JenniferPashleyBlog

I’ve been thinking about Dolly Parton lately. Dolly Parton, and singing, and because it’s summer, traveling.

There’s a couple of reasons for this: one, if you haven’t heard, we’ve started a band. By band, I mean, we sit in the living room and sing along with the iPod, which is cranked so loud you can’t hear either of us. Sometimes Geoff pretends to strum the guitar. He even makes finger formations that look like chords. It’s impressive. The other thing is that no matter what type of song, I sing everything in a high, tinny Dolly Parton voice.

The second reason is that I was talking to my . . . my . . . What do I call her? Writing associate? I can’t call her “my agent,” even though I want to, because in that great literary agency metaphor of dating, we haven’t gone all the way. So I was talking to M— about Tennessee, and Dollywood, which is the only place in Tennessee I’ve ever been, save the shit towns you have to drive through to get there, and then I remembered, I didn’t actually go to Dollywood.

Let me explain. When I was 16, right after I got my driver’s license, we drove to Tennessee. I drove most of the way, which was good practice for such a young driver. Or it was totally reckless, not sure, but we made it. We spent a few days in a town called Pigeon Forge, which I guess is where Dolly Parton is from, but we never actually went to Dollywood. I think we drove as close as the actual sign to the actual park, but didn’t go in.

Anyway, this is a trend I’m remembering about my dad: taking trips to nowhere. Or taking trips close to something big, and then not going in. The Grand Canyon comes to mind. And the Apple Festival, but I’m sure there are others. There’s something else to be said here, about the anticipation of travel, which we prepared for like war: you had to be prepared, but not show it, not ask about it, and no decisions were made until we actually hit the road. And even then sometimes not.

And we traveled a lot. I’ve still been in more states than almost anyone I know. This is a trend I’d like to repeat with my own kids, road trips, sandwiches in the backseat, theme parks. With slightly less swearing and throwing up. And somewhat more actually going in.

Turns out, Dollywood is only 12 hours from Syracuse, and I’m a better driver now. Maybe it’s time to take this show on the road.

If you know me, you might remember that a few years ago I whittled myself down to about 125. If you’ve seen me lately, you know that 125 looks different in shorts or capris, or any of those cute t-shirts I used to wear. Now, I’m not saying I ballooned up to something ungodly. But I have given it a name, and it’s not the freshman-fifteen, which is neither accurate age wise, nor was it ever politically correct. I’m calling it Classic Madonna.

Madonna’s tricky, because really, even old-school Madonna might be buff. But I’m going way back. Think Borderline — complete with the little roll of white belly fat above the black — you got it — capris. When you add in the wiggly arms, and the meaty thighs a la VMAs, you get the whole picture. Honestly, I think that’s the bathing suit I’ll be wearing this summer (with the hat).

So, I’m trying to do something about this. But in the meantime, if you see me doing yard work in black lace gloves (while biting my lip) — that’s why.

It took 14 years for us to figure this out. It’s not Rhett Miller, of the Old 97s, although the last time we saw them live, Geoff said, “Even I was watching him shake his ass.” It’s not Jason Schwartzman, sexy as he is post-Darjeeling Limited, or even Josh Brolin. (Really: who knew Josh Brolin was hot at all?) And our apologies to any major Syracuse celebrities for not picking them.

It’s Evan Dando. 

Why? He’d rather watch TV than camp. He’s done more drugs than us. He’s got long hair, stubble and he’s been to bed with everyone we can think of.  

Except us. 

Plus, nothing says “Welcome to your mid-30s” like having a mutual crush on Evan Dando. 

So, I log on to iGoogle this morning, and Leo at Zen Habits has posted “10 Things I Learned from My Second Marathon,” which I mistakenly read as “martini.” Then I found out that the things you learn are the same:

1. [Drinking] experience matters a lot. Right. You can’t go into a martini without prior experience, or you can, but you won’t do well. Without practice, both marathons and martinis end in puking and passing out.
2. Pacing is huge. I cannot emphasize this enough. Sip, kids. Don’t glug.
3. Extra weight also matters a lot. I agree. If you’re 140 pounds, you just can’t hold as much martini as the 225 lb guy next to you. (If, by the way, you find a 225 lb guy next to you drinking martinis, let me know. I don’t actually know any.)
4. Be relaxed and have fun. It’s not a race, kids, or a competition. Drink at your own pace. Remember the tortoise.
5. Test out your gear beforehand, on a long run. For Zen Habits, this is a post about gear. Clearly, it never hurts to see how you will look when you’re out drinking martinis, so by all means, try on the new long and lean jeans and pose a bit at home, with a glass in hand. Also, try spilling a little on yourself, to see how the fabric breathes with the gin.
6. Keep your upper body relaxed. The key to not spilling is all in the balance. Too relaxed = too likely to spill.
7. Plan your day before well. You must lay a good base. Carb up before you go martini running.
8. Having people to talk to is great. It’s even better — or at least much more entertaining — if everyone else is having a martini too.
9. Have a reason to keep going at the end. “I’ve never drank this much before!” is a good one.
10. The long drink is your martini training. Speed work doesn’t work (much). Here, I’ll quote liberally from Zen Habits:”My training for this martini consisted mostly of long drinks on Sunday. I also drank during the week, but my proof wasn’t very high, and I did almost no speed drinking. I did some intervals at the bar, but not much. It was almost all the weekly long drinking, and it turns out, that was enough. Sure, I might have done better if I drank more often, at higher proofs, but maybe not. Next time, I’ll start drinking earlier, in the day, in the year.”

“You have to forget your last martini before you try another. Your mind can’t know what’s coming.” — anonymous altered quote from Zen Habits.

Stay tuned for a more detailed post, one that looks more like an essay.