Some Things About Seeing Wilco on the First Night of Their New Tour

I could trace my entire adult life around Wilco albums. And seeing them on Thursday—my first big show in Denver, which I attended with my no longer new Denver friends—was like seeing an old pal. 

(Sadly, it was like seeing an old pal for a quick coffee. There was some catching up on the new material, but not enough time to reminisce on all the old memories, that is, all of Wilco’s b-sides from 15 years ago.) 

The show reminded me not just of the times when the lyrics of “Yankee Hotel Foxtrot” limned the emotional landscape of my sophomore year of college or when my friend and I memorized the phonetic alphabet in the album’s honor our junior year, but also of seeing Oscar Robertson play basketball in an old timers game. Like watching the Big O thirty or so years after his prime, Wilco did not have the speed of their younger days, but still had an undeniable grace.

In chapter 1 of “What I Talk About When I Talk About Running,” my perennial desk side reading, Haruki Murakami asks “Who’s going to laugh at Mick Jagger?” This is in response to a silly thing a younger Mick Jagger said about singing “Satisfaction” at 45. That is, he’d rather be dead than be doing it. Of course now, Mick Jagger is over 45, still playing “Satisfaction,” and is not dead. Murakami’s point is that we all turn 45 or die, and who’s to laugh at a younger man for thinking he’d prefer the latter fate. 

And while I wouldn’t laugh at Mick Jagger, Wilco is not still playing “Jesus, Etc.” at 45. That song, probably their most famous, was missing from Thursday’s set. Instead, what got most people to their feet was “Dawned on Me,” a song not about trying to get laid, but about being reminded of how much you love someone, and making a call to let that someone know about it.  The new Wilco album isn’t about love lost, love poorly treated or love hard to achieve. Instead, “The Whole Love” is a record about the slow drama of maintaining love over a lifetime. That is, the kind of music a dad could rock out to.

What Happens Every Morning.

I wake up at 6:04, which is about 5:59, since my iTouch’s clock is fast. It’s still dark out, but I get out of bed and feel very proud of myself. 

I check the internet for about three 15 minutes before reminding myself that the reason I’m up early is to write, so I set Freedom (without a doubt, the best $10 I spent in 2011) to 60 minutes.

And then I try to write. But I also stare out the window a lot and watch the colors change.

For a while, everything is just black, except for the diagonal streaks of light serving some sort of design purpose I can’t imagine/don’t agree with in the big apartment building on the corner of my street. 

And then the sky starts turning navy, the kind of navy you want to believe is black if you made a mistake when purchasing stockings. 

From there, everything gets bluer, though it’s still a dark blue, a blue that could pass for this season’s new black, and the naked branches of the trees become visible. 

Then the sky is really blue, a blue that, if you were being gender normative, would do well in a baby boy’s room, a blue so light it would surprise you, considering how dark it still is. 

And then, I’m not staring out into total darkness, but the house across from mine, though I can still make out my reflection in the window. 

Each moment, the sky gets lighter and lighter, which feels like this betrayal of the night, which I suppose it is, as it’s turning into day.

And it’s just like that Hemingway line about going bankrupt, slowly, then all at once, and then it’s time to go to work. 

Denver has one of everything. Except for Grateful Dead bars. It has two of those. 

-Jordan, on what she knows about Denver. 

On How To Spend Free Time

You confuse being weird and spending time alone … But anyone who’s really interested in anything spends time alone …If you want to be good at something, you have to practice, and usually you practice by yourself.

-Prep, Curtis Sittenfeld

Year in Read, 2011

This was the year I left New York. It was also the year I learned it’s possible to read without riding the subway. Looking over the list, in 2011, I especially enjoyed being in the middle of a big book. I guess I like to spend time in a world someone else made. There are also a lot of books on this list that I didn’t really enjoy, just read. But I like reading, and when you like a verb, you do it in any form that presents itself. 

KEY:

® - Raronauer Recommends

* - Reread

/ - Didn’t finish

A Short History of Women /, Kate Walbert  

Pale Fire, Vladmir Nabakov

I read for a book club, and I enjoyed the sausage lasagna the host served more than the book.   

The Fall®*, Albert Camus

I got a lot more out of this book as a 27 year-old than I did as a 15 year-old. 

For Whom The Bell Tolls®*, Ernest Hemingway

And so began Hemingway month!

A Moveable Feast®, Ernest Hemingway

I bought this book for myself, retail, as a reward for doing a job I didn’t want to do but couldn’t turn down. It was a great way to treat myself.

The Snows of Kilimanjaro, Ernest Hemingway

A Visit From The Goon Squad*,  Jennifer Egan

Just Kids by Patti Smith

Related

A Family Daughter by Maile Meloy

This list includes all the books I read straight through, or at least tried to, this year. But I came back to specific stories by Maile Meloy throughout the year, specifically, “Agustin,” “Garrison Junction” and “The Children.”

The Nick Adams Stories, Ernest Hemingway

Bearing the Body, Ehud Havazelet 

Persepolis, Marjane Satrapi

The Art of Racing in the Rain /, Garth Stein

I couldn’t finish this book narrated by a dog, but one of my friends from book club actually liked it. I think that speaks to how much she likes reading.

Miami®, Joan Didion

Despite being the fifth location of the Real World, by city limits, it’s actually pretty small. Didion, as always, does a deft job of explaining why Miami has taken on such international and cultural importance. If you ever want to go beyond the “I sort of know there’s a situation with Cuba” understanding of Miami, I recommend this book. I also recommend this twitter feed. 

Emperor of All Maladies, Siddhartha Mukherjee

After I got a fight with someone I was dating about Livestrong bracelets, I put this book on reserve at the library. Soon after the book was available, it won the Pultizer, and I felt I had to read it. Not an uplifting situation.

What We Talk About When We Talk About Love®, Raymond Carver

Some credit goes to Gordon Lish.

The Devil in the White City, Erik Larson 

Another story about a failed attempt to start a book club.

Cooking for Mr. Latte®, Amanda Hesser

If you like reading about rich white people eating—which is a real thing to like!—this is the book for you. 

Heartburn, Nora Ephron

The Custom of the Country®, Edith Wharton

The Keep, Jennifer Egan

Great Plains®, Ian Frazier

The Heart Says Whatever, Emily Gould

Civilwarland in Bad Decline, George Saunders

The Collected Stories of Grace Palely, Grace Palely

The Good Soldiers®, David Finkel 

Revolutionary Road®, Richard Yates

The Rez, Ian Frazier

I found this at a used bookstore in Rapid City, SD on the road with my friend who had lent me The Great Plains. We read it to each other as we finished driving across the country.

The John McPhee Reader®, John McPhee

The Loser, Thomas Bernhard

The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Didion

You can’t appreciate this book without having read other Joan Didion, which I learned first hand after rereading this book.

A Visit from the Goon Squad®*, Jennifer Egan

Not a typo, I read it twice in one year.

Notes on Yellowstone, Jim Carrier

A Backwards Glance, Edith Wharton

Bright Lights, Big City, Jay McInerney

I read this book in a day at work.

Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves, P. G. Wodehouse

1Q84®, Haruki Murakami

Emma, Jane Austen

Food Matters®, Mark Bittman

Samedi the Deafness, Jesse Ball

Let the Great World Spin, Colum McCann