Sushi Sake

Sushi Sake.. hidden just off of Campbell Road.

Through the OTHER side of the Looking Glass..

Ive got something to say.
After all this time i thought of something.

I had an epiphany the other day, in Half Price Books.

When I first got seriously into modeling, and began to have some degree of success, I thought to myself "i cant believe I'm doing this/seeing this/cant believe I'm here." I thought that I was finally doing something interesting, finally had a world that someone would want to look into. And so I should move from obsessively documenting the things that pass me by in notebooks to obsessively displaying it in blogs. because its interesting. People want to read this. Live vicariously.

Well, the other day I went to the fashion section of Half Price Books, looking really for this Japanese street fashion book that I can't think of the name of, or at least something visually inspiring. But all they really had was a handful of books about models, certain models, or models in general. Things with titles like "Model: Life Behind the Lens".

And I involuntarily though something to the effect of, "How boring."

It caught me off guard, that thought. I remembered that I used to be one of them, I used to attempt to create exactly this kind of media. I used to think these things were interesting, right? It hit me.. I don't think I ever did think the soulless documentation of models because they are models was interesting, in and of itself. I thought it was interesting because I was trying to do it, and trying to find a way to sell it, so I looked for examples.

"Its only really interesting to the people who would rather be there instead of you."

Its funny how much I've changed, how much I don't even wish for the thing that not so long ago I hated giving up. I see girls I know who are still doing it, and I don't feel a wistfulness about it anymore, I think, if anything, I almost feel a relief when I see facebook posts - back and forth, telling industry people how great they are, using the vocabulary of friends just a little over-zealously to put in place a relationship that does not yet exist but is desired. I'm glad it isn't me, that I don't have to do that anymore.

A little caveat: I am not saying that I look down on modeling, or find everything about it boring. Only that at one time, I thought it was enough to make a story interesting and now I think it isn't enough. There are some people who can tell the story of their lives modeling with a vision that makes it interesting - there's at least one on my blog roll. This is more an arraignment of myself and the particular way I bought into it than anything else.

Critical Analysis of Self Projection.

So here is a confession. Yesterday, I went out and took pictures for my envisioned revitalization of this blog. Right now, I'm not sure what the fate of this blog will be. I want to finally do a blogging project that doesn't fall short of its potential.. and one that I commit to enough to see it to the fullest extent. Right now I guess I'm evaluating what that would be.

I know I am only interested in doing something personal, something meant only as a hobby, as an expression. I don't know if this is, or can be it.

I think the Rika Confesses to Almost All of It concept was great when I was a struggling model/jack of all trades/semi-hustler bar girl. I cut it short of its brilliance by pandering to much to an audience I was pretending to have, or stopping short of rawness. I never really covered all the places I got to be and all the crazy sometimes stupid how I got theres. I hit on exactly what this should have been a couple times, and that was it. Obviously, I never cultivated much readership, but that's not so much a shame or wasted potential as it is a sign of my inability to fully commit, dedicate, and realize something. Just a symptom.

I think about the blogs that I really find interesting and inspiring. Most of them are a fairly simple theme, repeating one cool little vision from a unique angle. Should I find some microconcept, despite my chronic eclecticness, my refusal to give up the possibility of talking about everything and the kitchen sink for a concept as simple as photos of clouds delivered attractively? What subject would I choose?

My life is different now, I am not sure if the confessional theme suits at all. A different job, life with health insurance and weekends off, I don't even know my closest bars inside out anymore. I have interesting things to confess I'm sure, but I work towards a goal that does not benefit from spilling them. My other expert topic - I live and breathe video games now more than ever, but I can't tell you about it. ;) If I picked a small piece of my interests to mirror and display, what would be the most true, and hold my interest longest? What could I (of all people) focus on? And even if I did choose some little angle, would I still want this place to put my rambling thoughts?

I don't know. Tomorrow i may pretend I never wrote this, and carry on.

The old world.. Revisited: Meeting the family in Hot Springs

Memorial Day weekend I went to meet up with my family in Hot Springs Arkansas. They came from Effingham area, IL, I came from Dallas TX, Hot Springs is the semi-central point where we were able to find an un-booked cabin.

I hadn't seen my family since my brother's wedding last fall, and I flew in and out within about 48 hours then so I wouldn't miss any work. The day before I left, I had the sudden revelation that this might be somewhat stressful.. then I called my older sister who said "Yeah.. I'm afraid this is going to be really stressful. I'm bringing alcohol!" Then I talked to my mom who said "Honestly, this is probably going to be a big stressful deal." So on the way there, I was somewhat nervous.. and I always feel a little strange when I go to visit, almost like I'm revisiting a different world I used to live in.

But as it turned out, we had a pretty good time. The cabin was a little chaotic with all of the Hollinshead siblings minus one sister (who prob was having too much fun elsewhere) and three boys under the age of 3. It got me to thinking about how life was growing up, and how I was always surrounded by that kind of chaos and always, always people. I don't think I really realized until I was an adult and moved out how hard it is for me to continually be around a lot of people. I like people, ect., I just need to break it up with time spent alone, and really, I'm much better with individual conversations with people than group socializing. This would probably explain why I spent so much of my at-home years writing or drawing in a corner or sitting in the yard.



Seeing my family got me thinking about a lot of things, like how much I have or haven't changed, and how different my perspective has become since living elsewhere. I still don't think of it as "moving to the city and broadening my horizons".. I've convinced that country people know a fair deal about the city- they see it on tv. But people who have lived their lives always in or near a city really have no idea about life in the "middle of nowhere". Neither the media nor their need to go places generally forces them to encounter it.  They really don't "get" driving an hour to get to a town they wouldn't shake a stick at to buy used video games or the amount of planning that goes into seeing a concert when its a two hour drive each way and you're underage.

(I was once in a bar, trying to explain life in Effingham co to a guy who had never, apparently, spent any time out of the city. He said, disdainfully, "But what would you DO there, if you were there right now, what would you do for fun? Hang around some cornfield?" I looked at him, sitting in a major metropolitan area, on the same barstool he'd been on since five oclock and every night before that week. "Nah.." I said as I walked off. "You'd probably just be sitting on your ass in a bar.")

At any rate, most of the things I got to thinking about were too heavy for this blog, right now, this time of night. But the two notable concepts that can be mentioned briefly are this: a) The realization that I, myself, not my circumstances, haven't really changed that much. I'm basically the same, but being away, I suppose I've got to know myself and my natural inclinations better, and instead of wondering why I don't fit right in a certain "hole" so to speak, I've built my situation around me to suit myself. And b) for the changes I, and Thom, have gone through.. we've become more like each other than either of us is like our family anymore.

Each of those topics probably really deserves a blog of its own, but I am not ready to publicly delve into it, so for now, enjoy my sunburn, some photos, a cleavage eye view of the world, and talk about go carts and video games.

We Are the Pop Art of Our Internet Times - The Cultural Significance of Facebook Photography

A classic from Quakecon 09, entitled "Glasses and Myspace are for Dorks."

    I like myspace-style, self-taken, in-front-of-the-mirror, you-can-see-the-cellphone-camera-in-the-shot photographs.

  There. I started the blog. I was trying to think of a clever way to begin, maybe pull in some social commentary. But the truth is, I don't really want to say that Facebook and celebrity culture are creating a detrimental effect on society, giving everyone a venue from which to over-indulge in gross displays of self importance. I don't want to say that, because everyone is saying it. I also don't want to say it because I am a fan of social media-style photography - the easily mock-able icon of our times.

Fefe - she's tech savy, game playing, zombie killer.. and also my successor as XFX Girl.

  Think about all the times you've heard the myspace-mirror shot scorned, or used in a snarky remark. Or used as the subject of a cartoon or parodied on Youtube. I can mention "those girls who post pictures of themselves posing in the mirror", and everyone knows exactly who those girls are. But I've got those photos. And you probably do too. The things we make fun of incessantly.. well, there's a pretty good chance that those things are our very culture.

Christa and I always said "You know you had fun if you've got the picture to prove it..." Why not prove you're having fun, right here, right now, in real time?

  I like old photos because they are a glimpse into the time. I analyzed the the old checked curtains in the background, the flannel shirt my dad is wearing in an early 80's 110 photo. I stare at the corn shucks at my great grandpa's feet. I flip through the boxes of photos at antique stores sometimes, looking at scenes of people who aren't anything to me in particular, and I look at the clothes and the poses and the objects that give the photo some sort of setting.

Even classy blogs like In Pursuit of Pretty Things do it.

The Facebook shot shows us living in "the future". It is a world where everyone carries their own little piece of technology. We can show or share something across distance instantaneously, we can have visual conversations across the space that separates us and the cultural differences that come from that space. With the death of film as the primary way to document our lives, we now have greater leeway - we do not have to ask the question "Is this special enough to keep through the rivers of time?" We can document insignificant moments - the very moments that I wonder about as I look at old photos, the moments that photographs were not then spent on.

Photoshoot styled to look like Facebook photography - Kitagawa Keiko for Cybershot S006- more at Unleash the Geek.

  I know that some people are concerned with the "reality tv" nature of internet culture - everyone wants to be famous, or just act like it on Facebook. Everyone has a podium from which to create their own image. And that is what I think is great about the current we are swimming in. There is a readily available canvas there in the digital era. There is no need to create visions which lack an audience. With the ability to easily reach viewers, there lies potential for so much more than poserism and blatant sexuality. Yes, those things are seen in the digital sludge. But if given a blank space that can be easily shaped into whatever you choose to present, why not make it beautiful? Why not choose carefully the things to document? And at the same time, why not choose haphazardly the moments to capture... because we cannot quite know in the moment the importance of the things that we think are far too casual to be art now.

PoppyD's What I Wore Today is almost nothing but this.. and its awesome.

  But I digress. When I was twelve, we took posed photographs carefully, trying to clear any disruptions in the frame, and arranging every variable to get the most of the finite 24 spaces we could use. When I was 14, the internet was a luxury which I sometimes got to take a turn at at school, choosing topics of research papers just for the purpose of being legitimately allowed to read something interesting online, and when I was invariably pulled away from it I would think "If I had the internet constantly available, how could I ever be bored?"  When I was 15, I ran with my sister and our friends to a stranger's farmhouse looking for help after a car wreck - an event which inspired my dad to get us cellphones at a time when pagers were still a status symbol.

The glimpse into Stacia's room is clean, clean, clean.

Now, I carry a tiny computer in my back pocket. I customize its capabilities with an infinite number of free programs. I have never had to think about whether or not its memory may be filling up with photos from its camera, which takes pictures that look as if they were taken by a device that is primarily a camera. But I carry three other cameras as well, 90% of the time. The blue digital point-and-shoot with a flash that can blaze through the dim of bars and clubs, the tiny hand held Vado video camera with a purple patterned finish, and the serious looking "real" video camera that is still, in this day and age, the size of your palm. I edit video easily, only ten years after I dreamed of being able to go to college to learn the unapproachable skills of turning footage into something coherent. Yes, I set out to participate in my contemporary times, and I have done it up.

Dancing in Miami.. putting the dress on the interweb.

The visible cameras in these photos give an insight into the personal, portable technology that is now common place in our lives. It is so common place, that the cameras, or more often, cellphones, in these shots are attractively colored or adorned. Objects which - even within my lifetime- would once have been thought a novelty on their own are now so normal that we individualize them to combat their normalcy. I value their appearance in the photographs from a strictly historical standpoint - we preserve pictures of things which rapidly change, which will be cast off. And then there's something philosophical about the brazenness of not even attempting to hide the fact that a photo was self taken, or by extension, that the viewer is looking at a photograph and not simply being drawn into a scene.

This actually is from a gift guide hawking the phone. But its so culturally relevant, they're even using the theme to sell shit!

 In the 1920's, there was much concern about the Charleston, the unruly girls, and the illegal booze. Its hard to argue that no one was ever harmed by alcohol or brazen sexuality. But out of the climate that undoubtedly did provide some people with a hard surface to wreck themselves upon also came the insight of Fitzgerald and Edna St. Vincent Millay. It is with that faith that I continue championing the social media style " mirrored self portrait with digital camera" and the internet uploading 3g culture it represents. Its the faith that I can both participate in and document my times and the culture around it, all the while maintaining the perspective to see outside of it.

I <3 Droid photography THIS MUCH.

 

Accidental Brewriot - A Sunday Drive.

  "Let's just get in the car," says Ryan, after much debate on where to go and what to do there. We comply, and are soon driving south. At first I speculate that Ryan has chosen Ft. Worth, but he turns onto a frontage road where I expected a merge left. We drive through Oak Cliff, commenting on the houses and the scenery, and what a street could be like, filled out with interesting businesses.
   As we creep into Bishop Arts, we see an unexpected crowd - a mix of sunglasses, bare shoulders above summer dresses, hipster shoes and small plastic cups held aloft. I read a snatch of writing on a sign- "Homebrew Teams.. "
  "I think its a Beerfest."

 

  In line for wrist bands, I wished I had worn less and debated on whether a wrist band for beer samples is a good investment for a liquor person. Fifteen minutes later, we were armed with the proper supplies for the Bishop Arts Brewriot Homebrew Festival: wristbands, cups, and marbles for voting.

 

 

Paparazzi shot:  Jesus shoes and little dog.

 

Sweet Maggie cider was my favorite. The chocolate porter I had was also good, and not too chocolatey, but I took no pictures and cannot remember who it was by. :(

 

 

Ryan and Thom can't resist Uncle Buck's.

 

Rahr girl pours a Summertime Wheat - I want to like Stormcloud just for its name, but I know I could never love an IPA. 

 

Paparazzi shot: One of the best neighborhoods for checking out ink.

 

 

Paparazzi shot: slouchy tee shirts, chillin by the car.

 Ending the excursion on Lockhart's patio - after generous $3 Jameson shots.

Videogame Controller Earrings: A Random Etsy Search

  Etsy.. it's the place to go if you want something a little too odd to be easily found in a store. Its also the place to find earrings that look like the exact variety of videogame controller you use.. because no fangirl would be caught dead in jewelry that doesn't match her console.

   Sadly, I won't be buying any earrings.. there doesn't seem to be an iconly recognizable symbol for the PC gamer in the same way that the controller is the "banner" of the console gamer. At least, not one that makes a good earring anyway.

Clay Super Nintendo from TheClayCollection - $23

CsCharms calls these "Retro Videogame Controller Earrings". I applaud their avoidance of copyright infringement. $14.95

Black 360 controllers from BouncyCreation - The bargain of the group at $9.

Atari controller graphics by Ambergee80 are my favorite, because of the more subtle nature of the design. I actually think she could do a nice PC gamer version - maybe wasd keys in one-color stencil style? A gaming headset might work as well, or even a full keyboard if the detail can be done that small.  $23

Effingham, IL, 1981, Sartorialist Style...

I was scrolling through The Sartorialist today... (http://www.thesartorialist.blogspot.com/) and the vintage photos he does reminded me of this old photo that my sister dug up for Mother's Day on Facebook.

There was some Facebook debate over what town this was, but my mom remembered it was Effingham and knew what street she was standing on and what direction she was facing. Mom is 16 or 17 in this photo.

When I was a young teenager and I first saw this photo, I liked it because I got a kick out of the idea that my mom, despite her sometime protests about our spaghetti straps, had in fact once worn a tank top, in public, with her shoulders and collar bone showing. (By the time I was 13 or so,  I had no memory of her ever wearing anything that showed sternum or carried risk of bra strap exposure, despite her being still approximately the same size she was in 1981.)

Live in the City Where the Sun Beats Down: Dallas does have a music scene.

When I first came to Dallas, I hated it and thought it was a city of assholes who said mean things under a veil of politeness. Now, I get pissed off when people complain about Dallas. (Turns out I was just in the wrong line of work.)

My current annoyance is hearing people complain that there's no music scene here. It makes me think of the gruff longtime waitresses who were my coworkers in my formative years and their expression "They'd rather bitch than eat when they're hungry." You can see a good show in Dallas. Or you can talk about how cool Austin is while not going out to support the music scene you have right here.

So here's a taste of the music scene you can participate in right here... (maybe I'll continue this theme in future blogs? Who knows, I'm very unreliable.)


First up - Hello Lover.

Hello Lover gets to top the list because I have recent video of them, and I've seen them play more times than I can count and its always a good show. Also, they have a charismatic seven-foot-tall lead singer who dances. The best way to find Hello Lover is to see them live - their internet presence (and the sound in my video) doesn't do them justice. But I like their taste in posters.

St Patty's band flyer - art by J Schaefer, reference photo T Stead

 If you disregard my advice to just see them live, or if you need to figure out how to do that, theres Facebook : http://www.facebook.com/pages/Hello-Lover/108340453574 and Myspace: http://www.myspace.com/hellolovermusic

This brings me to my next introduction- a venue: Club Dada, also seen in the above video.

Dada is off again, on again, off again, now its on again. It's part of the tradition of Deep Ellum legends that are closing down, but this one won't stay dead. Its a good place to see a show - either a local band, or see a bigger act in a smaller venue.

 Favorite bands I've seen there: Hello Lover, Lucero, The Riverboat Gamblers, Record Hop.

One major, MAJOR complaint about Dada though: The bathroom situation. There are a total of two toilets available, and shows here do fill the house.

Website at http://dadadallas.com/

Whatever Happened to my Rock n Roll?

If you don't recognize it, the title is a quotation of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, a band which abjectly DID NOT suck in concert. I would like to keep on writing about thier show, but at this point it wouldn't be current.



The live music highlights of my April in Dallas were both at Granada. One was a band I'd wanted to see for some time and whose catalog I knew well. The other was a band I'd recently taken a liking to, whose Rock Band 3 song I knew well. Unfortunately, both left me disappointed.



The Raveonettes was actually not what I would consider a bad show. I had a pleasant time, and for the most part, the music sounded good. However, persistent back tracking and a lack of life in the show itself (they basically stood, and played, and were always back lit so that the view was pretty much their still silhouettes the entire show) prevented it from being what I'd call a good show. I didn't leave wishing I hadn't come.. but I must admit, I was hoping to leave converted to being a huge fan of the band, which did not happen.




The Kills show had almost everything The Raveonettes lacked. There was life in the show, Alison Mossheart strutted around like a badass, and in general gave the crowd what they wanted. The crowd ate it up. Except for me. I discovered that while I sorely felt the lack of swagger in The Raveonettes show, a heavy pour of swagger wasn't enough to carry The Kills. Despite being a fan of the band, I couldn't delude myself that the over-played, almost cartoon-y distortion sounded good. And then there was the factor that both shows had in common: the goddamn back tracking.




To a degree, I do wish I hadn't gone to see The Kills. In a sort of way, I still wish I was wishing to see them live, and hearing all the positive remarks from people who have seen their show, not realizing that I would sorely disagree with the apparent majority on the experience. After these two lack luster musical experiences, I also find myself wishing I'd started doing rock show video diaries earlier, when I was on a roll and would therefore not have to piss off all the rabid internet fans of the bands. (BTW, The Raveonettes also win the rabid fan pissing contest - their fans largely will not hear the possibility that they did not play an awesome show and want to blame user error. Judging by the amount of people who attended the show, the rabid fans exist in far greater numbers on the internet than IRL. Which is too bad, because if more of them bought tickets, perhaps the band could afford to hire more touring musicians and quite the stupid back tracking. The Kills on the other hand, have no trouble selling tickets.. and still I'd advise them to pick up some guns for hire.)



I'm about as anti-government interference as anyone I know, yet I find myself tempted to say that I think shows should come with a label that makes clear the amount of backtracking additives they include. In fact, I'd like to say it, as it'd be a comfortable level of inflammatory, but actually I'm too super serious about both my politics and my music to risk the suggestion that I want interference in one by the guys that brought you vehicle inspections and the TABC test. ("GiNGer Ale? I want Shomething shTRonGer!")

(also on the blog i share with a few ex-gamerioters - www.slightlyrelevant.com)

Free the Female Skin...

  I hate walking around in sweat soaked clothes. Maybe its because of growing up in oppressive humidity. I just can't stand the feel of soggy sweaty moisture trapped around my skin.

 Today I was walking in the park. Bob Woodruff/Oak Point, if you're familiar with Plano. Its the kind of park with nature where people go biking and running, not a playground park. I was walking with intent to sweat, in full sun, so I wore shorts and a bikini top. I wore a bikini top for presumably much the same reason that men go running in the same park in tiny shorts without shirts. Because I sweat, its hot, and I'm concerned with little else besides my own course. Plus there's the little bit of vanity that makes me choose the bikini top over the sports bra - the sports bra gives me some weird tan lines.

It totally wasn't like this.

 As I was walking along, I occasionally would pass some other person. Sometimes I could feel them look at me a little hard, but I didn't care. I'm out there to burn some calories and be alone, not to be concerned with them. I encountered about eight people in about an hour of walking, and each of them was "forced" to look at me for about 10 to 30 seconds until they passed me by.

  One of the last people I passed was a man, probably in his 40's, running in a pair of small nylon shorts. I mention him because he is significant, although not through any fault of his own. He didn't offend me in any way, or say anything to me, or even really look at me. He is significant because I know the last group of people I came into contact with had to have passed him to.

  This last group of people consisted of several people, and I really couldn't tell you exactly their demographic or what they were doing, or how many of them there were. My lack of detail on this is because I was minding my own business, not trying to solicit the attention of anyone else or pay attention to anyone else. I was there to use the park. I do know that at least two of them were women, I couldn't really say how old, both blonde, and both wearing tank tops. I know this, because one of them (I don't know which) drew my attention intentionally as she passed me by.

  She said "Put some clothes on!" She said this right in the instant after she passed me by. So, generously speaking, if she was forced to be offended by my presence for 30 seconds, she had 30 seconds in which to make her comment. She made her comment in the 31st second, as if she wanted to make it not when she was face to face with me, but after. I turned around and said in a bored and only slightly annoyed tone of voice "Its not any different than men running with their shirts off."

 I don't think she had intended to give me the opportunity to respond, nor did she expect it. She said "What?" and both her and the other woman turned around, once again leaving me unclear on who had spoken. I repeated: "Its not any different than men running with their shirts off. I sweat too." Then I turned around and continued my course which she had interrupted.

  In that moment of reply though, I had enough time to basically look at them. They were both blonde, artificially so. They were both wearing shorts and tank tops, both of which exposed cleavage. They were not large per se, but larger than me. So not only is there the irony that they can pass a man in mini shorts and nothing else and presumably not cat-call him, but also its not as if they were covered to Victorian standards themselves. So the part of their body that they are willing to display - cleavage - is perfectly unoffensive, but my stomach and lower back is totally over the line? The fact that I have forced you to see my belly button for a few seconds, in passing, in a place where I was exercising, where people are meant to exercise, is rude; but your giving unsolicited instruction to someone you don't know is not?

  I would like to conclude this blog with the statement that I am tired of two things. The first is simpler: I am tired of people making rude remarks that they do not intend to own. If you are so proud of your opinion and righteous in it, don't say it in a calculated moment when you are pretty sure you will have the last word and there's not possibility of a retort. Furthermore, when you make such a remark, prepare not to be dumbfounded if the target of the remark does turn around and answer in a more conversationally civil style than you lead with.

  The second thing I am tired of is people responding witch hunt style to any display of female skin that is one millimeter over their own arbitrary standard of appropriateness. I have defended willing sexiness and I will defend it again and again, but every time a woman wears something which exposes a piece of her flesh, it is not necessarily sexual. If I am doing something physical, yes, I prefer to wear less clothing and be less hot. If i am doing something outside in the sun, yes, I prefer to have the sun touch my skin instead of sweaty fabric. Its not just the idea that any exposure of skin over what "they themselves" (in the proverbial sense) are doing is a blatant troll for sexual attention. Its also the idea that if someone does something that "they themselves" would not do, it is obviously totally incorrect, anti-feminist, offensive, and is in fact corrupting our children. Come on people. We have all seen bikini tops. They aren't required by law to be sold only in places with dark tinted windows that card at the door.

  Even more complexly, its the idea that its ok for the proverbial "them" to beautify themselves and try to make themselves attractive as they see fit. "They" can dye their hair, wear makeup, dress to present what they see as an attractive part of their body with cleavage and shoulders on display. But if "they" see someone who has, to their eyes, made a bid for attractiveness in a different way - exposed a different part of the body, or worn something that "they" would not, "they" feel entitled to be offended by it. It causes me even more of an eye roll when they think I'm presenting for attractiveness when I'm actually just trying to be more comfortable while I work my ass out. I'm not trying to join the Top Free movement. I'm just willing to fight for both my right to be comfortable in the park in the same way that apparently even 70 year old dudes in stretchy shorts have the right to be comfortable in the park.. and I'm also willing to stand up to anyone who tries to tell me what the standard is when I am probably more qualified to decide the standard myself.

   I see people doing things and wearing things that my eyes find offensive every day. I don't feel entitled to instruct them on it.

See? Its not so bad.

To Die of Pride in the Snow..

I'm not working because I live in Texas, and there is ice. So, time for a story about Illinois winter adventures:

Its winter, circa 2001 in IL. We live on a country road, five miles from the nearest small town and 30 minutes from the nearest town you can do much of anything in. I'm about 16 or 17. I'm supposed to go to Effingham (the bigger town) to pick my sister's boyfriend up and meet my sister when she gets off work. Its snowing like hell, and they forgot to plow our road. After much debate, my dad decides to let me go, but he tells me that the "law of odds" is going to get me.

I go out to my car, and being afraid that dad will change his mind, I decide to get the hell out of dodge as fast as I can. This is bad, because my defog doesn't really work, and I can't see shit yet, but I take off. I get more or less out of the driveway, and drive straight off the road, because like i said, it hasn't been plowed, and my window is all frosty so I can't see where the road is. The snow is probably ten inches deep. I'm stuck. I'm still within view of the house, so dad can see that I'm stuck. He comes driving out there like an asshole, drives past me, turns around and comes back to where I'm stuck, as if to show me just how easy it is to not get stuck. I can tell already he's mad.

I'm right. He is mad. We dig my car out a bit, and he chains it to his little Dodge Omni and eventually we get it out. He's really pissed about the whole thing, and so as he goes to turn his car around, he's driving like he's pissed off. He puts his car in the ditch. He's stuck. So I bring the Oldsmobile around, we dig, we hook up the tow chain, we get the little car out. He heads straight to the house. I very carefully drive up to the hog barn up the road so I can turn around without incident, and very carefully drive home, hanging my head and thinking about how much it sucks to be stuck at home. The time passed since my initial departure is about an hour and a half at this point.

I reach the driveway. Dad is standing at the end of the sidewalk in front of the house, smoking a cigarette. He watches me pull in. I start to get out of the car.

Dad looks at me like I'm an idiot and says, "I didn't go through all that trouble so you could just turn around and come home. Get the hell out of here."

I leave, this time I have tire tracks as a reference and everything is fine once I reach blacktop highway.

After a few misadventures that night (including getting my sister's car stuck) I head home, by myself, to make midnight curfew. I'm depressed about having to leave when I know the fun is continuing for everyone else. It hasn't stopped snowing all night. As I reach the turn off for our road, it is apparent that the road still hasn't been plowed. The indents from our stuck cars earlier have been completely covered. I have no choice. Curfew is god, I've got to go down that road.

About a quarter mile from the house, my car comes to a stop. I'm stuck... on the road. I get out. The snow is almost a foot deep in the low places, its about two feet in the drifts. I'm clearly on the road. I'm just so goddamn stuck I have no idea how to get out of it. I put my floor mats under my tires. I throw it back and forth between reverse and drive, putting the pedal to the floor. Now I'm just stuck in a big cradle shaped indentation in the snow.

The house is within sight of course, and an easy walk. But there is no way I'm asking dad for help with this. There's also no way I am abandoning my car, because then I'll have to tell him why in the morning. I decide to just dig out the entire road up to the driveway with a shovel. I get a shovel. I start digging. After a very long time I realize what a stupid idea that is, and that I've made pretty much no progress. I go back to trying to miraculously drive the car out of it.

 At about 1:45, I am out of ideas. I still am unwilling to wake dad up for help or abandon my car. I have resigned to just dying in my car. I curl up in the passenger seat, staring at the yellow lights from the house as I try to go to sleep. I wonder how long my gas will last sitting here.

  Then behind me there are headlights. A big pickup truck stops behind me, and several drunk ass good old boys from my school get out.

 "You gotta get outa the way!" they say jovially. "We got a party to go to!"

  I look at them like they are idiots. They surround my car, recommending all the things I've already tried. They can't get in front of the car, so they can't pull me out. They grab the shovels and some cardboard and start digging and kicking at the snow in front of the car. Then one of the drunker ones announces "I can get it out, lemme drive."

 He's wasted, but I figure there's no way that car is moving, so I let him try. He throws it in reverse, pulls forward and back a few times, sliding from side to side a little, and then all the sudden, it comes free. He drives it into the driveway. I run behind him, pretty damn happy that I don't have to die of pride in the snow. They go on their merry way.

  Now this story should end with me going in to bed, somewhat annoyed that no one even noticed whether or not I was late. But actually, later that night I was awakened by headlights constantly pointed at the window- my sister's car stuck in the snow, once again, sitting perfectly on the road, just stuck. And better yet, there's someone stuck behind her...