:mattLandia:

There's a ruckus outside. A spring thunderstorm is assaulting my roof, bending the winter tired trees, then releasing their wet boughs to whip across my shingles. Whap. Whap. Whap. I'm laying on the sofa, looking 23 feet up to the beam across my vaulted ceiling. I can hear my home's old frame moan, "You're kidding right? I'm too old for this."

It's been a long, stressful week. On top of being sick, getting travel vaccinations which made me feel more sick, having a thunderstorm of sorts at work, and worrying about my upcoming trip to Asia, now I have to deal with the weather mugging my house? Damn.

I pick up the remote, and flip through mindless stations of cable brain rot. Nothing. I grab my iPod and start flipping through the hundreds of artists I keep on tap. Ivy! I forgot I downloaded their new album, "In the Clear". I press play, and just like that I'm fixed. Dominique Durand's voice pours into my ears like warm syrup, and I sink deeper into the couch. I have a long history with Ivy and hearing their sound gives me goosebumps. It jogs a memory about standing by myself at The Point when I first moved here, swaying to the music, checking out the indie kids and thinking that living in Atlanta was going to be alright. Her voice soothed me then and now.

My eyes close, weighted down by the gray shadow of late afternoon. As I fall asleep an effervescent thought bubbles it's way across my inner movie screen. "Dude. Your deep in the ivy." I fall asleep.

Posted by mattLandia at 08:54 PM | Permalink

After hours of trying to get my 'travel shots' prior to my upcoming trip to Hong Kong and Bangalore, I got super lucky and found an available appointment with a travel clinic up in Gainesville, GA.

After arriving promptly at 3pm, I was shown into a smallish nurses station where I was attended to by a super sweet, completely southern nurse who spoke with a distinct georgian drawl. They actually have a leather La-Z-Boy recliner in the middle of the station, and when sitting in it, I felt like I was slowly sinking into leather oblivion.

This sweet, sweet woman began to walk me through list of various plagues that I was SURE to be exposed to in India and regaled me with stories of how easy it is for a western man like myself to get sick while traveling. The whole conversation was priceless, like a moment right out of Fried Green Tomatoes or something. It was more her delivery, than the actual message that tickled me so. Example,

" You know that there Monteezoomas reevenge they have down in 'ol Mejico? Well I tell you, Monteezooma has got a cuz'n over there in India that will KICK.. YER... BUTT!"

" Oooo honey. With your delicate stomach condition, if I were to prescribe those malaria peells versus these here, well... they would rip you open top to bottom."

After the preliminary interview, where she pored over my nearly full WHO Immunization card that I've had since birth, she got out the needles. Turns out I need 4 vaccines given in 3 injections (Hep A, Hep B, Typhoid, and Tetanus) and two types of pills (Malarone for Malaria and Cipro just in case I get really sick). The room was already getting a bit stuffy, (and for those of who know me and how I respond to anxiety this won't be a surprise) I started to feel a little queasy and light headed. I was white-knucklin' the arms of the La-Z-Boy, laughing as best as I could at her jokes, determined to keep a grip. One shot down... sweat starts to bead on my forehead. Second shot down... I'm not feeling so great, but I'm managing a grimace. The nurse continues to overflow with information about the potential side effects of the shots... Third shot in... Now I'm happy the shots are done, but I want OUT OF HERE.

No such luck.

Part of my one hour appointment with the Health Department is to be 'taught' the do's and dont's of travel. My nurse was off and to the races, lecturing me about the fatality of malaria, the odds that I would be urinated on in Bangalore, musing on my chances of catching Yellow Fever in Hong Kong, etc. - all the while handing me print out after print out of detailed documentation on every malady that might possibly befall me. Every 5 minutes, sweat dripping from my forehead and underarms, I would think "Surely this lady is about done?" 30 minutes later, she finally wound down and kicked me out and on my merry way.

I suppose I could have just stopped her, but it's so hard to interrupt a proper southern woman once she get's to lecturing, so I figured the path of least resistance was to just sit and bear it. In the end, I'm glad. After her expert tutelage, there is nothing I'm not prepared for. Bring on the feces in my food, the down wind urination contamination, the tyhpoid breathe, and diarhea butt. I've got shots and pills. I'm as ready as I'll ever be.

Posted by mattLandia at 07:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

This weekend Natasha and I, along with our friends Karen and Eric, drove up across the state line for a little R&R in Nashville, TN. With all the travel I've been doing of late and all the travel that's on the horizon, I wasn't sure that I was really up to a weekend away from home, but Nashville, as always, did not disappoint.

Our plan was simple. Go to Nashville. Find some old school honky-tonk-hell-billy-boogie-woogie down on Broadway, commandeer a table and chairs, do some dancin’, unwind and relax. Mission accomplished!

Instead of boring you with a travelogue, let’s run through the highlight reel!

The Black Keys at Mercury Lounge: Our friend Jennifer (the sweetest friend of a friend I’ve ever had!) met us for dinner and then helped us get tickets to see The Black Keys at the Mercy Lounge. I really couldn’t believe our luck. Not only did we get tickets, I was standing no more than 10 feet away from the amps and got a first hand look at the genius of Dan Auerbach’s guitar playing. (For those long-term mattLandia readers, you’ll remember that one of my first entries here was about the Black Keys!) This duo makes some serious noise and is as good as billed.

Roberts and The Bluegrass Inn: For those of you not familiar with Nashville, you’ll find Roberts and The Bluegrass Inn side by side right in the thick of neon glow on Broadway. If you like old school country (Hank Williams, Johnny Cash, etc.) or old rockabilly (Gene Vincent, Elvis, etc.), Roberts is Shangri-La. Rows of boots line the walls, the drinks are cheap, the live music is close up and personal, and no leaves without dancing. Old, young, country, punk rock, middle America – every one is there having a boot stompin' hell raisin’ good time. The Bluegrass Inn, next door to Roberts, is not as well known but offers the same kick ass time but usually has a little more room to dance. We did the Roberts/Bluegrass Inn bar hop on Friday night, Saturday afternoon and Saturday night. By the time we left, we were on a first name basis with some of the help, but more on that later.

Karen and the Taxicab: Saturday morning, the wee hours of the AM, we’re all taking a cab back to the Hotel. Karen, pretty well sauced, leans up into the cabbies face and in her eagerness to pick up the cab fare, barks in the cab drivers ear, “When you need money, YOU LOOK AT ME – OK?” Scared us all half to death (including the cabbie), but we all ended cracking up (including the cabbie).

Saturday Night Fever: After a couple of warm up dances with me, Nat turned into a dancing machine. It started out with a dance with our barmaid Erika at Bluegrass, which led to dance after dance with Cowboy hatted men of all shapes, dancing ability and varying degrees of twang to the voice. When Natasha decides she wants something, watch out – she won’t be denied!

A Michigan Hillbilly and The Search For ‘D’ Tanner: While at the Bluegrass Inn on Saturday night, we happened upon the musical stylings of Phil Hummer, The Michigan Hillbilly himself. His band was hammering honky tonk standards like the best of them and as the show wound down, we ended up talking to Phil’s wife Ray (who also debuted on the dog house bass) and talking music, upcoming gigs and such. Before long, Phil, Ray, Natasha and I were hanging out, raisin’ hell and closing down Bluegrass Inn. We took out party to Roberts where at one point we struck up a conversation with ‘D’ Tanner of Brazillbilly. I’m calling him ‘D’ because I think his name was Dan, but it might have been Dave. I’m so tired right now, I honestly don’t remember.

Well, the South being what it is, it wasn’t long before Last Call signaled time for a change of venue. Our newfound friends invited us to head over to East Nashville where the bars are open longer, so we hoped in the band van and headed east. To our dismay, even the bars in East Nashville were closing up. SO. Having being casually invited to an impromptu party at ‘D’ Tanners place, we struck out in search of said party. It wasn’t long before we realized that none of knew where we were supposed to go, so Ray started working the phones in search of D’s address. Ray went so far as to call a guy in another state, interrupting him in the middle of a ‘delicate liaison’ with a new girlfriend, and keeping him on the phone long enough to guide us to D’s street. Alas, after a good 30 minutes of driving around, we found no party and headed home. It wasn’t a total loss though. Phil and Ray were absolute gracious and kind and hopefully we’ll get to hang out with them again soon.

The Nashville Star: While we were getting ready to go out, I was channel surfing and got the performance of Jody Evans on USA’s The Nashville Star. He seems to be a cross between Buddy Holly and Chris Isaak and actually performed really well. We were duly impressed. A day later, while shopping at this great boutique Katy Kay’s, I found myself in small room with this same Jody Evans where we were both trying on some stylin’ western wear. He had his little entourage in tow, Mom included, and you could just feel the nervous excitement in him. I totally approved of his choice in a black sequined jacket. If I had $300 to drop on a jacket, I would have picked the same. I hope he wins the contest.

All right, that’s enough for one entry. I’m beat tired but I wanted to get this done while it was still fresh in mind. I hope you like the photos, and if you have the chance, do yourself a favor and git on over to Nashvegas pronto. You can’t not have a good time.

Posted by mattLandia at 11:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I'm only a few steps away from a support group. I'm sure of it. I am addicted to Creamy Cucumber Salad Dressing (Kraft or the Generic, I could really care less which). I can't remember the first time I got my mitts on a handle o' Creamy Cucumber. I fairly certain I avoided that bottle until there was not other white sauce in the fridge that would adequately cover the taste of lettuce. My "eww" quickly turned to "aahh" and just like crack, I was hooked.

About two years ago, most major grocery retailers (Publix, Kroger, Winn-Dixie) stopped carrying Creamy Cucumber dressing as part of the standard salad dressing assortment. I remember walking up and down the dressing isle, in denial, sure that I was just blind to the label. My slow dull pace quickened, and the first bitter taste of panic began to rise from my belly. Quiet panic to turned to full blown hysteria and I started swiping arm fulls of inferior white dressings from the shelves in cascading waves of plastic bottles! "Cucumber.. I NEED Cucumber... I NEED CUCUMBER... IIII NEEED CREAMY CUCUMBERRR YOU FACIST GROCERY CUCUMBER OPPRESORS..!!" I screamed a blinding rage inside my head.

The past two years I suffered. Once tantalizing salads are eaten half heartedly. I stand, alone, in front of the salad dressing shelves, my soul racked with memories of savory Creamy Cucumberfied salads of years past.

But on occasion -- rare occasions -- like two days ago -- Creamy Cucumber salad dressing makes a rare appearance on the shelves! I was walking past the salad dressing isle, much like you might walk past the apartment of a former lover, when out of the corner of my eye I spotted the paradisical combination of a blue green label on a bottled filled with a speckled white sauce. Without thinking, I quickdraw my cameraphone from my hip and capture this rarest of moments.

My life is will now be wonderful for as long as the three bottles I purchased will last me. Be forewarned, should you visit me at my home, I will not share my Creamy Cucumber with you. Should you reach for it, I may pimp slap you to the curb and then lock myself in the bathroom with a bag of salad and my beloved CCS.

You've been warned.

Posted by mattLandia at 08:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Today I joined (deep breath) - LA Fitness. I am a card carrying fitness lemming, ready to jump off my perch high on Casual Cliff into the frothing Gatorade waters below. The last time I joined a gym, I think I went 4 or 5 times before returning to a state of gym-apathy and having to endure the monthly humiliation of paying the contracted fee regardless. So before the soft-gutted, flaccid calved, and unaerobicized masses begin ragging on me, let me state my case.

1 - I plead insanity

2 - Work entered into a deal that let me bypass the sign up fees.

3 - There is NO contract.

4 - There is a brand new LA Fitness not more than a mile from the house.

5 - I'm tired of feeling guilty when Natasha comes home sweaty and red faced, chirping happy "I'm getting healthier everyday" sorts of sentences. In fact, she is getting healthier, so that makes my saggy ass feel even more guilty.

So today, justifications in the proverbial hand, I signed up. I was introduced to a large mocha skinned man named Mark, my hand crushed in his Olympian grip, and escorted to a desk in FRONT of the thousands of sweaty stares and labored breathing. Humiliated, I willingly let myself get hog tied and branded as a "New-Unhealthy-Sort-Of-Pale-And-Weak-Guy" in front of every other would be health nut in the place.

As soon as I was bequeathed the coveted LA FITNESS ID tag, I was ready to prove my worth! I turned my nose up, held my chest out, and jogged to a vacant stationary bike and pedaled out a solid 30 minutes. Feeling judgemental eyes on me, I focused through the blinking spots I was seeing, and the red hot iron poker stretching out my lungs, I then turned my attention to the weight equipment and ran through as many reps on the "Upper Body Torso Pectoralis Shoulder Maximus" strength building machines as I could. "...10...11...12...". I would not be stopped.

I left the gym nauseus, dizzy, and with no discernible lifting ability in either arm. It's odd to leave a place both proud and feeling like complete shit. If the No Pain = No Gain school of thought applies here, then I guess I'm sitting pretty.

Bring on the health you pansies.

Posted by mattLandia at 10:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I'm not prone to feeling homesick very often. This week has felt really long though, and it's only Wednesday. I'm in Minneapolis, the weather is beautiful, and the city is buzzing. Yet still, I can't help but wish I was back at home, with Natasha and Boris, sitting at Piedmont Park. Relaxing.

The picture above I took last weekend at Molhams riotous party at the Four Seasons. It's another picture that is a couple of shots stiched together. You can click on the picture for a larger version...

Posted by mattLandia at 12:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I posted this last week, but this site was down. Check it out...

"Ok, it's Friday folks. If you need to kill a few minutes in your cubicle, well here ya go!

Check out this BRILLIANT series of online ads for JC Online that are just waaayyyy too cool for school. It's the sort of media production that just leaves me feeling dazzled, dumb, and useless. Click on the "The Commercials" section. Enjoy... CLICK HERE."

Posted by mattLandia at 12:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

When I travel, I tend to spend a lot of time inside my head, reflecting on the many themes that stitch together my life's panorama. Lately, the word "multiplicity" keeps coming to mind. It started last week when after a long day at work, I rushed home to change clothes, only to turn around to head back into the city with Natasha for a concert. At the time, I was half complaining/half joking about having to rush home to 'change uniforms'. Like going from my day job to my night job. Like going from one world to another.

When I was comparing these photos, I found that they represented the duality of my life experience quite well. In the upper photo, I was determined to capture the observation of a cafe across the street through indirect reflection. In the lower photo, the observation seems almost clinical, safe, and general. Both angles where born in my inner eye. Right brain versus left brain. Artist versus Working Man. Outside-the-lines versus inside-the-lines. I own up to both. I am frustrated by both. I am deeply hooked by both. Like keeping two lovers, I feel forever lucky, tired, and on thin ice.

Perhaps my photography is becoming more about a man telling the truth about himself.

Posted by mattLandia at 11:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I'm working in St. Louis this week. I flew in yesterday and will be here through Friday. Basically, my time will be spent standing in a classroom teaching, or sitting at the hotel watching the tube. FUN. I was able to hook up with DJ Light last night though, and we had a killer dinner. Fried Okra and a huge restaurant burger, chased with a Heath Bar shake. We watched the NCAA Final. What's that choking sound? Oh, it's Illinois avoiding the paint and losing the NCAA FINAL IN THEIR BACKYARD. Rough. I'm determined to find something worth taking a few pics of while I'm here. Thus far, I took a camera-pic of my plane I walked across the Tarmac (see left) and a close up of a lime in Perrier. Riveting. More later....

Posted by mattLandia at 09:54 PM | Permalink

So if you aren't watching the yankified version of NBC's The Office, you should be. It's your chance to redeem yourself for not watching the original BBC series. Plus, if you DO watch the show, you guaranteed to avoid SDH (Spontaneous Dental Hydroplosion), a condition where your teeth dissolve and drip down the back of your throat.

If you watched the The Office, you might already know that.

Posted by mattLandia at 09:44 PM | Permalink

It's Friday, and I'm in the mood to ruminate. Deal with it.

1 - My roof is officially leaking, I don't have the $$ to fix it, my credit is a long way from bright and sunny, and I need to buy buckets. I am officially looking for ways to squeeze financial water from my financial rock. Donations to the "Keep Matt's Sanity and Carpet Dry Fund" are gladly welcomed.

2 - By my count, every Indian or Pakistani co-worker in my office has a mustache. If this is representative of what can only be described as the hallmark of a culture steeped in progressive men's fashion, then perhaps I ought to make a pilgrimage to the lands of Bollywood, curry, sacred cows, and call centers. Hmm... Imagine the photo treasures I would return with...

3 - Increasing my commute to work by a total of 40 miles per day + the ever rising costs of gas ($2.06 per gallon?!!) = more reason for Federally mandated work-from-home requirements and subsidized scooter and motorcycle purchases!

Posted by mattLandia at 12:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)