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Inspo: Gift giving, Joan Didion, and Words on the Street

December 4, 2016August 21, 2020 Jackie Mantey Leave a comment

Christmas gifts

I love the holidays! Any holiday, really.

Christmas is second only to Halloween in my book. It’s so sparkly! The best part, though, is the gift giving, which has become infinitely more fun since I became an aunt.

Right now my niece and nephews are in the sweet spot, that cusp of kid-ness, where they’re young enough to want things that are completely ridiculous but adorable and not self-serving or angsty.

Ie., I shelled out big time this year to buy my third-grader nephew a fluffy blue dragon toy he keeps talking about that animatronically blows fake fire to toast a fake plastic marshmallow on a fake plastic stick. Heavy duty batteries not included.

How many more years will he want something so innocent, so sweet, so dumb? How many more years will I be able to afford pricey Christmas gifts for the growing number of babies on my Christmas list?

Not long. So I have no shame. I love their little faces when they see they got what they wanted. The world will kick ‘em around a bit and forever soon enough.

My niece is into glitter and guts, which I adore. She wanted a doll that is a scientist, so of course I obliged. My sister teamed up with Santa to get the doll accompanying accoutrements for when Dr. Doll decides she wants to have it all.

Ie., baby stroller and party outfits.

To go with her science doll (which also came with a robot so it was hard to top), I got her this book by illustrator Rachel Ingotofsky.

It’s a charming, colorful and robust ode to the ladies who have made big impacts in science and engineering, like Jocelyn here.

I heard about the book watching this Broad and High episode that featured Rachel. Makes me want to get myself InDesign and Illustrator for Christmas… Hmm…

Joan Didion on self-respect and a notebook

This presidential election’s results were pretty brutal, and I tend to close myself off when I’m angry, thus, I’ve been in a state of introspection the past few weeks. Finding a way to lose with power led me to this essay by Joan Didion.

I’ve always been a fan of her writing, and this essay is one just one example of her capability to transform a new idea fresh, waving us over to look at it from her new-found vantage point. She wrote “On Self-Respect” for Vogue in 1961. Another Vogue writer who was supposed to cover the same topic flaked last minute so Joan wrote this to an exact character count.

I’m so glad she took the opportunity to save the space from being converted from editorial to ad. Decades later we’re still reading it. Here are some gems:

People with self-respect have the courage of their mistakes. They know the price of things. If they choose to commit adultery, they do not then go running, in a access of bad conscience, to receive absolution from the wronged parties; nor do they complain unduly of the unfairness, the undeserved embarrassment, of being named corespondent. If they choose to forego their work—say it is screenwriting—in favor of sitting around the Algonquin bar, they do not then wonder bitterly why the Hacketts, and not they, did Anne Frank.

To have that sense of one’s intrinsic worth which, for better or for worse, constitutes self-respect, is potentially to have everything: the ability to discriminate, to love and to remain indifferent.

To lack it is to be locked within oneself, paradoxically incapable of either love or indifference. If we do not respect ourselves, we are on the one hand forced to despise those who have so few resources as to consort with us, so little perception as to remain blind to our fatal weaknesses. On the other, we are peculiarly in thrall to everyone we see, curiously determined to live out—since our self-image is untenable—their false notions of us. We flatter ourselves by thinking this compulsion to please others an attractive trait: a gift for imaginative empathy, evidence of our willingness to give. Of course we will play Francesca to Paolo, Brett Ashley to Jake, Helen Keller to anyone’s Annie Sullivan: no expectation is misplaced, no role too ludicrous. At the mercy of those we can not but hold in contempt, we play roles doomed to failure before they are begun, each defeat generating fresh despair at the necessity of divining and meeting the next demand made upon us.

Didion’s essay “On Keeping a Notebook” is another one of my favorites. Rediscovering her work has led me to dust off the old habit of recording things I see every day in a notebook. I can do whatever I want with it, since notebooks are not a precious thing, like diaries or journals. Throw it out or laugh at it or use it in later days as a resource for story ideas, plot twists or character traits.

You can read it and get inspired to start your own here.

jm-joan — My notebook. Page 1. I love that Didion has always been her own woman.

Words on the street

As seen on my walk home. A greeting from the door of Four Sided in Chicago.

At Mariano’s. “Clash of the Pot Pie-tins.” The scenes this phrase led my imagination toward made grocery shopping much less terrible.

I’ve seen more and more branding in bathrooms this past year or so. This little reminder at the Cards Against Humanity office in Chicago proves words are never a waste of space.

Notes-ish: Thanks for the pie

November 27, 2016August 21, 2020 Jackie Mantey Leave a comment

Apple pie. There’s nothing I craft that makes me feel more rooted to the past. So rich is the story of the apple. Juicy too. From Eve and her temptation to Johnny and his journey to Martha Stewart and her perfect display.

“Of all the delicates which Britons try

To please the palate of delight the eye,

Of all the sev’ral kings of sumptuous far,

There is none that can with applepie compare.”

To William King’s doughy poetry in 1713. The apple pie of his apple-shaped eye.

I’m always amazed at how easy it is to make. How few ingredients it really takes to make something so beloved and iconic. You’d think something that evokes this much lore and longing requires flecks of gold and the tooth of a troll.

Everything now is so complicated.

But this? Sugar. Apples. Lemon, the secret ingredient. That’s all. Mostly.

And a flaky crust, but that’s something that people are scared of until they make their first one and realize how ridiculously easy it is. Like driving a stick. Or reverse parking. Or calling your grandmother just to say hi.

Crumble top. Even easier. Unless you don’t have a blender and have to slice through the butter with two butter knives. But it’s manageable. The recipe should say, “Slice the butter in the flour and sugar with the butter knives until desired crumbly consistency is reached. Usually the length of two Al Green songs. To bake, restart the whole album and listen once through.”

When you’re done making one you can look at it for a long time. It takes hours to cool enough to tickle the tips of waiting tongues. You can say, “I made that.” And write a poem about it like William. Promise to plant seeds more like Johnny. Present it flawlessly like Martha.

Or eat it. Like Eve.

Essay-ish: This is dedicated to the car I love

November 21, 2016August 21, 2020 Jackie Mantey Leave a comment

jm-car

There comes a time in every man’s life that he must decide whether he is a victim or not. So goes the old saying.

For women, per usual, navigating to the answer of that question has a unique set of complications. One can seemingly be being walked on while really playing the long game in which she is crowned victor, not victim. Women can get away with a few more negotiating tactics than men, but I also think it’s a disposition we’re more inclined to — whether by nature or by nurture — not to be confrontational.

At first, anyway.

For example, one time I got my car washed and paid an extra $20 to have the mats steam cleaned. I never ponied up for little indulgences like this, so it was a big deal.

That’s why I was so let down that when my car made it to the end of the line, sudsy and steaming, and the gentlemen cleaners were whispering anxiously to one another, taking turns looking awkwardly inside.

“Miss,” they informed me. “We messed up.”

Instead of putting my newly crisp-as-that-$20-bill-I-paid-for-them mats in my Honda Civic, they’d put them in the Jetta that just jetted off. So sorry.

I’d typically decline to call these guys idiots straight out the gate, but with the way the story unfolded, I now hold no shame in giving them a walloping, judgmental, stinkiest-of-stink-eyes stink eye three years after the fact.

Instead of offering me an immediate refund, the head gentleman cleaner got my phone number and said they’d call me as soon as the guy in the Jetta brought back my mats. Because he would. There’s no way he wouldn’t notice those mats weren’t his.

Which, in hindsight, should have been the line of thinking that raised the first red flag. If it was that easy to tell they didn’t belong in the Jetta, how could his team have placed them in there in the first place?

What happened next was a five-month battle with this car wash company. After two weeks of not hearing anything from them, I called and inquired about my mats. No one knew what I was talking about. They took down my number and said they’d call me back.

They didn’t. I tried two more times to be polite with my followup. By the fourth or fifth call, though, I was mad. I felt taken advantage of. They didn’t take me seriously because I was being nice about it.

Clearly they were blowing me off, hoping I’d forget about the mats or just buy my own so as not to deal with them.

Clearly they didn’t know the desperate stubbornness of a 26-year-old living paycheck to paycheck.

I stopped being polite and tried a new tactic. I explained to the owner/manager that I had worked really, really hard to buy this car by myself. Getting my mats steamed was a treat for my hard work. I just wanted this thing I worked so hard for to be a complete set. This will definitely work, I thought. If anyone can empathize with the need to protect one’s small fruits of labor, it’s a small business owner.

Yeah, yeah, OK, he said. He didn’t call back.

A few weeks passed. I’m boiling by this point… this was your fuck up, not mine, and you owe me a refund and my mats… That’s the angry line of reasoning I hammered him with a few weeks later after he continued to ignore me. He yelled back at me, saying his family had been going through something or something and I should be more understanding. I might have, I said, if this hadn’t have happened five months ago and if I hadn’t have been put off this whole time like some annoying fly you needed to scrape off the radiator.

Also, wait what?! I thought I was the customer?! Why am I helping YOU feel better about this?

I killed him with kindness. That didn’t work.

I threatened him with a lawyer. That didn’t work.

I called the Better Business Bureau. There you go, girl.

Two days later after making a formal complaint, the prick “suddenly” found a supplier for my mats. Imagine that! They didn’t fit right, of course, but at least they were mine. I got my refund. My car, my symbol of independence, was shabby but whole.

My white steed defended!

Every time I drove by that car wash from then on, I stuck my middle finger out of the window, rain or shine. I also evil-eyed the inside of any black Jetta I happened upon, looking for ill–fitting floor mats.

They say cars teach you responsibility—how to take care of something. Mine taught me some people are just rotten, only looking out for themselves. But there are ways to fight them.

I just wish I had fought sooner. On a lot of things.

But mostly this car has brought me very happy memories. It made a lifestyle possible in my twenties that was full of family visits, journalism assignments, friend vacations and simple errand running that happens as I came to define my adult self. It was my physical transportation as I tried to figure out the messy internal traveling to figure out where exactly I belonged.

And it had a loud radio that was perfect for singing along to the oldies, which is probably what I did most in it.

I sold this baby, my car, this weekend and am still kind of sad about it.

I think it was too, because it gave me a funny little goodbye—a reminder to pay attention, even when singing at the top of my lungs.

I got the car detailed right before I sold it. A few days afterward I pulled the mats out of the trunk to put them back in the now-dry car.

Guess what was missing?

One of those god damn mats.

🙁

: \

🙂

Of course.

Inspo: Atlanta the TV show, a new book, and Leonard Cohen

November 21, 2016August 21, 2020 Jackie Mantey Leave a comment

Coconut Crunchos

I’ve been watching Donald Glover’s TV show for FX, “Atlanta,” through our Roku’s Crackle app, and I’m hooked. Donald Glover’s funny but it’s always been clear he’s also an artist, and “Atlanta” is a testament to his creative powers and their show-stopping ability to play with the topic of race. The first season’s one-off episode of commercial and radio parodies was my favorite. This Coconut Crunchos commercial brilliantly takes on the abuse of power and racial double standards in this country. It had my jaw on the floor.

“A Man Called Ove” takes a train ride

On a scale of one to already bought a conductor hat, how excited am I to know train rides are a thing?

Choo mother fucking choo!

I knew Amtrak existed and you could ride the train places. But hot damn I didn’t not realize how fun it was and how many places you could travel to with a beautiful view along the way!

I’d like to just live on a train now, please.

Justin and I were coming back to Chicago from Lafayette. We rode the Hoosier State Train. Tickets were cheap, the white tablecloth breakfast was delicious, and I got to imagine I was a sassy little lass in a wool peacoat and matching cloche hat heading somewhere out west to take care of a sick, mysterious great aunt but, unbeknownst to me, was embarking on the adventure and romance of a lifetime, and also was someone just murdered in the caboose?!

AT LEAST THE GREAT HERCULE POIROT AND HIS SILLY LITTLE MUSTACHE ARE ON BOARD!

So, what I’m saying is, really, everyone won.

It was the perfect setting to dig further into the new book I’m reading, “A Man Called Ove,” by Swedish author Fredrik Backman.

I have a feeling Ove wold have loved this Sunday morning train ride, though he never would have admitted it.

The story is about a suicidal old grouch, his new neighbors, a tough cat, and redemption.

I’m about halfway through and my favorite part about the book has been Backman’s writing style. It’s brief and funny with paragraphs like these sprinkled throughout. His way of writing about love and anger feel new to me, but they’re so right. That’s always what makes reading so fun.

Leonard Cohen

Bird on the Wire

Like a bird on the wire,

like a drunk in a midnight choir

I have tried in my way to be free.

Like a worm on a hook,

like a knight from some old fashioned book

I have saved all my ribbons for thee.

If I, if I have been unkind,

I hope that you can just let it go by.

If I, if I have been untrue

I hope you know it was never to you.

Oh, so sad to see so many brilliant artists move on. You know it’s gotta happen sometime, but it still hurts. Leonard Cohen was such a wonderful introvert and I am so grateful he occasionally came out of his hard shell to share his lonely, soft inner world. May he rest in peace — finally. And may you listen to one of his last interviews with the New Yorker.

Notes-ish: Making the bed

November 21, 2016August 21, 2020 Jackie Mantey Leave a comment

I was having one of those weeks where everything felt big except me.

I’d come home from work. Heat up some food. Pull out a TV tray. Eat. Lay in bed. Sleep.

I was adjusting, like so many, to a grimmer awareness of the world. It was like someone mowed the grass and I’m daunted to have discovered how many snakes were there all along as I sunbathed in cheery progressing warmth.

I’m also adjusting to a new living situation.

That pairing of words, “living situation,” politely implies that something heated and grotesque is boiling under a tepid surface — cohabitation out of necessity — but that’s not the case here.

We’re just settling in, Justin and I.

But, that week at least, it was too much for me. Too much changing. Too much not knowing. I needed to sleep.

On night three of 12+ plus hours of sleep, Justin asks what is wrong.

“I’m sick maybe.”

“Or you are sad.”

I am sad, so this comment makes me pull my mind’s curtain’s tighter with white knuckle anger.

“I want a couch. More furniture. All I have to lay on is this stupid bed that doesn’t even have a bed frame and so of course I fall asleep by 7 pm. I want to feel like a woman! How can I do that in this place?! What are we even doing with our lives?!”

What I’m really saying is that I feel powerless. He knows, and shields himself from my fire breathing with his knowing.

The next evening I come home from work and Justin is on the living room floor, screwing together a bed frame.

We don’t say much about it, but I know this him building a better cocoon for me to hide in when I don’t want to look outside anymore.

I go to bed early that night again. But the next night I don’t. And the night after that I don’t either. Quietly, he’s lifted me back up to where it is bright.

Love is simple, mostly.

Let’s remember that as we start to get to the work of tying the snakes into bows.

Inspo: Smart activism, Abbi Jacobson, a zinger of a description, Planet Money, and quotes on success

November 2, 2016August 21, 2020 Jackie Mantey Leave a comment

“Ask For Angela” PSA posters

Today in Excellent Examples of Proactive Activism!

Check out this sign posted on Twitter from a bar bathroom in England. A county council started the Ask Angela campaign to help combat sexual violence on a local level. It offers women a code word to say to a bartender to help them get a ride home, no questions asked.

Here’s the copy:

“Are you on a date that isn’t working out? Is your Tinder or POF [Plenty of Fish] date not who they said they were on their profile? Do you feel like you’re not in a safe situation? Does it all feel a bit weird? If you go to the bar and ask for ‘Angela,’ the bar staff will know you need help getting out of your situation and will call you a taxi or help you out discreetly—without too much fuss.”

This is a really smart move. I wonder how many women have used it or at least been reassured by knowing they are in a venue that will help them if they feel uncomfortable. Although, the campaign probably needs a new code word now since it’s gone viral…

Abbi Jacobson’s new book

I met Abbi Jacobson (aka Abbi from Broad City) last week at Harold Ramis’s alma mater (aka Senn High School in Andersonville).

“Met” is a strong word. I paid to hear her “In Conversation” with former Chicago writer (and badass) Samantha Irby about her new project, “Carry This Book.” It features Abbi’s illustrations of what she imagines famous people and characters carry in their bags. It’s bright and smart and a reminder to not overthink everything.

The best part of the evening, which was brought to us fangirls by Women and Children First book store <finger snaps>, was hearing how Samantha and Abbi met.

Janeane Garofalo (!) had gifted Ilana and Abbi a copy of Samantha’s book, “Meaty,” after appearing on an episode of Broad City. Janeane had heard Samantha at a reading in Chicago and was blown away. Abbi says she, too, was sucked in immediately by Samantha’s bold, funny voice.

Abbi imagined these essays could be a really funny TV show, so she emailed Samantha asking if the pair could meet next time Samantha was in New York. Abbi wanted to pitch her idea.

So basically, Samantha just had every under-the-radar writer’s dream come true, and what did she do?

Nothing.

“Yeah, when I’m in New York,” Samantha recalled thinking sarcastically. “We can get a green juice.” *

After six months of nada, Abbi had to spell out via email who she was (kind of a big deal). Samantha says she hates this story because it sounds like she thought she was too good for what Abbi was throwing down. But in reality…

“I was eating Lean Cuisine over my sink,” Samantha said.

That was last year, and now these two are working on a show pitch based on “Meaty.”

Later in the evening Abbi talked about how supportive Amy Poehler had been of her and Ilana before Broad City broke. These stories will be urban legend on day in the network of the sisterhood’s most talented.

#yasqueens all around.

* (quotes may not be exact. I was too excited to take notes. Also, who are you, my editor?)

That one perfect line

I can’t take credit for finding this one. It was spotted by a buddy of mine. (Actually, while we’re on the subject, that buddy and his kickass artist wife recently put together a book about her Aunt Doll, who is the kind of character writers only dream about. Check it out here. Yes, it’s really called Salami Dreamin.) Anyway, this Rolling Stone writer’s description about Scott Walker made me snort laugh out loud. It’s so good. You can totally picture this monster. I love when writers find new ways to show you an archetype instead of telling you someone is one.

Planet Money’s Wells Fargo coverage

Speaking of stereotypes, I’m just as guilty as the next human of making them, which is why I liked this recent episode of the Planet Money podcast so much.

It made me rethink how I look at the Wells Fargo employees who were fired for creating fake accounts for customers.

They were making these fake accounts because the pressure was so intense from the bosses to reach a quota every day. Many of these employees were young professionals, fresh out of college, competitive, eager and ready to do anything to prove themselves.

Usually those are great attributes for an employee but in a culture that placed numbers above people (colleague, customer or otherwise), it increasingly led to ethical bankruptcy. Once they were fired or let go, either for not succumbing to the pressure to commit fraud or for suffering from the physical side effects of the job stress, some of these young employees were blackballed from getting another job in the financial industry by Wells Fargo.

I have more empathy for these employees now. Isn’t that a young professional’s worst fear? How can we approach the conversation of work life balance better in our higher educational systems? If we didn’t place such a high value on financial and professional success, would corruption come as handedly? How can we better help whistleblowers in private institutions locked safely behind a vault?

It’s worth a listen, as is this followup about the shady U5 form and how Wells Fargo is blackballing ex-employees.

These quotes about success in art

Two goodies from this old but always great interview with Cheryl Strayed.

STRAYED: My definition of success has been developed over many years full of both successes and failures. My trajectory has not been failure, failure, failure, then success. The successes have been there all along, and all along, there’s also been a steady stream of rejections and disappointments. I imagine this will always be the case. It’s the writer’s life. It’s true that Wild’s reception, in particular, has been rather breathtaking, but it hasn’t made me measure success differently. I keep faith with the work. Wild would be the book that it is regardless of how many people read it. I’m very sure about that. When I say, “Success is a pile of shit somebody stacked up real high,” I mean it’s folly to measure your success in money or fame. Success in the arts can be measured only by your ability to say yes to this question: “Did I do the work I needed to do, and did I do it like a motherfucker?”

WILL HINES: Spend your days in love with what you’re doing as much as fucking possible, and thank the stars for your chances to do that. Be nice and honest and brave and hopeful, and then let it go.

Notes-ish: New Orleans and Baton Rouge

October 25, 2016August 21, 2020 Jackie Mantey Leave a comment

There are three things that are always in the eye of the beholder:

Beauty
Walks of shame
Hoodoo

Hoodoo — like good moonshine and my spiritual belief system — is an amalgamation to some, an abomination to others.

I choose to believe the former. This came in handy when we visited Louisiana on our final stop of the lo-class tour.

Voodoo is a religion. But Hoodoo is a practice meant to allow an individual to reign in supernatural forces to improve their lives. It’s about personal power, like setting an intention or meditating but, sometimes, with burning herbs thrown in. There are no Hoodoo priests or priestesses. Just people. I like that.

I bring this up because before our trip started, Justin proposed to me! Yes, marriage! My dowry of goats and pickled yams is in the mail as we speak!

It was awesome and everything it should be and followed by a fancy dinner and excited texts and phone calls to our families and friends. I knew it was coming but his timing was still a surprise and his performance grade-A-you-complete-me romantic.

But there was the issue of the ring.

It’s not that I didn’t love it. I did. In fact, I picked it out.

I didn’t want a new wedding ring so I needed to be involved in the ring-picking process lest I end up with something like a ball and chain wrapped around my ring finger for the rest of my life.

Why did I not want a new ring? Why did I end up going vintage?

Simple. I, like many a Millennial woman, watched the movie “Blood Diamond” in college and was traumatized by it. And I, like many a Millennial woman, believed I could make a difference in this world’s atrocious legacy of being terrible to one another.

The irony is that I probably ended up with a blood diamond but it’s like wearing old fur maybe? The diamonds are already out in the world so… ?

My ring is from the 1940s. I thought about getting a stone other than a diamond and was, in fact, searching for those when I stumbled across the listing for the one I ended up with. I got a weird feeling when I saw it — locked in and sure. I knew it was mine. Immediately.

Everyone I’ve shown it to has said the same. “Wow, that ring is so you.” “That ring is definitely yours.”

But it wasn’t. Someone else had worn it before. Maybe several someone else’s.

Here’s a photo I took while doing some writing work at The Bean Gallery in New Orleans. Because my self worth often is tied to my job performance (I’m working on itttt!), I crammed some freelance into our tour so I could worry for a few days about a deadline. 🙂 My sly attempt to get the ring in this photo is as obvious as this plug for you to follow my Instagram account.

Luckily, we knew a guy in New Orleans.

He’s a friend of ours and many other of our other friends’ “I Know A Guy” Guy. Other realm-y. Memory like a fly trap.

He knew exactly what to do with the ring.

I can’t share the exact process (because I don’t remember and also it felt more sacred than silly and I want to keep it that way), but it involved, among other things, burning sage and sandalwood and a salt water cleanse.

Justin and I took turns holding the ring as the ceremony, we’ll call it, progressed. We thought about who may have worn it before and who may still be emotionally holding on to it — in this life or the next. Don’t worry, I told them in my mind, I will take good care of this. Thank you for taking care of it until now. Thank you for bringing it to me. I will respect its past the same way I will respect you… and him, my love.

The ring looked brighter, felt lighter.

And that’s how we said goodbye to the spirits in my engagement ring. On an 80-degree New Orleans day. On our southern friend’s patio. Beneath a disco ball.

Just as the good lord(s) intended.

jm-nola-la-sign — And the greatest was love.

jm-nola-justin — First up: Food. We went to Parkway Bakery and Tavern for po’ boys.

jm-nola-po-boy — Baby’s first po’ boy! (But not her first poor boy.)

jm-nola-beads — Mardi Gras beads were used like Christmas lights.

jm-nola-kitty — Chilling. You must when it’s this damn hot. Fall does not exist on the bayou.

jm-nola-colors — One of my favorite things about New Orleans was all its architecture (below), word usage (like “boogaloo” below) and accidental color mixing (above and below).

Pro-tips: Get the canoli and gelato and don't look Angelo's ghost in the eye. — Pro-tips: Get the cannoli and gelato and don’t look Angelo’s ghost in the eye.

jm-nola-devil — I also loved how spooky Louisiana felt. And not just because it was Halloween time.

jm-nola-slipper-sign — The Ruby Slipper is so named because, for the owners, coming back to New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina felt like a fairytale. There’s no place like home.

jm-nola-ruby-slipper — The food culture in the south is wild. That’s a fried green tomato and cane sugar peanut butter with my breakfast.

jm-nola-spanish-moon-art — We did some shows in Baton Rouge. You should definitely check out Spanish Moon if you’re ever in the area. It’s here you’ll find my favorite bathroom graffiti ever.

jm-nola-atomic-pop-shop — Another one of our favorite Baton Rouge spots was Atomic Pop Shop record store. Here we went home with a fresh copy of Latin Booty Party Jams.

jm-nola-candles — Some very specific candles at F&F Botanica in New Orleans. Worth a stop! If I win the lotto with my candle, it was nice knowing ya, suckas!

jm-nola-aligator-art — Luckily these were the only alligators we saw, and we even went kayaking through City Park’s sculpture garden. (That line was just a clever way to work in the fact that we went kayaking through City Park’s sculpture garden. I don’t think the water actually had alligators to begin with…)

jm-nola-aligator-photo-booth — LOOK AT HIM GETTING HIS LITTLE ANIMAL-PEOPLE PHOTO TAKEN!

jm-nola-bike — The spirit of New Orleans captured in rare bike form at the French Quarter.

jm-nola-beautiful — As seen on our walk to the French Quarter. A reminder as one struts through their French Quarter walk of shame back to their car.

jm-nola-music — Nods to Nola’s musical culture and history are everywhere.

jm-nola-christmas-tv — The spirit of New Orleans captured in rare Christmas nativity scene form in the French Quarter.

jm-nola-gumbo — The gumbo at 801 Royal in the French Quarter may have changed my life.

jm-nola-horse — My favorite photo from the whole trip. This is such a great visual of what we saw in Louisiana. A mix of old and new and a love and respect for both. Amalgamation indeed.

Notes-ish: Knoxville, Tennessee and Dollywood

October 17, 2016August 21, 2020 Jackie Mantey Leave a comment

I didn’t realize I had any expectations for Knoxville until I got there and realized it wasn’t what I thought it was.

Knoxville is spread out but small. One-note but diverse. Naturally beautiful but mechanically ugly.

Our second show on the road was at a small pizza shop in a strip mall just outside Knoxville. Great food, fun people, etc.

The next day, a friend recommended Lunch House for breakfast.

Lunch House is cash only and still has signs up stating that shoes and shirts are required for an exchange of food and money. This implies that enough barefooted and/or shirtless people show up frequently enough to warrant a sign about the whole awkward thing.

Roller-rink-yellow and liquid-ketchup-red walls and tables loudly accent humble art of idyllic country settings in Salvation Army frames. The food was outstanding, with not one but two biscuits and gravy served as a side to my ham and cheese omelet.

In the Midwest that biscuits with the business would have been its own stupid $7 meal. So obviously the south has its upsides.

After breakfast we drove about an hour to Pigeon Forge. This drive allowed for ample viewing of the mountains and the foliage hanging peacefully between life and death.

The billboards about heaven and hell and eternal damnation sprinkled in between took the life and death contemplation from thoughtful reverie to disconcerting reality.

But alas, when one is in creationist country one must chalk all that talk up to local culture if one is not to get increasingly annoyed by its unfortunate timing and mountain-view ruining. I think they’ve just got their guns out hard—literally and figuratively—because it’s election season.

There was certainly a tension in the air, which may have been in my head because the closest I get to believing in a sacred heart is when I feel my own liberal bleeding one.

Regardless, I physically tightened everytime I saw the name TRUMP, because it wasn’t just a a sign or two cutely placed in someone’s front yard. It was, like, a giant handmade road sign the size of a tent. Shirts “playfully” threatening violence against our other potential future president for sale underneath (shirts shipped from China I’m sure).

Those sublime mountains can start to feel domineering and claustrophobic after a while if you don’t feel totally comfortable below, trapped in a red state that has no foreseeable future of turning blue unless you choke it.

Traveling during the 2016 election, I guess much like the 2016 election, has a very unique set of pain points.

ANYWAY.

We are heading to Pigeon Forge to see the Queen. Not Mother Mary or Beyonce but close. The one and only Ms. Dolly Parton.

And we did see her. Literally everywhere. Even the gas station miles away had a framed photo of her from her spiky hair years (inspired by Cher I’m guessing) near its cash register.

The town in which Dollywood is located is everything you think it is and it is perfect. Cartoonish in its colors and outrageousness, it features not one but two Christmas supply stores—nay, warehouses—as well as a car lot called Big Boys Toys, a restaurant called Rebel Dish, and an As Seen on TV outlet.

My favorite retail option was a massive building called Sexy Stuf. So sexy they’ve already slipped out of the extra f for you. Its giant sign included an illustration of Cupid in a big heart. From the outside, Sexy Stuf was a cheesy light-hearted display of sexuality that seemed to avoid fully addressing the mystery and complexity of it. A nod to the fact that it happens but we don’t really need to talk about it, y’all. Which reminded me, fittingly, of what makes Dolly Parton so appealing to me and a larger portion of the American population.

Also, I’m really regretting not hitting up the As Seen on TV store. Could have really used a Wonder Wallet and Woof Washer.

jm-lh-diner-bar — Lunch House. If you go and the front’s packed, don’t worry. There’s more room in the back.

jm-radio — Required listening for driving into the Dollywood parking lot before you catch a trolley to the entrance.

jm-dollywood-sign — omgomgomg. Not pictured: My dumb smiling face.

jm-dollywood-or-bust — Was referencing “bust” at a theme park for Dolly Parton, who has one of the most famous bust lines north AND south of the Mason Dixon line, part of the joke or an innocent happenstance? This happened a lot to me here. I couldn’t tell if I should be laughing or not.

jm-dreamsong-theater — As expected, Dolly’s image was everywhere here. It’s so fun. Right beside this theater front is Dolly’s tour bus that you can go into.

jm-dollywood-colors — The wannabe designer in me had to show you these color combinations. So many pinks and purples! Color crush for real.

You guys. This was the video that played before a really cool live show about rare and majestic birds. This video could very well be a spoof of American values from SNL. I have counted zero people of color in the whole thing and I love that it’s about the freedom of the birds… birds that we could then go gawk at in their tiny cages afterward. The strangest part about the experience of watching this in public was that no else thought it was remotely cheesy enough to clap for our sort of laugh about afterward. That’s when I knew I wasn’t in the Midwest anymore. This was normal viewing down here. It was so surreal. America deserves some new propaganda.

jm-dollys-closet — Dolly’s body and hair are Pamela Anderson-esque in their fakeness and potential for body issue/ beauty standards conversations. I usually scoff at this obscene level of beauty manipulation, but on Dolly it’s charming. Girl wears her male gaze so well! Maybe because it seems so clearly to be her decision and joy to look that way and be an object of obsession. She doesn’t come off as desperate. Ever. Maybe that’s because that body type seems kind of old school? It’s a little ridiculous now, categorized as a 10 out of 10 with Doctor’s Help edition. It’s not just part of the show, it’s the show itself. That body is just a branding tool. An identification marker. Which doesn’t make it seem dangerous, either to the most sex-shaming conservative nor the most sexy-shaming progressive. Or maybe it’s not a big deal to me because she’s older. She’s sweet and cute and safe and not one more thing my own body has to live up to. Her shape is so unattainable, it’s OK to not attain it. I don’t know. I haven’t figured this one out yet.

jm-dolly-exit — If you go to Dollywood, you would be a fool out $65 if you did not go see the Dolly museum. It’s a veritable shrine to Ms. Parton.

jm-dolly-survival — My love for Dolly is about much more than her music or upbeat attitude. It’s personal. I too was born countryside with a strong case of wanderlust. I think anyone born different in a place where survival matters most can identify with her journey.

jm-dolly-chalkboard — Dolly’s super quippy. There’s so much wit on her she’s constantly dusting her shoulders off. She’s smart but she uses that Southern humility trick to get you underestimating her at first. Busty waters run deep. But she’s also full of shit sometimes, which I love. Maybe she doesn’t know she’s full of it, but anytime you speak in Pinterest quotes for a living you’re kind of full of it right? Dolly seems mostly genuine though and that’s what makes her so appealing. She’s Christian but loves the gay community that loves her right back. She’s country mouse who can hang with city mouse without seeming like she does’t respect herself. She works her tail off but knows how to have fun too. She talks in bullshit but also with brilliant and comforting insight. She’s special.

jm-dolly-and-rocky — It was interesting how masculinity was addressed in such a feminized theme park. One of the roller coaster rides we went on was all about being a volunteer fire fighter and how being a fire fighter was such an honor. No doubt, but it was an odd choice for a roller coaster ride theme… unless you consider that that’s a huge value down here–committing yourself toward your community’s idea of the greater good and being an unquestioned hero for it. Also, it was cool to see giant manly men in Dollywood shirts with butterflies.

jm-dolly-scripts — It’s fun to get little peeks into the movie industry. The writer in me liked seeing the old scripts for movies she’s been in.

jm-dolly-yellow — As much as I adored this experience of Dollywood and will go back the next time I’m in the south, it’s so funny to have been to a whole amusement park based on a real person–a person who is still alive no less. I don’t know… do you think that could happen today? Could there be a Kanye park? It just seems so unnecessary and dated now. Because we can just Google all this. And, beyond celebrity, we all have our own mini shrines to ourselves on Facebook or social media now. Fame is not what it used to be, which is part of why this museum is so fascinating. Seeing old TV clips of her performing and photos of her with every celebrity from the sixties, seventies, and eighties seems like such a piece of American history. A type of history that will never happen again. Fame is fractured now and all of us get a tiny piece of it. Before, people like Dolly were how you consumed it. The fourth wall for fame hadn’t been shattered yet. The public looked on, didn’t participate. Dolly was grandfathered into this level of velvet painting stardom. That social underpinning alone makes this amusement park worth seeing.

jm-dolly-and-jackie — Bottom line though. Dolly seems cool as fuck. True to herself. Open-minded and kind… That’s all this country girl wants too.

Notes-ish: Louisville, Kentucky

October 13, 2016August 21, 2020 Jackie Mantey Leave a comment

The worst part about traveling for an extended period of time — at least in terms of physical discomfort — is not not getting to sleep in your own bed. Anything is a bed if you’re tired enough.

It’s not eating fast food 24/7. You can life hack your way to some fresh veggies from Subway and sprinkle some extra onions on your Wendy’s chili.

No, the worst part is the shower.

Every shower is different. Think of your own shower and imagine trying to tell someone how to turn it on. Here’s how my written note to a guest would go:

“OK, so the tub is really long so that’s why there are two shower curtains here. You could just open them from the middle where the shower curtains meet, but it’s better to open the curtain from the end closest to the water knobs. Because from that angle you can reach the water knobs in a way where you won’t get shot with water when you turn the shower on. OK, then, start with the hot water knob. It’s the one on the left. Turn it just a centimeter. The water pressure is low but that’s good because it’ll be crazy, like burn your arm, hot in about five seconds, which is why you need to then quickly go to the cold water knob, the knob on the right. Turn it hard and fast to the left but not all the way to the left or there’s no turning back. Why not turn on the cold water first? Well then the hot water never seems to have a chance to catch up and you’re screwed taking a cold shower. Again, no turning back. If you want to adjust the water pressure during the shower do not touch the hot water knob. I repeat, DO NOT TOUCH THE HOT WATER KNOB. Just kind of jiggle the cold water knob a little and you’ll get there. OK, so when you’re done, just turn them both to the right again and then take the dry washcloth on the sink and use it to turn them even harder to the right so they turn completely off… ENJOY! THANKS FOR STAYING!”

Yikes.

How many times have you prayed that you don’t have to ask the home owner to turn on your shower for you like a big baby?

Further adding to the awkward panic is the fact that you’re also naked at this point. You hadn’t thought about how you would turn on the water, just that you needed to get under its running stream.

Luckily my Airbnb shower in Louisville, our first stop on a 3-state Lo-Class tour, was one of those ones that required just a turn of the knob and an adjustment or two for perfectly kosher water temps.

But if my time in Louisville was any indication (and maybe it wasn’t; I was only there for a night) it wouldn’t have been a problem if the shower was temperamental. Because everyone was so nice.

They’d probably help no matter what. Even if you were half naked in their strange home sheepishly nodding toward the shower like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

Gallery K & Coffeehouse in Louisville’s Germantown neighborhood.

Gallery K's DJ delivering the hits. — Gallery K’s DJ delivering nothing but the hits… and hits of nostalgia.

Cool art and couch. — Cool art. Cool couch. Hot coffee.

I liked the back of the sign better than the front.

My heart may still be in Old Louisville.

They're serious about their nostalgia here. The first show on the tour was at this awesome little '80-themed sandwich place called Slice. Lots of reading materials for visitors, like the VHS jacket for Valley Girls that beckoned proudly, "Introducing Nicolas Cage." — They’re serious about their nostalgia here. The first show on the tour was at this awesome little ’80-themed sandwich place called Slice. Lots of reading materials for visitors, like the VHS jacket for Valley Girl that beckoned shamelessly, “Introducing Nicolas Cage.”

The Eggy Pop. (Did I mention it's '80s themed.) Deviled egg salad, tomato and spring greens. — The Eggy Pop. (Did I mention it’s ’80s themed.) Deviled egg salad, tomato and spring greens on wheatberry.

Gotta put this on my "to Google search" list. — Gotta put this on my “to Google search” list.

"My wife and I were happy for twenty years. Then we met." That's all for now, folks. — “My wife and I were happy for twenty years. Then we met.”
That’s all for now, folks.

Interview: 10 questions for entrepreneur Michele Mehl

October 12, 2016August 14, 2020 Jackie Mantey Leave a comment

Michele Mehl is “by no means a fitness guru.”

“I’m more of a weekend warrior,” says the Seattle-based entrepreneur, “who wants to cycle, snowmobile, ride mountain bikes, and hit the trails with my family.”

An active lifestyle has always been in Mehl’s wheelhouse—she was even a two-sport Division 1 athlete in college.

But as her busy life as a mom and business owner (and eventually a broken leg!) began to impede on her time to workout, Mehl and business partner Mike Rector began to design something that could make working out from home more accessible.

The result was Excy, short for Exercise Cycling.

Excy is a total body-cross training system in the form of an exercise cycle. It comes in at 10 pounds dripping wet and is compact, so it’s easy to carry around if needed.

The Excy combines cardio fitness, strength training (up to 30 pounds of resistance!) and interactive mobile health technology. Users can log into the website to watch online video workouts, from beginner on up.

In this interview Michele talks about how her design helps people get those healthy choices in, whether they’re looking for something average or athletic. She’s got some great advice for burgeoning, already-busy business owners, too.

*******

Why start Excy?

The statistics are staggering for how few people get the recommended 150 minutes of strength and cardiovascular physical activity per week (only 20 percent of Americans), even though research shows that small amounts of physical activity trigger dozens of beneficial changes in the body. We crafted Excy to make quality exercise more convenient, fun, and social anywhere and at any time to generate healthier outcomes worldwide and eliminate the obstacles of time and space. For me, this Excy journey is all about believing that quality exercise is medicine for a higher quality of life and to help reduce the risk of injury and preventable diseases.

How would you describe Excy’s approach to health?

It really comes down to giving people more freedom to balance being healthy and busy by connecting quality cardio and strength training to everyday life at home, work, or on the go. Excy weighs just 10 pounds, but folds for easy transport and storage. Our patent-pending approach offers over 100 different workouts with zero to 30 pounds of resistance and easily adapts to users of all levels, making it the perfect tool for physical therapy, home fitness, burning calories, and group training.

Tell me about being a working mother with a broken leg! You sound like wonder woman.

Ha! Not wonder woman, just surrounded by amazing friends and family. As painful and inconvenient as the injury was for me, I think it was even worse for my family and friends who volunteered to do a lot of stepping and fetching while I was laid up on the couch. I’m very independent, so it was hard to rely on people so much, but I also realized that the people who love me the most didn’t mind at all. I did learn something about myself as a mom during this period of time: I was helping my son too much in his everyday life. Picking up his toys, throwing away wrappers left behind, clearing dishes that didn’t get put away, etc. I couldn’t do any of those things with a broken leg and in fact, my son had to help me quite a bit. I hold him to much higher standards now for picking up after himself and having household chores.

What do you hope your customers get out of using Excy?

The ability to integrate exercise into their everyday life. Our hope is that one parent using Excy in the home cascades to the rest of the family realizing the importance of exercise for a higher quality of life and to prevent disease. We want the whole family using Excy.

What was the biggest hurdle you faced when starting Excy and how did you overcome it?

I co-founded and started my first company, the Seattle public relations firm Buzz Builders, when I was pregnant with my son who is now 11. He came into the world with a mom who worked full-time. I often carried a certain level of guilt for having him spend his days with a nanny and, then later, in daycare. So, when I decided to start Excy and transition from servicing startups to running one, I was 110 percent committed to getting my son’s permission and letting him have a say this time. I sat him down for a good talk that included a list of challenges that I would face that would impact him. That included missing sporting events, traveling more frequently, working more hours, working on vacation and being distracted.

But we also talked about other items specific to me that might impact him: People might say mean things about his mom that he’d have to brush off (i.e. not in shape enough, too skinny, too old, selfish to do something that takes me away from our family, etc.). I didn’t know this at the time, but getting the permission and complete buy-in from Jack (and my husband) has ended up being one of the best decisions I’ve made to date in bringing Excy to market. Not only have all the warnings become a reality that he was prepared for, but it also gave him a sense of ownership of being part of the journey.

Do you have any advice for aspiring entrepreneurs/ small business owners?

If an idea is keeping you awake at night and you can’t let it go in an almost obsessive way, go for it and don’t be afraid to push yourself outside your comfort zone.

How do you balance working out and maintaining a healthy lifestyle with being a business owner, partner and mother?

Staying healthy and balancing a heavy load is not easy to do. Between work, commuting, family commitments and trying to have a social life, I am often hard-pressed for time. When life gets chaotic, the last thing I want to do is spend hours working out, so that’s why I focus on high intensity interval training and short intense bursts or mini workouts. I use our mobile coaching application to do 30-45 seconds of all-out bursts on Excy, where I go as hard as I can, followed by 30-second brief recoveries. These short workouts are highly effective and allow me to quickly get back to being mom/business owner/wife/friend. I personally want to spend as little time working out as possible, so I focus on making my workouts highly efficient and effective. I see these mini workouts as a time saver and time is everything when trying to balance it all.

What has been inspiring you lately?

When we started this Excy journey, we knew in our hearts we could make exercise more accessible to help people who face unique challenges with getting exercise, but the thought never crossed my mind that the size, durability, and versatility of Excy would have so many applications for such a wide variety of people. The journey began because I never felt like there was time to workout and I wanted a better solution to get more active. In my mind, Excy was awesome. I lost almost 20 pounds in the first three months and felt more in charge of my genetic pathway that includes heart disease. We knew Excy could make a big difference in people’s health and I was excited.

Then, I broke my leg and was exposed to months of living with pain and the dreadful process of going through physical therapy. My eyes were open to the possibilities of how Excy could help with rehab, assist in increasing range of motion, and help people stay active with injuries, disabilities, and disease. It’s these scenarios that inspire me the most on a daily basis.

I’m very independent, so it was hard to rely on people so much, but I also realized that the people who love me the most didn’t mind at all.

Why is taking care of your body important to you? What motivates you to work out?

The health benefits of exercising goes on and on, from more energy, to a better night’s sleep, to being more productive, to a healthier lifestyle, and to fight preventable disease. I exercise for those reasons, but also because I think it makes me a better mom and I want to be one feisty, active person my whole life.

If you could invite three people, living or dead, to a dinner party, who would they be and why?

Margaret Thatcher—amazing leader, tremendous grit, and it would be interesting to hear her thoughts on women in business and technology today. Thomas Jefferson—we always hear that our founding fathers would turn over in their grave if they experienced today’s modern political culture. Imagine being able to get his perspective and advice. Jesus—because he’s Jesus. Then, I’d bring my son to tag along so he could hear the conversation.