Highway 280, the Song

Does a great song about Highway 280 already exist?

Even if it does, I want to write another one.

280 gets me misty for Chicago like few other places/things in Birmingham. Not because I hate driving on that road; I don't. It's more complicated than that. It's kind of pleasant, actually.

Hmm, maybe the local singer-songwriter who recently put out the album Vestavia has a song about 280. What's his name? Ah yes, John Strohm. (Thank Yoogle.)

Nary a Word About Barbecue*

Birmingham, domain of mines, mills and furnaces, has been transformed into a center of freshly unearthed tubers, organic urban farms and wood-fired ovens.

With little fanfare outside the world of devoted gourmets, white-tablecloth establishments that rival New York’s or California’s have bloomed like azaleas all over Birmingham.

Finally! I heard this article was in the works around the time we moved here, so I've been eagerly anticipating it. Birmingham dining's the focus, but you also get a good feel for the best texture of this place. Ms. Dewan's observation that "the downtown streets can have an empty, Hopperesque feel even on weekdays" is spot-on, for better and for worse. And yay for the Sloss mention! (Someday, I swear, I will go there again and take some pictures and have my own little Sloss appreciation post on here.)

I'm happy too that she mentioned the Garage -- Todd and I immediately put that one at the top of the list when we visited here before the move. I think you'll be hard-pressed to find any other bar that matches it for quirky ambience (save for Bottletree, which also gets a nice shout-out, thank goodness). I've heard the courtyard is awash in wisteria in the spring. Can't wait to, ah, get double-drunk on the floral delights of both the surroundings and a good pint of pale ale.

The thing I've noticed about a few Birmingham restuarants so far--and granted, there are many I haven't been able to try yet, like the Hot & Hot Fish Club--is that as good as the food may be, "dowdy" too often describes the interior design. Or, in some cases you'll see attempts at modern style that just don't hit the mark. In some ways, it's a nice change of pace from the ostentatiously outfitted, ultratrendy spots that are a dime a dozen in Chicago. But c'mon, let's swear off poinsettias and big red and gold ornaments as a holiday decorative theme, OK? Ick.

Anyway, Birmingham's dining scene certainly deserves praise, and I hope biz and pleasure travelers alike take note. Frank Stitt, you're the man. If I could, I'd place a big shiny key to the mu'fkn' city right in your sweet little hand. I bet you'd know just how to put it to use. I wonder what's next for you. (How about a cafe downtown, hmm? B'ham's no longer hurting for fabulous upscale dining options. What it could use now, I believe, are several unfussy-yet-stylish new options for everyday, budget-friendly meals. )

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Also note: Dre's Ramblings' post on the NY Times piece. I heart his positivity! Give this man a key, too. Dre makes me believe in a bright future for this town-- better yet, he makes me want to roll up my sleeves, stop bitching, and get involved in making it happen.

*almost

I Heart the Gapers Block, or, A Little Horn-Tooting Ain't Never Hurt No One

Cool to see my boy name checked on there today--alongside our buddy Joe and Sara Gruen, who yrs truly wrote about right before she got hot-hot-hot. (That makes Gruen the third author I've covered, behind Davy Rothbart [of FOUND] and John Green, who's gone on to hit it real big. Actually, you could sort of add Joe to that list, too. I wrote about him in the context of Punk Planet Books. And well, thinking about it further, Luis Albert0 Urrea and Ivan Brunetti are no slouches either!)

We're doing some things right, apparently.

It's a good thing to think about today.

Big Day Today

That's all I really want to say about it, but --

If anyone out there is reading this, think positive thoughts for me today, yeah? Especially around 2 - 3 p.m.

Thanks. xo.

Scratch, Scratch, Scratch

Dang it, my shins are still itchy-dry down here.

On a barely related note, I've neglected to whine about the disaster that befell us here a few weeks ago: we were almost entirely unpacked, with boxes long since broken-down and tossed, when I realized that Todd had missed the posters that had been wrapped in with some large paintings, and had thus thrown away some of my Chicago mementos -- including a Chris Ware promo poster from BEA 2001 and my Jay Ryan poster for Andrew Bird's "Skin Is, My," which I chose above all the others because I liked the look of the tall buildings and the transparent hand over them. (I believe I was thinking even then that if I ever left good ol' Chicago, this print would help keep it visually close.) And then shortly afterwards I discovered that the lyrics mention itchy-dry skin just like mine, and don't you know I loved that poster even more.

My "Skin is, My" is mine no more. And the Bird Machine says sorry, nada left.

Any of you millions of readers got one you don't want?

Yeah, I didn't think so.

Scratch, sob, scratch.

Jemison Top Five

Top Five Things I Like About The Building We Live In (excluding features of our specific apartment):

5. The parking garage. I didn't think I would care one way or the other, but it is nice to keep our new-to-us car, not to mention my poor beleaguered Corolla (which withstood eight Chicago winters on the street, bless her heart), out of the elements. Plus, you can see old ads painted on the brick walls. Plus, the windows -- probably my favorite part. (As seen here before.)

4. The elevators. Industrial chic. What can I say; I think they look cool.

3. Maurice, our postman. Smile = easy. Size = large.

2. The fact that Maurice delivers parcels to our door. Whoa.

1. TRASH CHUTE! Both Todd and I are inordinately fond of the trash chute. What a luxury it seems to walk a few hundred feet indoors, open a little metal door in the wall, and blithely toss one's refuse to the dark depths below! For some reason it amuses me that we had to come all the way to Alabama to experience a trash chute (because, certainly, many thousands more people use these things in Chicago than they do here). The funny and slightly not-so-nice thing about the trash chute is that it is right next to our apartment. In fact there's sort of a chunk missing from the corner of the front bedroom where I've set up my office, and behind the walls of that chunk is the chute. (Does that make any sense?) So we get to hear lots of bang-clang-crinkle-smash-clunk-bang-crash-clunk whenever anyone drops their trash. And then, from time to time, an electronic sound rising from below, which must be a compacting device, and which reminds me of the sound you hear at the end (or is it the beginning?) of Pink Floyd's "Welcome to the Machine." The trash chute sounds don't really bother me. I just think of them as our residence's experimental audio installation. Trash chute = art!

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Yes, I am procrastinating a bit today.

YAY! IT'S COLD!

If you happened to be cruising (or walking) down 19th St. in Birmingham, Alabama this morning around 9:45, you could have seen a very happy gal trotting along, bundled up in her black winter coat. That was me, folks, en route to the downtown branch of our bank.

I mean it was really cold out there! Like, face-hardening cold! Runny-nose cold! Of course, the sun is swiftly rising, and an hour from now it'll probably be like 65 degrees, but who cares: I was out walking. It was cold. I wasn't wearing gloves, and I needed them. YES!

The first time I tried to leave the building, I was wearing a hoodie and a hat and scarf; that's all. It's not the first time I've underdressed here. I just get so used to it being warm. But no, not today! I had to return upstairs for the Big Furry-Collar Coat! I was one with my Chicago pals, they who are so far away and so bundled up in the post-snowstorm deep freeze! Could you feel my soul aligning with yours, my brothers and sisters?

(Excited, yes. Small pleasures, indeed.)

The Regions Bank building (until very recently, the AmSouth building -- oh, the bank mergers and takeovers!) reminds me slightly of the Thompson Center, though the only true points of comparison are a food/retail court and central escalators. Today I discovered there's a Planet Smoothie in there! Excitement #2 of the morning! If you know me well enough, you know that I have an unhealthy fondness for a straw-delivered lunch of pulverized frozen fruit, juice, and various nutritional supplements that are supposed to outweigh the obvious negative of excess sugar. Now I know that said lunch is only four blocks away. Uh-oh. (Planet Smoothie is no Jamba Juice, though [yes, I've already tried it at another location].)

There's also a shop called "Oh, Wow I." What an odd name, I thought. Oh, Wow I what? Maxed out my credit card on Hummel figurines? Just got away with shoplifting? Think I recognize this cashier from my online dating service?

Oh, but I was wrong. Once I viewed the store from another angle I realized the sign read, "Oh, Wow!"

Ah. But "Oh, Wow I" is a much better name, is it not?

Playlist for the adventure (courtesy iPod on shuffle):
"The Moon," Cat Power
"Everybody Knows This is Nowhere," Neil Young
"Marigold," Devendra Banhart
"I Know There's Something Going On," Frida
"Here Comes The Sun," the Beatles
"Good to Know," Edith Frost
--Plus one overheard conversation, which was, surprise surprise, about how cold it is.

Ephemeraland

This weekend I finally made it over to a place that several people had urged me to check out: Reed Books, an emporium of used books (and so much else!) . And wow -- it was quite a sight indeed. The owner, Jim Reed, has about 6000 square feet crammed from floor to ceiling (literally) with old books, magazines, newspapers, comics, life-size cardboard cutouts, personal letters and postcards, posters, trinkets, novelty lighting, toys ("Mom, look! A Charlie Brown desk!" I heard a kid cry gleefully), and more. I was daunted at first: I didn't know where to focus, as I hadn't come there seeking anything in particular. So I just wandered around, thinking it'd be fun to come back many more times and while away several hours going through stuff. It's a collagist's goldmine, and the sort of place that really needs to be experienced firsthand.

The friend I was with was looking for books on love and marriage for an art project, and she came away with an incredible hodgepodge of a book from the 70s called The Compleat Lover, plus a little guide to marriage laws "in all 48 states." (There was a crazy 'find your ideal mate' survey in this thing that was Just Priceless.) I was amazed that she was able to find so precisely the kind of stuff she was looking for, but she noted that the books are more or less divided into subject, despite the jumbledness of the place overall.

It's clear that Reed believes passionately in the value of--for lack of a better descriptive right now--old stuff. People throw their lives, their families, the stuff of their histories away, he told me. Here's a way station for those things, a place to linger until somebody bestows upon them new value. A sign near his desk area (equally packed) bears a quote from Pulitzer Prize-winning biologist (and native Alabaman) Edmund O. Wilson: "A society defines itself not only by what it creates, but by what it refuses to destroy."

Sifting through a hillock of personal mail from the 40s, I agreed with Reed (and Wilson), though it's harder to place the value of a vending machine full of ancient, melted Mentos (one of the items of less obvious worth at Reed Books). I'll certainly make repeat visits--and if I can ever get a steady income going again, I may buy a small set of vintage post office boxes that he's got there (visible in the left-hand corner of the first photo above, along with the lid of my Starbucks cup). I've always wanted some of those!

The bad news is that Reed's about to lose his current space, which he's been in for 10 years (and which happens to be a very quick walk from our apartment). He's looking for a new one. I shudder to imagine moving all this stuff, but the first item of business--finding a new space--shouldn't be too difficult, I think, since there appear to be so many empty buildings around Birmingham. But Reed said that a lot of owners would rather just keep their properties empty than bother with tenants and rent collection. If that's the case, it's a shame. I don't know enough about real estate to comment further though, so that's where this post ends.

Reed Books. A first-rate Birmingham oddity!

If I Can't Have Snow...

...I'll just eat this here fist-sized ball of cookie dough.

Don't tax your brain trying to figure out the logic here. There is none.

In other news, I just bought my first big-girl dining table from an antiques shop on 22nd St. called LAND OF WAS. The brick exterior of the store is painted in big white letters on a black background: LAND OF WAS. The table is gorgeous -- French farmhouse, simple and sturdy and deep amber in color -- and I love that I'll be able to gaze admiringly at it forever and ever and think, "You came from the LAND OF WAS."

And the lady of the LAND is a sweet thing! No awful creature, she.

Back to the dough: Oh, sick now.