For those of you unfamiliar with my upbringing, I grew up in rural Upstate SC. So rural, in fact, that Google can’t find my house. Which is a source of great amusement to me. (For the absolutely curious you can see the farm here but ignore the address, it’s just how I found my bearings. My parents’ place is the big mass of trees in the middle with the light tan colored pasture out front.)

I have to admit, it could be a lot more rural. When I was growing up, the city nearby (30 minute drive) was 40,000 people. Now its 175,000 people. Big enough, apparently, to have gangs that shoot up Applebee’s. (The newspaper here is almost as fun as reading the NYDN… but without the great headlines.)

It’s been three and a half weeks since my surgery and I’m antsy to start walking again. Of course, I’ve got at least another two and a half before they let me, but I have plenty of time on my hands to fantasize about walking. Even in my dreams these days, though, I’m on crutches. Last night I dreamed I forgot my crutches and was walking with my brace on, limping along before I realized that probably wasn’t a good idea. (I couldn’t do that in real life.)  I also dreamed I was trying to talk but couldn’t because my mouth was full of food (which it rarely is in real life) and that I was having to pitch clients to a new news organization founded to get out progressive stories, but the journalists were totally horrible about covering progressive stories.  I think I have post-Fenton PTSD.

Last Friday, I got to go to a “concert” (I say this in quotes because it was held at Shriner’s Hall, which is like a Lion’s Club) of my friend Shosha and her friend Stella, which reminded me of my favorite thing in the South - the music. Of course, I’ve searched around and not found any major concerts to die for, but I haven’t had much luck. Concerts were my escape as a teenager.

Now I know that most of you think Country when you think Southern music, but actually Bluegrass is more truly Southern. Country is more Western, I believe, starting out of the tradition of a lone cowboy and his guitar. Bluegrass has a more clearly definied Irish influence, and generally includes a fiddle and banjo.

And then there’s folk, a lot of the best coming out of Asheville, NC, my dream retirement/I-give-up-and-stick-my-head-in-the-sand place to live.

But there is also Southern Rock. Which, as I wrote this, I wikipedia-ed, since I’m not all that knowledgable about the history, which goes something like this: Elvis, Little Richard, Jerry Lee Lewis, [a racist period (of course) that even wikipedia describes as “redneck”], Blind Melon, REM, Sister Hazel, Widespread Panic, etc.

Okay, so that’s not exactly how it goes, but those are who I’ve always associated with Southern Rock. I think it’s darker and generally slower than more urban rock, and there’s clear country/blues influence, and, at least when I was a kid, heavy metal. (Rock out.)

I also just noticed there are no absolutely women listed there… Hmmm…

My love affair with music stared at the ripe age of three when I learned to play Mary Had a Little Lamb on the piano. Piano lessons followed until I decided in jr. high school that I’d rather learn how to play Guns and Roses’ November Rain instead of Beethoven. (My piano teacher wasn’t pleased and lessons subsequently stopped.) Playing guitar started soon after that. I guess in early high school, I wanted to be a composer, then a composer for movies (which I did for a roommate’s short film in college) and then slowly became more interested in producing albums (though I never produced anything more than a demo).

Somewhere during college, though, I got distracted by all my activism stuff and the music fell to the wayside. But I’m going to try to pick up some of it while I’m home. My album collection (ahem, CD) is horribly aging and I can’t remember the last time I picked up a new artist. So if you have any suggestions, feel free to send them to me. Though, I’ll admit, while I’ve got an ipod, I still prefer to own the albums… And I’ll readily shell out to an independent artist than give another dime to Sony (sorry, except you, Kaki).

Oh, one more Southern story.  My mom, of course, knows everyone in the grocery store who works there, and there’s a produce guy that I met the other day.  (Grocery store visits have become a major outing for me.)  He asked about my leg and I told him Thailand, moped, traveling around the world, etc.  This week when he saw my mom he was asking her about my travels and how she could “let me” travel around.  My mom responded, “hey, this is a kid who left SC when she was 17 to move to NYC by herself not knowing anyone who lived there. I don’t exactly tell her what she gets to do.” To which he responded:

“Did you ever think maybe she’s not normal?”

So, that’s the update for now.

Except for the fact that I turn the DOWNHILL-SIDE-TO-THIRTY (just kidding, that was for Lauren) BIG 2-6 on Monday! It’s my first bday in the South send I flew down for my 18th birthday (no, I don’t know what I was thinking about celebrating my 18th birthday outside of NYC.) I’m holding off the painkillers that day so that I can hopefully actually eat my chocolate cake… Woo-hoo!