Category Archives: indianapolis

Jul 19 0 comments
indianapolis, photography

Let’s Have a Ball and a Biscuit, Sugar. Or: Happy Birthday, Jordan.

A little over a year ago, Katie, Matt, and I made our rarely-trekked trek to Broad Ripple’s Alley Cat Lounge. I had too long sequestered myself up on the northeast side of the city, had just broken up with my live-in boyfriend of 3+ years, and had declared 2009 “The Year of Friendship.” I was determined to surround myself with the fun and fascinating.

“I texted Glasses. He’s meeting us,” Matt had declared on the cab ride up.

See, we’re always meeting “characters” in the various hipster hotspots around Indianapolis. We’ll have these  brief, random run-ins with these personalities and immediately give them monikers for future reference:   “Knee-Knocker.” “The Kid.” “Poop Guy.” “Eyepatch.”

In Spring of ‘09, “Glasses” was a new character, one Matt and Katie had met a weekend earlier at the same bar. Naturally, he was sporting a pair of plastic frames at the time - hence the name (hey, I’m not saying the nickname has to be ORIGINAL, just MEMORABLE.) The two of them went on and on about how cool he was, so every time the door opened, someone would inevitably whisper, “Glasses?…Nope.”

Finally, Glasses - or Jordan, as we now know him - walked into the Alley Cat and INTO. OUR. HEARTS.

They were right: He was a cool dude, who seamlessly became one of The Gang. Throughout that summer, we found ourselves saying, “Let’s see what Jordan’s up to!” By Autumn, he spent most Saturday nights on our couch and spent most Sunday days drinking with us on Mass Ave. By Winter, we were Secret Santa-ing and taking weekend trips to ring in the New Year. By Spring, he was coaching me on my boy problems and introducing us to his new love.

I thought about all of this last week, as I watched Matt meticulously insert 27 neon candles into a cake we had just made.

“Just over a year ago, he was Glasses,” I said. “And now we’re baking his birthday cake.”

I’m so happy that we get to.

Happy Birthday, Jordan.

Matt, walking with our cake through Lockerbie on our way to The Ball and Biscuit.

Matt, walking with our cake through Lockerbie on our way to The Ball and Biscuit.

Dapper Birthday Boy and the Ever-Lovely Sarah D.

Dapper Birthday Boy and the Ever-Lovely Sarah D.

Indianapolis Coolest Came Out to Play

Indianapolis' Coolest Came Out to Play

Cake Blur, because I cant hold my camera still and sing at the same time, silly.

Cake Blur, because I can't hold my camera still and sing at the same time, silly.

Happy Birthday. Love, Chief.

Happy Birthday. Love, Chief.

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Jul 16 4 comments
Dialogue, indianapolis

20-Something Woman Behind the Counter in a Small Town

On my way back from running an errand in Broad Ripple this afternoon, I took a less-direct trip back to the office (read: I have no idea what the most efficient way back is, so I just wing it). I was driving down 10th street in a general eastwardly direction, looking for some place to quickly grab some lunch. There are a lot of places on the east side I’ve been wanting to try  — mainly shady dive bars that I wouldn’t step a foot into without a dude like Bubba around — but also ma-and-pa lunch establishments whose signs seemed to call out, “Here Be a Hoosier Treasure!”

That’s how I found myself at The Steer-In.

(photo by this guy.)

I saddled up to the small and cozy counter.

“You’re finally here!” bellowed the older gentleman occupying the corner seat. “I’ve been waiting for you all day.”

“Hah! Is that right?” I shot him a smile over my shoulder as I slipped off my shades and took a seat. He wasn’t creepy; he was a harmless retiree looking for conversation.

“Them’s some fancy glasses,” he commented, pointing to my bright yellow knockoffs. “Where’d you come from? Hollywood?”

“Naaah.” I ordered an iced tea and flipped through the menu. “So what’s good here?”

“Everything. Everything is good here.” The man anchoring the opposite corner nodded in agreement: “I’m here every day. They got big, breaded tenderloins.”

I chuckled. “That’s so Indiana!” This whole experience was Indiana — the stuff of Mellencamp songs. This guy’s got an interstate runnin’ through his front yard, you know, he thinks he got it so good.

As I sat and waited for my carry-out, we talked mainly about death:

“I don’t want to be cremated. And I don’t wanna be put in the dirt,” he declared.

From four seats down: “Whaddia want, then?” The Retiree had captured the attention of everyone at the counter, this lunchtime table for singles.

“I wanna do like the Egyptians.”

I looked up from my tea. “You wanna be mummified?”

“I wanna be put above the ground in a crypt, like them phay-rohs.”

I smiled. He looked me in the eyes: “When you’re dead? You’re gonna be dead for a long time. You gotta enjoy your life.”

The door chime rang and focus shifted to a younger man in a white tee shirt, who sat down next to my lunchtime companion. The waitress approached his place at the counter: “You orderin’ sumthin’?” The way she said it - she must know him.

“No, thank you. It’s too hot to eat.” He looked kind of…weathered.

Retiree punched the Young Gun on his shoulder. “This is son number one. His girlfriend just broke up with him. She’s an officer for the Coast Guard in Koh-dee-ack, Alaska…. Traded him in for a bear, er sumthin’.”

I guffawed, then covered my mouth, embarrassed. “Oh, I’m so sorry. That’s not funny.”

Young Gun shook his head. “He’s having a harder time letting it go than I am…. How’d you get stuck in this mosh pit?”

“Just meandered my way in, I guess.” The waitress came with my carry-out. “Nice talking to you fellas, have a lovely afternoon.”

Ain’t that America.

As I was walking out to my car, someone called out, “Hey…” and I turned around to see Young Gun. “What did you say your name was again?”

I hadn’t.

“Oh, it’s Jenn.”

“Jenn, I’m Jason. Listen, um, would you maybe want to go out sometime?”

“Um…sure…” I trailed off.  I lack the ability to reject anyone in situations like this.

“Ya like motorcycles?”

I told him I didn’t know.

I gave him my number — not because I want him to call, but because it takes GUTS to run out of a diner after a perfect stranger, like they do in the movies.

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Mar 10 8 comments
indianapolis

Best! President! Ever!

“Please, please, please? I MUST have a t-shirt from the gift shop! MUST!” I pleaded with my mother last Sunday. There, in the lobby of the Indiana State Museum, I had regressed to a sniveling eight-year-old.

We were there to see the Abraham Lincoln Exhibits, “With Malice Toward None” and “With Charity for All,” and I was STOKED. Those of you who interact with me on a regular basis know that ever since the Sporcle-discovery of Ought-Eight, I have been OBSESSED with Presidents. My fixation has settled on one, however - Abraham Lincoln. The Sgt. Pepper of Presidents.

[Do you notice that's a thing I'm doing now? Every time I want to express, "My favorite thing is also the mainstream favorite thing, and I want you to know that I know that," I say "X is the Sgt. Pepper of ___." When I used this in reference to opera the other day, my friend Jordan said, "Jenn, most of the operas you hear about are popular because those are the good ones. Don't be ashamed to like Pavarotti." Point taken. So I love Abraham Lincoln. I'm going to shout it from the rooftops. ]

My interest peaked when I started reading this book, The Lincolns: Portrait of a Marriage by Daniel Mark Epstein.

You know what sealed the deal? The Deal of Becoming My Favorite President Ever? In the first like, twenty pages - LINCOLN CHALLENGES SOMEONE TO A DUEL. [fact check] LINCOLN IS CHALLENGED TO A DUEL. The fact is: A DUEL, people. Boom, Lincoln’d.

Truth: I love Lincoln for all the obvious reasons (slave-freeing, union-preserving), but also because he was an AMAZING writer. Also? There was a melancholy about him that I find beautiful and tragic and familiar. Being a history nerd and lover-of-Lincoln, I nearly exploded when I walked through the entrance, but let me tell you this: If there is a small inkling of a history-lover in you? GO SEE THIS EXHIBIT. I was moved to tears multiple times.

…NERDY MUSEUM SPOILERS AHOY!…

  • One of my favorites was a personal letter Lincoln wrote to the daughter of his friend, William McCullough. McCullough was a Lieutenant Colonel in the Civil War and was killed in battle. Apparently, Fanny became very depressed over her father’s death to such a degree that her family feared for her health and safety and asked the president if he would write her. This was intensely beautiful, and to see it in the man’s hand, well - yeah. Tears.
  • The exhibit also boasts letter correspondence between pre-president Lincoln and an eleven year old girl who wrote him, suggesting he grow a beard. The President wrote her a note back, and the water splotches on the letter indicate that she excitedly read the letter on her way home from the post office IN THE SNOW, IS THAT NOT THE CUTEST THING YOU’VE EVER HEARD? TEARS.
  • The Bible that both of these guys were sworn in on. TEEEAAARRSS.

[PS, if you don't follow White House Photographer Pete Souza on Flickr, I highly recommend it. He is an amazing photographer, capturing intimate glimpses into the life of our President. PPS I think Souza digs Lincoln too.]

After all of that, I obviously had to take the prestige and dignity down a notch by convincing my parents to buy me these two items from the gift shop:

1) This janky keychain with a swivel pendant:

2) PRESIDENTAL CAMPAIGN SLOGANS MUG!

Seriously the highlight of my weekend. I think I might go back before the exhibit ends. Maybe to go pick up some history nerd guys. Yes.

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Jul 15 5 comments
Oops, indianapolis

Arigato fer NUTHIN’, LADY.

Let me let you in on a little secret regarding sushi in Indianapolis. One of my favorite places to pick up a couple of basic rolls is this little Japanese grocery store/cafe called One World Market in Castleton. It’s nestled in a strip mall next to a now-defunct Linens ‘n Things, but let me tell you, it’s a GEM. In a city full of highly Americanized sushi rolls (the “Hoosier Roll” is a pork tenderloin wrapped in seaweed and then deep fried, right?), it’s nice to patron a local  store run by Japanese people where Japanese people actually shop and eat. (My readers from “The Big City” are no doubt  scoffing at this, but I must point out that the majority of  sushi consumption in Indy = white suburbanites stuffing their face with California rolls in overpriced pan-asian restaurants.)

Yesterday on my way home from work, I stopped by and ordered three rolls for dinner. I also pondered just picking up like a pound of sashimi-grade salmon and going to town on it. (That’s right, I’m single, fellas!)  I sat in the little cafe while my rolls were being prepared, and…. in walked the most gorgeous Asian man I’ve ever seen in my life.  [Is that racist? Is it racist to make a point that he was Asian? When that is one of his defining physical qualities, and that he was very, insanely attractive?]  When he walked in, the door chimes morphed into singing angels and he was moving in slow motion and every head instinctively turned to look at him.  He was older, charming, and appeared to be very wealthy and important. When he smiled, the lady taking orders at the front counter was reduced to a giggling, stuttering puddle. (From my translation, obviously. Cough.)

I will call him the Asian Silver Fox.

After placing his order he sat close to me. The Asian Silver Fox smelled of heaven and rainbows and I had nothing to say.  What could I say, really - in a store full of crazy, weird, wonderful Japanese things I could not read or understand? “How about these MOCHI BALLS?!”

My order was called and I approached the counter.  I had ordered three rolls - which, yes, is a lot of sushi but I didn’t eat much yesterday and two rolls wasn’t enough and three was probably too much, but you know what, it’s no one’s business, am I right, I mean, can’t a girl just stuff her face with spicy salmon rolls after a hard day? Bagging my order, the woman asked, “How many sets of chopstick you need?”

The self-conscious part of my brain is weird, because I could’ve sworn that for a split-second, a very quiet voice in my head said, That’s a lot of food, just say you need two sets of chopsticks. But instead, the brazen-out-of-embarrassment part, the part that shouldn’t ever speak, ever, especially not in front of the Asian Silver Fox,  said, “JUST ONE!” [Loud, annoying laugh.]  “HEH! I NEED JUST ONE.”  As if to say, Understand, lady? I’m a growing girl! She took a beat and smiled awkwardly before responding to my nervous laughter with MORE nervous laughter, and said, “Oh… OHHHH! GOOD FOR YOU!” as if to say, Wow, you are a fatty fatty fat fat.

I’m pretty sure the Asian Silver Fox chuckled and then the two of them made out after I left.

Pretty sure.

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May 28 6 comments
indianapolis

F*ck you, Northside.

So I went to Michigan for a few days, and when I came back I didn’t have cable or internet, because both of those things were in Damon’s name, and he cancelled that shit. So I made a reservation for a technician to come between 12p and 2p today to re-install it, except that no one came, at least not until 2:11p when I was driving back to work and he wondered where I was and I yelled at him and then cried.

So I am writing this from the Lawrence library, which is most likely the most ghetto library in Marion County, although I’ve only been to one so far.  In this county, anyway. Fifteen minutes ago I was turned away from the Fishers Library, the fancy, shiny beacon of book learnin’, when she realized that I actually lived in Marion County, and I tried explaining, I LIVE ON THE BORDER, IF I CROSS THE STREET I AM IN HAMILTON COUNTY but it was not to be, and she pushed some pink brochure at me about a $30 annual fee to visit any library I wanted but I’d need a marion county card first and I coudn’t yell at her because she had such kind eyes, but I definitely cried, because I was getting rejected by a library branch.

I’m at the point where I have good days and bad days, but it’s getting harder to fake my way through the bad days. It’s not so much a breaking down as it is a slow unraveling, followed by a hasty mending —  knit one, pearl two, and so forth.

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May 01 1 comments
indianapolis, music, photography

Record Store Day!

Stayin’ busy.

A little while ago, Katie and I went to the National Record Store Day activities at Luna in Broad Ripple. Photo share!

Luna.

Katie.  She’s kind of the most adorable ever, right? See the dandelion in her hand? A stranger just handed that to her.  Yeah, it’s a weed, but strangers just hand her flowers. It’s what happens. It’s a jolly holiday with Katie.

This is what we came for.  I was looking for Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks on vinyl (Astral Weeks has become my new religion as of late). I couldn’t find it. But there was still much going on.

Like this awesome dog.

This is my new friend, Doug.  Doug and his buddies were shooting interviews for My Old Kentucky Blog/ Laundromatinee.

Katie and I were interviewed, too, but we never did see the footage from this day on the websites.  I’m kind of happy about that, because I know I said a lot, without actually saying ANYTHING.

I also went into a random tangent about the smell of old vinyl and the feel of dust on your fingers as you flip through crates of records….but is there anything better than that, really? (Answer: no.)

Smoke.

Skinny jeans.

Radiant!

Everyone remembers this guy.

The End.

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