24 HOURS IN "THE LIFE"

Yesterday there were tornado warnings a few blocks from my house.  They evacuated everyone from the tower at O'hare and general mayhem ensued for everyone in town.  I was outside with Remus (the wonderdog) and the sky became ominously grey and green and the rain came sudden, fat and languidly.  Since I wasn't raised in the Midwest, my fear of tornadoes hasn't properly matriculated.  I stood looking at my dog, watching as the fat splats just missed her, and smiling when they hit her squarely on the snout.  With a few shakes of our fur, we came inside to see the Emergency Broadcast System warnings on TV calling for us to stay away from windows and abandon all cars… then it went back to my original programming—a showing of The Day After Tomorrow.  This was the ultimate Imax experience, the trees batted the window and the wind moaned outside as I watched New York suffer a tidal wave and subsequent freezing-over.  It was the scariest friggin' movie I've ever experienced.  I highly recommend turning on a tornado outside and tuning in to the next broadcast of The Day After Tomorrow. No better way to see it.

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Late last night I found myself staying in the hotel where Brangelina and Gwyneth Paltrow are staying.  There were slippers by the side of the bed , 3 TVs—including a TV in one of the bathrooms (of which there were two), controls by the bedside for every light in the suite, the radio, and the TVs...  I soaked in the tub while I watched a special on Oprah about finding bliss outside of monetary success.  But look who's talking.  I mean, really.

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Today I threw away my knee-length socks from high school soccer (the only team I've ever been on that won at all—and only once), the T-shirt of the very first festival I played when I was 17, a shirt commemorating a fundraiser marathon for Cardiovascular health (that I drove 4 hours to get to, played in the rain, and then was paid in 9 palettes of bottled water), the pair of socks that my first ever girl-crush gave me for my sixteenth birthday (they were rainbow… too bad she wasn't).  A day of letting go.

happy birthday to me...

I'm back in Dixie today celebrating my birthday.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, a big day in the life of a touring musician; I can now rent a car.  And to think, years ago Jimi Hendrix had a similar celebration on this very day.

He also choked on his own vomit two years later.  Yick.

  I decided to start my day by having ice cream for lunch as an initial celebratory device (and in hopes to cleanse the current levels of tryptophan from my system).  The two things that we tend to overdose from in the Loyd family around this time of year is turkey and birthday cake.  No matter how many times my sister and I say we don't need separate cakes (our birthdays are 2 days apart), there is always a cake for each of us.  Mind you, this is in addition to the leftover pumpkin pies, apple pie, pecan pie, and cheesecake from Thanksgiving. 

And let me just say, there is nothing sadder than a general lack of enthusiasm for birthday cake when it's your birthday.  There's something inherently wrong about it.  Once you blow out the candles most everyone passes on an actual slice.  When my birthday is on Thanksgiving, I tend to cancel it.  (My birthday, that is.)  Just too depressing.  Although I still get some presents, I totally identify with Xmas babies.  It's a rough life we lead.  No parties, and only minute attention can be spared from the general family merriment.  But after my ice cream breakfast, I'm getting my game face on for cake tonight.

I'll also be celebrating with Japanese food tonight.  The kind of Japanese food that's cooked in front of you by Indians who always call teriyaki sauce "Asian ketchup" to try to get a smile.  I tend to be the only one at the table who finds it all amusing.  And I've heard the jokes a hundred times before.  Love it.  Other than that, I'm sitting by myself at home.  Doing work I guess.  If you have any other ideas of how I should spend my birthday, let me know.  It's already half over...

happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me...

Sheboygan, WI--As I stumbled out of the Paradigm Coffeeshop last night, i realized i had stumbled smack into jacket season.  Good thing i grabbed my leather jacket before i left my house yesterday. Yes, the thin leather jacket that everyone said would never make it through a Massachusetts winter, much less a Chicago one.  Truth be told, this is the perfect season for it.  It fits in like an understated 7th grader, content to get by without much academic excellence or social pizazz.  I have a few weeks before people start squinting and pursing their lips at my tank-top/jacket combo that makes up most of my winter collection. 

We're not quite at the next season yet, the "no refrigeration needed" season, where my car keeps cool enough that leftovers last.  We're past soup season for me; my emergency mexican chicken tortilla soup rolling around in the back of my car won't be warm enough to eat until the 2007 summer sun turns my car's inside into a microwave once again.  We're nearing the end of baseball season (White Sox didn't do so well i hear), the only time of year i miss living in Massachusetts.  A Red Sox win goes really well with a new Massachusetts move and champagne in your hair.

My fingers are crossed full-time these days, hoping I've timed my loop around the country so I catch the bright orange time of Seattle, and catch the cool-down of Austin...  It amazes me that not everyone lives this way.  From the first day of the new leg of a tour, the view is spectacular.

West Virginia--2 strings down.  Spent the night in a soldier-themed room at a bed and breakfast.  I'm not sure if people at the show thought my God jokes were funny.  I mean they didn't laugh on the outside... but their inner child was snickering for sure.  I kept it kosher for the most part, only said "fucked-up" once and didn't play any of my gay stuff (you can never be too careful in West Virginia.  I wasn't sure how far away the closest police station was and i was sleeping next door on the ground floor of an unlocked B&B).

Saturday I spent the afternoon at what was to be a Rally and ended up being, no kidding, an "inspirational luncheon."  I was playing some of my gay solidarity songs in an afternoon of speakers about the amendment to the VA constitution defining a marriage to a man & woman AND banning any legal documents that similate marriage for unmarried people.  It's up for a vote in a few weeks.  My father read a poem too (it took place at his UU church).   I have to say, part of me hopes it passes because there's no way Virginia is going to apply that kind of law equally to all people.  It's intended to ban gays from guaranteeing custody of their biological children to their partner when they die, or owning property together, but the wording of the amendment applies this to all "unmarried couples."  If they choose to not apply it to unmarried heterosexual couples, maybe the Supreme Court will strike the whole fucker down.  Let's eat an inspirational sandwich together, shall we?  Then next let's go dowtown and get people to honk for world peace.

If you live in Virginia, do your research and make an educated choice about your feelings on this amendment.  Whatever way you feel, VOTE.

getting inspired,

--j

www.julieloyd.com

I started visiting dog parks a few months before i got my own puppy, Remus-a puggle (designer mut of a full-blood beagle and pug).  There were a few times i was talking with owners and trying to give them compliments on their dog, saying "She's so pretty" and whatnot.  In response, the owner would sneer out "He's quite handsome..."  Pissed me off.  Who gives a crap if you get the gender of the dog wrong.  Why does the gender even matter?  Before i even got my dog I decided I wouldn't be that kind of owner.  My dog would encompass all genders so no onlooker would have to feel bad for spitting out whatever pronoun came to their mind first.  (But I also wouldn't have to teach them the proper gender-neutral terms of "hir" & "ze.") 

So, by request for those of you with new animals in your life, here's

the puppy training guide for the "gender-inclusive" dog.

Step one: Ask the Breeder for a certain gender of dog.

Step two: Name the dog before you meet it.

Step three: Have the momma doggy give birth to a litter of all opposite-gender dogs.

Step four: Keep your original chosen name.

Step five: Try to alternate between "She's a diva" to "He knows he's the star of the neighborhood"  (what's particularly difficult is alternating between "good girl" and "good boy" because of the obvious preference for alliteration.)

Step six: When meeting others on the street, do not correct them if they choose a gender to call your dog.  (I mean, cause the whole point of this is to not be that owner who berates on-lookers for emasculating hir dog)

Step Six: Should you be asked if it's a boy or a girl, try responding, "Does it matter" or my particular favorite, "Whatever."

Step Seven: After step six, the next question of the onlooker tends to be "But, okay, ya know, what parts does it have...?"  Do not be swayed.  If you're feeling saucy, retort "Should I be concerned that you care so much about my doggie's parts...?"

That's pretty much all there is to it.  Toss in mostly green or yellow toys to avoid genderization of objects (but keep them off the furniture, they may stain) and switch from calling your dog "a ladies man" to "a lesbian" now and then and your dog wil be the well-adjusted de-gendered (or over-gendered) dog of your dreams!

A Warning: This will mess with your head a little.  It's work.  You may get some minor migraines from trying to not default into the dog's biological sex, but you'll impress all your politically savvy friends (especially if they're queer).  Good luck!

crotch reception

The other day I gave my phone a sex change.  Now the tinny Twin-Peaks-Midget voice of Michelle is now the Twin-Peaks-Midget voice of David.  He's enjoying the T, but misses having boobs.

He doesn't get reception near my crotch.  Does your phone-friend have that problem?

Puppies & Drummers & Boston (OH MY)

I spent Sunday basking in the post-first-cd-release glow. I took the day for myself to walk around the lovely Chicago suburb of Evanston. Saw a herd of baby gerbil with their mama gerbil suckin on teets and what-not, went into a used record store selling all the advanced copies marked "not for individual sale," had a tasty AND healthy meal at the healthy food cafe (that's not its name really, but they only serve brown rice, so, whatever). Beea-utiful day. Makes me smack my lips to think about. Like poohbear after a small smackeral of honey.
I head out for my tour on Wednesday and there's still a lot to do. Clean the car, get the car in tip-top shape (or as much tip-toppiness as i can afford) update my iPod, flex my unexercised folkie muscles putting all my gear in the car... I'll be bringing along some new Julie Loyd T-shirts, a new CD, and my typical noise-making things.
I've added a few fun surprises to my tour...it involves someone banging on some things while i play my next show in New York... Hoo hah.

keep it poppin punkins,
--j