The mother road....

I’m not sure what would be easier, killing a bear or stealing a cowboy’s spurs.

-Joe McConville, roughly 11:30 PM, June 27th, 2011 as we are driving into the Gusto parking lot from Colorado.

And that is how we ended our trip. So now that I have your attention, let me set the stage for the last few days of my life. Us Iowans are always coming up with new things to do in the winter. And trust me, you have to get creative. You can’t ski, snowboard or any of the usual winter playtime activities. And you have to do something less a raging case of cabin fever kicks in ….

Our answer: bacon.

I will grant you its, not a conventional choice. But allow me to explain. And most of this will be my version of the story that is captured here: http://www.blueribbonbaconfestival.com/ A while back a few crazy Iowa boys decided that they wanted to get together and honor/celebrate all things bacon. And they did. And then they did it another year, and it got a little bigger. And so on, until this year when it grew to an event of about 1800 people at the end of February and the hottest ticket in town. Sorta saying something as its pretty damn cold in Iowa in the winter. And this year, it just so happened that Gusto threw their hat in the bacon ring and decided to be a food vendor at Bacon Fest – that’s what us kids in the know call it. And, we rocked it. Two different types of bacon inspired za’ – and we couldn’t keep samples on the table fast enough. Hell, I am guessing Liz still doesn’t have feeling in her hand from slicing all those pies.

I should caveat, that while it is a celebration of bacon, complete with lectures, corporate sponsors and an attempt at educating people on bacon and its many, many nuances, it is at its core, a chance for a bunch of grown ups to eat a TON of bacon and drink a lot of beer on a cold winter Saturday. Pre-festival cholesterol checks should be mandatory. And all the vendors go crazy, our offerings …. The Elvis and the BLT pizza. The Elvis – peanut butter, applewood smoked bacon, sliced bananas, provolone cheese and then gets a little honey drizzle when it comes out of the oven. The BLT – lemon aioli, smoked bacon topped with fresh lettuce and tomato. So people get creative. Bottom line, had a hell of a good time this year at the local fest and called it a day. A sodium-beer-filled day, but a day.

Until about St Patrick’s day, when Joe says to me, they are taking Bacon Fest on the road and want us to go with them. Us = Gusto. Sounds awesome, I say, and then I follow it up with “the wives get to go” when I found out that Keystone was the proposed destination. Say what you want, but there are very few perks to being a restaurateur’s wife. At least in start-up stage. I fully expect to be making millions from pizza at some point and able to quit my job and live a lifestyle that I can grow accustomed to. But that is the future. Today’s perks include eating a lot of pizza whenever I want, but that is about where it ends. So trips like this…. automatic in my mind. And the husbands were very smart in not disagreeing. Plus, we were going to have to “work”.

So they set about trying to figure out how we take that which is amazing here in Des Moines and ensuring that it is equally amazing at 2 miles high. Solution; mobile kitchen. It only made sense. Some phone calls, Internet searches and one failed trip to somewhere east of here Iowa, and they settled on a custom trailer with all the bells and whistles that would be ready in “3 weeks”.

My definition of 3 weeks is something like this:

• 21 days

• 504 hours

• 30,240 minutes

You get the idea. By all rights, the trailer should have been done sometime in early June. Please note the use of the word “should”. Much like everything with this business, it wasn’t done on time. Not even close. So while we were optimistically running under the impression that it would all work out on time, we went about planning the trip.

Let me ‘splain something. I am a planner. Its what I do for a living. And while there is a time and place to toss the agenda and just run with it –something I am totally capable of, regardless of what anyone tells you – planning a trip for 6 grown ups and a 20-ft mobile kitchen is not the time to just wing it. And I know there was some planning going on (thanks, Josh) but from my point of view, the details were a little sketchy. Which. Drove.Me.Nuts. So I went about controlling what I could. Arrangements with Grandma & Grandpa to watch the kids, the list of to-dos in advance of our departure, laundry – more laundry than I really care to think about. Like, the Everest of laundry – these sort of mundane, very house-wifey things that I could do.

So the night before we are supposed to leave the following facts where what I knew:

• The trailer still wasn’t done.

• I didn’t know which car we were taking out (advance party was taking a separate car)

• What time I was leaving

• Where we were staying.

Let me re-iterate my previous point, I am a planner. So my stress levels were over the top. Some of that was taken care of with a few calls to get the departure time and car situation resolved. Not to mention I still needed to run to the grocery store to get food for the house so Grandma and Grandpa would have something to feed my hellions. I text Joe around 10 PM, what time you gonna be home. The reply, honestly, probably 4 AM.

Awesome, methinks.

New plan, going to bed, set alarm for ass-crack of dawn and I will do a run to Wal-Mart to get food in the early am. At some point Joe did in fact come home. He stripped down in the guest room and says, I am taking a shower, I reek of bacon. From across the room, I couldn’t disagree. Few minutes later, he gets into bed and says two things to me:

I don’t think I want to go to Bacon Fest anymore.

I just cooked my body weight in bacon.

And then promptly fell fast asleep. I think this was around 3 AM. I am not sure, as I didn’t look at the clock and turned over and went back to bed myself.

So we FINALLY got on the road on Thursday morning with printed out directions (with an address!!!) to the condo and a bag full of cash. Felt pretty pimp, let me tell you. I don’t normally run with 100 dollar bills on my person, so it was a small taste of the good life. The drive out was as good as a drive through western Nebraska can be. Flat. With more flat, and sloping into flat.

At some point during the drive, we received confirmation from the guys that in fact, the trailer had been picked up and they had hit the road. At like, 3 PM. We left at 10 AM. Yeah, do the math, arrival time equals suckage for those boys. So the big, bad elephant in the room was conquered. We had a trailer and it was on its way.

So while they were getting their trip started, we were wrapping ours up. Got into Keystone and headed to our condo, which we **thought** was going to be a 3 bedroom condo for 6 people. Turns out the one that we had directions to slept 6 (and I think that was an aggressive estimate) but was a one bedroom with one bathroom. Let me repeat, 2 married couples and two 6ft plus guys in tow, and we had 1) queen size bed, 1) full size futon and 1) fold out couch.

We looked at each other and tried really hard to fake it “well, its cozy”. Uh yeah, and so is the pseudo-Mork from Ork pods that you ride up the St. Louis Arch in, but I don’t recommend 6 full grown adults in there. A few phone calls, one email later, and viola’ we had plan B. The ACTUAL 3 bedroom condo that we were expecting. And this is when the fun really started. So here we are, 3 incredibly fun peeps in Keystone without any of our collective 5 kids…. Its drink time folks. And we found them. We found them in spades thanks to the director of the festival who we found in one of the like, 4 bars in town, tending bar to a chorus of “shots, shots, shots, shots” – so yeah. We did some shots.

 Note to self, I am not 21 anymore. Hell, I am not 30 anymore. Momma is getting too old for that nonsense. But a few round of shots and beers later, it was time to go home. Keep in mind, boys still on the road. We were supposed to wait up for them. Please see previous note on the alcohol consumption. So good old dear Tim says, I will stay up. Ding, Ding…sold to the highest bidder. Off to bed I went. You could possibly offer up; off  to pass out I went, but details. And I was quite happy sleeping it off, until I was woken up at some point by Joe walking into the room and saying “I’m not very happy with you right now”. Huh, what? Turns out that when they got into town, they called Tim to let them into the condo. Small detail, he grabbed the wrong key when he went to let them in and locked all 4 of them out. At 3 AM. And normally, I keep my phone by the bed, but not that night. So when I came to the following morning, I had the following:

18 missed calls from Joe

3 text messages from Joe – sample: “Answrr the god damn phone” (typo deliberate)

And 3 voice mails that just don’t bear repeating.

Ooops. So we were off to a good start.

So how does one bounce back from a late night/early morning of lack of access?? With a oven on your brand-spankin’ new trailer that doesn’t work.

D’oh.

Yeah, we (that is the royal we) had hauled that mother 750 miles, through mountains in all hours of the night to its final resting spot (moved 3 times) in the courtyard of the River Run Resort (say that 3x fast) in Keystone and the MF’er didn’t work. Thus commenced a flurry of theories, phone calls, shrugged shoulders and a general sense of WTF? I won’t bore you with all the details, but we worked it out – a few Target runs, 12 dozen phone calls, Tony having a heart attack, stroke and aneurysm all at the same time,  some raging hangovers and one very generous local restaurant later, we had a big ass gas grill. And it worked. Thanks god. Not sure what we would have done.

OOOOHHH BACON!!

Our offerings for this foray into all this porcine, The Elvis and the 6º of Kevin Bacon. And they were dee-lish. The Kevin Bacon was just that… Bacon. In 6 different ways. With onions and cheese.

Although I am not sure all of our fellow foodies got the entire intent of the festival. One other pizza joint there was offering slices of Pepperoni and Bacon. Really?!?! You think long and hard on that one Gordon Ramsey? It obviously it wasn’t Gordon Ramsey, but had he been there, I believe he would have unleashed a well-accented, profanity laced tirade about their lack of creativity and how his 6 year old could come up with something more inventive than bacon and pepperoni.

I had one guest ask me if we had any vegetarian pizza. Listen here my Colorado hippie, you clearly smoked too much weed if you sincerely thought that at a BACON FESTIVAL we would offer a vegetarian offering. May I suggest you hit the Oxygen Bar across the street to clear your cannabis-addled brain and start over. No, we didn’t have a vegetarian option. But we had a heck of a good time. And we won the first place award in the savory category, so we now have a title to defend.

I will say that some of our party struggled a little with the altitude. Yes, the air is thinner, the sun shinier, and if you are out of shape, you are going to notice. It was gorgeous though. The last night found us with a few cocktails and my husband discussing with our waitress the locations of bears in the neighborhood as he wanted to wrestle one. And erect a statue of him beating down said bear in the main courtyard of the resort. He even tried calling for the bear as we walked from bar to bar. It was a sight. And luckily for all of us, and most of the EMT professionals in the area, we did NOT find said bear.

And then, before it was even really started, it was done. And we were packing up to go home. Minus one small detour through parts of Eastern Colorado and its effervescent feed lots, it was an uneventful trip. And then there were those darn spurs. Somewhere in the aforementioned smelly Eastern part of Colorado we stopped at a Mickey D’s for lunch. As we are sitting there eating, I hear this odd, jangling sound behind us. In had walked a gang of cowboys… all rocking spurs. Not sure if those were what separated them from the other cowboy gangs in town, but they were hard to miss. Joe looked longingly at said spurs, but wisely chose to not find himself hog-tied in the parking lot and not jump them for said footwear. But I mean come on, it wasn’t a saloon, high-noon or anything else sufficiently cowboy cliché. It was McDonalds’ for petes sake. I mean, I spent a few years in Kansas and can honestly say I never saw anyone rocking spurs. But hey, that‘s just me.

So that kids, in a nutshell, is our great trip West. I think its fair to say that we learned a lot. When in the mountains, always bring chap stick and always run the humidifier. Oh, and make sure your oven works before you drive 700 miles for a food festival.

Now Listening: The Blueprint by Jay-z

Perspective

My blog on a regular basis does not deal with serious topics. At least not seriously. But today was one of those gut-check moments for me. So if you are here in search of the usual snark and blather, might want to check back another day. Today is a little more from the heart than usual.

People are fond of saying that parenting is the hardest job on the planet. And then couching it in terms of whatever agenda they are trying to forward. I am not here to talk about the traditional roles of women, working moms vs. stay-at-home moms, or any other cause of the week.

Being a parent is the hardest thing you will ever do because it makes you vulnerable. And no one ever wants to be vulnerable. I have a quote on the wall of Finn’s room that goes something like this “Having a child is liking walking around with a little piece of your heart out in the world” We guard ourselves against it. We insulate ourselves from situations where that might be a possibility. But as a parent, you cannot escape it. This person, this little child is now out in the world and you will defend and protect them with every ounce of your being, with a fierceness you didn’t imagine yourself capable of.  You will keep them safe. It’s a silent vow you make to yourself from the moment they enter the world. But the boogey man of every parent, the one fear that we all have that keeps you up nights, the most horrible thing that you can imagine is to lose a child. The natural order of the world is counter to the very idea. Youth, innocence, promise… those things shouldn’t be quelled before they have a chance to even be understood and developed.

Today a friend lost her baby. A very young baby. I have never met this little boy. I have seen pictures on Facebook, probably even ‘liked” a few of them. But I know his parents. They are young, vibrant, intelligent, giving people to whom this shouldn’t happen. I have cried for this little boy because I cannot imagine how else to process this information. As a mother, I cannot even begin to fathom how you begin to even breathe after something like this. My heart aches for this family. I have dealt with loss in my life. I don’t know a single person who hasn’t. Yet pretending to understand what any person is going through is futile.  All I know is that this throws into very quick perspective so much of the junk that circulates and positions itself as “important” in our lives. Its not. Your family is important. Your health is important. Having a group of friends that may not know exactly what to do, but will be there no matter what is important. And yes, we will always continue to stress over money, the world that we live in, wars on distant shores,  and just making it day to day. Those things have a place in the important category. But today, for this moment, I am just going to be very thankful and more than a little sad. And I plan on hugging my kids a little tighter tonight.

Road Trippin'

Joe has this little term he likes to use when we are in one of those “dear God, I might just lose my mind if I have to do ____(insert parental chore here) any more with these screaming kids”


Making memories Meghan, making memories.

Like somehow I will look back on this moment in the distant future with a halcyon haze and think to myself “those were the BEST days of my life”. Although the idea of both kids crying, a husband who is long past his personal limits for patience and another 1 ½ in the car as the golden standard for “good times” doesn’t quite resonate with me. But I am getting ahead of myself.

The “Making Memories” phrase normally gets muttered more than one (two dozen plus) times on any sort of road trip. It almost becomes our mantra. And I should explain our road trips rarely take in excess of 3-4 hours as that is as far as we have dared go with both kids in tow.

Until this weekend.

Understand that this weekend should NOT have broken the 4 hour rule. Should not have. Famous last words.

But it was Memorial Day.

It was a LONG weekend.

It was a chance to get out of town and do something different.

In a nutshell, we were invited down to Joe’s best friends family weekend celebration. We were going to camp. And no, the camping isn’t what makes this story. THAT part, went pretty well. This coming from a girl whose idea of camping is renting a cabin. That is rustic to me. But I went along with it. Joe doesn’t get to see Jesse very often and frankly, we needed a change of pace, even a 48 hour one. So we headed south. To the town where Joe went to college. Somewhere in small town Missouri. And we had a great weekend. All things considered, the kids were great. We drank too much, there were bonfires, sprinklers, frogs, bugs, bare feet and kids running totally amok and falling asleep in a tangle of arms and legs because they had run themselves to exhausted. Basically, some sort of all-American camping weekend. At least what I would imagine that to be.

So we said our goodbyes and got into the stuffed car – whole other post on traveling with 2 small kids in a sedan – to head north. I should explain first and foremost, the trip down was uneventful. 2 lane state highway all the way. Actually a nice drive. So we get on the road and as we are headed out of town, Joe says we should swing through this little town, Lexington. There was a Civil War battle there and you can still see the cannonballs in the county courthouse in the town square.

See, wasn’t joking about small town Missouri. Town squares. Civil War. And we passed through like 3 dozen of them like that on the way down. And the populations on any one of them was never more than like, 1500 people.

So being a history dork, I think sure… we have no agenda. The kids had already fallen asleep and it was only going to add like 30 minutes to our drive. As we were right at about 3.5 hours for the drive home, seemed like a nice way to end the weekend.

So we made the turn. And took the short detour. And we made it to Lexington. And low and behold, there they were, 150 year old cannon balls still in the courthouse columns. Drove along the town main road that looks over the Missouri river. Actually, quite nice. And then we missed the other turn we needed to make.

Now for those of you that have spent any time driving state highways, there is always a town every 20 miles or so, tons of signs telling you what road you are on. And normally, taking one in the direction you are heading will result in you finding your way back to the route you had wanted. These were all facts that we were banking on. So it was novel at first. Sorta scenic and the kids were still asleep. And then we started seeing signs for Kansas City. And Joe didn’t want to mess with traffic around KC. And he says “we will go this way, I will just head north and we will figure it out”. And took a right onto some road.

Making memories.

Keep in mind one small, teeny little detail that we had overlooked in our we-will-just-head-north idea. We didn’t have a map in the car. So the well marked 2 lane highway soon turns into a road. Dangerously close to a dirt road but still paved. We are on the GPS on our phones, but it keeps jumping all over the place. My sense of novelty is starting to wear off. With that is a growing sense that we have entered Deliverance country and at any time this whole thing is going to go HORRIBLY south. Figuratively that is, not literally. Not that we would have known if we were going south. This is made all the worse when after rounding another corner of deep foliage and not a sign of humanity, Joe says to be “are you starting to wonder if at some point some militia is going to stop us and demand to know what us ‘northerners’ are doing in some goddamn foreign car driving around their land”. The answer to that was a nervous laugh and us ending up at an intersection where 3 of the options were met with a “Dead End” sign. The ONLY signs we had seen for about 20 minutes. It is at this point that Joe effectively looses it. Now, I married my husband for a number of reasons. He makes me laugh, is a great dad, has a kind heart and a devil may care smile that will charm your pants off (see my two kids) – one of the reasons that I did NOT marry my husband was for his patience. Or decided lack thereof. So between me trying to get a read on the GPS while he keeps making twists and turns, rather than just stopping to get our bearings, the string of expletives starts. Along with the throwing of the cell phone (his not mine), and a rather abrupt stop in the middle of nowhere but close to somewhere. After a rant of a few minutes in which Finn woke up – learning some new words I am sure – we got back on the road. Started seeing signs of civilization and a sign for Sugar Creek, MO. And through nothing short of total and pure luck, found our way to a marked highway that had us in North KC and looking for I-35. And another 2.5 hours to get home.

Making memories.

So in short (and according to Google maps and a rough guess of where we actually were…)

Marshall, MO to Lexington, MO – roughly 40 miles

Lexington, MO to Sugar Creek, MO – roughly 35 miles

Sugar Creek, MO to Liberty, MO - roughly 20 miles.

Making memories.

And one would think that would be the end to the drama. But no. At this point, we get gas – I was getting nervous that not only would we be stuck on the two lane back road hell forever, but at some point we would run out of gas and we would have to use some moonshine from some home still to get the car moving. So gas up. Kids awake. Turn on a DVD for Finn and I take over driving. Joe is thinking that he will get some sleep. Kids it seemed had another idea. Faolan isn’t one to be shy when it comes to letting you know what she thinks. And keep in mind, at 11 months there are only so many ways to communicate. Key among them ….crying. So about an hour into our now interstate drive, she starts getting fussy. Joe is annoyed. Fuse is all but gone at this point. Trys to calm her down. Works a few times for about 10 minutes each. But nothing is really making her happy. Pull over once and change her. Pull over again and get a bottle for her. Both times it creates a temporary reprieve. And of course, the whole time Finn is watching his movie and alternately providing a soundtrack of “Oh NO…what happen Mama??” and “LIGHTENING MCQUEEN” at the top of his voice. Add to that cacophony of toddler narration, a cranky crying 11 month old, the radio that I was trying to listen to and patience levels left somewhere with the Civil War cannonballs and you see how darn enjoyable the car ride was at this point. So Joe decides he has had it. He looks at me and says “We are not stopping this car until we get home” and then proceeds to squeeze his 300 plus pound frame into the seat –and I use that term very loosely – between the two car seats in the back of the car to keep Faolan entertained for the rest of the ride. His feet sticking out on the arm rest between the front seats.

Making memories.

I am pleased to let you know that we did in fact, make it home. In one piece. No one that much worse for the wear. And hell, we may even go camping again. But we put the kids to bed, had a drink (or two) and promptly fell asleep on the couch without saying much of anything to each other.

Making.

Memories.



Now Listening: God Willing And The Creek Don’t Rise by Ray LaMontagne and the Pariah Dogs

A day in the life...

I had one of those nights last night, where I was left with a small shard of sanity. And it is that very shard, that I felt the need to share.


Background. Last few weeks have been nutso. Family stuff, birthdays, Easter, more family stuff, work, oh- and two kids that are conspiring to not sleep through the night. I mean, why should they? They both knock out 2-2.5 hours naps each day, so what’s a little overhead time at say, 3 AM?

Add to that, they are both battling ear infections, last one confirmed yesterday at a noon time Dr’s. appointment. And McGirl is cutting teeth. In short, my kids are snotty, crabby, non-sleeping, drooling little beasts that while I love them more than I can express, I have wanted to turf out to the curb on a fairly regular basis lately.

So queue up the reel from last night’s installment of “The McConville’s” and it would look something like this:

Get home from daycare. 2 year old FREAKING out because he can’t have his “binky” – keeping in mind that he has a binky in his mouth. So, unless he is planning on using it to plug some other orifice (decidedly unadvisable) there is not really a reason for drama. But it was non-stop.

10 month old decides to chime in and throw a screaming fit… because I had the nerve to set. Her. Down. On. The. Family Room. Floor. With. Toys.

There is knock on the door. Its my mother in law grabbing some stuff that she left on Easter Sunday. So both kids crying, I still have my jacket on and oh, the kitchen is still in some assorted state of total chaos from the hosting of said Easter dinner. I mean, like my floors looked like a movie theatre floor after a midnight preview of the newest Twilight movie – gross.

So Grandma gets her stuff and says bye. I am trying to get the kids calmed down for 2 seconds so I can think about getting dinner ready. Finn then moves his hysteria from his ever present need for his binky to an absolute and pressing desire to be “outside, OUTSIDE MAMA!!!!!” And pressing his snotty, drooling face against the sliding glass door.

Finally get a healthy, well-balanced meal on the table – Mac N’ Cheese with some left over Easter ham thrown in for protein (beats the hot dog alternative), a dinner roll and carrots. See, carrots. I told you it was well-balanced. Both kids hork down the food. But not before getting it down shirts, in hair and basically setting the stage for bath night. And let’s not fool ourselves, I don’t have a regular “bath night” routine. I give them a bath when they are gross. Not just sorta gross – that you can fix with a wet wipe, we are talking toddler GROSS.

In an effort to keep things moving at a decent pace and prevent any further meltdowns from either front, it was bath time for both of them. This was both genius and my ultimate downfall. Get both kids in the tub – not before there was a pseudo-breakdown about how many toys are needed in the tub. Manage to get them clean, while somewhat managing to keep them both from drinking the bath water. I mean, soap in the water is one thing, but I think Finn **might** have peed in it. And while most of you would have drained the water and restarted, I couldn’t confirm so we went about our business. Go ahead, call DHS now. But the ratio of possible pee to the total water volume of the tub made it so small, it just wasn’t worth the battle.

And this is when my good idea starts to go wrong… ever try and get a 2 year old and 10 month old dried, diapered and into PJ’s at the same time? Exactly.

Get Finn wrapped in his towel, tell him to go into his room and I will be there in a minute. Take the baby and get her dried off and try to get her dressed. Which shouldn’t be a big deal, except she was playing game of “wriggle-baby” made more difficult by the lotion I had just slathered all over her.

Meanwhile, Mr. Pants-off-Dance-off is running around the upstairs buck-ass naked and shutting all the bedrooms doors, ending with him shutting himself into his room.

Get baby dressed (finally) go and open the door to Finn’s room and discover that he has now peed on his carpet.

This is about when my eye starts twitching uncontrollably.

So, go to get him diapered before something **really** nasty happens, and dressed and realize I have no diapers. Grab the baby so she won’t take a header down the stairs (see, not a totally horrible parent), pull Finn off the changing table and tell him to stay put (still naked). Get downstairs as fast as I can, dig through the Mom bag (challenge in and of itself) to find a diaper, heave my totally overweight self back up the stairs as fast as I can, baby still in crook of the arm, and get back to his room.

He peed on the carpet…. AGAIN. And I know what you are thinking, why oh, why would you leave him naked? That is just silly. Game time decision folks. Sometimes in the spur of the moment, you just don’t have time to really think.

I get him diapered, dressed, trying the whole time to keep the baby from crawling all over said pee spots on the carpet. Drop her in her crib (she starts wailing), tell Finn to keep her company – he walks out of her room and slams the door. And I go find the Resolve to get the floors cleaned up.

After all this, I get the 10 month old down. Get Finn downstairs with plenty of binky’s in tow, as I gave up on the “why on earth do you need more than one binky” argument roughly around the time of the second carpet pee and turn on whatever cartoon is readily available that guarantees’ that he will get that zombie-stoner look and sit in front of the TV for a good 30 minutes without questions. I take one look at my train-wreck of a kitchen (and the supporting movie theatre like floors) and promptly go get a beer before I do one more thing.

In short, last night was a bit of a bitch. But I did survive. I always seem to survive. More importantly, the kids survived. Hell, I even got the kitchen cleaned up. Made Joe bring me dinner as I wasn’t going to do a single thing that would potentially mess up the kitchen given that I had finally gotten it clean. Those floors, well that is another matter for tonight.



Now Listening: My “Passion Pit” radio station on Pandora.