Mood:  amorous

Last Saturday night, I joined my friends to see Mississippi band, Jimbo Mathus & The Tri-State Coalition. Before I was invited to come along, I had vaguely heard of Jimbo Mathus, but had never actually heard them. All I knew was that they performed bluesy-country music. Sounds good to me...

But their sound was great—more blues than country, with a whole lotta soul. It brought me back (to the old school, 'cause I'm an old fool)to about 8th grade, when I saw on of my favorite blues artists in concert—Jonny Lang.

Lang wasn't my first taste of blues—it was something I grew up hearing. But Lang was the first artist I liked on my own, without my parent's help. So my friend Ale and I, along with my mom, piled into an Indianapolis theatre to see our man. Once we got to our seats, I realized we had entered an entirely different world...and it was full of dudes in biking leathers.

It's no new concept that the music we like helps others put us into categories. I have always been thankful that I enjoy many different types of music, and I get to see all sorts of different people. So, there I realized that while I had been dancing in my room to "Lie To Me" (something I still do), there were burly men working on their bikes listening to the same thing.

On the flip side, there was Lang—a 17-year-old blues sensation (and he was looking damn good), which is incredibly young for any artist, but even younger in the blues' world. People seem to think only seasoned, older people know life well enough to sing the blues. But I think it's a genre open to all. And Jimbo Mathus definitely sings the blues. 

After a little scan through Google, I learned a little about Jimbo. He grew up in Mississippi, listening to blues and later started a little project: The Squirrel Nut Zippers. Ummm hello? Who remembers them? Me! And who would've thought the man on the stage at Chelsea's was the guy who put that act together (an act that sold more than a million copies). But it gets better.

Mathus has worked with Elvis Costello and Buddy Guy—he even played guitar on Guy's 2001 album, Sweet Tea, which was a number one blues album. He did work on Guy's Grammy-winning record, Blues Singer and has traveled on tour to perform with him.

Mathus describes his current project (Jimbo Mathus & The Tri-State Coalition) as "Mississippi Music," with a sound of "inner-planetary honky-tonk."

Whatever the label, I thoroughly enjoyed the music, and the performance in general. A good time was had by all. Check out Jimbo Mathus on Facebook here.   

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Tuesday, August 31, 2010 7:39 AM CDT

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Mood:  sharp

Last night, I got to see the multi-talented David Pogue speak on LSU's campus. I was most excited to see Pogue for his work as a tech columnist for The New York Times. However, he has excelled in other areas, too. He is an Emmy Award-winning tech correspondent for CBS News, a former composer for Broadway musicals, and a Yale graduate. Pretty effing cool, right?

Technically, he came to campus for a Q-and-A. However, he started things off with a little snippet of his life, which I found very interesting. Pogue said he spent 10 years writing Broadway shows that were never produced. Then, a computer program called Finale made its debut. Finale is a program that would write the music you played. While Pogue was familiar with the program, famous composers and pop artists wanted him to teach them how to use it.

Apparently, Pogue's Yale degree gave him a great ability to explain things. So in 2000, The New York Times asked him if he would take over the weekly technology column.

Pogue has no background in journalism. But, after seven months of interviews (ten in total), he was given his column which he still has today—every Thursday, "State of the Art."

Pogue then started blogging (becoming the first New York Times writer to blog) in addition to his column and creating home videos corresponding with his column topic. He was doing all of the extra work for free, until he received an offer from Fox News, and later from CNBC.

Pogue said two things in his discussion that really struck me: 1. "You will have more fun with the campus satire magazine, than with The New York Times." And 2. "I've never called myself a reporter, I write an opinion column...It's been fun and none of it did I plan. I was supposed to be a Broadway guy."

Sigh.

While I do chase the idea of someday being published in The New York Times, I've never thought of it in terms of actually working there. I hope one day I am published in the Modern Love column or my wedding announcement is in the pages or a review for my best-selling book (one can dream, right?). 

So, the fact that Pogue has a steady gig at The Times is a catch-22 for me—like, how the eff did that happen? But then on the other hand, there is this idea now bouncing around in my head that someone with ABSOLUTELY NO journalism background can make it in the writing world (no offense, Pogue). I think I'll go with the latter train of thought.

So yes, I have had some fun writing for the smaller papers and magazines, doing radio, learning web writing...but I'm not giving up on the bigger scheme of things.

To my second point, I simply think it's amazing the turns life takes before we know it. Things happen that we never plan for, and often, I find those are the things that give us the most joy. So cheers for the unknown!

What I took away from Pogue's visit was another something he said about advice he received from one of his professors at Yale. Pogue said he'd never had a B in his life, but one professor would never give him an A. So when he went to him for help, the professor told him "every piece of writing is fundamentally intended to be persuasive." When you think about it, it's true! Pogue says he uses that advice in his work as a critic—for every column he writes, he is on a mission to persuade the reader that he is correct.

Genius.

Pogue answered several questions from the audience (mainly students who obviously had a journalism assignment), but then, to my delight, he sat down at a piano (the first piano ever in the LSU journalism building) and played.

He took songs we all know and changed the words to comment on technology...songs like, "Apps, I did it Again." Pretty funny.

I'm so glad I got this opportunity. Meeting other writers will never cease to amaze me. I love learning about their process, their successes and failures, their ideas. But most of all, I find inspiration that we have so much in common.   

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Monday, August 30, 2010 7:43 AM CDT

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Mood:  chillin'

Earlier this week, I finished reading Chelsea Handler's third book Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang. Since I loved her first two, My Horizontal Life and Are You There Vodka, It's Me Chelsea?, I was pretty stoked to get my hands on number three. 

Things were off to a great start—chapters one and two were absolutely hilarious and had me literally laughing out loud. In chapter one, The Feeling, Handler explains how she learned how to masturbate; when she was eight years old at a slumber party. How classy, right? Like any sick child (I suppose), she becomes obsessed:

"When my brothers would come home from college, they would always hang out in the second living room, but that didn't stop me. I would sandwich myself in between one end of the sofa and the ottoman, and all they could see was my head pop out so I could check to see if they were watching me and wipe my brow with a beach towel. I sometimes wondered if they had any idea what I was doing, but I had grown so accustomed to sexually assaulting myself whenever necessary that my self-awareness became clouded. It never occurred to me that when I got up from one of these positions, the other people in the room would wonder why I was drenched in sweat with my jeans wedged up to my nipples, my eyes crossed, and a severe case of cameltoe, and chapped lips. I didn't care. I had bigger fish to fry (13)."

In chapter two, When Life Hands You Lemons, Squeeze Them into Your Vodka, we learn of Handler's childhood obsession to get a Cabbage Patch Doll. However, her parents don't understand why she wants material items to fit in, so she must beg for one to get what she wants:

"My mother came into my room later to ask how much the dolls were, and when I told her, she told me that my father would not be happy. By this time in my life, I'd had enough of their shenanigans and bargain hunting, and I definitely felt like I had plenty of stored resentment to make a case for myself. I walked into the living room, where my father had parked himself with a corned beef on rye, and started my case.

'Here's the deal, guys. I can't go on like this. We can't go on like this. You two are a joke. I am nine years old, trying to make the best out of a situation that is unlike any of my peers'. I have five older brothers and sisters who seem to have fared better than me, mostly because you birthed them when the two of you had a clue as to how to raise a child. I am competing with people in this neighborhood who have access to swing sets, and in-ground pools I can only dream of, and cars that work the first time you try to start them. This isn't a god foundation for the rest of my life, because I will only end up feeling like I'm enough or of any worth. I will depend on my looks, which will turn me into a shallow, eating-disorder whore who will end up selling her body just so she can buy herself an eternity ring. Reading the Boston Globe  is not helping my cause. I need to read Sweet Valley High  and watch Family Ties and have sleepovers where we gets 'the feeling'. I don't even know what you guys do for a living, which brings me to my next topic: Does either of you have a job (30-31)?'"

However in the chapters following, we meet the recent Chelsea—the one who has money and fame, due to her previous best-selling books along with her comedy show on the E! network. Frankly, while I think Handler is funny, her stories about watching Sex and the City: the movie while eating hot pockets in her tech-ed out apartment just aren't as funny as the ones about her father's car dealership in the front yard. Needless to say, I was pretty disappointed in this book. 

Of all of her books, Are You There Vodka, It's Me Chelsea? rings in at number one on my list—I feel like Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang is just riding on the fumes of those before it.  

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Friday, August 27, 2010 11:20 AM CDT

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Mood:  quizzical

This is the first week of classes, kicking off the fall semester at LSU. Every year when this sweet day rolls around, I get a little nostalgic. I remember packing for school, saying goodbye to my cat and partner in crime, Lucky, and hitting the road with a near 15-hour drive ahead of me. 

The entire summer before I left Indiana, it was in the back of my mind—sure, I was going to miss my friends, my family, my own bedroom...but I knew a slew of interesting adventures awaiting me in swamp country. What an understatement.

But when moving day finally rolled around, I had a bad attitude. I didn't want to leave. The original plan was for my mom and I to make the drive to LSU, and she would help me move into the dorm. But I wasn't ready to say goodbye. So my best friend Angela and her mom agreed to join us on the trip.

All was right in the world.

The day we moved into my dorm, a Saturday, it was hot as hell. Hauling Rubbermaid bins full of extra-long sheets and school supplies wasn't really my cup of tea, but it had to be done. Since I had arrived a week before classes started, in order to rush for a sorority, my roommate hadn't arrived yet. So Angela spent the night on my mystery roommate's bed—that was my first night in the dorm.

The next day was a casual goodbye; my mom didn't want to make it a big ordeal. Which was probably the best decision. After all, it wasn't goodbye forever. Like most families, the bond with my parents grew once I got out of the house and we weren't getting on each other's nerves.

So on the Thursday before every fall semester begins, I see the parents rolling in, looking for the correct dorm, their mini-vans packed to the gills with shower caddies and computer accessories, all neatly labeled.

As I was catching up on The New York Times this week, I came across an article that touched on this very subject of parents letting go, "Students, Welcome to College; Parents, Go Home."

The article says colleges such as Morehouse College, University of Minnesota, and Grinnell College have created a formal "Parting Ceremony" that forces parents to get out and let their college kids be.

Wow.

These formal goodbyes come in many different forms, one in particular made me laugh—the students walk through the gates of campus, while the parents watch before the gates swing shut leaving them outside of campus. Others involve a ceremony with students on one side of the room and parents on the other.

Seems a little harsh, but according to the article, parents sticking around campus has become a recent problem (some even attending the first day of class with their son or daughter) due to the "Baby On Board" generation—or the parents who are living vicariously through their children.

At the company cookout last weekend, I remember one of my coworkers saying that when she left for college, her parents didn't even go with her to help her move in. I blame this on the fact that she probably went to college an hour away from home, but still.

Letting go of a son or daughter when they go to college, or even off to the military, is something I won't understand until it happens to me. But I hope when it does, I'm not left outside of the gate.  

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Thursday, August 26, 2010 7:46 AM CDT

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Mood:  incredulous

I recently finished reading The Carrie Diaries by Candace Bushnell. While it is her sixth book, it is her first in the teen genre, as it is Carrie before Sex and the City. 

As I've mentioned before, the Carrie in Sex and the City (the television series) is much different than the Carrie from Sex and the City (the book). However, both characters don't reveal much of anything about her past...so The Carrie Diaries were a chance for us to see where she came from. 

Truthfully, I don't think I gained any real insight on Carrie, but it was still a good story—I definitely would have enjoyed it as a teen, too. Carrie is growing up as the oldest daughter of three, raised by her widowed father. Like most high school seniors, she struggles with fitting in, dating, and planning for the future.

While she wants to be a writer, her father wants her to be a scientist and study at Brown. Carrie makes an attempt to gain entry into a prestigious summer writing program, but fails on her first try. She makes an effort to get better at writing, by joining her school newspaper staff, which brings on an adventure.

She also begins dating the most popular boy in school, who packs quite the drama between Carrie's friends and even her family. The Carrie we have come to know and love can be seen in the way she acts toward the boys she likes—she isn't herself, and does whatever they want her to do (Hello, Mr. Big). Her fashion sense is the same, and her dream of living in New York City is bigger than ever.

 According to a review in People Magazine, there will be a second installment of The Carrie Diaries next summer. Is Bushnell the leading lady on marketing to women readers? I mean damn! 

The book was good and I would recommend it to any Sex and the City fan even though it isn't as revealing as we probably all wish it was. Since we don't know anything about Carrie's past from the start, Bushnell could've made it any past she wanted it to be. However, at the end of the book, there is a definite hook that only Sex and the City fans will understand.  

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Wednesday, August 25, 2010 7:42 AM CDT

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Mood:  cheeky

Remember that time when my boyfriend cheated on me, lied about it, then dumped me for his new woman? In return, I told the world about it in my fabulous blog, told him to quit stalking me and pretend I was dead, and I took the one remaining piece of physical baggage I had from our relationship—a sterling silver Mignon Faget Single Knot Ring (see it here)—and put it on Ebay.

A lovely Baton Rouge woman, Jill, offered me a very pretty penny for it, I happily packed it in its original suede bag and box and wished her all the best. 

I promptly went out and spent the cash on something just for me. I wanted something extravagant, that I would never buy for myself. Yesterday, that something arrived in the mail. Take a look at these beauties:

According to DSW.com—"Both daring and comfortable, the NYLA Feliciana velvet platform boot is the latest in fashionable footwear. It may be worn over the knee, or cuffed for a fierce knee high look."

Umm...hello sex kitten! I absolutely cannot wait until it gets a little chilly out, so I can lace up these amazing boots! I don't think I've ever been this happy to get dumped! Not only have I had a blast being single, I've realized so much about myself and what I have to offer someone else, but I'm going to look damn good doing it...in my new kicks. 

"You keep lying, when you oughta be truthin', and you keep losin', when you oughta not bet. You keep samin' when you oughta be changin'. Now what's right is right, but you ain't been right yet. These boots are made for walkin', and that's just what they'll do, one of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you.

Are you ready boots? Start walkin'!" —These Boots Were Made for Walkin', Nancy Sinatra 

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Tuesday, August 24, 2010 7:41 AM CDT

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Mood:  flirty

Friday, my office had a company cookout—it was very much like the party in Office Space...only no one was talking about showing anyone their "O" faces (although it probably would have been a little more interesting if they had been). Just saying. 

Anyway, no matter how cynical everyone may think I am, I decided to whip up a little something to contribute to the party. It's been awhile since I got out my recipe book and went to town. But when I heard about the cookout, I remembered the perfect recipe I had stashed away—the Bloody Mary Tomato Salad.

In last year's July issue of Good Housekeeping, they had a slew of recipes for a potluck BBQ, including caramelized onion and goat cheese panini, artichoke and mint dip, cantaloupe and cucumber salad, and corn and barley salad, along with the Bloody Mary dish.

So Thursday night, I made the biggest Bloody Mary of my bartending career—one that serves eight. For the salad, you will need 2 tablespoons of prepared horseradish, 2 tablespoons of olive oil, 2 tablespoons of vodka, 1 tablespoon of fresh lemon juice, 1.5 teaspoons of hot pepper sauce, 1 teaspoon of Worcestershire sauce, salt and pepper, 3 pints of cherry or grape tomatoes cut in half, 4 stalks of celery cut into 1/4-inch diagonal slices, and celery leaves for garnish.

As usual, I tweaked the recipe to my liking. I added fresh green beans to the salad which I put in boiling water for three minutes before dropping them into an ice bath. I also added a couple pickled okra, sliced down the middle. In the south, we drink our Bloody Marys with a kick—so I doubled and tripled the ingredients for the dressing. The result was very tasty and very much like one of my favorite brunch beverages.

Although my coworkers seemed to enjoy the salad, I set aside a portion for the newest man in my life to try—it will be his first taste of my cooking. If he hates it, we are through (totally kidding). 

Cheers! 

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Monday, August 23, 2010 7:47 AM CDT

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Mood:  bright

In one of my favorite childhood movies, Harriet the Spy (starring Michelle Trachtenberg, based off of the 1964 novel by Louise Fitzhugh), gets chosen to be newspaper editor even after her classmates found and read her spy notebook which contained all sorts of dirt on them. For the first issue of Harriet's paper, she writes a letter from the editor:

"I am on a mission to be a great writer. A good friend once told me that all great writers try to see everything. Okay, here goes: I knew this guy once. He used to be a bajillionaire. Now he rides a bike. Want to know the freaky part? He says the bike's better. Please write in if you think he's lying.

There's a difference between looking at stuff and really seeing it...to really see, you've got to get a closer look. I've noticed that, sometimes, stuff you think is broken forever is actually totally fixable. But some stuff is supposed to fall apart...

For those of you who don't know, a retraction is when a newspaper takes something back. This newspaper would like to retract certain statements in a certain notebook which may have hurt certain people's feelings..."

Well, Harriet M. Welsch is a better woman than I, because here at The Witty Writer empire, we don't do retractions.

Many times throughout my writing career, I've been asked to correct myself because I've pissed someone off. There was the time in high school when I wrote an editorial about the lack of wheelchair accessibility in the building, the time in college when I wrote about greeks being fake (after the infamous DePauw incident) or a lead singer being hot, and the time I spilled my guts on a blog over a 30-Day Breakup Guide.

But, with nearly 500 readers a day, this blog cannot nor will not please everyone. In fact, there is only one person it aims to please:

Me.

Blog: (noun) a website on which an individual or group of users produces an ongoing narrative.

Opinion: (noun) a view or judgment formed about something, not necessarily based on fact or knowledge.

So for the record, this little collection of writing which I've kept for nearly three years is a blog created using my opinions. I have not, nor will I never, pretend my opinions are facts—I'm not a complete idiot.  

Trust me, when readers (you all) don't like something I've said, you make sure I know it. You leave me comments, you e-mail me (wittywriter7@gmail.com), you call me and you text me.

But I have learned two things about people who disagree with things I write:

1. They are avid readers.

When I wrote a series of columns in college, my dad told me getting a letter to the editor was the biggest compliment. As a writer, of course I want to think everyone reads every word I put down—but let's face facts, people don't read much beyond the first line of an article. So instead of being insulted by a reader ranting off about something I said, it's actually quite flattering. Not only did that person read all that I had to say, they thought about it and felt so strongly over it, they had to let me know in some fashion. Chances are, after a reader spills his/her guts to a writer, they are going to read the next installment to see if the writer acknowledges him/her.

And so a fan is born. What better reason to write than to spark passion?

2. They have nerves—that were just destroyed.

Meet my new writer hero, Michael Hastings. His article, The Runaway General, appeared in Rolling Stone magazine, issue 1108/1109 in late July of this year. 

The article is about Gen. Stanley McChrystal—President Obama's top commander in Afghanistan (at the time). Like most articles in Rolling Stone, this one was raw, leaving no quote off-the-record. After what I assume was a fabulous interview, came the release of McChrystal's true feelings—calling President Obama "uncomfortable and intimidated", sandwiched between childish remarks about Vice President Joe Biden. The article also explores McChrystal's past which is infamous for breaking the rules and ignoring authority.

Only days later, McChrystal was fired for insubordination after his disrespectful remarks about the president and other leaders. Hastings became the most well-known journalist in a matter of seconds—telling the public that nothing McChrystal said was off-the-record.

Yet, less than a month later, Hastings was denied permission to embed with a military unit in Afghanistan.

The truth hurts, doesn't it?

Although embeds are not a right, what does the military have to hide? The fact they can't respect authority or aren't taking things as seriously as they should, perhaps? Oops, touched a nerve on the guilty party. Although everyone has a right to withhold information, what does that ultimately say—no comment.

I've had people say, write, and publish things about me that aren't true. But I don't feel the need to prove anyone wrong—I'm the only one that must be happy with the person I am.

While all comments and complaints are welcome my way, know that I've figured you out. As usual, Shakespeare's Hamlet can explain it better than me: "The lady doth protest too much." The subjects persistent denial of something is an overcompensation for the truth. 

As always, I appreciate all of my readers. But if I'm pissing you off enough, I'm certainly not forcing you to read a damn thing.

"Truth is like the sun. You can shut it out for a time, but it ain't goin' away."-Elvis Presley  

Sincerely yours,

Holly A. Phillips

Editor-In-Chief

Witty Writer 

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:01 AM CDT

Updated: Friday, August 20, 2010 7:42 AM CDT

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Mood:  lucky

It's all about the Benjamins, right? At least in Candace Bushnell's One Fifth Avenue, the book I finally finished reading. In her fifth book (the 3rd out of six of her's I've read), I'd have to give this one the award for being my favorite, I know, I know Candace has been waiting for that title her entire life. B, you can thank me with a writing gig, I charge per word, and I'm cheap. 

Anyway, One Fifth Avenue is like a giant game of Clue—except Colonel Mustard is wearing Marc Jacobs, Professor Plum is a Pulitzer Prize winning author, and Miss Scarlet is a gold digging sex columnist.

The main character of this book is a building, the most prestigious apartment building in all of Manhattan, One Fifth Avenue. The people that live there know they've made it, the people that don't dream of a day when the real estate will lower from its $20 million price tag. Living inside the building are a majority of the cast of characters in this book; the others are merely trying to get in.  

Mindy Gooch: President of the Board at One Fifth Avenue; former magazine editor, current marriage blogger, annoying wife. 

Sam Gooch: Mindy's son, computer nerd, tennis player, trickster. 

James Gooch: Sam's father, Mindy's husband, struggling author, looking to cheat on his wife, wants to be appreciated. 

Schiffer Diamond: A-list actress, used to date Philip Oakland, friend of Billy Litchfield. 

Philip Oakland: Pulitzer Prize winning author, playwright, used to date Schiffer Diamond, enjoys sex with his employee Lola Fabrikant, possibly still in love with Schiffer. 

Enid Merle: The oldest person in One Fifth Avenue, gossip, Philip Oakland's aunt, hates Lola Fabrikant, thinks Schiffer and Philip should rekindle old flames. 

Billy Litchfield: Non-resident of One Fifth Avenue, decorator to the wealthy, poser, likes visiting the Hamptons for free, close friend to Schiffer and Louise Houghton, gets possession of rare diamond. 

Annalisa Rice: Wife to Paul Rice, recently wealthy, newest resident of One Fifth Avenue, gave up everything to move to the city with her husband. 

Paul Rice: Husband to Annalisa, recently wealthy, general douche, only interested in money, hates Mindy Gooch and her family, is obsessed with getting a parking spot and a rare fish tank. 

Louise Houghton: Deceased, leaves behind rare jewels, well-liked by all residents of One Fifth Avenue, possible murderer. 

Lola Fabrikant: Philip Oakland's assistant and lover, socialite, obsessed with marrying Philip, interested in becoming a reality television star. 

The book does an amazing job of interlacing these different personalities into an intricate web of lies amidst sex, cocktails, designer clothes, and multi-million dollar deals. The residents of One Fifth Avenue run into each other, cross paths, fall in love with each other, go behind backs, and even kill others.

Bushnell has nailed it this time—she moved away from her stereotypical "life of women in Manhattan" genre, but didn't jump into the unknown with this diverse cast. There is a character for everyone; I personally loved the writers of the bunch, Mindy Gooch and Philip Oakland. However, there is humor in Lola and Philip's relationship and great mystery surrounding Louise Houghton, Paul Rice, and Enid Merle.

This book is a must for the chick-lit readers out there!

The New York Times did a review on One Fifth Avenue, when it was released in 2008. Read it here.  

Posted by wittywriter7 at 12:58 PM CDT

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Mood:  a-ok

Yesterday, I had the amazing opportunity to get a private tour of our lovely Tiger Stadium. As much as I say I'm still trying to get into this whole football thing, I always love going to an LSU football game, being in the stadium, the hype...and of course, the tailgating. 

Fans are already counting down the days until kick off (17) and I feel lucky that I was able to be a small part of the behind-the-scenes activity as LSU Athletics prepares for the most anticipated event of the year.

Here are some of the pictures I got to take!

Posted by wittywriter7 at 4:19 PM CDT

Updated: Wednesday, August 18, 2010 9:30 PM CDT

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