Holiday amnesia

I have been so busy making my holiday gifts, preparing for debt consolidation (cat's out of the bag: I'm in debt) and hammering out my vacation plans for next week that I just plumb forgot that I have a blog. I have to keep my three readers entertained. Sorry Mom, Mchan and Mark.

Let's see what I've been up to since we last checked in.

I got to see Kid Beyond again. Really, my sweets, if you get a chance, go see him. He will wreck your sense of reality and you will be really happy about it.

He was on tour with Imogen Heap, so I got to see her too. I've not spent a lot of time listening to her music and I was happy to have a chance to do so. She just has one of those voices that takes you on a little jaunt through her stories and her compisitions are the perfect backdrop. This lady knows her abilitites so well and really works with what she's got.

And she's very tall. She has taken to backcombing (also known as 'ratting') her hair, which adds on quite a few inches to her already altitudinous person.

So I had the chance to chat with Imogen, and she is quite kind. Me being me, and not really caring whether people like me or not, whether they are famous or not, I had to ask her some questions. Nothing pervy, just about her music.

I'm fascinated with people who have the ability to focus on one thing. Especially people who are so focused on one thing that many go out of their way to view, purchase or buy what these people spend every waking moment doing. I have a Tasmanian Devil brain that can only ingest so much of one thing before gleefully slobbering and scrambling over to the next shiny object that catches it's attention. Plus, I tend to feel insecure around focused folks. I'm perfectly happy with my rapid brain, until I meet someone successful within their focus. Then I immeadiately wonder if I have wasted a bunch of time learning about dumb little things when I could have been writing music, or starring in a kick ass Broadway play I wrote, or working on becoming a household name.

So, I had to ask Ms. Heap "Why music?" to which she replied, "I was never good at anything else".

Duh. Of course! That makes perfect sense! If the only thing I could do remotely well was ice skate, or math, then you bet your ass I would spend my time becoming the best freaking ice skater or the best math-doing-person EVER!!!

I just like to do so much stuff and while I'm not good at all of it, I tend to pick enough of it up to have it enchant me for a while. Some stuff I got pretty good at while other stuff I'm just glad I lived through experimenting with. Yeah, I probably will be plagued with feeling inadequate while standing next to corporate CEO's, rock stars, or an Ju-Jitsu sensei. I'll just have to remember the wealth of information that I have picked up along the way was really fucking fun to gather.

Ok, so I can't set up a business plan, write a song or chop through a block with my head (the latter being the most enticing of the three), but I have been skydiving, moved to cities where I didn't know a soul, had no job and no digs and created a whole life for myself. I am learning how to weld, I can shoot a bow, waterski, spit really far, swim and kinda play guitar and piano. I've written and performed in plays, worked as a bike messenger, worked at a recording studio and worked as a dog walker while going to massage therapy school.

Take that all you mono-focused people.

Pictures of nicknames

These are some pictures that I found when I Googled 'nicknames'. Part of a burro, crazy hair Bowie, a caricature by Albert 'Wooltops' Hodgson and a list of soroity nick names.

I don't know much about sororities, but I do know that in the college town where my brother lives, the Tri Delta's are definitely monikered the Tri Sluts.

Another thought on nicknames: Giving nicknames to mostly strangers. I think everyone I know does this. For instance, in my personal universe, I have nicknames for everyone. Roast Beef Guy was a guy I met at the deli counter who was very dreamy. He told me the merits of the Boar's Head Londonbroil Roast Beef. My friends would always ask "have you seen Roast Beef Guy lately?", to which I always replied "no" because I never saw him again. He was an angel on temporary leave from meat heaven.

There was Hot Cheese Guy, a guy I had a crush on who worked at a natural food store (in the specialty cheese section). Later I found out his real name and his real girlfriends name as well. To me he will always be Hot Cheese Guy.

Then there is the rabble of not-quite-homeless-but-definitely-unemployed people who hang out all day on the main drag of the town I live in. There's Guy In Red, Arm Guy, who vociferously punches his right arm out in front of him every time he takes a step with his right foot, Fat Guy On The Porch and Eyebrows.

At first I was worried that I was too quickly judging people, pigeon holing them to make my life easier. Then I realized that these fun, quirky people are lovely ornaments to my life. I don't have to be emotionally involved with them, yet I either interact with them enough, or they left a big impression in a little span of time to make them memorable. I love these people. I need these people. I can spend time making up stories of why Fat Guy On The Porch won't cover his 400 pound frame with a large piece of cloth before wandering out onto the porch. I could fantasize about Hot Cheese Guy suprising me with a free block of Straveccio Parmesan with his phone number written on the wrapper. They feed my daydreams, my creativity and my curiosity.

I feel so lucky.

Nicknames

Eunice is one of the nicknames I gave my cousin when we were kids. She is 4 years younger than me and we grew up more like sisters than cousins. I took full advantage of our tight knit relationship by bossing her around and dressing her and the dog up in matching outfits. I was the poster child for "how to know if you child is a control freak". In fact most of the women in my family are highly bossy and nothing is more frustrating and entertaining than getting us all together for a family member's wedding and watching us try to run the show. On top of it, we're a loud people too. Needless to say, we all end up incensed that no one is doing it our way, then we sulk (no wait, that's just me).

But I digress. Cause I want to talk about nicknames.

I was one of those people who always wanted a nickname, but one never stuck to me. I was always fustrated that no one immediately caught on to my new, snappy name and would deflate whenever they would call to me using my given name. Hadn't I just told them all what to refer to me as from then on? Maybe it was a desperate need for not being me for a while and trying somone elses life on for a month or two. Even as I have grown to love my oddness and have learned how to gleefully dance with my demons and quirks, I still love to see through other peoples brains. I mean that metaphorically. If you've ever tried to peer through brain tissue, you can't see much, it's pretty dense.

Here's a list of nicknames I have tried to forever pin to myself, or someone tried to pin to me:

Klunky
Sprout
Moses
Mosey
Mo (this one actually stuck)
Snoopy
Lumpers
Grace (I fell down a lot)
Dister's sister
Maul
The Devil

The last one is actually not a nickname. It was the description used by somebody I had just broken up with when he was asked by an unknowing third party how I was.

Uncle Tom

This is Tom Waits. He is my favorite on many different levels. Favorite musician, has my favorite hair and hands of any musician, my favorite uncle in my pretend reality, one of my favorite story tellers. I'm sure there are other ways of him fitting into other favorite classifications, but that's enough for right now.

His new album is called Orphans. It's three discs, lots of kick ass pictures, all the lyrics and the best part, gobs of Tom Waits' music. He does a beautiful, achey version of "Goodnight Irene" and "Young at Heart" and tells stories of bull penis dog treats and grieving con artists. I can't shove this album into my brain fast enough.

Go buy it! When I was at the record store buying three copies of Orphans the day it came out (last Tuesday), I was told by the wonderful men who work at said record store that this album is a limited printing. They received a press release saying that was it, they shall print no more.

So please my children, go feast upon the exquisite flesh of Orphans.

Cat booty

This is Ethel (aka- Effie). She is a slightly posessed stuntwoman and collector of things. She stores her findings (which are mostly things stolen from me) in the kitchen vent. I've been meaning to put a cover on this open vent, but I am so entertained by her pilfering, that I just can't bring myself to do it.

Every month or so, I clean out the vent. Who knows why she chooses what she chooses to make off with and hide in there, but it's an endless source of giggling for me and my friends. What is most fun is thinking about what she plans on doing with these things, because I'm pretty sure she has a purpose for everything. She's just that kind of cat.

So, I thought I'd share with you what I've pulled out from what is now known as 'Effie's Vent'.


-A coupon for Toll House chocolate morsels
-Dried flower petals
-A disposable plastic top from a 5 gallon bottle of water
-2 lottery tickets. One was chewed to bits.
-A twist tie
-Cigarette wrappers
-A bottle of green tea extract
-A masticated fragment of a dog toy
-Popcorn wrappers
-A lid to a Classico spaghetti sauce jar
-A pin that reads "Artists Make Lousy Slaves"
-Keys to my truck
-Kindersuprise
-Bubble Gum lip balm
-A pedometer
-Instruction manual for pedometer
-Barettes
-A hose clamp
-A safety pin
-Mini picture frame

This is John Frusciante. He is a guitar hero. I got to see him play last Friday night with his band, the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

Back in the day, I was a rabid RHCP fan and between the ages of 17 and 21 couldn't listen to Uplift Mofo Party Plan nearly enough to suit me.

My boisterous fandom has faded over the years, I will love them forever, but they are no longer my messiah. I still get a burst of sunshine in my torso every time I listen to Uplift Mofo, Freaky Styley and even Mother's Milk, but I've realized that no other human can be the knight-in-shining-armor that I can make myself, for myself. That's, at the same time, the saddest and the happiest discovery I have ever made in my life.

Then again, every time I see John play and hear him sing, I believe it's possible to be saved by a guitar shredding stranger.

Fo' Shizzle

As much as I wan't going to do it, I had to put a political rant in here.

My brother lives in Arkansas, yet another state that sided with the Democrats on Tuesday. "Hell," he wrote in an email to me, "even the damn coroner is a Democrat". He told me he was shot a look of death from a co-worker because my brother had the gall to swing into the office Wednesday morning singing a very happy tune. Said co-worker is a Republican and had no tolerance for his glee. Well, hearing that just flipped my switch (or switched my flip) and this was my raging response to his co-worker's scowling:

'I flatly refuse to take any crap from the GOP as they have had more than enough time to show themselves as capable leaders. In their wake they have left scandal after scandal, an environmental travesty, a skyrocketing deficit, attempts to tear down civil rights, a horrible dependence on foreign oil, a public education disaster, a war we will have to spend billions getting out of and that has created more terrorists than this world has known for some time, and shattered foreign relations that will take years to mend. They have repeatedly proven that they are unfit for office. Shame on them and up theirs.'

After reading my email, my brother urged me to put it on my blog, encouraging me with a 'fo' shizzle'. How could I say no to that?

Super Happy Fun Time Stuff

Every now and again (like today for example) I'm going to tell you about my favorite things that I think more people should know about. Some are old, some are new, some are merely passing fancy and some are snugly rooted in the cockles of my heart. Here are a couple:


The lovely man pictured is Kid Beyond who has a magical mouth. I know, it sounds like I'm making a reference to doing it, but it's not that kind of thing. He makes wonderful music with his mouth and only his mouth (oh yeah, and microphone). No musical insturments, no other musicians. I had the delightful pleasure of seeing him perform a few weeks ago and I (a stubborn music snob) was blown away. He loops and layers, raps and sings, beat boxes and harmonizes and generally kicks much ass. And he's a fun, kind, cool human to boot. By all means, check him out, your soul will thank you forever.

http://www.kidbeyond.com/


Favorite cosmetic this week:

LUSH Fresh Handmade Cosmetics.
This week I started to weight train again and they have this massage bar called Wiccy Magic Muscles that has cinnamon oil to soothe those achey thigh muscles that don't even want to walk me down a flight of stairs properly. Smells like the best cinnamon bun you have ever had in your life. www.lush.com

Thank the higher powers for such delights!

Behind the barn

Much to my chagrin, I have no pictures on my blog.

Ohh! Goody Two Shoes just started playing on my ipod! Whee!!

Anyhow, I have a computer at my house, a sweet and gentle granite colored Mac, who desperately needs to be taken out behind the barn and put down. She is about 6 years old, is extremely tired and needs a Hoveround to get me on the "intertent". This little lady can remember EVERYTHING, but can't fathom the idea of posting a blog entry. So, in order for me to publish my blog, I have to either write while at work (scandalous!) on a computer that has no problem publishing my meager blog entries, or I have to write everything on my sweet, old lady Mac at home, send it to my work email, download it and publish it from work.

I have asked for a new computer for Christmas. Then again I have also asked for a day at the spa, a plane ticket to go see my brother, a huge gift certificate to Sephora, a bio-drum continuous use composter and a horse. I'll let you know what lands under the tree.

For now, my dears, it's just my words that will have to keep you coming back.

Squishing through the synapses

My brain is a funny thing. I lived in L.A. for about two years and up until my last visit, I could have found my way around the city in a cyclone with one eye missing and a Trader Joe's bag over my head. This last trip, I felt like I had landed on a different planet and none of the Martians looked familliar. More than once during my stay, I asked my friend Mark (a local) about brand new buildings that apparently been there for decades. Maybe they hid behind a fire hydrant every time I drove around the corner on my way to work at 20/20 Video on Sunset, because I was positive I'd never seen them while I lived there.

I flatly refuse to buy into the well digested idea that your brain gets fuzzy as you age. At this decade in my life, I am breezing through numbers and equations like a MENSA madwoman. Previously in my life, facing these same eqations and number problems would not only stun my brain, but make me desire intensive therapy. True trauma. Now, I enjoy these brain challenges and I subscribe to a few different puzzle magazines that light up my mailbox, and my life, every other month.

So I can't remember the gigantic blue and green building in West Hollywood that was built ten or fifteen years ago. Who cares? It will be there, it's not going anywhere, and everytime I go to L.A., it'll be new and exciting and I'll re-discover all the new places I've been to a million times.

God bless my squishy grey matter.

SBQC

I stick my home made flag into this chunk of non-solid ground in cyber space and claim it as mine!

Being the Supreme Benevolent Queen Czar of my personal universal, I am looking forward to ruling all that I see. But for now, I need to go to bed so I can wake up, rock my Turbo Jam and go to work at 9a.m. to look at Excel spreadsheets, and an antiquated Sidekick 98 car schedule file.

But I will wear my crown all day at the office.