomplish the moving.
Oh the horror.

The blogs have fallen off to virtually nada here. These are my reasons.
Do you like them?
Do you think they’re sexy?
Do you think they’d do well on the catwalk?

Yours in the Abyss of Everyday Life,

~Miss R

currently listening to:
Elliot Smith
XO

I have found a new place to live. Huzzah.

It’s a funky old cottage built in the 1940’s. Only about 8 blocks from here and still in the same neighborhood. It sits behind a main house and we’re separated by a back yard… and a lot of reality.

The place has a large enough living room to accommodate the grand piano as well as a finished basement. Although the cottage is a one bedroom the basement will be the new bedroom of the Demon Seed ™.  I’m going to separate the large space with curtains so there’s still plenty of storage.
She’ll like it. A stripper used to live down there. Oh yes, the walls are carpeted. In red. This house is already a good story.

Have to begin paying rent as of the 15th which is far too rapidly approaching. I’ll be throwing money at the place to start (and the rent is high)  but the Joy Factor and Happiness Co-Efficient in relation to having my piano are more than worth it.
Got the key today so I can start in on scrubbing and lining shelves tomorrow.

Naturally I’ve paid the full month’s rent on my current place, as well as giving 30 days notice. I’ll chalk it up to good karma points and take the monetary loss.
So if you’re reading this and really love helping people move you know where I am.
This translates to: I’ll be on my own.
So yeah.

Got out and about fairly early this morning. A trip to the market, the gym, the new place to pick up the key and also a tan. Have had the blues so sometimes sunlight therapy helps. Yesterday afternoon it fucking snowed again.
So I go to lie down in the tanning bed and realize that I’m wearing a thong instead of regulation bikini panties.
Dammit.
You know what? That really burns my ass.

~Miss R

currently listening:
Belle and Sebastian
Dear Catastrophe Waitress

I’m drinking a lousy Starbucks coffee but it was purchased under duress.
Well, more like stress than duress but what the hell.

Had to have more bloodwork done this morning, so I was out and about at 8:00 a.m. Since there’s a 12 hour fast required prior to the blood draw I couldn’t make my pot of coffee before I left the house. Hence the stale, burnt, bitter Starbucks.
Not that I think that their coffee is garbage. I don’t.
I think it’s shit.

I’ve been lacking in motivation the past ten days and was sick two days last week. I actually went to see a doctor (hate that, having no health insurance) which is why more blood work was instigated.
This lack of motivation has been inspired by some other causes than those of a physical nature. Such as this one!

The phone rings Thursday night and it’s my step-mother. Seems she’s sold Dad’s house. This was unexpected as the gingerbread manse was priced at a million bucks and is located in Idyllwild; that ephemeral mountain town of few people, beautiful forests, snow-covered peaks, no stop-lights, and my old life.

Here’s the problem. Now that dad’s house has been sold I have less than 40 days to get the concert grand piano (oh it’s bigger than a baby grand trust me) into my possession in Reno.
Uh oh. There’s barely enough room for me in this apartment.
In reality this means that I have less than 40 days to find a new home.

I’ve seen a few places out there and so far nothing I can afford or deem safe.  I’m supposed to go and look at a house today. It’s owned by an acquaintance who’s moving out of state and it sounds perfect. Fabulous location, landscaped yard, plenty of room for my daughter, myself, the grand piano, keyboards and antiques as well.
Everything except for one small detail. The rent is almost double what I can afford.
There’s potential though: The house is supposed to be split into two parts, with both having their own entrances. Theoretically this means I could rent the house and sublet half of it.
This frightens the hell out of me. For good reason.

Donna told me to ’take a chance!’ and do it.
I don’t know. It seems that every time I’ve taken a chance recently, well in the past year or so, my luck hasn’t been that great. In fact it’s been lousy and I’m tired of being beat up. Or better yet, beating myself up. The bruises take a long time to heal and while I look good in black, blue just isn’t my color.

In case you’re thinking ’Rachael why don’t you sell the piano and buy a smaller one or simply consider leaving the piano in Idyllwild?’ I’ll tell you that there’s no way.

For one thing it is the sole thing that my father left to me. That piano is alive. It’s more than a gorgeous piece of furniture. It’s more than a musical instrument. It’s more than a piano… which for me is saying volumes.
This Knabe grand has been in the family since the 1930’s. My father learned to play on it. I can remember him playing when I was a little girl and this is what inspired me to learn. When I was a teenager and would visit him on the weekends this piano saved my life. His family then (a psycho step-mother and her psycho brood) were very cold and hostile towards me but I could always escape at the keyboard and into my music.
My father knew this. We shared the gift and love of music through this physical thing made of wood and strings.

So it will stay with me. When I die it will go to my daughter. I hope so anyway. It would be a good legacy. There is no gift so fine as music and memories.

I’ll let you know how the house hunt goes.
Oh, and if you reside in Reno and know of a 2 bedroom place with a living room large enough for a grand piano then please do contact me.
Soon.
Really really fucking soon.

~Miss R

What is the deal. Must be me. Oh sure I knew that when I put something on the web it would be out.

there.

still.

So after I came to see the light i realized that Donna was my hero.

You all know Donna from past comments.
If there were no other reason (than my current neurotic reason) then please watch the amusement grow right here….

http://yoyodyne.wordpress.com/2008/03/17/bring-shrimp-and-hookers/

oh hell that is so not enough,

here is Donna’s Blog

Dave and Lisa are in town.

You realize what this means. Normally a late night of excess which may or may not contain any or all of the following:
Vast quantities of Reno casinos, dive bars, dance floors, sushi, swingers clubs, pole dancing, laughter, strippers or nuts. Not to exceed 10% peanuts.

Last night was pretty tame although your intrepid reporter didn’t get to bed until 4:00 in the morning.

Oh sure it always starts out innocently enough. We hang out at Chez Noir for a few hours, enjoy hor d’oeuvres, catch up and try to decide what the hell to do with the rest of the evening. This time we didn’t decide what to do until we physically left the house at 10:20.

We did call Mike several times to see if he’d bring more shrimp and some hookers but he declined on both counts. Probably because we woke him up.
I did get to hear the story of the trip down from Washington though.

Seems Dave beeped going through the metal detector.
So he takes off his jacket and shoes. Still beeps. Security stops him. He takes off his belt and still beeps. Finally they wave the hand held metal detector over his pants pocket and BEEP BEEP BEEP.
They ask him what he’s carrying. He suddenly remembers.
A pocket FULL of bright shiny colorful foil wrapped condoms.
He is then instructed to empty his pockets in front of the now backed-up line of people.

Dave was let go with a stiff warning.

There’s a humorous story that goes along with transporting the bulk quantity of condoms but I’ll leave that for another blog. They’re the amusing off-brand ones too.
Suffice to say that on the last trip I was gifted with enough condoms to last quite a while. Sadly in my case, more than quite a while.

So we started out at my place, hit the pole dancing club and then went on from there and eventually wound up at the Cal-Neva for a quick breakfast at 2:30 am.
After some caloric intake it was back home to see if we could work on that whole eviction thing I’ve managed to avoid since their last visit.

Luckily today is St. Patrick’s Day and the drinking must have started early in the complex. There were no noise complaints. This despite Dave, all 6’3″ of him, standing on my office chair singing and dancing along with a hip-hop video at 3:00 am, Lisa and I laughing our asses off.

They went back to their hotel around 3:30 and I managed to get four hours of sleep.
This morning the house looks fine. The ashtray needed to be emptied, my meager liquor supply had been denuded and the shrimp are all gone. We never did get to the hookers.
Despite this a fine time was had by all.
Maybe next trip.

~Miss R

Currently listening:
The Best of Van Morrison
By: Van Morrison
Release date: 14 July, 1998

Today I misplaced two full blocks of Sparks, Nevada. You know the ones I mean? They include 175 Glendale Avenue where the NAPA Auto Parts store is.
The one where my Audi part is waiting.
The part that I already paid for.

I Googled the directions and yet when I drove over there the entire block was missing. The street addresses went from 115 Glendale to 1105 Glendale. Right where you cross over Rock Blvd.

Now for all I know the block disappeared months ago. I rarely venture into Sparks. It’s kind of like a no man’s land right there anyway. Not quite Reno and not quite the City of Sparks. It even looks like a demilitarized zone. Rundown, scary and not a place to settle down and raise a passel of little kids. Or even little winos.
Maybe if your children were partial to Sterno you’d consider moving into this ’transitional’ neighborhood.
So you could transition into fucking abject poverty and head lice. And Sterno.

Anyway, the entire exercise stressed me out and I returned home sans Coolant Reservoir. Figured I’d done enough cruising up and down Glendale Avenue for one afternoon. Hell it was such a blast I’m gonna do it again tomorrow.
After I call NAPA and ask them where they’ve moved their block to.

~Miss R

Currently listening:
It’s Not Big It’s Large
By: Lyle Lovett and His Large Band