A quick note about Chik-fil-A

I don't care.
Don't care that my husband calls it
"Jesus chicken,"
And my friend from Indiana
Says it brings back lame, mallrat memories.
I love Chik-fil-A.
I love its waffle fries.
And its pickles.
And its sweet tea.
And its lemon pie in a weird platic triangle.
So there.

Ah, Freaks.

Tonight was a great night at Freak Train. It's too bad that I'm not A/V savvy enough to get some YouTube action going so you can all see it. My cousin Chad, who lives in Austin, has caught the show when he's visited Denver, and has fervently requested that we stream the video live on the night of the show.

What a great idea.

Who will do this?

In the meantime, you'll just have to trust me: If you're in Denver, or even NEAR Denver, just come and see the show. It's like a combination of any given open mic + your cousin Kenny performing his "I Have A Dream" speech for the whole family at Thanksgiving + a busker convention + (when you're REALLY lucky) an impromptu performance by masters of their craft + FREE BEER.

And after nearly nine years, it hasn't gotten old. Just truly habitual.

Thanks to all who came out to the show tonight! Special thanks to all the Regular Freaks -- well done. And farewell to Bradford Wills, to whom I wish all the very best in the Beaumont, TX family bunker. Thanks to John for the the great chat about FT and our podium pioneer Joel, my long-lost love Ashley, and my boy wonder Dave. Finally, thanks so much to Alex, for being my steadfast partner in Freakdom. Hope little Max starts feeling better.

Freaks: See you next month.

Desperately Seeking GerRee

This has never happened to me before.
I am stunned and paralyzed.

I always get to be "GerRee." Always. Does that make me spoiled? Yes. But I earned this. I endured teasing and countless mispronunciations and misspellings of my name all throughout childhood. WITHOUT self-righteous, corrective response from me, mind you. But, by the time we all went wired, and everyone was having to use handles like Jen146 and SteveA7, I came out on top. I never had to compromise, or even throw in my last name for good measure. Nope.

Just "GerRee."

Then came Twitter. I purposely dragged my feet. Ever the early adopter of other social media, I decided to sit the first round out, just to make sure I wasn't taking on a new online habit that soon would evaporate like so many others.

But here I am, coming in on the "late adopter" curve, as everyone tweets. And, what to my wondering eyes does appear?



"Username has already been taken."

I blinked. I typed it in again. Same result, obviously.

I can't move. I can't breathe. Someone. Else. Is GerRee?

The kicker: They first tweeted only two weeks ago. I missed my window by 15 days. The gut punch: They haven't tweeted since.

I have been thwarted by a late-adopter, non-user. Perhaps he or she has been running into me at every turn for the last 15 years.

And they've finally won.

Perhaps I will chose LoserGerRee for my Twitter username. Or DefeatedGerRee. Or FuckYouGerRee. I don't know.

For now, I can't bear to register anything. I am now fully engulfed in the flames of pouting. Burning, burning....

Tortillas

So, update: The cards raised over $1,000 for my dad. Thank you so much, Jen, for all your dedication to this project! And thanks to Cheryl and Lauren for helping us sell. And to everyone who bought them. I hope your families and friends enjoyed receiving our original designs. Jed will be selling them again next holiday season and pledges that all proceeds for these designs will again go to Dad next year.

I'm at a time in my life marked by nostalgia and anxiety. I find myself reflecting back on the last twenty years a lot. And just as I've been in the process of doing so, a friend suddenly died, which has REALLY turned up the heat on my reminisence. 

My love for my friends and family sometimes paralyzes me. I want everyone to be okay, and I want to be a part of helping to create that okay-ness. And the world's a big place. And I'm just a small blanket that covers, maybe, the tip of the left pinky toe of humanity.

Lee and I decided a couple weeks back to take a road trip down to Texas this coming Valentine's weekend. I've been really craving time with my grandma. I want to learn--once and for all--to make her tortillas. It feels like, as long as I can make something that approximates her food, maybe, just maybe, I won't lose my mind when she leaves this world. (Which, might not be for twenty years, for all I know -- she's not ill.) Her departure will cause great shift in my life. But somehow, I'll be able to visit her when I cook. Learning her cooking is a conscious bridge to her that I like building while we can do it together. 

You're Such A Card!

HEY! Looky what I did with my friend Jen! (Go ahead. Click it.)

Las historias

I just spent a little time with my grandma. She told me of my grandpa's family's trials and tribulations in the the early thirties.

After my great-great-grandfather Max Lopez died, his wife Benedicta, who didn't speak English, was worried she wouldn't be able to hold her own with the bolios. So, although her son, my great-grandfather Emmanuel and his wife Maria were well-suited to continue the family's sharecropping business out in Rotan, Texas, Benedicta decided instead totake the advice of her husband's brother Francisco. Francisco had heard they were giving good land to people to entice them back across the border. So Benedicta and all her children, including Emmanuel, his wife Maria, and their three children, followed his advice all the way back to Mexico to seize opportunity.

Well, Francisco was half right.

They were giving away land, but it was not good.

It was totally un-farmable. Rocks and dust. And after a short time there,the monsoon rains came and flooded their homestead. The whole family had to scramble to the top of a hill with all the belongings they could carry in order to avoid being washed away.

It was around this time that Maria became pregnant with my grandfather Manuel. Maria, a US citizen who already had three children with Emmanuel: Beatrice, Alex, and Max -- all US-born -- looked around and saw that things were not great and were not getting any better. She decided she'd head back across the border when it was time to have my grandpa. Mexico was not a long-term plan as far as she was concerned.

She set out, forced to leave her husband and children behind, and went to stay with a friend of the family, who, like many during the thirties didn't have much to offer. The woman slept on a mattress placed in the bed of a covered waggon, off its wheels. She offered it to Maria during her labor. And that's how my grandfather, Manuel Lopez, was born in Del Rio, Texas, in a covered wagon.

My dad: The long and short of it...

Short story: My father is in the Burn ICU at Parkland Memorial Hospital in Dallas, TX after suffering injuries in a fire at his home. He is very slowly recovering, and we are hopeful. My brother and sister were not home at the time, so only Dad and Asia's dog Scout were in the house. (The other two dogs were outside. Scout didn't make it.) I am here until my father improves enough that I can be certain things are on the up and up, and until I can help Asia and Forrest put the affairs of the mortgage, insurance, and other assundry red tape in some semblance of order.

Long story: http://hinshawrising.blogspot.com/

What can you do, dear friends? Just pray and hold my father and my family in soft light in your hearts.

Oh, and volunteer for the Denver Post Underground Music Showcase. It'll be fun! And a load off my mind if we can get an awesome number of people helping out. I LOVE this event. For four hours of your time, you get a pass for yourself and a friend, as well as access to the VIP parties after the event. (Read: TOTAL fun.) It's a great way to enjoy a summer weekend being a Denverite and supporter of live music! August 1st and 2nd!

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Shout out to Yancey Lee: I love you so much. I am the luckiest woman in the world to call you my husband, my lover, and my friend.