You can’t run from yer past

Welcome if you’ve come here from Jason’s page. Just thought I’d say hello since the last post here is about the boy climbing out of his crib. We’ve actually had a pretty rough time of it for the past few nights because when they can climb out of their crib, that means it’s time for a toddler bed. A toddler bed is just like your bed, only smaller. And we’ve been the insane parents that have provided this weapon of sleep deprivation to our child. It means Auggie can get out of it whenever he wants. It’s been a struggle to convince him that he should stay in the bed when we walk out of the room, leading to much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

But tonight took a little less time it seemed. Or maybe I’m just going mad (for real this time!)

Anyway, to clear up a couple of things. I first met Jason his freshman year in college, with the whole crew of people who hung out and allegedly “studied” in Brady Commons. Mostly we just sat around and smoked cigarettes and talked about the stupid things that 18-20 year olds think they should talk about, but clearly have no real clue. I was into the dance music of the time (Front 242, Ministry, Thrill Kill Kult, etc.) and so of course our paths continued to cross throughout the years at Shattered and then culminated when I became the Business Manager at KCOU as a senior.

Joining the radio station staff put me into yet another group of friends including Mike and Sean mentioned on Jason’s post. This was how Jason met Beth. She was dating Mike, and apparently said “Oh, so you’re THE Jason Pettus?” when introduced to him. She was just a freshman at the time, so give her a break. And yes, even then, that’s the kind of thing you could say to Jason and his head would remain quite swollen for the rest of the night….

For those of you just dropping in our lives via Jason’s link. Beth and I started dating after I had graduated from the Master’s program at Mizzou and was living back at home in St. Louis. We started dating at the end of her Junior year. I proposed to her at the Derby her senior year, and moved her to Louisville with me the day after she graduated. Back to St. Louis in 2000, and then with a new baby boy in 2001.

Oh, and Thanksgiving went pretty well since we basically stole all the good ideas from Beth’s dad and stepmom. That included them shipping up their “backup” smoker for us to use. Thanks Alan and Margie.

New development

Auggie has figured out how to climb out of his crib. This morning, I didn’t even hear him until he was opening my door.

I am so not ready for this. Tomorrow, we host Tim’s family for my first Thanksgiving dinner. Prayers, well-wishes and good vibrations will be most welcome.

Too bad drinking is not an option…

It cannot be

This is me trying not to think about turning 29 tomorrow…

Oh, and the pickles won last week. As did the cottage cheese and chocolate milk. I’m now wearing Sea Bands (motion-sickness, accupressure wristband dealies) in an effort to keep my stomach ashore.

Chocolate milk

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When baby has a craving, baby has a craving. Did I ever mention that my husband is a living saint?

Why you should never take a pregnancy test to make yourself feel better

It might be positive.

Oops.

Sorry to hit you over the head like that, but that’s pretty much how Tim and I felt about a week and a half ago when we found out. I was a little late, starting to wonder what was up, and I said, ‘Just go and get me a pregnancy test and it will make me feel better when I know that it’s negative.’ It was 10 p.m.

That’s another thing you should never do — take a pregnancy test before bed so you’ll sleep better.

Once that second line popped up, there would be no sleep for several hours.

So, it seems that we’re pregnant.

And all of my friends are snickering to themselves because I’ve been so adamant about just having one child.

But two is good, right? We get to not make the same mistakes we made with the first one. Or something.

So that’s one reason that I’ve been so close-mouthed lately. I knew that I couldn’t keep just jabbering away about my trip to New York without suddenly typing “I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M PREGNANT!”

So, yeah, if you are a friend who I have not told yet, I apologize that you are learning about this from my blog. Please know that I’ve wanted to tell you, but I’ve been too exhausted and/or queasy to lift the phone to my ear.

Hey, but now you’ve got nine months of super-fun kvetching about pains, bodily fluids and expanding body parts to look forward to! Fun!

Mark your calendars for July 4, 2004. Baby Clauss, round 2. This time, it’s personal.

Do this now

Hey, Future Beth, when you run across

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this post in the archives, put on Either/Or right now.

New York, revisited

Sorry that it’s been so, so long since you’ve heard from me. (Special thanks to Tim, who did such a fantastic job of reviewing Bettie Serveert last week, thereby letting me not feel guilty for my lack of updating-ness.)

Truly, I was just hoping to start an Internet rumor that I had gone to China with Mimi Smartypants.

I guess I’ve just been putting off the inevitable rehash of my trip to New York. It was fun, don’t get me wrong. I haven’t been that fabulously hedonistic in many years. But the reality was that I was pretty much ready to go home by Saturday evening. I missed my son. I missed my husband. I couldn’t sleep.

After my swimming-headed post on Friday morning, Jennie and I headed out to explore her neighborhood in Brooklyn. It’s called Park Slope, and every brownstone looked just like the ones on the Cosby Show. It was amazing. I keep telling everyone that “if I could live in a house like Jennie’s, even I would live in Brooklyn.” As if that’s saying anything. Everyone knows that I would move to New York in a flash if only my sainted mother wouldn’t be brokenhearted.

Anyway, back to wandering. We had bagels and coffee (or was it water?). We browsed in a couple of shops, I think. I definitely remember that we bought flowers and Jennie bought some groceries.

We headed into lower Manhattan, stopping at Katz’s Deli for lunch. And it was transcendent pastrami, indeed, Tim. The potato pancakes were pretty OK. It wasn’t like Jennie and I were fighting over the last one, at any rate. (The true measure of any potato pancake)

We visited Other Music, where I picked up the new Death Cab for Cutie record. It is excellent, if virtually unlistenable, as I become a suicidal teenager sobbing over lost loves with every song.

We wandered around SoHo, popping into neat little shops with overpriced designer clothes in European sizes and cool tchotkies that I would never have a place for. We ended up at this great store called Kate’s Paperie, I think. Jennie tried to talk me into buying the cutest wiener dog Christmas cards, but I just couldn’t justify the $18 for 8 cards pricetag. I’m such a stick in the mud.

We eventually made our way to my desired destination, a trendy yarn store called Purl. It ended up being really, really tiny, but the vibe was very different from any yarn store I’ve been in here in STL. For one, everyone was under the age of 35 (diametrically opposed to here). And there were no prices on any of the skeins, which I took as a bad sign for my pocketbook. One of those, “if you have to ask, you can’t afford it” kind of things. But there was a young woman there seaming a really cool sweater (God knows how much the yarn cost to knit it), and the window displays were worth seeing. Long story short, I didn’t buy a damn thing. Especially not the $150 knitting needle pouch.

Jennie and I were trading yawns at this point, so we headed back to the subway to Brooklyn. I had just enough time to freshen up, change clothes and get back on the Subway for Union Square to meet Roberta. I left Jennie asleep on the couch. It feels good to have tuckered out a full-time New Yorker!

Roberta and I walked up to a trendy new barbecue restaurant called Blue Smoke, to meet our other friends. The bar was pretty nice — I enjoyed my Brooklyn Brown Ale, to be sure. We stayed for about an hour, until deciding to head for my friends’ favorite sushi restaurant, Yama. Since there was a long wait for a table, we put our names in and wound our way down to a bar by Irving Plaza called Revival. They had the Cubs game on, so the time went by quickly as the beers and conversation flowed easily.

Once we were finally, finally seated at Yama, the restaurant proved totally worth the wait. The sushi was amazing — perfect cuts of fish that were just huge. And the sake bombers weren’t bad, either. God help me.

After dinner, we headed back to the previous bar to watch the end of the game. At one point, Roberta and I went out to the patio area to get away from the din and have a chat. A few minutes later, three young men sat down on the benches across from us and started chatting. Turns out that they are film students at NYU, one from London, one from South Africa and one from LA. Cool. We finish our drinks and go back inside.

We walk up to the bar and Roberta tells our friends, “Beth and I just got hit on outside by these three cute college guys.” And I’m like, “Really? Those guys were hitting on us?! Let’s go back out there!” We have a good laugh over that one, and I realize just how domesticated I am. Time for another round!

The game eventually ends. I talk my friend Mike into one more drink at a bar by his house in Brooklyn. I have no idea what time I made it back to Jennie’s house, what time I went to bed. All I know is that I was up again by 5, revisiting my sushi in one of Jennie’s many bathrooms. No fun.

Woo hoo, New York!

I’m going to bed now. You’ll just have to wait to hear about Saturday…

Getting older, but we still can rock.

Tuesday night, despite Beth being just 48 hours removed from New York, we decided to go see a rock show. Bettie Serveert, came to town apparently for the first time in 8 years. Their first record, Palomine, is ten years old, but has remained in my regular rotation off and on for that entire decade. They’ve released at 4 or 5 full length records since then, but we’ve only heard the first two.

In most cases like this, I approach the show with trepidation, or decide not to go at all. I have this romanticised vision of a band that I developed long ago, and in nearly every case, the performance simply cannot match my hopes. And let me tell you, arriving at the show didn’t really help to soothe any of those fears. Upon arrival, there’s a good, but not great solo performer singing with an acoustic guitar on stage. There are only about 30 people milling around, with very few of them in the under 28 demographic. Very few “in the know” college kids anywhere, meaning that the recent records have gone completely over the heads of the indie rock crowd. To top it off, Beetle Bob is rocking to the guy with the guitar. Ugh.

Anyway, Beth and I sat down, and the place slowly started filling up. G showed up, and we talked with him for a while as the acoustic guy played perfect background music for conversation. His brother said hello, and went back upstairs to watch the end of Game 6 of the NLCS. It was from him that we learned about the blown game. You can try and convince yourself otherwise, but I think there is a curse.

So, before Bettie takes the stage, there are probably 100 – 150 people in the room. Most of whom could be labled “music geek” types as G put it. That’s a far more comforting demographic at least, but the crowd is still pretty old. Beetle Bob unfortunately doesn’t leave, but is joined by a couple of other interesting characters. One guy looking much like Matt Dillon’s character in “Singles”, but aged another 5 years and sporting a horrible neck beard. He was really into the show, and seemed to be crooning to Beetle Bob at points during the show.

Then there’s another guy at the side of the stage wearing leather pants and an Estrus Records t-shirt, pushing 50 with the face of a younger Joe Cocker, and the build and snakey dance of a young Axl Rose. Axl Joe as I dubbed him was completely hammered before the show even started, and was a nice comic sidelight through about half the show before he disappeared. At one point, he passed out on the bass players’ monitor, with his head to the speaker and a cigarette burning.

So, the show. What is Bettie Serveert going to do? Imagine our shock when the first chords played are the title track from their first record, Palomine. And they rocked it. No lackluster, OK, thanks for coming, here’s one for the old people. They wanted to play it, and they drew everybody into the show with one fell swoop. Carol Van Dijk’s voice was awesome, with every bit of the depth you’ve ever heard on those records. Lead guitarist, Peter Visser, pulled off every one of the songs with energy and passion. The sound was clean and the band was tight. No pretension, no world weary looks or banter, just 4 people on stage who looked like they were having a blast getting to play rock songs to a hundred or so people on a Tuesday night in the midwest. The drummer was the best, apparently being a new addition to the band, this was his first ever trip to America, and he had huge grin the entire night.

They played 3 more songs from Palomine during the course of the night. Kid’s Alright, Tom Boy, and Leg. Leg on the album is the opener that builds and gets quiet, and builds again. I love that song, and never thought I’d hear it live. Well, I got my wish and then some, because it was a barn burner to finish off the set.

The old pieces were beautifully mixed in with some incredibly mezmerizing newer tracks that I had no trouble at all getting into. One song, Given, was a great wandering ethereal piece, and another, White Dogs had this awesome Rolling Stones/Velvet Underground rolling bluesy swagger that had an awesome vocal key change in the chorus. Good, good stuff.

Coming out of Tom Boy, they seamlessly blended into a Liz Phair cover using a quick quote from Divorce Song to introduce a full cover of another of the Exile in Guyville songs, (Gunshy?) The cover was unbelievable because Carol has so much depth to her voice to pull off early Liz Phair effortlessly. Palomine and Exile in Guyville, released the same year with women lead singers pulling off rock songs without stooping to “Lilith Fair” folky schmaltz. It’s interesting to consider the huge disparity between the career arcs and artistic direction of Liz Phair and Bettie Serveert isn’t it.

The encore was pretty good, with a nice VU cover of What Goes On to close it out. Frankly though, their own White Dogs was a better version of this song. But considering that they apparently did an entire album of VU covers at one point, I suppose pulling out the VU cover was a way to appease the fans from even that period.

I think that’s the whole thing that I was left with at the end of the show. The band was so seemingly generous to it’s fans, giving all of their songs over a 10 year period equal billing and effort. Nobody does that. I recall an interview with Mac Maclaughlin of Superchunk where he said that they didn’t play Slack Mot*****er or Cast Iron anymore because they were 2 of the 10 songs that they knew early in their career, and they just got sick of playing them every night for 3 years.

It was the first time in a long while that I saw a show where the performers really seemed to be willing to play with their hearts on their sleeves. Maybe it’s the fact that Carol’s voice is just effortlessly full of emotion, maybe it’s all the experience, maybe it’s just a band with great songs. But considering that recently we saw the New Pornographers play a competant, but road weary show, and Yo La Tengo put on the most lifeless performance you could imagine, Bettie Serveert shone like the sun on one of those clear, crisp fall days. I left the show feeling old but still young and completely energized. It seemed like Beth and I kinda wandered for a while getting home, reminding of the days when a show like this would have put me in the mindset of finding an after bar party at somebody’s off campus house.

So if Bettie Serveert makes a stop in your town, go see ’em. You’ll be glad you did. Oh, and be sure to pick up the self-made live CD they’re selling after the show. It’s really good.