The conundrum

Like everyone and their mother out in blogland, it seems I'm facing some kind of New Year's Eve (NYE) conundrum. Let's just say that I'm a New Year's virgin. Obviously, I've experienced the passage from old year to new (hell...30 of them), but I have never actually celebrated by going out and surrounding myself with others. Let me repeat myself just to make sure we're on the same page...n.e.v.e.r. During my formative years, I would watch the apple drop in New York on the TV from the comfort of the parental abode. My mom would flip back and forth between celebration shows, and I would fantisize about partying the night away at one of those clubs when I got older. I would wear a dress that shimmied when I shook my ass and have some tall, dark man to shimmy with. Well, I did get older and somehow just forgot to celebrate on NYE. I think all of the societal brouhaha about it needing to be some stupendous night caused me to go into hiding. I don't respond well to pressure like that. I fell into another tradition once I moved to Virginia. Watch Night service at church. This year I've decided no hiding at home, no hiding at church (not that I was hiding)! Societal pressure be damned. We're popping this NYE cherry because this girl is going out!

This place is a prison

I just picked the dj for my wedding. Confused? No need to worry. I didn't get engaged, meet Mr. Right, go on a date, or even manage to respond to a booty call. The sad fact is that in some things I am a typical girl (much to my consternation). I see white dresses and think that that's how I'd like my wedding dress to look. I drive by a beautiful spot near water and imagine a simple barefoot ceremony. And, today, I realized what awesome mix cds Scarlet makes and decided she would make the perfect dj for the event.

I would be curious to see if any scientific studies have been done to identify the gene that causes us to even think about things like weddings in this way. I refuse to believe that I am so easy to program that your average socialization has done this to me.

Laughter...the new way to healing?

Having more free time on my hands than I normally do this holiday weekend, I also took in my fair share of TV. In addition to realizing what complete crap most shows are (and the true brilliance of some), I found myself watching a bit of Comedy Central's Last Laugh on Christmas Day. I have to profess that this wasn't really of my own doing, since I'm not one of those girls who can just sit down and watch stand-up comedy. To be honest, I find many of them crass and my PC (aka political correctness) alarm clangs so loudly that my head follows suit. However, I was a guest on Christmas Day and decided I could sit through a little Comedy Central in exchange for being able to finish watching Elf. I found myself bothered at the insensitivity of the Katrina jokes and was working hard on not getting Serena when things shifted. Carlos Mencia took the stage, and I had one of those wacky moments of clarity when you begin to view the world just a little differently. Yes, comedians are a crass bunch that say things most of us would never say. I even think there are some shitty comics out there who are just mean, bitter people. However, what if some of those comedians are leading a new fight to make this a better place. Instead of hiding behind their principles or something far worse, they are out there shining a social spotlight on some of the problems in this country and trying to make it funny, so it's easier for us to swallow. Musicians have been doing it for years. Maybe now comedians are the new vehicle for rallying the people.

Knitta

How can I not blog about this?! It's like I found yet another creative mecca. Knitta is a small band (~2) of knitters who started turning all of their unfinished projects into graffiti. The Houston Press recently wrote an intriguing piece, Knitta, Please, on the weekend exploits of these two women, and I got absolutely giddy just reading it. To truly get my giddiness, you have to get my obsession with graffiti, my sporadic knitting and my penchant for random, wacky fun. These women (young mothers) do a little tagging, grab a beer and head home to the fam. Oh...and they document their work with photos!

They leave their mark with calling cards that say things like "knitta, please" and "whaddup knitta". The only message they seem to be driving home is fun and creativity, maybe the desire to encourage all of us to think outside-the-box when it comes to art. Who knew fellow Texans could be so cool?

Anyone up for a little random tagging up in NVA?

Holiday scuttlebutt

Rumor has it I had a good time last night. Let's examine the facts:
* Coffee @ Jamie's General Bean: good coffee, friendly people, talking with Scarlet about good first kisses
* Red Robin: honey mustard, water, stories
* Steven's apartment: mistletoe, boxers, Gilmore Girls, Elvis, calendars
Rumor status: True

Seasons change; should scene changes be more frequent

I definitely don't consider myself someone who is "of the scene". Hell,
I don't even know what a scenester is and, if I could even fathom a
definition, would probably get it wrong. I am decidedly uncool and am
alright with that most of the time. That said, I did come to the
realization that I need different bar scenes depending on how social I'm
feeling.

My all-time favorite bar scene is the cozy bar. This is the dark, yet
well-lit bar with comfortable couches and potentially a fireplace. The
comfortable bar is where you can easily kick back with friends for a
drink and talk the night away. One of my favorite comfortable bars in
DC used to be Ozio.

Then there's the music bar where you can go to hear the really good (or
passably good) live music. Maybe you'll meet someone, maybe you'll
socialize but you're really there for the music. I actually can't think
of any places like this in DC that I favor. There's a place in
Georgetown that isn't bad, and I supppose the Black Cat could be this
place (just haven't been there enough). 9:30 club I don't consider a
bar.

Lately, I've been trying to make a swank place called Blue Gin (a new DC
place we all love) into one of those bars where you go to meet people.
Last night I came to the conclusion last night that, for all its
coolness, it wasn't that kind of place and couldn't be made into one. I
love dancing on its tiny dance floor and like the atmosphere, but it is
a place for couples and cliques. Even if you wanted to go there in an
attempt to meet men, you'd find the men decidedly stuffy (it is
Georgetown). Budding young politicians looking for their first
stay-at-home.

I honestly don't believe you can really "meet someone" in a bar, but
sometimes it's just nice to talk to new people. Not that we're on a
quest, but I continue to keep my eyes open for a place to hang that
doesn't turn my stomach or make me feel like I'm in some covert episode
of America's Next Top Model.
Serena

Free the elves

Holidays usually bring about time for reflection, at least they usually
do for me. This year, however, I've just bopped merrily along with nary
a pause for that deep, introspective thought. Even now, I just tried to
get worked into a frenzy about some injustice but couldn't quite manage
it. My mind just bounced back to thoughts of peppermint and holiday
balls. Because of the bad weather we're having the homeless people's
place on the sidewalk has been decimated. I registered it. It saddened
me, but I didn't come close to shedding the tear I might have in the
nonholiday season. Does internal happiness sometimes work as a shot of
immunity against noticing the wrongs of the world? Am I *too* happy to
let in a little grey? Hope not.
Serena

Baby, it's fucking cold outside

As much as I love this cold weather, standing out in the cold waiting on
a bus destined to be late just about kills this Texan. You can't laugh
off the experience riding the bus gives. I've done local buses, county
buses, commuter buses and even Greyhound to Texas. No matter the bus,
day or time, you are most assuredly guaranteed to meet some interesting
characters. Today, for example, I am joined by a girl who insists on
carrying on a cell conversation at decibals even the dead can hear. To
make matters more interesting, she's spent the last 10 minutes trying to
convince, what I can only assume to be her boyfriend, to pierce his
balls. I've met convicts, loons, excons who watched over me...all these
people on the bus. On my last trip home, I befriended a group of thugs
in back. Hell, I figure if something goes down I figure I wanted those
guys on my side.

Moral of the story: I recommend that any writer looking for ideas just
hop on a bus.
Serena

The merriment continues

Someone seriously needs to slap the Christmas spirit out of me. If the
leapings on my inside were visible on the outside, I would get on more
than my fair share of nerves. Some things that have kept me joyful:

*chocolate mint candy canes
*decorating Steven's Christmas tree while listening to Christmas cds
*decorating stockings
*having the makings for "real" eggnog
*cold weather and snow on the ground
*finding Emmett Otter's Jug Band Christmas on dvd
*colorful holiday balls
*cookie swap
*craft projects
*knowing what to get most everyone
*Christmas lights
*kissing balls (screw mistletoe)
--radicalflower

Mistletoe, snow & hot cocoa

It's not the best picture I've taken, but it does sort of encapsulate the internal stirrings of Christmas merriment I've been feeling. I'm giddy with holiday cheer and will probably explode before it's over because I don't have time to EXPEND any of it. I've been creating a mental list of everything I need to get done before December 23rd. I need to make time to put it in writing because I know I'm going to forget things and am really worried about forgetting people. It doesn't help that I feel all this creative energy and want to make a lot of my Christmas gifts (time keeps on ticking). I'm not even going to 98% of the holiday parties/open houses that have come across my desk. Maybe if I promise to put together a December to-do (including a list of who I'm giving a gift to and what they get) list before my head hits the pillow, then I'll be more apt to do it. Until then, ponder my HOLIDAY PHOTO CONTEST. What, pray tell, do I want? I want gorgeous, tacky, understated, over-the-top photos of holiday lights! Email them to me by noon on Monday, December 19th.

Holiday stress is so much more fun than regular stress!

Something of my own

Closing by yourself in the music department (me:last night:Barn) tends to allow time for introspection or at least a more random thought life. As I was flipping through the cds, thinking of ones I wanted to buy, I began thinking back to the music that has been in my life. Almost every group I have listened to for the past 15-17 years has been at the influence of someone in my life. I listened to Garth Brooks in high school because David loved Garth and I liked David. In my early 20s I listened to a lot of jazz and broadway because that's what Michael listened to. My gospel and R&B taste came from the current roommate. Even now, the indie-punk-whatever bands are at the influence of Scarlet and Allie. While I like all of this music (past and present), even love some of it, I started questioning whether or not I truly had taste or an opinion of my own. I got to thinking about the movie, Runaway Bride, with Julia Roberts. In it, Richard Gere calls attention to the fact that Julia doesn't even know how she likes her eggs cooked. For most of her adult life she has eaten her eggs the way her current man had been eating his. I felt like that was me with music. In my adult/young adult life, had I ever come to a band on my own?

It didn't take me long to realize that I had come about one of my favorite bands on my own. Smashing Pumpkins is all mine. I found them and loved them all on my own without anyone I knew even knowing who they were. I actually remember (seriously) shopping in Hastings Books & Music for a cd for my brother when I spied a cd by some group called the Smashing Pumpkins. Siamese Dream was the first of their cds I purchased that day. I had never heard of it nor them (San Angelo, TX...not well known for its music scene) but made the purchase like I do many of the things that I buy. They had an interesting name and an attention-grabbing cover, so it was mine. I considered giving it to my brother, but after that first listen, I knew I'd have to go out shopping again. I didn't stop at Siamese Dream and have owned many of their cds over the years. They were even my first rock concert. I watched Billy Corgan get pissed at a lame Texas crowd that kept throwing trash on the stage, lecturing the crowd and ending the show early. The point of this is that by the end of the night I felt ok about this. I do know how I like my eggs cooked, and I'll always have the Pumpkins.