sing. write. savor.

2009-02-20T07:24:00.000-08:00

This is what I want for lunch. Hot lentil soup and chewy, doughy, white flat bread from The Olive Vine in Brooklyn New York. I also want a salad, some hummus, and tabouleh. And Rachel. And an apartment in Brooklyn.

Challah!

2009-02-11T18:12:00.000-08:00

One spring afternoon in 5th grade, I stumbled through one of many cold gray hallways in my suburban Maine middle school on my way to Home Economics class. We didn't learn a thing about economics, or how to run a home, but we did learn how to cook a bunch of random shit and on this particular day we were going to learn how to make "churros." I never forgot it.

Our teacher, a native Mainer, pronounced it CHUH-roe and I wondered if there should have been a rolling, purring, engine running sound somewhere in there, but what did I know? We made a lot of fried food in Home Ec.: Donut holes, french fries, fried chicken. Nothing I've ever dared to repeat considering I've never had an industrial friolator in any of my kitchens since 5th grade.

In any case, what we ate that afternoon, huddled around a tattered formica counter-top, bore little resemblance to the greasy, sugar-coated, ribbed-for-my-pleasure snack that I enjoyed this afternoon. (But I still loved it and have craved it ever since).

Today my craving was fulfilled when a plate of 9 hot churros came to my table along with three Mexican hot chocolates (thick, dark, and bitter hot) that also served as a perfect dipping sauce for the crispy sweet donut wands. P.S. I was with my mother and friend and did not order three hot chocolates although I certainly could have handled it.

The place, San Agustin Chocolates & Churros is also known for the fact that it is owned by former Mexican model and actress Maria Gralia, who sat regally in the corner of the joint, underneath dozens of posters that displayed her younger, tighter face. She stood periodically for a photo with eager Mexico City tourists. I thought she was Sharon Stone the whole time until my mother explained.

I couldn't stop snapping photos of my plate which may have offended her considering she was sitting just a few seats away. Oh well. A girl has priorities.

2009-01-29T07:25:00.000-08:00

Thank the Lord above that my brother and his lovely Hungarian, Sweden-raised wife have, for the past three years, created a real Swedish smorgesbord at my mom's house- a buffet of Nordic goodies created to delight every cell in my food-loving-pleasure-seeking body.

It must be my Swedish blood that has me eating to pain. Going back for just a little more pickled herring... just one more slice of raisin bread with liver paté... just a few more chunks of cheese and perhaps some gravlox with dill, cold boiled potatoes and tangy sour cream.

Why can't every day be smorgesbord day?

2008-04-06T17:34:00.000-07:00

You know how sometimes when you get a big plate of nachos, there are a few tortilla chips that soak up a bit of the salsa or cheese grease and they get a little soft but in a good, chewy, hot way? That's the essential bliss of a little mexican breakfast dish known as chilaquiles. Above, is a picture of my chilaquiles in salsa verde. Although I asked for them with chicken, they arrived without and let me tell you... I was just fine. Just fine.

Hand-made corn tortillas - thicker and softer than the ones we get in the good ol' U.S. of A absorb the salsa. A little cheese and crema on top... oh boy. You can also see a sweet little pile of refried black beans in the corner. Just a touch of shredded country cheese... not that you can taste it but doesn't it feel good to have a little shredded cheese on just about anything?

Yes. It does. It certainly does.

2008-03-31T12:01:00.000-07:00

Sunday brunch at Local 188 - probably one of my favorite moments of the week. Especially when it includes bites of the above pictured pancake. Fluffy and tender with tart thin slices of apple floating around. Creamy goodness. Not too sweet. Makes me wanna sing, "Jeeeesus!" So I do.

2008-02-14T07:12:00.000-08:00

It's February and that means it's time for my annual "run-away-from-Maine-and-go-to-New-York-to-be-with-soul-mate-friends-to-laugh-and-remember-that-even-though-I-am-crazy-and-miserable-it-will-all-be-over-soon" retreat.

The beauty of these trips is the simplicity. The tradition. The comfort of a city I love. And the pizza. The food is really what it's about. I assure you that my trips to the Big Apple are never about clubbing or site-seeing. It's just basically about... eating. And laughing. And drinking. Probably my favorite combo.

This particular photo is from a little spot called Two Boots in Park Slope Brooklyn. Two Boots has never done us wrong. Never. The music is always great. The wait staff cracks up with us and we generally slouch into the booths for a good couple hours of nonsense.

Ahh. I just took a deep breath. We are going to make it. With pizza... I know we can get through this.

2007-12-15T21:06:00.000-08:00

So. Tonight, I simply have to complete my ode to foods-of-Barcelona-that-I-will-miss. I just had a 12:30 a.m. dinner of tuna salad and crackers, a not unusual meal for me in any city and I must say it's not half bad, especially when you have a few tiny kosher dills to throw in the mix.

But man... I would kick a nun in the neck to be sitting in front of a plate of salty fried fishlings from the coast of Spain.

The plate pictured above was from my first visit to Taller de Tapas when I was with my mom. As I wrote before, I returned to this spot a number of times but I could never remember which version of salty fried fishlings we originally ordered. I had them tiny and spiny and big and spiny, but never again found this plate. These fish were just right. They were meaty and clean and lightly fried on the outside, white on the inside. No bones to bother with. Just a squeeze of lemon.

You can also see the Pimientos de Padrón in the background of the other photo. Sigh. So good. So good. Also fried but not heavy. Salty and hot with the sweetness that comes from cooked green peppers. And then you get a surprise hot pepper and the spiciness is just enough to wake you up and remind you that you're eating the best fucking snack on the planet (with all due respect to Doritos).

The nuts are raw almonds. Very common in Barcelona. Smooth, skinless, crunchy and perfect with a glass of vino rosado. And salty. Sea salty. Big, white, substantial grains of natural sea salt. I swear, I can't go back to regular shaker salt. It's just not the same.

Man. I'm happy to be home. Really happy. And I don't need to go back to Spain any time soon. (Although I've heard that as far as Spanish food goes, Barcelona is not the place to go and if I had my way, I would do a long and easy eating tour of the villages of southern Spain as soon as possible. For now I have to wait). In any case, it's good to be back in Maine. Back in the good ol' U.S. of A. But this is the stuff that makes me think twice.

And you know what's the best part? None of this stuff can be reproduced in the States. Of course we try. But there is something about food when it's eaten in the place where it originated. It's just... right. It can't be reproduced. You can't transplant the fresh produce, the fire under the pan, the oil, the language in the kitchen. You can come close, but it's never quite the same. Have you ever tasted a Belgian Waffle in Belgium? Or a real tagine in Morocco? Have you ever had enchiladas in Mexico? Nothing like it, I tell you. Nothing like it.

I guess that's what makes it so special. You know you can't have it all the time... and you know it will be there when you go back.

2007-12-14T13:52:00.000-08:00

What do I miss most about living in Barcelona? For me, it's a small plate of "Patatas Bravas," golden wedges of potato, fried and salted and served with a sauce that ranges from mayonnaise to spicy red pepper or a combination of the two. At their best, they are soft and fluffy inside, crunchy on the outside and smothered in creamy goodness. Damn! They are good.

The weirdest version of Patatas I saw were at an Irish Bar (why was I at an Irish Bar in Barcelona?) that featured a menu with a drawing of "The Horny Irishman" who was sporting a giant boner through his green overalls. Very strange. Anyway, these potatoes were covered with some kind of sweet chilli sauce and then striped with cold sour cream. Not bad. Just strange. And definitely not Spanish.

Every restaurant in Barcelona will have Patatas Bravas. The ones pictures above were from one of my favorite spots called Taller de Tapas. I would sit at my own outdoor table in the dappled sunlight, next to an ancient church and order a cup of vino rosado, a plate of Patatas and a plate of Pimientos de Padrón (another food love story) and watch as tourists, locals and performers floated around me.

On my last day there, my mom called and said, "Go to Taller de Tapas and eat peppers and potatoes until you puke... I'll pay you back."

That's the spirit, mom.

2007-11-07T14:24:00.000-08:00

"I have a sister, nice to me.
We live down in a green country.
I love to hug her just like that
I have a special person in my habitat...
My sister is a real good cuddler
Sometimes she's a funny little fuddler."

(Exerpt from Megan Jo Wilson's early works of poetry)

2007-08-23T17:43:00.000-07:00

This is a little snapshot of my Leadership group in Spain during dinner in June.

I'll be with them again in two weeks for Retreat #3.

I've had blog anxiety for weeks now since one of my international "friends" threatened me when he found out that I had used his full name in a blog entry. I didn't really think much of it at the time since - again - we were friends.

Isn't it just shocking and heartbreaking when someone you care about and trust suddenly attacks you? It had been a long time. He really had me convinced for about 10 minutes that I was a terrible person.

Sigh.

Oooh! I just realized that the same thing happened to me in 1996 with my two best friends from high school (identical twins. Note: Never get too close to identical twins. It is a strange and twisted triangle. Poor things. I can't imagine how hard it must be to create your own identity when someone else is walking around and looking at you and people never get your name right but... trust me on this one). No wonder that hurt so much.

I have thin skin these days. So why am I writing my deepest feelings in my blog?

Ah, fuck it.

I'm reclaiming you, dear blog. Ignoring you is not fair to the 3 people who read you.

Amen!

2007-06-27T07:39:00.000-07:00

Whoa. What the fuck just happened?

2007-05-06T07:55:00.000-07:00

P.S. I traded my red converse with a Berber man for these shoes. Words cannot express how happy they make me.

2007-05-06T07:37:00.000-07:00

Mom: Hello?

Me: Hiiiii!

Mom: Okay I can breathe. You're alive.

Me: Yes. I'm alive. I'm alive.

Mom: So you had a great time?

Me: Yes. Yes. Amazing. I'm a little bit sick now. Feeling really tired and sick to my stomach. Very disoriented after returning to the city.

Mom: Tell me stuff.

Me: It's hard to put into words. This is a place I'll be returning to for the rest of my life. I know it. It felt like my spiritual home.

Mom: Yeah, I heard... And the coaching course was good.

Me: It was incredible. People just transformed. This is the work I love. This is the work I'm going to do in my life. Everything just screamed to me... yes, yes, yes... you're on the right path.

Mom: I could feel that. I could feel that you were gone. That you weren't homesick anymore. I felt like you grew up all of a sudden.

Me: Really? Well, I'm here. I'm right hear. What is it you really want to say?

Mom: Don't forget us! Don't run away to the desert!

Me: I'm right here, mom. Maine feels very far away but I am looking forward to coming home. When I'm there, I'll really be there. Right now, I don't know where I am. But I'm here. I love you and I'm going to come home to you forever.

Mom: Oh good.

2007-04-26T08:36:00.000-07:00

Her: So, I spoke to my roommate and we're both happy to have you stay longer than two weeks if you need to.

Me: Really? Oh that's great news. Thank you!

Her: Of course. The room is quite small but...

Me: It can't be smaller than the one I've been in.

Her: So, tonight I'm going to a sort of women's network here in Spain. I can ask about your joining if you'd like... it's lots of coaches and other women in business. I'm referring people all the time to each other. You could offer English lessons... coaching... whatever.

Me: That would be so nice... This is exactly what I needed, Roxanne. It's so good to be with you again. I feel like I can breathe. I've just been so isolated.

Her: Yeah. I understand.

Me: I've never been lonely in my whole life. Never. Or homesick. I didn't think it was in me. But I met that part of myself last week.

Her: Well, you won't be lonely here for long, that's for sure.

Me: Thank you for everything.

Her: Of course.

2007-04-26T08:31:00.000-07:00

My favorite street in Barcelona... It's like Spanish Portland. Narrow cobblestones, little movie theater, and tons of restaurant and shops. This is where I would want to live if I could.

And.

A tortilla.

That's all.

2007-04-25T03:36:00.000-07:00

"In what constitutes the real happinesss of human life, (the poor) are in no respect inferior to those who would seem so much above them. In ease of body and peace of mind, all the different ranks of life are nearly upon a level, and the beggar, who suns himself by the side of the highway, possesses that security which kings are fighting for."

-Adam Smith, the father of modern economics, 1776

Thanks, Adam.
Although my bank account will soon be diving into the world of negative numbers, I do have the absolute freedom to sun myself in the park for as long as I wish.

I just learned that although people in the middle class are happier than those living in abject poverty, those who are in the upper class are not happier than those in the middle class? And yet we work so hard to get there... (from the book, Stumbling into Happiness)

I leave for Morocco on Friday for 5 days of coach training in the desert. It's so beyond my imagination that I find I don't have material with which to daydream.

Then I'll stay for two weeks with a French woman named Roxanne who works for the Coaches Training Institute here in Barcelona. Then... who knows.

I'm still looking for work... jogging in the morning... saying prayers... writing songs... missing Maine... feeling groundless and alone.

I'm going to go celebrate my wealth with a .60 euro baguette and a good book in the park.

2007-04-23T08:57:00.000-07:00

My office.

Today was a good day. I found a way to make some money. I jogged next to the sea at sunrise. I watched Family Guy in Spanish. I found a way.

2007-04-22T08:45:00.000-07:00

My first Friday night in Barcelona was out of control, yo! I'm talking about a puzzle, some Spanish tv shows and mad cups of tea. It was crazy! Watch me now!

2007-04-20T09:48:00.000-07:00

Him: British Airways...

Me: Hola... podemos hablar en ingles?

Him: Yes, one moment.

(Hold music... ice-cream truck version of "The Entertainer")

Him: Yes, hello?

Me: Hi, I’m calling about two pieces of luggage that didn't come in with me yesterday on BA flight 484.

Him: Okay, can you give me please the file registration number?

Me: It’s BCNBA11286

Him: One moment.

(More "Entertainer")

Him: Okay, yes?

Me: I wasn’t able to give you a contact phone number and I’d like to give you one now.

Him: We have phone number 011 207 939...

Me: That number won’t work. It’s an American number and the phone is going to die soon because the charger is in the luggage. I have a Spain number now.

Him: Okay, what is that number?

Me: 648 756 235

Him: Okay, thank you, have a nice day.

Me: Also, I was just on-line and noticed that my last name was spelled incorrectly.

Him: Yes, it’s Wilson, right?

Me: Yes, but the information on the website said Ilson.

Him: Wilson?

Me: No, Ilson, without the w.

Him: Oh, without the w.

Me: Right.

Him: Okay, thank you, have a nice day.

Me: Do you have any information about that baggage? I need it right away.

Him: Okay. Please, one moment.

(I swear it is the exact sound of an ice cream truck... why is THIS their hold music?)

Him: No, we have nothing.

Me: Great. Do you have the address?

Him: Yes... Carrer Sardenya, 74-75...

Me: Actually, it’s 74 - 78...

Him: Yes, one moment.

(blingy bling bling blading blading... bladdada bladda bladda...)

Him: Yes, anything else?

Me: I guess not, no.

Him: Thank you and have a good day.

2007-03-28T10:39:00.000-07:00

From a police report filed in Barcelona the night after my purse was stolen right out from under my feet as I gorged on delicious fried fish and guzzles white wine:

Un bolsa de color azul de la marca "Angela Admas" de valor 40 euros. (my fucking purse that I loved... it was blue and square so it held lots of books with just the right length arm straps)
Una camara digital de la marca "SONY" modelo "desconocido" de valor 200 euros (my sweet little camera with a months-worth of photos from Spain. Thus the reason that I have ZERO photos to use to update my much neglected blog.)
Un telefono mobil de la marca "Nokia" modelo "desconocido" de valor 65 euros (my stupid mobile phone that had all my Spain numbers on it. At least it wasn't my phone from home. Sigh.)
Una targeta de credito tipo "Mastercard" de la entidad bancaria "Hannaford Federal Credit Union: anuladas a nombre de la denunciante. (Really? Do I really have to call my bank at 2am and try to cancel the card? Yes. Actually No. I really have to call my dreamy boyfriend who took care of it for me.)
Unas gafas de sol de valor 40 euros. (My sunglasses that I used to jog with. I didn't have any good jogging gear. I look like a bum when I run. But somehow these glasses made me feel like I was a runner. Sigh.)
Un iPod de la marca "Apple" de valor 250 euros. (This is the one that really hurts the most. We had been through so much together. So much. Every day I walked through the city, comforted by the songs of my favorite artists. It was my soundtrack. My friend. My lullaby at night. Fuck! I wonder where it is now... is it cold? Lonely? Does it miss me?)
Un juego de llaves del domicilio de la denunciate. (My friend's apartment keys. My last day in Barcelona was spent looking for a locksmith and paying 45 euros (almost 60 bucks) for a set of new keys. Oh brother.)

2007-01-30T07:38:00.000-08:00

Me: "It's so strange that you can dream about doing something for years and then when you make it happen it just comes down to all of these mundane details. One day you find that you're actually buying the plane ticket to Spain. That you actually have to decide on the clothes you're going to bring and how you're going to get to one specific apartment in Barcelona among thousands of other apartments. You have to make that transition. It just becomes real all of a sudden when you say goodbye to friends and family. And all you see are the beautiful things you're going to leave behind."

Him: "Yeah, I know."

Me: "And in five years or ten years, I'll say to some acquaintance at a party, 'I lived in Spain for a while,' and that's all we'll say about it. They'll never know about the moments that led up to it, or all the adventures I had while I was there. It will just be a passing moment in conversation..."

Him: "It is strange."

Me: "I'm so lucky. Thank you. I love you a million times."

Him: "I love you a million times. You have to do this. It's going to bring you to the next level... It'll be great."

Me: "Eeoo bui gwate!"

giggle giggle giggle...

2007-01-15T08:15:00.000-08:00

Nigel Hall recording tracks for my next album!

2007-01-11T07:59:00.000-08:00

Mom: It sucks to get old

Me: I know.

Mom: You just kind of fall apart. It gets pretty grotesque. I mean, I remember watching my Mom...

Me: Oh, I know. I'll take care of you.

Mom: I can't tell you how comforting that is. I hate that I was far away from my mother when she as she got older.

Me: Well, we'll make it work. No matter where I go in the world, I'll stay rooted to where you are.

Mom: Or I'll come to you...

Me: Yeah.

Mom: It's hard when your mother dies.

Me: Oooh, I know. Agh. I don't want to think about it.

Mom: Okay, yes. Cancel, cancel.

Me: You still have a lot of life in you.

Mom: It's true.

Me: We're lucky.

Mom: Yes, we are.

2007-01-09T13:25:00.000-08:00

Her: What do you want to bring into 2007?

Me: Well ... I know I want abundance and simplicity.

Her: What do you mean by abundance?

Me: Money. Opportunity. Abundant rest. And abundance in terms of the kinds of people I spend time with. I want to be surrounded by a community of weird, funny, warm, passionate, intelligent, disciplined artists.

Her: That's clear.

Me: Yeah. That's what I intend to find in Spain.

Her: Good.

Me: You know, I just realized that I have that community here in Portland. And I know there is so much more here to discover. But the truth is, I'm surrounded by people like that right where I am. And I appreciate it a lot. So ... I want more of that.

2006-11-12T13:35:00.000-08:00

Her: "That's one place where you and I are different."

Me: "What do you mean."

Her: "I don't think my dead grandmother is watching over me. She's gone. She was here and now she's gone."

Me: "Hm."

Her: "I don't believe in God the way you do."

Me: "Okay, well I have a question, and I really mean it. When you and I are singing and it's perfect harmony and it gives you chills and you feel closer than close, do you think that's just biology? Do you think it's totally absent of spirit?"

Her: "No! I understand that there is energy all around us and we connect to that energy and that we are all connected to that energy, and that it never dies or goes away.

Me: "Oh. Well that's what I'm talking about when I say 'God' or 'Heaven.'"

Her: "Oh. Well I don't really feel comfortable throwing those words around in my vocabulary."

Me: "That makes sense. But it's quicker and easier to say."

Her: "That's true!"

giggle
giggle
giggle

2006-10-06T07:51:00.000-07:00

Mile 1
Me: "This is amazing! I can't believe we're doing this."
Her: "I know. Should we just try to jog the whole thing and see what happens?"
Me: "Sure!"

Mile 4
Me: "This neighborhood is so cute. I've never been through this area."
Her: "Yeah...look at that house. I love the decorative grass."

Mile 5
Her: "I can see blue lights ahead...that must be the turnaround."
Me: "Yeah."

Mile 7 (hundreds of runners passing us in the other direction)
Me: "So, I guess that wasn't the turnaround."
Her: "It must be at the top of this giant hill."

Mile 9
Onlooker: "Keep it up...you're looking great!"
Her: "Thanks."
Me: Grunt.

Mile 12
Her: "We can do this. One more mile."
Me: "I am saying yes to a healthy, strong, body...Oh God, it hurts!"

Mile 13
Me: "I don't mean to sound dramatic, but I really don't think I can make it."
Her: "Yes you can. There's the finish line. We're almost there."
Me: "Everything hurts from my bellybutton down."
Her: (laughing) "We're almost there."
Me: "We're almost there."
Her: "Have I said thank you for doing this with me?"
Me: "Yes, you have. I'm proud of us."
Her: "I'm proud of us too."

2006-10-04T04:56:00.000-07:00

Music is God.

2006-09-25T13:17:00.000-07:00

9:30 a.m. - On the road to Unity, Maine for the 2006 Common Ground Fair.

11:30 a.m. - Walk directly to red flag with white fork and spoon flapping in the hard wind. Girlfriend stopped by a woman named "Rose". She's wearing a crown of flowers on her head.

11:38 a.m. - Girlfriend stopped by 3 other acquaintances. Boyfriend and I are still staring at the flapping fork and spoon.

12:05 p.m. - Organic Hot Italian sausage on whole wheat bun with mountain of peppers, onions, mustard and ketchup.

12:30 p.m. - Rain begins to fall during sheep dog show. We put on jackets and hoods and watch with soft smiles on our faces. Share a strawberry banana smoothie. It's bananas.

1:15 p.m. - "Let's go check out the yarn." "Okay, sweetheart."

1:45 p.m. - 2 skeins of deep brown yarn purchased for $14.00 for Boyfriend's new winter hat. We meet the family of the sheep who grew the wool that made the yarn that will make Boyfriend's new winter hat.

2:00 p.m. - Poultry Barn. Bunny Barn. Goats with little black dashes for pupils.

2:45 p.m. - Back to the fork and spoon flag for honey buns - thick warm whole wheat bread baked around an apple with raisins, peanuts, and puddles of honey. Tastes of organic baked beans ("They need salt, I saw some over there...") and vanilla ice cream with strawberry topping ("Can I try one more taste of that?")

3:15 p.m. - The barn of winning vegetables. Girlfriend: "I love the idea of prize vegetables and animals. It's so strange."

3:45 p.m. - Livestock. Giant horse the color of butterscotch lets me pet his warm flat forehead again and again. I can feel the vibration of his chewing. I fall in love with the giant black eye and blonde eyelashes. I want to stay here all day.

4:14 p.m. - Rain begins again. "Let's go to the big craft tent." "I've almost reached my saturation point, like when you're at a giant museum and your mind just can't take in any more information."

4:35 - "Yeah, I'm getting tired as well."

4:45 - Walk out in the rain. Stop when we realize boyfriend is gone. He comes out juggling four red apples.

5:00 - Driving home in damp pants. Girlfriend falls asleep in the back. Boyfriend holds my hand. Trees throw orange confetti behind the car. We sip bad coffee and read Uncle Henry's until we drive into Deering Oaks Park.

Girlfriend: "I like entering Portland through this park. It always feels good to come back to our little city."

Me: "Me too."

2006-09-04T19:29:00.000-07:00

Lyrics to a new song I wrote last weekend:

Tiger lillies push their pretty faces out into the world
Hands behind their backs
I want to be like that

Two little seed pods
Just waiting to crack
I want to be like that

Inside the house is warm
Outside a wind storm
Sweeps across the map
I want to be like that

Day ends and the light bends from
orange, blue to black
I want to be just like that

Old dog lying on a rose colored rug
Taking a nap
I want to be like that

On the wall is a yellow straw hat
Weather beaten to crap
I want to be just like that

2006-08-06T18:39:00.000-07:00

Phone rings.

Me: Hey!

Him: Hey, whatchoo doin'?

Me: Actually, I just got to the beach.

Him: Oh yeah?

Me: Yeah, man. This is a perfect fucking beach day.

Him: For real. Listen, can you e-mail me some of those photos you took last night?

Me: Yeah, I can do that. I took some video too.

Him: Really?

Me: Yeah, when I had my camera up on the Clavinet, it was taking video.

Him: Oooh, that's bad!

Me: It's beautiful.

Him: So, you know you're officially part of the band now.

Me: Don't you mean, 'You know Megan, you were incredible last night. Would you be willing to make time for the band because we could really use you?"

Him: (laughing) Yeah, that's what I mean.

Me: You were incredible last night. You had me crying with that Stevie tune. It was amazing. I had a blast.

Him: You killed it. You're incredile.

Me: You ahh!

Him: You ahh, de-ahh!

Me: We ahh!

Him: Okay, give me a call tomorrow and we'll get together. I want to check in with you schedule so we can set up some regular rehearsals.

Me: Okay. I love you, Nige.

Him: I love you too.

2006-08-03T20:49:00.000-07:00

Kitchen rehearsal on a Hot Summer Night

2006-07-26T05:18:00.000-07:00

Dear summer in Maine, 2006,

We haven't had this much fun in a long time, have we?

Very sincerely,
megan jo wilson

2006-07-24T11:15:00.000-07:00

From my journal. 4:15 a.m. Saturday July 22nd

Nightmare:

I live with butter and S.B. I come home. It's my birthday. I'm ready for a peaceful and quiet celebration with friends. One person comes into the house. They don't say hello to me. Then another. More, more, and more people.

No one is coming there for me. This is going to be a raging party. People are pissing and fucking on the floor. Cum, piss, shit are everywhere. People are in my room, stealing my clothes and CDs, ashing in my pants and knocking over precious things. The refridgerator is in another room. I don't even know where the food is!

It's as if everything I love is in danger.

My enemies are there and my friends are enemies. I confront S.B. "I can't believe you guys would disrespect me like this." I'm expecting compassion and forgiveness, but he's been waiting for this all night. "Well, you know what, Megan? You have been nothing but controlling so...get used to it 'cause we're not going anywhere." His face looks like a fat snake.

It's as if my trust in my friends has always been an illusion.

More people coming.

Sean enters. Thank God! The man I love. The man I trust. He's very thin. Thin neck. Thin cheeks. Too much. New glasses and flannel shirt. We pass through the living room and I see a blanket with Japanese characters on it. I don't understand them.

I run to him. We embrace. I'm safe now. I'm not alone now. But he's talking to others and whispering. He brings a six pack to the kitchen. He's okay with this party.

We go to another part of the house. It's flooded. Damaged. White plastic chairs floating. (The two women who once betrayed me) are having the time of their lives. They're right at home. I turn to Sean when I realize that Butter has been going along with all of this.

Wow.

That hurts.

Sean: "Well, they do have a point, honey. You're pretty tight with things..."

"I'M STINGY?!"

Wow.

It's as if my strongest values have been challenged. As if I'm meeting a part of myself that is ugly, terrible and hatable.

And everyone else agrees with that, so I have nothing to stand on. I can't disagree. Their disapproval echoes around me. So...I give up.

OH GOD! I lose my tongue!

I keep dropping my tongue out. It's too small. Too big. Every time I try to put it back in by swallowing, I choke and gag. It's dirty. It's damaged. Chewed up.

I give up. I am willing to face this part of myself.

I'm stingy. I'm a control freak. Oh well. I guess I'd better change or I will literally lose everything.

2006-07-11T07:29:00.000-07:00

Butter: "So, tell me about Spain. I haven't heard much about your trip, really."

Me: "We haven't talked about it yet?"

Butter: "No, we really haven't."

Me: "Well, Spain was fucking beautiful. Spain was perfect. But you know, I really haven't made a commitment to this program because, for one thing the cost of living is so damn high in Barcelona - higher than I had planned for. But more importantly, the program just didn't look that strong for something I'm going to be paying off for the rest of my living days."

Butter: "Really?"

Me: "Yeah. But, it was amazing. You would love it."

Butter: "So, what the hell are you going to do?"

Me: "I don't know yet, Butter! I'm waiting to hear about the scholarship I applied for and to hear from some of the coaches that are involved with the program and then I'm going to make a decision."

Butter: "I see."

Me: "But right now, it looks like I'm going to be around through the fall and winter so we can see what we can get going with these press kits. If we really dig into the music and do some more recording and playing...You know?"

Butter: "That sounds damn good to me."

Me: "Yeah! So can we get together tomorrow night?"

Butter: "I'll cancel my lesson and we'll get together - make some dinner and play some tunes. I got a truck that just pulled in so unfortunately I gotta cut you off."

Me: "I'll give you a call later, B."

Butter: "Okay, I'll see ya."

2006-06-30T15:08:00.000-07:00

Things I know:

I am blessed.

I am privilaged.

I use my privilages and blessings with purpose and joy.

I enjoy the company of my Mother.

I love the way Spanish language feels in my mouth and ears.

I trust the universe.

I trust my gifts.

There are a lot of people in the world.

All of them love and shit and eat and have yearning.

I miss my guitar.

Barcelona has the best fucking food in the world.

There is always enought time.

I cannot make a wrong decision.

Estoy lista.

If there is music, laughter and food, I am home.

I am blessed.

I am privileged.

I will use my privileges and blessings with purpose and joy.

Amen.

2006-06-27T09:03:00.000-07:00

Granola breakfast.

European MTV.

Sauna.

Chevre, tomato, olive flat bread in the Grand-Place.

Walk.

Walk.

Cathedral.

Cathedral.

Walk.

Coffee.

Sit.

Stare.

Cathedral.

Park.

Walk.

Chocolatier.

Shoe shop.

World Cup.

6 pillows.

Solitude.

Cup of tea.

Chinese.

Japanese.

Dirty knees.

Look at these.

2006-06-26T15:46:00.000-07:00

5:00 PM, Cape Elizabeth Maine: Picked up in black stretch limousine.

7:15 PM: Arrive to Logan Airport, Boston Massachusetts.

7:45 PM, Logan Airport: Try to act cool as I hang around in Business Travel lounge. Hold Mom's hand at the bar. Eat some potatoes and fish even though I am not supposed to.

8:20: Board the plane. Give mom a kiss. She is going upstairs on a plane. I go to the back of the plane. Sit in between two women.

9:30: Watch movie so terrible it's already almost forgotten. Queen Latifah manifests her greatest life dreams when she thinks she's dying of a brain tumor but wait! There was a problem with the CAT scan machine. It was all just a mistake, so she can now marry LL Cool J, run a restaurant and hug Emeril Lagasi. Not once do I even consider having to choke back tears.

11:15: Catch the end of Peter Jackson's "King Kong." Within 4 minutes I'm choking back tears. Red-head looks at me. Don't look at me, I'm not in the mood.

8:00 AM, London Heathrow Airport: Stumble around confused because I didn't sleep under the fluorescent lights and with the red-head crinkling her plastic bags and newspaper. Hold back nausea. Buy 60 dollars worth of make up I don't need just because it looks like it wants to be purchased.

10:30 AM, Depart London for Brussels. Read about Eddie Vedder and chat with kind gentleman from Great Britain.

12:00 PM: Land in Brussels. Merick from the Delhaize Group Distribution center picks us up. Tinny sounds of Elvis on the radio make me nauseous and confused.

2:15 PM: Arrive to Marriot. Room's not ready. Mom and I go to the locker room for showers. Take a sauna and count my lucky stars. Tale three deep breaths of steam and I'm feeling better.

3:30 PM: Mom leaves for her meeting. Room's still not ready. Brought to the Executive Suite. Decide that Executive Suite is a sterile room full of fucking bullshit artist business men who want to feel important because they don't have to pay for their soda and crackers. Tote my bags down to the lobby bar so I can watch people on the street and drink a beer. Gladly pay double for the beer and meet the bartender so I know him later.

4:00 PM: Room's ready. I am peeling off clothes as soon as I walk through the door. Collapse in the bed. There are 6 pillows. Have a nightmare that I'm lost in a foreign country and S. is mad at me.

4:30 PM: Sound of cheering in the distance wakes me. I fall back asleep.

5:3o PM: Mom comes home from meeting. It hurts to open my eyes. She says they are "red as anything." I ask her to speak more softly.

5:45 PM: More cheers in the street. Then more. Now horns and cars and horns and cheers cheers big roaring cheers.

I go to the window.

5 men gather at the Stock Market building. It's and ancient with columns and spires.

5:55 PM: 20-30 people have joined the other men. Red, white, green Italian flags are flying. They are chanting and clapping and hugging. More cars go by. More flags. More honking. The men in yellow shirts are sulking.

6:15 PM: 200-250 people are gathered on the steps. Red, white, green. The police arrive. Flags and honking and hugging and clapping. Flags in the middle of the street. Flags for the cars to drive under. Jumping and cheering and honking and more flags.

I stumble to put some clothes together. I put on my new make-up. It feels great.

6:45 PM: Outside is cool and gray and life and energy and joy and passion in the streets. Everyone smiling and laughing and honking and celebrating and carrying Italian flags.

7:30 PM: We sit for Thai food. Five Americans and one Dutch man eat Thai food in Brussels. It is the best Thai food I have ever had. Fresh and herbal and light and fishy salty. We talk about business. We talk about sports. We talk about food. Pizza. Basketball. No one asks me a question.

10:15 PM: Back at the hotel. Find beautiful email from S. waiting for me. Smiling and feeling that Portland is not so far away.

10:30 PM: Walk very slowly with mom to Gran Plaz. Arm in arm. Silent. Walking very slowly around the Plaz. She knows where to go for a waffle. It's not a Belgian Waffle, it's just a Wafle because we are in Belgium.

We walk.

Very slowly.

Arm in arm.

I look up at the tall spires and my lucky stars are poking their heads behind them. Hi, stars. Hi, lucky me.

We walk slowly to the streets where every restaurant is red and yellow and warm and seafood with vegetables. All is outside and beautiful and different.

We walk back. We are silent.

We come to our room. More horns. More cheers. Mom snoring. She hates it when she snores. Lucky stars are still there.

Behind the yellow curtains in our room.

2006-06-19T07:02:00.000-07:00

Him: "Do you find that you compare yourself to other musicians?"

Me: "Well...I guess. Especially if I'm hearing them for the first time. It's probably impossible to just listen without stealing ideas or getting inspiration or thinking, 'Wow, I could do something like this,' or 'I could never do something like this,' you know?"

Him: "Yeah."

Me: "That's why I can't wait to do another album. Because I want to see what will come out if I approach it from the angle of thinking about the listener. What do people like to hear? It's not something you can pin down, but I didn't think about that at all with this project. I mean, it didn't even occur to me that people would be reviewing it and listening to it on a regular basis."

Him: "I think there's a certain value in doing it that way too though."

Me: "Yeah, it's probably a balance. But I haven't had the time to just sit down and experiment with songs. Most of the songs I've written in the past 5 years were written because I had to survive something, and the song helped with that. So they're pretty heavy tunes. That's why it's nice to have the time to just explore some other themes besides fucking heartbreak and sadness."

Him: "Yeah."

Me: "Do you want to go out tonight?"

Him: "I don't know, do you?"

Me: "Curling up and watching a show sounds pretty great."

Him: "Sounds fucking perfect."

2006-06-09T09:41:00.000-07:00

Just Looking For Trouble - Hafiz (Mystic poet c. 1320-1389)

I once had a student
Who would sit alone in his house at night
Shivering with worries
And fears,

And, come morning,
He would often look as though
He had been raped
By a ghost.

Then one day my pity

Crafted for him a knife
From my own divine sword.

Since then,
I have become very proud
Of this student.

For now, come night,
Not only has he lost all his fear,

Now he goes out

Just looking for
Trouble.

2006-06-05T09:27:00.000-07:00

From an email I sent to my sister last week who had just returned from a Vision Quest. Vision Quests can be accomplished in a number of ways. This program puts participants alone in the woods for a period of time with a knife and a few emergency supplies.

Good good work, sister. I can hear your voice. You are such a brave warrior to go to the dark places in the woods and in your heart. Never underestimate what courage it takes.
It starts to feel normal when you are hanging around with a bunch of other folks who also like to go into the woods, but it is not normal.

I have seen grown men cry in the woods! They cry in fear because nature is a mirror. The universe is chock full of signs and symbols and when you start to see them clearly it is terrifying.

I had a similar epiphany about courage when I realized the other day that most people don't write songs - especially songs based on their personal lives. Well, it's easy for me to self-criticize and feel like I'm a mediocre talent because I'm comparing myself to a bunch of other song-writers. In fact, I shouldn't be comparing myself to anyone at all. (That's why I didn't want to read the reviews of the CD. A reviewer is not a song-writer.)

The truth is, to write an original song with original lyrics is a creative and courageous act. Fuck what anyone thinks about it. Even if I choose to sell it, I don't care what others think or say about it. They will bump into it. If they are moved, they will turn it into their own experience. If they are not moved, they will leave it behind. It has so little to do with me even as it comes into my hands and even as it leaves my hands.

I thought of a song lyric just yesterday. "I looked to the sun for an answer and it gave me one as it destroyed my eyes. It said, ' just shine'." Now, I'm not saying that's brilliant, but it's an important message. It rings true to me. Remembering that line and writing it down was an original creative and courageous act. In some ways, I don't even feel like it's "mine." It just passed through me and I was able to grab it. You know?

Then the other day, I was lying in a hammock, looking up at a spruce and I could see all these hundreds of thin branches coming out from the trunk. Just layers and layers of spiraling branches, reaching out for the sun, and wind, and reaching fearlessly into the world and I thought, "That's what I hope my core looks like." I hope my spirit is a thousand branches reaching out to the rest of the universe. To the sun and the birds and clouds and rain and to the people around me. To all of it. To the pollution and the people who carve their initials in our bark. To the people who piss on us and chop us down. And to the people who water us, and sit under us and hug us and pray beneath us. Just keep reaching out. And even if you burn us, we're still ashes and seeds. Absolutely fearless and upright.

Like you, I have been tapping into anger as an experience and a powerful emotion. Man, it is hearty. Like crusty bread. Sink your teeth into it. Look at the strength and depth it can give you. Shake its hand and say, 'How do you do? Would you like to stay a while?" Observe it like a curious child. "Well, isn't this fascinating. My heart is racing and my hands are shaking. I feel like I could spit rusty nails. I even feel violence taking over my hands. I want to physically hurt something, someone, or even myself." That is no joke. That is darkness. And darkness is a part of light. All the movies about good overcoming evil are full of shit. Light and dark are eternally married. They can't be enemies because they rely on each other.

As for D. I am furious with D. Furious. This week it feels like it will never go away. It feels even like I don't want it to go away. I am savoring the bitter taste of hatred even as it repulses me. It feels like all I want to do is push him away and be done with it.

But maybe I can get curious about it. Maybe there's a lesson here for me. Maybe I can learn something about myself. Maybe I can prevent hatred in someone else. Maybe I can make sure I never ignite this kind of hatred in my own children, friends, lovers. I want to know why he sparks this fury. I want to know how it's bleeding into my other relationships. I don't want to give it the power to tear D and I apart. I'm stronger than that. I want to diffuse it. Reflect it. Deflect it. Jump over it. Redirect it. Drop it to the ground and put it in a choke hold.

The good news is that we both recognize it's not a war to be won or lost. But the fact is, we are stuck in the ring together. In fact, I think God threw us in the ring together for a reason. What better way to learn about yourself than to brush up against your polar opposite on a daily basis. Of course we're going to get a black eye every now and then (I think I gave him at least 2!)

So, I'm shopping around for a therapist. I'm digging deep this time. And the topic is anger and men. I'm ready to look at it. I'm ready to get to a place where I accept that I can be a woman, an artist with an equal partner who flies and who loves to watch me fly. Or to learn that I am a woman and an artist who does not want to make the sacrifices that come with our Western traditions of commitment, matrimony and all the other rules around "romance." I want to make my own rules and see if I can find someone who fundamentally agrees with them.

There are rules all around us, sistee. They have become invisible to almost all of the people aroud you. Remember, the average American watches 4-6 hours of television a day. That creates very powerful blinders. But your spirit smell those rules and regulations from 10,000 miles away. Your spirit is so uncomfortable with the logic of these rules, in fact, that it makes you feel like "you don't belong in this world."

My dear angel. You are of this world on every level. From the cells in your blood to the spirit in your (???). The thoughts you think. The things you see. The truths you understand. They are all of this world, and this world is in you. Isn't that part of what you experience in nature? That you are in a place that transcends the rules of what is 'right' and 'wrong.' That you are in a place of freedom - no matter how scary, it is free of society's rules and it feels better, or true, or some other word that doesn't exist in English.

I think you and I struggle with the same questions. Where do I fit in? How come I see God in everything, and yet I am so often discouraged, or clumsy, or doubtful? What is the right or good thing for me to do?

What if there is no good or bad choice? What if it's all unfolding just as it should? What if you could make your own rules and live by them, even in this mundane world? Even though it makes people scream with fury and confusion. Even if it takes the status quo and smashes it over the head. All the greatest visionaries are doing same thing, sistee. Making their own rules. Keeping their own scorecard. Taking the rules and saying, "Fuck you! I hate you! You don't ring true to me. This is how I'm going to do it."

Of course it's much easier said than done. You wrote, "I feel like I have my feet in two different worlds, so I can't fully belong in one or the other." If that's the truth (and I don't think you would make up such a feeling) then what must that be doing to your power? Can you take a stance when you have one foot in quick sand, and one in white water? What would happen if your feet were planted on a warm rock and you knew that anything that came at you would be gently and kindly redirected to another place?

You have a gift from Nature. From God. From Heaven. That gift can feel like a burden because it's can be very uncomforable at times. The gift is that your spirit is going to take care of you. It is more powerful than your mind and your emotions. Your spirit is going to squirm and squeal unless it's living absolutely in the current of your deepest values, beliefs, joys and enthusiasms.

Well, thanks a lot, God! That can be a real pain in the ass when your deepest values don't have to do with cars and clothes and sex and raising kids and all the other things that society screams at us to care about.

But what a divine relief to know that your spirit is going to take care of you. It will drag you to hell and back and then back to hell again until you really listen to it. Your spirit is fierce. Not everyone can see that in you because the shell doesn't always what's beneath - in fact it rarely does. Look at a cuddly kitten when it defends itself. Fierce. Focused. No questions. No doubt.

There is a animal warrior spirit in you and it will not be tamed. If you try to tame it (and we all try because society tells us to in a million ways every day), you will get sick. First in the body, then the spirit and mind. I have tried it myself and it is hell on earth.

That's cause for celebration! What do you say we make a fire and scream at the top of our lungs? Maybe paint our faces with blood? Randy, baby yeah!

We are little girls and fierce animals. We are both. They cannot be separated and it's dangerous to try. Trust your spirit. You have been stepping closer and closer and closer to it all the time. How brave. How commendable. Really, sister. How fucking...I don't even have a big enough word for it. Trust your spirit. It will take care of you. Listen to it. Stroke its head. Lie back on it and relax. Let it take you to the perfect shore.

Some of the questions I've been asking myself lately (be careful, they're big ones):

What am I putting up with?

If I knew no one would get hurt, what would the truth really be?

If I say "no" to this thing, what am I really saying "yes" to? (and vice versa)

I love you and I am with you. I want to run through a sunny field with you when you are done being a heavy rock lady. But for now, grow the moss and sink into the dark. It is a part of you.
Huuuuuuug (for at least 5 minutes)
-Megan

2006-05-27T22:07:00.000-07:00

Boffa: "I read the reviews of your CD. Congratulations."

Me: "Thank you!"

Boffa: "So what's up...Let me guess. You're getting a lot of positive feedback from your own music and you're not sure you can commit to the function band."

Me: "Well, that's part of it. But the other news I wanted to share with you is that it looks like I'm going to have the opportunity to study and travel abroad this fall."

Boffa: "Go. Just go."

Me: "Yeah...Well, you know, I'm still not sure exactly what's going to happen, but right now the most important thing is to respect our relationship by being forthright about anything that comes along that might jeopardize what I can commit to the band."

Boffa: "That's why I hired you."

Me: "I know. Thank you. And the other thing that matters so much to me is to let the band know that my bowing out has nothing to do with their potential or that I don't believe that they're going to make it..."

Boffa: "Oh yeah...These guys are going places."

Me: "I just know how important it is for the group to have a solid, committed, group of people who can start building relationships now before things get crazy."

Boffa: "Listen, I knew when I hired you that there was a 50% chance you would be pulled in another direction. But I wanted to see what would happen and to give you the opportunity. I've been in this business a long time. There are no surprises for me. Plus, I wanted to have someone who wasn't a project. I needed at least a few solid players to get things started."

Me: "Thank you. It's been a blast. And you know, when I was thinking about all this, my greatest hesitation was missing the opportunity to work with you...I'm just so glad we're connected again..."

Boffa: "Listen, if we lose touch, it will be because of you. Consider me a friend for life. You know, just this afternoon, I had lunch with one of my former students who's studying to get a Master's Degree in Business..."

Me: "Yeah, that's what I'm going to do..."

Boffa: "Are you serious?"

Me: "Yes, I am."

Boffa: "That's great. It's just great. You know, I am just sitting back and looking at all of these students and these people from my past. I'm just watching the circle of life and it's just....It's beautiful."

Me: "It is. I knew you would understand. I knew I could tell you where I was coming from and that if anything came up you would understand completely."

Boffa: "Well, you're wise beyond your years. I wish other people knew that."

Me: "How are you doing anyway?"

Boffa: "I'm exhausted. I had a wedding last night, and I have two more coming up...It's a beautiful day and I want to be out on the golf course. I just want to play golf."

Me: "Soon enough, my friend."

Boffa: "Yeah, I know. So, listen. You're going to tell the guys on Wednesday?"

Me: "Whatever you think is best."

Boffa: "I think that would be best...I think that would be best. You know, all you gotta do is follow your passion and things will just fall into place. That's all. It's so simple. We complicate everything, don't we?"

Me: "We do. But I'm experiencing first hand what you mean about following your passion. That's all I'm trying to do these days."

Boffa: "I know...I've seen you on stage with your own songs. You're singing from your heart. And if technical skill was all that mattered, no one would have heard of Bob Dylan."

Me: (laugh) "It's true." (pause) "Thank you."

Boffa: "We'll make music together, okay?"

Me: "Okay."

Boffa: "Okay, kid. I'll see you on Wednesday."

2006-05-22T08:29:00.000-07:00

Me: "Tonight is a special night for so many reasons...You know, it's been over two years of perseverance to get this CD done. Two years of details and work and follow-through.

We love what we do. We love music. It is our life, our food, and our passion. But it's work, man. We have cried and doubted and sweat and bled and all of that. And it takes balls to get up here and do this. It really does take courage.

Tonight we are celebrating music. We are celebrating accomplishment. And since I have a microphone, I want to take a moment to share this quote with you. It's a quote from Martha Graham who was a bold choreographer and artist.

She said,

'There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique, and if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium; and be lost. The world will not have it.

It is not your business to determine how good it is, not how it compares with other expression. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open.

You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time.

There is on a queer, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.'

So, that's what we're here for tonight.

It is now my pleasure to bring to the stage Ms. Sara Cox, Justin Maxwell, and Mark Butterfield..."

2006-05-19T11:04:00.000-07:00

WMPG: So tell us about your history...I mean, I know you were connected very early on with (some big-name musicians...)

Michael Gulezian: Well, you know I was 16 and we went to see (this big show) and my friend was like, "Aw man, you gotta go up to him and play a song...you're going to blow his mind...you got a go tell him about your music..."

And I was thinking, "How about some humility here?"

But I went out to where (he) was and he was just standing in the yard and saying a prayer to the setting sun and I introduced myself and told him I was a musician and he just kindly said, "Well, go ahead and play me a song." And I did, and that's when I got connected with the record label."

WMPG: "Wow, that's a big nod to you."

Michael: "Well, that's just what happened. You know, things happen for reasons we're not always aware of at the time..."

"I'm just...an old sack of moldy beans...I have a lot of things I'm working on myself, a million things I need to work on. We all have a gift that we bring into the world. I play this guitar"

"You know, I don't care about a person's technique or theoretical ability. Just move me. Make me laugh. Make me cry. Inspire me. Teach me. Make me think about something. Move me. Just move me."

2006-05-13T07:55:00.000-07:00

The Boff: "Listen guys, I'm telling people about this band, you know. We got the owners of The Mets coming in on Thursday. And if you think you can pull something over on them, you're out of your mind.

I'm selling this band, telling people that it's gonna be better than my band. But you gotta do the work. This is not a hobby! And if this is a hobby for you, you gotta respect the rest of us and walk out the door right now.

Listen, if you are not at your house, matching pitches every night...every night...you're not gonna make it.

How often did you match pitches last week?"

Trombone player: "I don't know...Just every time I went into my room..."

Boff: "Tell me the truth! How often?"

Trombone: "Maybe 5 or 6 times..."

The Boff: "You'll never make it!" (to the sax player) "Play me a C sharp."

Sax: "What?"

The Boff: "Play a C sharp on your horn right now."

(He plays)

The Boff: "Did you have any doubt that you would play at C sharp?"

Sax: "No."

The Boff: "Could I convince you that that wasn't a C sharp?"

Sax: "No."

The Boff: "That's how certain you have to be when you're singing!

Listen, you guys are young. If you want to work in this business you gotta know how to sing. I'm telling you. You can play the horn like no body's business but if you can't sing, you're absolutely replaceable!

But if you can sing, you'll get any job you want. You'll walk into the room and other horn players that can't sing will tremble.

You've got to commit to this thing.

All my life...For 40 years...I've heard, 'Tony Boffa talks too much' and 'Tony Boffa this' and 'Tony Boffa that.' You're always gonna have people standin' in the corner, eatin' popcorn, and talkin' shit. And you know why? They're jealous. They're jealous because we've got gigs and they're in the corner eating popcorn.

And if Megan is singing a ballad and you get the giggles because one of your punk friends is in the audience trying to get you to laugh...Leave. Leave right now. I won't have it. You will stand with integrity and you will support her as she sings. You think it's easy to sing a ballad? It's hard!

I've been doing this 40 years, and I'm still practicing. I'm singing all, every day. Right now I'm trying to learn a new tune and I'm singing it every single day. You know why? Because I want to sing a high A. Because I'm determined to sing a high A. Because I refuse to give up.

Have I offended anyone? Listen, I want you to look me in the eye and tell me if I've offended you? You know why I'm telling you all this?

Because I know how good you can be. Because I know how much fun you're gonna have when you get it.

But there's a time for business and a time for play. And this is business. All right, now let's do it. We got a lotta work to do before Thursday..."

2006-05-08T19:38:00.000-07:00

This is not a fake smile.

This is:
4 glasses of wine + homemade guacamole + four amazing women + wind the temperature of blood + guitar + nothing mandatory to do in the morning.

It's feeling very far away at the moment. Sigh.

It's all a gift.

2006-05-07T10:45:00.000-07:00

Her: "Mole is the most traditional of Mexico dishes...and there are many kinds of mole. This is the recipe of my family."

"You can never have a green mole because mole is always made with chilis and tomato."

"Don't be rude to the peppers when you are cleaning them because if the seeds come out of the pepper you will cough for sure."

"Mole is only served with chicken, turkey and pork. Never with beef or seafood, so don't try it."

Mom: "I've seen it with potatoes and some kind of green..."

Her: "Yes, it can be with potatoes, but that's all."

Me: "It's tastes completely different after adding the tortilla..."

Her: "Yes...we never in Mexico thicken the salsa with flour. We use tortillas, nuts and other things to make thick the salsa."

Me: "Que sabroso."

Her: "Gracias."

2006-05-03T20:00:00.000-07:00

Me: "We are pigs."

R: "PIGS!"

Me: "You got any t.p. over there?"

R: "Roger."

Me: "I don't have a receptacle to throw it in."

R: "Give it to me..."

Me: "It's all covered in piss!"

R: "Well, wrap it up and hand it over."

Me: "K."

R: "Wow. I am drunk. Those drinks were stroooong."

Me: "Wooooaw."

R: "I gotta blow my shnoz."

Me: "Do it!"

R: (blowing) "Oh god...oh yeah...that's the ticket."

Me: "Perhaps I should take a photo."

R: "Photografia!"

Me: "Siiiiii."

R: "Siiiii."

Me: "Ok...we gotta figure out where the GD hell we are and get out of here. They're trying to close up shop."

R: "Don't tell me what to do..."

Me: "Shut up a-hole, I'm taking a picture."

2006-05-01T16:07:00.000-07:00

2:15pm Phone call.

Me: Hi!

S: Hi.

Me: What's going on? We miss you! We need to know how to make coffee like you did last time...How do you do it?

R: Is it 2 Tablespoons per cup?

S: No! More than that.

Me: How much?

S: I don't know, I didn't really measure.

Me: You just trusted your coffee intuition?

S: Yeah.

Me: Hi.

S: Hi. I have good news.

Me: What?

S: I just sent the e-mail confirming the details of your CD and it's in production.

Me: Are you serious?

S: Yes.

Me: Are they still sending it on the 17th?

S: They're estimating that it should arrive on the 16th.

Me: Ahhhhh! Oh, thank god. Thank god, thank god, thank god!

S: That gives us four luxurious days before your release show.

Me: I can't believe it! My mom was just saying prayers this morning...Literally saying prayers up on the deck.

S: Yeah...Apparently the old project manager is out of the office this week and the woman I spoke to today was so cool and helpful. She said she could see no reason that it would arrive later than the 16th.

Me: Oh god, my shoulders are relaxing. I feel like a cooked noodle. I can breathe, I can breathe. Oh god, I could not have done this without you. Thank you for making this happen. Thank you.

S: You're welcome, sweetheart. You are so welcome.

Me: Thank you.

S: You're welcome.

2006-04-30T16:10:00.000-07:00

6:15 p.m. San Miguel, Mexico. Overcast. Warm breeze. Drums and trumpets in the distance. A parade. "Dia de Trabajo."

H: "Are you drinking scotch?"

R: "Just a taste."

Me: "We're hittin' the booze and crawling around."

Dog barking.

Birds, birds, birds chirping. Birds wings fluttering in the peppercorn tree. Bang! Firecracker. Se llaman 'cuetes.' Ice rattling in a glass. Silence. Four women in two rooms sitting in the luxury of silence. Clackety clack of the keyboard. Breeze moving through the trees.

"Ooooh!" someone in the distance. Breeze, breeze, breeze.

Toilet flushing. Bang! Silence. Four women in silence. Gratitude.

Heartache. Bang! Gratitude.

R: (collapsing on the couch) "Oh, yeah baby."

Dogs, dogs, dogs barking. Sirens driving by getting louder...getting quieter.

Birds. Heartache. Sip of white wine. Phone rings.

R: "Hello? Johnnie? No, I don't think so. I think you have the wrong number. Ok. Sure."

Mom: "Johnnie?!"

H: "Boy do they have the wrong number."

R: "Then he wanted to know who this was...you don't call the wrong number and then ask who this is! (pause) Johnnie. Cuckuroockoockoo."

Mom: "Ok, I'm really only reading the right-hand page of this book. It's all this book deserves." (pause) "Megan?"

Me: "Yes?"

Mom: "What attracted you to this book?"

Me: "I don't know...I only read a paragraph and just...liked the imagery. Something about drinking the milk out of the coconut and tossing the empty skulls."

R: "It was probably on a page you skipped!"

Trucks passing. Birds. Birds. Silence. Flipping of pages.

Me: "I can't believe I forgot the cord to upload my photos. I had it right on my table. I knew I forgot something."

Mom: "I left my socks."

H: "We'll find one tomorrow."

Me: "You think we can find one?"

H: "Oh yeah...this is such a tourist town."

Me: "That's true."

Gratitude.

Trust.

Big overwhelming gratitude.

Now.

Now.

Now.

2006-04-24T11:06:00.000-07:00

Butter: How old is that there guitar?

Jim Chard: I bought this guitar in 1966.

Butter: Mind if I give it a try?

Jim Chard: Sure...sure...Listen you two should come up to the cabin to see my wife and I. We can get out the mandolin and record some tunes and smoke a dube.

Butter: Yeah...we should do that.

2006-04-24T05:02:00.000-07:00

Him (on the phone): Hey there, Megan Jo Wilson, I got your business card here and I'm calling to find out...how would you like to be on my TV show?

Me: Well...let's just start with first things first. Who the hell are you?

Him: I'm Jim. Jim Chard...like Swiss chard.

Me: Alright. So...tell me what you're looking for.

Jim: Well, I host a show on Harpswell community t.v. from 8-10 and I was hoping you could come up and play a set.

Me: When?

Jim: This Saturday.

Me: How long do you need me to play?

Jim: Oh, about 20 minutes or so...we usually have two or three acts come up and I'll introduce you and everything...

Me: Oh, ok...

Jim: Well, you know we can't pay you, but we'll give you a DVD at the end of the night, and it's a real good recordin' at the studio.

Me: Ok, Jim. Let me think about it. I gotta talk to my wing man and look at my calendar. Can I get back to you tomorrow?

Jim: Sure, sure. If I don't answer it's because I'm out in the yard cutting down a bunch of spruce. I'm gonna use 'em for rafters in my house.

Me: Oh yeah? Good for you, man.

Jim: Ok, then...you have a good night.

One week later. 7:30 pm. Harpswell Community T.V. station is locked. Jim Chard, Mark Butterfield (wing man) and I are waiting outside. The sun has gone for the day. It's cold. I pull out my guitar and wrap a sweater around my neck.

Jim: They should be here any minute now.

Me: Oh yeah?

Butter: Where are the rest of the acts?

Jim: Well...I'm not really sure. They're usually here by now. I don't know why they don't show up...maybe it's me. Maybe they don't want to share the stage with such an old guy.

Me: Well, I sure do!

Jim: Oh...here they come now.

Inside the station. Harpswell Girls Basketball coach is using the computer. There's an old birthday cake and a pizza on the kitchen table. The water cooler is empty.

Debby (volunteer station agent): We've got 10 minutes to live.

Me: So, this runs live on the air?

Debby: Yep.

Me: So what do we do since the other acts aren't here?

Jim: Well, you'll just have to play for an hour and then we'll cut the show short.

Me: Oh. Wow. Ok...let me just write a little set list.

Debby: 8 minutes to live.

Debby's Husband: Why don't you play a little so I can do a sound check?

Me: Sure thing...So, should I do my own promotion stuff?

Debby: Yeah...and make sure you don't mention any specific dates...we're going to run this all throughout the summer.

Me: Oh, ok great. You ready, Butter?

Butter: Yep. (pause) I can't hear my guitar.

Debby: 5 minutes.

Me: Can we get his guitar hooked up, please?

Debby's husband: Yep...we're working on it.

Me: Jim, are you going to play a tune with us at the end?

Jim: Yeah...you know Franklin's Tower?

Me: Um...do I know that one, Butter?

Jim: It's just two chords. G and D. You know how it goes...Roll away...the dew.

Debby: 2 minutes.

Me: Ok. Yeah...I can do that. I just need to tune up real quick.

Debby's husband: Keep singing, I need to get a level!

Me: Yep. So...when will I know when to wrap up?

Debby: We'll tell you...30 seconds.

Me: You ready, Butter?

B: Yep.

Jim (on stage): Hello Harpswell...welcome to Harpswell sound...and live from Harpswell it's Saturday night. This is Megan...and she's from Portland, South Portland area and all that...and this is Mahk.

Debby's husband (from the sound booth): Talk into the mic!

Jim: Oh yeah...I was just about to do that...This is Megan and this is Mark.

Me: Thank you Jim. Yes. I'm Megan Jo Wilson and this is Mark Butterfield and we're going to play some of my original tunes. This first one is called "Take Me Away." One...two...one two three four...

2006-04-22T09:46:00.000-07:00

Please describe your most significant goals and achievements in terms of personal growth (1800 characters).*

In terms of personal growth, my most significant goals have been recording and producing my first solo CD, attaining a brown belt in Martial Arts, and getting hired as a consultant for an important research project at the company where I was formerly working in an administrative role.

The production of the CD was very important to my growth. It took a tremendous amount of patience and discipline. I maintained my vision of the long-term goal while continuously following through with minute details of the project. In this way, I was able to accomplish a dream I have had for many years.

Studying Martial Arts has also been very influential in terms of my personal growth. Attaining a brown belt after 6 years of committed training is an enormous accomplishment for me. Martial Arts is a practice in discipline, relaxation, focus and self-trust. This practice informs every area of my life.

In addition, I am an ass-hole. I like to wear wigs and costumes. I came into this world knowing that I wanted to sing and laugh and perform. I used to sing into the garden hose. The song went:

Microphone juice in my hair...Microphone juice everywhere...Microphone juice in my hair microphone juuuice everywhere.

I used to sing Tina Turner in the yard. She changed my life. I am a bit of a spazz, but I am glad to be alive and I don't generally judge people too quickly. I have an open mind and a big heart. I believe that the world of business could use more creative spazzes such as myself.

My greatest fear is to become a middle-of-the-road stressed-out neurotic business woman. My other greatest fear is to become a bitch. I don't know if I will do well in business school, but I love to learn and I love school. I love Italy. I have a knack for business strategy. I don't know why. I don't really even believe in capitalism, but business makes sense to me. A business full of smart, fulfilled individuals who are doing good work is a successful business. I want to run a successful business. I want to work for myself and own my time.

I am obsessed with Spanish and Latin culture in general, but I promise to learn Italian. It really is a beautiful language and I know I can pick it up relatively quickly. I love food. I love dancing. I love reading and writing. I am desperate to get out of this country. I don't belong here and I've known it for a long time. If you don't accept me to this program, I will punch you in the neck and it will hurt. If you do accept me, I will do good things and I will contribute to your beautiful country. You'll get lots of money for it and I will be glad to pay for it. Thank you.

*From the Bocconi Business School MBA Programme Application for Admission in 2006 (Milan, Italy)

2006-04-14T16:15:00.000-07:00

Me: "Take a picture of us, take a picture of us."*

R: "Hey, don't tell me what to do!"

M: "I'll give you a picture..."

S: "I bet you will..."

B: "Damn, that was a meal."

D: "Hey choach...do you want some of my 'nookie?'

Me: "It's gnocci. Nyoe-key. Not nookie, honey."

D: "Next time I come here I'm going to get five orders of nookie."

D: "Gnocci!"

Me: "Take a picture of us, come on."

D: "Maybe if she wasn't so busy talking to B, she would take your picture."

R: "Give me the G D camera."

M: "I'll take a picture. Seriously."

Me: "Should we get another bottle of wine?"

S: "I think we should probably get going. Yikes."

D: "Let's get some dessert...What do you want, buggers?"

S: "There's still a piece of steak here...How dare we? We have to eat it."

Me: "We have to. Fucking incredible."

D: "Do you want to get some dessert?"

Me: "Cheesecake! I want cheesecake...(To very patient server) Do you have cheesecake?"

Server: "We have lemon cheesecake."

Me: "Perfect! We'll take one slice with 80 spoons, please."

B: "I aint eatin' no cheesecake."

M: "Who's coming dancing with us?"

Me: "Boob! Take the picture."

R: "I am! Shut your a-hole face!"

Me: "Ok."

S: "So then I says, I says, I says..."

Inner monologue to self : Smile like you're not drunk. You'll want this photo later. Focus. Smile like you're not drunk...

*Author's note: Due to the several martini-i and glass-i of wine that I drank, this is absolutely not an exact transcription of actual conversations had during my birthday dinner. I intended to capture the essence of the gleeful fun that was had, and the characters of my absurdly wonderful soul mate friends. Hope y'all haters aint gonna bring me in to a therapy sesh with Oprah.

2006-04-13T12:08:00.000-07:00

Me: "Hi Mom."

Mom: Hola mi hija. (singing) "Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday my dear sweet Megan...Happy Birthday to you."

Me: "Hmmm."

Mom: "Are you still sleeping?"

Me: "Yeah."

Mom: "Oooh ... I told you not to answer so I could sing to you on your voicemail."

Me: "That's ok. I like it. What time is it there?"

Mom: "Oh, it's about noon, and I'm in an empty hallway and I'm in the middle of a big meeting. I'm going to be a Stalker Mom today."

Me: "Good."

Mom: "So...30 years ago I woke up and it was the first sunny day of spring in Illinois."

Me: "Hmmm."

Mom: "And my mom and dad were at the house and they had been there for two weeks because we thought you were going to be born on my birthday. And my mom made me eggs and toast I said, 'I think I'm going to throw up.' And she said, 'Well, that usually means you're going to go into labor.

And sure enough I went to the bathroom to pee and there was more water than just pee (little laugh) and then we went to the hospital."

Me: "What were you wearing?"

Mom: "I had on maternity jeans and a blue and white plaid maternity shirt and a turtleneck and my pressed cardboard peacoat that I threw into the dumpster and the nurses thought it was a mistake a dug it out of the dumpster to return it to me..."

Me: "Oh yeah...That's right."

Mom: "Yeah. And...I'm not sure exactly the time, but you were born around 3 in the afternoon. I remember because the nurse's shift ended at 2:30 and she decided to stay to see you come out.

And I had so much Vick's Vapor Rub and Ben Gay on my lower back that all the nurses would walk into the room and their eyes would tear up."

Me: "I hurt your lower back?"

Mom: "Yes because you came out face up so your little baby skull was on my back bone but that meant that your face didn't get crushed so I didn't care."

Me: (little laugh)

Mom: "And you came out and you were so alert and your eyes were open so wide that you looked...Weird."

(laughing)

"And they told me you were a girl and I saw you and I said, 'No...I can see a penis!' and I was so crushed and I felt awful for being crushed and they said, 'That's not a penis, that's the umbilical cord!"

(laughing)

"I wanted a girl so bad. So bad. And you had no hair but they managed somehow to tape a little pink bow on your bald head."

Me: "Hmmm."

Mom: "And my Dad went out and bought you a frilly frilly pink dress..."

Me: "And my pink bunny rabbit."

Mom: "Yes. Oh! Ok. I have to go back in."

Me: "You go in there and be a big successful Big Mamma."

Mom: "Ok...I'll go be a big Mamma."

Me: "Call me every five minutes."

Mom: "I will!"

Me: "I love you."

Mom: "I love you too."

2006-04-11T11:47:00.000-07:00

Me: "Does anyone know where the boom box is? I want to put on some music."

Co-worker #1: "It's in room 320. You know, I just realized today that since you're not a morning person, it's kind of crazy that we're celebrating at 8:30 in the morning."

Me: "Yeah, it is. I'll be back."

Boss #1 (entering): "Ooooh, pretty tulips! That's a nice thought."

Co-worker #1: "Megan brought those."

Boss #1: "Oh...you brought flowers to your own party?"

Me: "Yeah, I sure did. So, where is everyone?"

Co-worker #2 : "I don't know...I'll go do a quick sweep. I sent an e-mail."

Co-worker #3: "Yeah, I actually have to go, I have a 9 o'clock. Best of luck with everything."

Me: "Thanks."

(cue crickets chirping)

Me: "Well, I'd like to take this opportunity to read a poem that I wrote at midnight last night."

Boss #1: "You wrote a poem for your own party?"

Me: "I did:

My how time sure flies when you're having so much fun
Seems like just a lifetime ago that I was meeting everyone
I tried to do my best to prove that I was a real smarty
So for my first assignment, I arranged my boss's goodbye party.

One boss, two boss, three boss more
Management looks fun you just go in and out the door.
It's all about the friends you make the laughter and the journey
It's lucky that I'm leaving on my feet and not a gurney.

I'll miss all of laughter, the tears I won't miss at all
If you need costumes for the barbecue, you know who to call."

Boss #1: "Oh that's wonderful! We should print that and hang it on the wall."

Me: "Thanks. I just thought..."

Boss #2: "Well this certainly demonstrates what we're going to be losing...you bring style to everything you do. You brought the flowers, the music, the poetry. We're really going to miss having you around."

Me: "Thank you. Thank you very much."

2006-03-28T15:22:00.000-08:00

Him: "Hey, I have a really cool opportunity for you."

Me: "Oh yeah...What's up?"

Him: "I've been working on this independent music project down in Boston and we're shooting videos of a bunch of musicians for a new channel on Time Warner Cable. We're doing videos and interviews and it's all about real musicians and..."

Me: "Wow, that's great."

Him: "Yeah...This is probably the biggest thing I've worked on."

Me: "Sounds like it, yeah."

Him: "So, they need a couple of background vocalists to stand in during the shoot, and I thought you might be interested. You'd be lip synching along with the songs. It will only take two hours and they'll pay you 100 bucks on the spot."

Me: "Really?"

Him: "Yeah! But you have to be here by 8:30 on Tuesday. So you can either come down on Monday night and crash at the hotel, or leave mad early on Tuesday."

Me: "Ok...I have a lot going on with work and everything...I just gave my 2 week notice last week."

Him: "That's awesome, congratulations!"

Me: "Thanks. So...I'm going to try to work something out. It sounds like a lot of fun. Who's the artist?"

Him: "His name is Vance Gilbert, he's been up and coming in New England so it would be a great opportunity. These are really cool folks working on this project."

Me: "Wow...Ok. So, how am I supposed to learn these two songs by Tuesday?"

Him: "I'll send them to you on Monday night."

Me: "So...I'll listen to them on the drive down or something?"

Him: "Yeah, can you handle that?"

Me: "Absolutely."

2006-03-19T12:20:00.000-08:00

Oh boy:

"The GMAT exam includes Analytical Writing Assessment, Quantitative, and Verbal sections. Data Sufficiency and Problem Solving questions are mingled throughout the Quantitative section and Sentence Correction, Reading Comprehension, and Critical Reasoning questions are intermingled throughout the Verbal section...

...You will need a student visa to study in a country where you are not a citizen. Proof of sufficient funds may be required in order for you to obtain the necessary visa. Obtaining your student visa can be a lengthy process, so plan accordingly...be sure you have enough money."

-GMAT Information Bullentin for testing in 2006

Him: "From what I know about you as an artist and kind of humanitarian, I just can't see you going into the world of business...I mean just look at yourself."

Me: "Come on...I'm all business."

Him: "I don't know...I just don't think you'll like it."

Me: "Hm. I'll be sure to let you know."

2006-03-17T12:22:00.000-08:00

Me: "I keep hearing my mom's voice saying, 'You should just stay at your job for a while longer.' Or her friend saying, 'What are you going to do about health insurance?' Or my dad saying 'If you want to take a vow of poverty and live as an artist that's one thing...'

Fairy Godmother: "Well you have quite a harem of voices in your head, don't you? If you're going to listen to voices, then listen to mine: FLY. LIVE YOUR LIFE. DO IT NOW. SUCCEED. FAIL! TAKE CHANCES NOT DRUGS. FLY. FLY. FLY! MAKE YOUR ART. WRITE POETRY. SING. LAUGH. WEEP. LIVE YOUR LIFE and LIVE IT NOW."

2006-03-05T13:48:00.000-08:00

Her: You said something to me that I'll never forget.

Me: When?

Her: When I was up in Maine. You were so drunk, but you said, "Things could be worse, but they could always be better."

Me: huh.

Her: I'll never forget that.

2006-02-16T15:28:00.000-08:00

Her: "So what brings you to Philly?"

Me: "Well, I'm visiting a friend and checking out the city and looking at some potential job opportunities."

Her: "Nice. I moved here five years ago. I love it. I absolutely love it."

Me: "Yeah, I have a good feeling about it. It's one of those things where you never think of a place before for your whole life, you know? You never even considered it, and then suddenly it's everywhere."

Her: "Mmmhmmm."

Me: "I always pay attention to signs like that."

Her: "Yeah..."

Her again: "Do you want a drink?"

2006-02-06T17:31:00.000-08:00

Mom: "What you need to do is start off with a song that has some pizazz...To tell everyone, 'I'm here!' Then you should do one of your deep, existential love songs, then you should do a quiet one and then end with a bang."

Daughter: "Well, this really brings up a good question: Am I making art for my audience, or am I doing it for myself?"

Mom: "That's true."

Daughter: "I just think that most people create because they have to. It's not really a choice. They don't sit down on the couch after a break-up and think, 'How am I going to write about my broken heart in a way that will please the crowd?' They just puke the song out."

Mom: "I know."

Daughter: "But, you're right. If I choose to perform, I am choosing to share my music with people, mostly strangers, who are spending time and money to be near my music, I should probably aim to please."

Mom: "That's right." (cue crickets to indicate awkward silence)

"Just know that I think 80% of what you did was just great. If I give you any feedback at all, it's only because there's a little room for adjustment in that remaining 20%."

Daughter: "Listen, I would love to see what I could accomplish if I had time to market myself. But marketing art is different than creating it. And if I had time between working 45 hours a week, training two nights a week, going to Spanish class, looking for a new job, looking at schools, producing a CD and rehearsing..."

Mom: "Oooh, I always forget that you have to rehearse! I guess I think it just happens. "

Me - I mean, Daughter: "Stuff almost never just happens."

Mom: "I know, I know. I just love your voice. That's all."

2006-01-27T11:10:00.000-08:00

February. Feb rooo ary. God, I hate it! I hate the way it looks. I hate the way it sounds. It's so un-original to hate February, I know. You don't often hear people say,

"If I can just get through the perfect fall, I have February to look forward to. The dirty snow banks...The slush...The cold toes. The miserable vibe that's all around. (sigh) Yup...I just gotta hang in there 'til February."

What does make me unique is my determination to bury the hatchet with this mostdepressing month. Four years ago I had a little breakdown/freakout/scared to face reality, and ran away to see my best girlfriends in New York City. It was perfect. Just enough to feel strong and myselfish again. Myselfish. Ha! I decided that from them on, February would be the month that I would make an annual trek to Brooklyn to see "my girls."

Having a breakdown and questioning my life seemed inevitable in February, so I figured I might as well time it with a visit to some soul mates. My girls from back in the day, yo. Yes, they are pictured above.

To be honest, it only helps a little. Yes, I get to run away from Portland for a few days and remember that there are places in the world where you don't run into people you know at every corner. And I get to ignore my cell phone and my piles of laundry and my list of things I promised myself I would do at the beginning of the year.

I get to cuddle up with Massandje's "moderately sized bosom" and sing real folky music with Rach. I get to laugh until my stomach hurts and make home-made meals for them, and get coffee and walk through the park and eat bagels and get a new pair of sunglasses and watch terrible African music videos...

Wait a second! Maybe it is working (this is not staged- I really was planning on ranting about how much I hate February and suddenly I got very light boots thinking about NYC). Suddenly I can't wait for February. Ok...maybe not the whole month, but that few days is going to break it up a little. It's only 28 days.

February RULES!

I will come back feeling refreshed and sane and happy to be back in my fair port city. I will remember how much I love recognizing people on the streets, and in the bars, and in the stores, and at the post office and at the grocery store...

Girls...I'm on my way.

Tell that big beautiful city that there's a country mouse that just can't wait to ride a bus with headphones on, and walk 3 blocks to the grocery store, and hide in her big skyscraper arms.

2006-01-17T17:59:00.000-08:00

5 Rowdy Guys is coming to Portland, Maine.

Spent some time with my partner in crime, Kate Squibb. We did a bit of a photo shoot for our project, 5 Rowdy Guys. I think it went well. She made me the pants. They're pretty great.

I once confessed to a dear old friend that I would marry Chewbacca if he were real. My boyfriend will kill me. Not for saying I would marry Chewbackckca, but for spelling Cheueubaka wrong.

Seriously. What more could you ask for? He's charming, powerful, competent, loyal and sweet. His hair is awesome. He's got to have a big wang.

Anyway, 5 Rowdy Guys will be working on some new videos. And the site will be done soon. It will include videos, songs, photos of big shits, and loads more.

Just thinking about work tomorrow makes me feel like I'm going to cry. I'm not exaggerating.

Dear Megan,
Look at this photo. There is nothing you can do to change who you are. You will not enjoy a utilitarian job at a corporate office...No matter how hard you try.
I love you. Hang in there.

Sincerely,
Megan

2006-01-07T07:37:00.000-08:00

Coffee on saturday morning.

It is good reason for making it through one of the shittiest weeks I've had in a long time.

It's getting harder and harder to sustain my positive attitude at work. I realized something important this week. On a good day at work, it's bearable. Bearable. On a typical day, I'm miserable. On a bad day I come home furious and in tears. Often crying at my desk.

What the fuck am I doing?

I saw STOMP last night with my mom. It was brilliant, of course. Beautiful and raw and alive. It was a reminder of what's going on in the world of performance and art and music. A reminder that I am a young woman without a family, without kids, and without major health problems, and that if I don't put energy behind my talents and passions now, I probably never will.

So what the fuck am I doing? I am saving money and finishing my first CD, and reading and writing and getting on my knees and closing my eyes to remind myself to trust that the universe always gives me what I need. I am training in my sacred martial art, and I am signing up for classes that will teach me how to make the world better, one person at a time.

I am doing good work so that when I leave my job, they will feel the hole and they will wish me luck. They will watch me leave and they will smile.

They will smile and give me a cake with sweet white frosting and they will know that I am never coming back.

2006-01-02T18:34:00.000-08:00

Sigh. I am a spoiled brat.

Sitting here in my empty apartment, chewing on stale peanuts from Mexico, looking through photos of My Family Holiday in San Miguel and actually feeling bad for myself.

Feeling bad that I had to leave such an amazing place. Feeling bad that my truck probably won't start in the morning. Feeling bad that the truck will take me to a land of gray cubicles and fake smiles. Feeling bad about the coming months of slush, dirty white sneakers and pale men wearing hoodies and smoking Marby Reds. Jesus, I'm a snob.

A week ago I was sitting on a balcony with my face in the sun, playing my guitar and singing to myself. Making my sister laugh. Waiting for the sun to go down so I could sit on the balcony and sip on some white wine with my mom. Hablando en espaÃ±ol.

Shit. I have nothing to complain about. Not a damn thing.

Didn't see any live music.

Wait.

That's a lie. I did see some live music at the fucking Ranch Party we went to on Christmas day. Oh yes. Imagine 10 gringos entering a ranch full of about 250 cowboys. Cowboys. I don't mean dudes dressed up in costumes for a special ocasion. I am talking men who wrangle cows for a living. Lots of beer. Lots of testosterone. Lots of tacos. Lots of tequila. (I know this sounds like a bad movie set for a Mexican adventure, but it's the truth).

How could I forget the live music? "Las Texanas" (The Texan Ladies) were really tearing it up. As my boyfriend said, "The female drummer is charmingly off beat ... I know I sound like an asshole, but I really mean it!"

He was right. These girls were rocking full-on white jean ensambles with silver rhinestones and white cowgirl hats. Classy I tell you. I can't give you titles of the songs, but I'm pretty sure the bass line and drum beat was exactly the same for each one.

On the other side of the arena, 12 men with brass instruments burst into perfect staccato interludes a la "We Will Rock You" at a high school hockey tournie. Then an old man fell off the stone wall and didn't move an inch. We were sure he was dead. Drunk Mexican are hilaaarious. Good times.

It was amazing actually. Photos are coming. Part of me wanted to stay for dancing and more beer, but people were getting stumbly and the sun was going down, and suddenly we just wanted to be home.

Home.

I was home.

Hasta luego, San Miguel. Beso enorme. Te extraño.

2005-12-22T06:36:00.000-08:00

I just found this photo on my work desktop. This was probably one of the top-five most magical, perfect days of my life.

My girl Kenya and I at the Boston Pavilion last summer watching the Sugar Water Festival: Floetry, Queen Latifah, Jill Scott and Eryka Badu. Ridiculous.

At one point, I do believe we were standing on our chairs with arms raised, singing harmonies into each others faces, and taking breaks to chug giant gulps of delicious cold beer.

It was a perfect summer day, breezy and warm. Sometimes I can still feel the vibrations of the day. The power that these women brought to that stage, and the energy that filled the tent was absolutely palpable.

Sigh.

Meanwhile, it's winter in Maine. My boyfriend and I are leaving tonight for Boston. Staying with my brother and then flying out of Logan at 6 in the morning. By 8pm tomorrow night, I'll be in Mexico with my family for a week of laughter and good food and drink.

Still, the return to gray slush is inevitable. January and February are always rough in ye old tiny Portland, Maine. But there's lots to look forward to - the completion of the CD, the CD release party, more performances, and a new job.

A job where I don't have to write scripts about how to identify produce in a grocery store.

"Hubbard squash is large and round with pointed ends. The skin is green-gray and very bumpy."

It's harder than it sounds to describe the appearance of a vegetable in language that's palatable to all audiences.

Last night I dared Sean to describe asparagus:

Sean: "It's a green, long shaft..."
Me: "No! You have to say it like you would write it for a training manual."
Sean: "Asparagus is a long, green shaft with a pointy tip."
Me: "Yeah, but you didn't say how big it is."
Sean: "Asparagus is a long green shaft approximately half and inch wide in diameter and 6 to 8 inches tall..."
Me: "Now it sounds like you're teaching math..."
Sean: "They look like fucking green drum sticks."

Green drum sticks. El tiene razon.

2005-12-21T09:01:00.000-08:00

In three days, I will enjoy this view of San Miguel de Allende, Mexico in person. Gracias a Dios. Adventures abound. By adventures I mean:
sleeping
reading
eating frijoles negros
drinking Sol con limas
sleeping
playing guitar
cracking up with boyfriend
Sudoku
Sequencia
Scopa
reading
sweating in hot sun
stopping into a cafe for a light lunch and beer
bailando al rancho
bebiendo demasiado tequila
dormiendo mas
wearing sandals
people watching in el Jardin
buying little boxes of gum for 5 cents
giggling with sister
cracking up with brother
speaking spanish with Victor
y los hombres guapos del Limerik's Pub
sleeping
feeling lucky

In the mean time, I'm off to a four hour meeting about the technology requirements for a redesigned company intranet, where I will do my best to create the most vivid day dreams I've ever had.

-m

2005-12-19T20:05:00.000-08:00

"Butter." We call him Butter. The man with whom I have played guitar since fifth grade.

He's the one holding the CD. Yeah, the one titled, "I enjoy felching!"

He won it at Bingo. When I asked Butter if he knew what felching was, he said (quote) "Yeah...isn't that when you suck a fart out of a dead seagull's ass?"

No, I am not kidding.

You'll find examples of his musical artistry on my upcoming CD.

Winter is here, B. Let's make some music.

2005-12-18T20:25:00.000-08:00

I am a successful musician. You can tell because I have a website and a blog. I also have a CD coming out soon ... If you don't know what that means, it stands for Compact Disc.

I'm kind of a big deal.

Gag. Gack.

I thought I'd start my first blog with a photo from a memorable performance at Bull Feeney's, one of 56 Irish Pubs in Portland, Maine.

I signed up for this musical gathering without much thought. The hosts were members of a musicians support group of sorts called Just Plain Folks (tag line, "We're all in this together!"), and the rules were simple: One night, one song, no tuning on stage. A chance to network and see what else is goin' on out there in the rural Maine music scene!!!

Maybe it was the generic, yellow, smiley faces that were plastered all over the website, or the lengthy essays about 'the music biz' that were pouring into my inbox, but the judge in me knew that this was going to be a bar full of rookies.

My boyfriend and I showed up a couple of hours before I was slotted to go on. We began pounding beers, and quietly mocking the performers with their cliché lyrics, guitar-pick earrings and Birkenstocks. Some people were singing along with karaoke tracks, eyes closed, heads thrown back, hips swaying in tight white jeans.

I ordered another round and checked in with the host. Two more performers and I was on. As I said, the rules to this gig were clear: One song and one song only. With about 35 people on the list, it was critical that the transition between performers was tight. The most important rule to follow was to AVOID TUNING ON STAGE. I cannot tell you how many times this message was reinforced. Multitudes of emails, friendly reminders, and posters around the bar said, "Don't forget to tune before you get one stage!"

I unwrapped my guitar from the case and put my ear to the strings. Above the din of "The Cookie Cutter Girl," I could barely hear my guitar, but I knew it would be just fine.

I swaggered to the stage, plugged in and strummed the open strings of my new guitar. The unusual and self-invented open tuning is a strange one. Discordant. Evocative. Intense. Because the song is built from the foundation of this unusual open tuning, it is critical that it is precise.

What I heard was not precise. Look at the photo again. What am I, the practiced, experienced, and talented musician doing in this action shot? Can you almost hear me laughing nervously as I whisper into the mic with just the touch of a slur that 'I'll get it in juuuust a second?' Can you hear the sweat dripping down my back? Can you see the looks of sympathy and disgust and encouragement from all the other musicians in the crowd?

Not one "rookie" before me had taken the time to tune their guitars on stage. They took care of it before hand. Like professionals. Like successful musicians who respect the opportunity to perform to a live crowd.

This was the worst performance of my life. It was so unbearable that one friend, and president of the Maine Songwriter's Association, said "I'm so sorry," when I got off stage. What a gift. What a humbling, wonderful gift. When is that judge in me going to learn to shut the fuck up?

Thanks, Just Plain Folks. Not a G.D. one of you would I describe as "plain" but I guess we really are all in this together.

So, here's to failure! And to music. And to my adorable, perfect little website, and to my new blog, and to my brilliant boyfriend for making it fun and easy (for me). Narcissismm really is useful if you want to share your art. And art lives.

Hasta luego,
Megan

P.S. - I made the t-shirt myself. The back says, "Move it."