Snobbin: Beautiful Trash in the Pop Culture Gutter

I have been moving into our new house for what seems like days. First, we had to paint each room and remove the carpet, and then we have slowly been moving our stuff over the past week. Whenever I move, I think about getting rid of some of my records or books because of the effort of moving them. Of course, this never happens, and I find myself moving more each time, constantly swearing and cursing at myself for my collection.  I generally move them by myself so that no one else will have to suffer. I take the records off my shelf, put them in plastic storage containers, and then lug them to my car only to lug them out again. When I am done, my arms are black and blue from bruises. These deep bruises will turn yellow and take weeks to heal. When I move books in town, I have switched to smaller boxes and more trips to make it easier, but I have not found a better way to move vinyl. I started using large milk crates, but they beat my arms up as much and took more time. I ended up set...

Since I moved to Arkansas a few years ago, I have realized how much the pollen affects me and how ubiquitous it can be. I have always gotten sick every year when the trees start blooming, but in Arkansas, it is so much worse. The pine trees and many other plants start blooming, and I find myself a sick mess. My ears are plugged, my head is stuffy, and my body aches. When I first encountered these symptoms a couple of years ago, I thought I had the flu, but friends informed me that it was just the pollen. The trees are beautiful, with their needles appearing ever greener through the haze, but yellow pollen covers the roads, vehicles, and pretty much anywhere else it can land. A blanket of yellow clogs the air, and it is even visible in the water that pools in drains and puddles along the muddy ground. When I return to Wisconsin, other blooming polliniferous plants will hit me again, so my head will remain a mess.  Of course, this haze cuts down my productivity, and I struggle to cat...

I was walking through the needles today and thinking about fall, a season that used to be one of my favorites. Recently, I have found fall less appealing, probably because I am not used to the southern changes in season. I miss certain trees, and I miss the snow.  Watching the world turn gray but never seeing snow is distracting and strange. I never thought I would miss snow as much as I do, but fall affects me more positively if there is a snowfall that covers the brown leaves and points to change. Here in the south, I have to wait longer for this renewal as the world stays brown until spring arrives.  I should get used to these different seasonal shifts. The seasons change, but they are not as evident to someone who grew up with four distinct seasons with vast temperature changes. In Wisconsin, you get used to shifts in the weather that are shocking and quick. Winter is long and snowy and feels so different from the southern fall, which is not as cold or different from the s...

I have not been to many cemeteries lately because I have been so busy teaching and writing. I am not working on any articles right now, but I have been writing fiction and teaching six classes. In between grading journals and discussion boards, I have not had the time to do much except listen to a few records and take walks. When I lived in Illinois, Amanda and John and I would go to cemeteries all the time, searching for famous and infamous people. In fact, I still have to post many of those pictures, including pictures from Showmen's Rest in Woodlawn Cemetery and the Haymarket Martyrs in Forest Home Cemetery.  I miss going on these trips with them, but now and then, Carrie and I make it to local cemeteries. We visited three this weekend, including Rose Hill, Rest Haven Memorial Gardens, and Helms Cemetery. We visited several famous local graves in Rose Hill Cemetery include Harris T. Flanagin, Arkansas State Governor from 1862 to 1864, and Reverend John McLaughlin who founded Hen...

Reading Palookaville. Arkansas past midyear. I'm waiting for fall to begin. Far away from winter snows, Metaphorically and literally. In the enduring humidity, I turn away. I'd give anything for a cold rain or a sad autumn day. I think I just wrote lyrics to an emo song, circa 1996. Don't hold that against me. 2020 needs to end.

I've been taking long walks most of my life. I have many reasons: to clear my mind, to enjoy the outdoors, to exercise. Ah, who am I kidding, it is mostly to clear my mind and think. I like to walk for hours and take different routes each time, exploring each city and town I have lived in and taking stock of my surroundings. I want to explore each nook and cranny of the town because I am never sure what I will see or hear. It's exploratory surgery of the soul and feels akin to listening to a favorite old record that you have heard a thousand times but are always prepared to appreciate in a new way. Maybe you hear a wonky note or a backing vocal that you never noticed before. Or a fuzz box, drum fill, or exotic key change that never resonated. Discovering where the trails are is as important to me as finding a new back alley path or steps to nowhere that invariably lead to a private yard. These moments of discovery make my walks worthwhile. I sometimes take trails tha...