I love being blue

No, I don’t mean being depressed. I love dancing to the blues. Gwynn told me about an event her housemate was putting on. And it was only then that I realized that this was the same thing Xray had been forwarding emails about. So, I went.

Do Something Blue. Actually, it’s not a regular venue. Apparently Tracy sets up various events where and when she can. Some for workshops, some for dances. Tonight’s dance was at a lovely little venue out in La Crescenta. Small. Intimate. Okay floor. There were a few faces I recognized. A bit more I didn’t.

My “starter” dance was with Arlene. This may sound startling to some, but it’s not too bizarre. Once a dancer has gotten to a certain point, many try to learn the opposite role, be it lead or follow, in order to become a stronger dancer. I rather have the same philosophy about gender roles, but that’s another topic. Arlene is a rather late-middle-aged woman, a bit soft about the middle, who (among other things), teaches children to dance. Anyway, as she was a bit shorter than me, her ample bossom lay just below my un-ample one. And she was soft there too, in a good way. And I wished that I was ample too. Not enough to actually get a boob job. But enough that if I had the power to, I’d grow myself up a size (and maybe even an additional half).

However, a couple dances with Arlene was enough to convince the local danseurs. I had the most fun dancing with Arthur (who is visiting via Philadelphia before resettling in Austin), and Tim (the youngster with the amazing turns and locks). Met some new people, danced with some older pals, and loved watching Macho Bruno, Zena, and LitheOne.

Also had an aha moment. There were a couple people who I knew frequent Lindy Groove, and they’re okay dancers, but always just a little awkward. As I watched them fabulously doing the blues, I realized that they must have started with blues and transitioned to lindy, and not the other way around. Blues really is their home.

Anyway, for those of you who may be reading, I highly recommend blues dancing. It’s much more forgiving than lindy … in tempo, in body wear and tear, in dance form, in just about everything. Patience and balance. And a few body rolls and pulses if you like …

On getting the snarkiness out

The past two days were icky ones. Really smelly patients. Hectic and annoyingly busy patients and parents. Three transfers cancelled … and that was just in the room of four that I worked in. Ick.

After work I had to wipe myself down just to get the ick off. Changed. Primped a little. And was on my way to Lindy Groove for some dance therapy. Was so sensory overloaded that I made the trip in total silence. Not even the voluptuous repetition of “Prepositions and Other Useful Words” in French.

Up at LG, I put my things away, and sat for a minute or two in the usual spot, chatting with PlumbCheery.

A woman sat next to me and said, “Excuse me, I need to get to my water bottle.” No problem, I thought. We all deposit our things along the periphery, and need to retrieve things once in a while. So, I started to turn so she could reach past me. At which point she maneuvered me out of my seat and took it over. I had to laugh, and I shot her an amused but questioning glance, which earned me the reply of, “Oh, I put my sweater here to mark my seat.”

To which I archly (and piquantly, as you may imagine) ruminated, “Oh, I didn’t realize we were reserving seats now.” And went off to dance with PC. It was rather bizarre. At LG, there are no “reserved seats.” There are people who tend to sit most of the night, but that really just defeats the purpose of going out to dance, now doesn’t it. There are tables for birthday celebrations (which are free, and which come with a grocery store cake), but even those usually devolve as the night wears on.

Anyway, as we were about to start dancing, I asked PC if I’d been really obnoxious. Actually, I stated, not asked. He gave me one of his cheery smiles and said, “Well, I understood why you said it.”

So, straight away after the song, I approached the woman (who is probably my own age … fancy that, I’m a woman) to make amends. Turns out that she comes from tango dancing, where seating is apparently more rigid. Seems she is relieved to be switching from milonga to lindyjam. We both laughingly made our apologies and parted with good will. Hopefully she won’t spend too much time in “her” seat.

I should probably note that tonight was LG’s first ever lindy competition. The first place couple (I don’t know their names) were good. Entertaining and good musicality. Even if I’m not a Savoy fan. Second place were Nick Williams and Kristin Sorci. And they are good dancers (for those in the know, they are the ones who trained the Dmitri and Donyelle for the lindy routine on SYTYCD), but didn’t really sparkle tonight. Personally, I would not have ranked them. And in third place were Jeremy Otth and Sarah Whatserbucket, who are not regular partners, and were entertaining, but not great. Really, Julius and Holly should have won. And they might have, if Julius hadn’t fallen on his tush while doing a slide drop. Even now I can’t help but giggle. Also of note were Katya (getting every break with a bang) and Gio and MaeLae (for the swivels with the lead slides … they were hot).

Got home and was still amped up. Watched Grey’s Anatomy and Men in Trees before I was relaxed enough to shower and climb in to bed … about 0300. Sometimes it just feels good to return to my nocturnal roots. And thus was the snarkiness expelled.

Bite me (Or, I just can't get enough)

I'm a lip biter. Yes, I admit it. I'm a lip biter. Nooooo, not of others' lips (at least, not yet). No, I just bite my own lip. When I'm nervous, or when my lips are chapped, I bite my lip (I'll leave it to you to guess which situations merit which type of lip biting). Anyway, it's generally of the non-injurious type, and I can stop anytime I want to. Really.

However, 2007 has not been good for me in terms of lip biting. Since the new year, I have bitten myself, on the inside of my lip, in the same place, no fewer than four times. And it's gotten rather painful. In fact, I've been trying to move my teeth as little as possible these days. Taking really small bites. Opening my mouth just enough to slip my toothbrush in sideways when I brush at night. Giving up chewing the cool green apple gum that I love. All because I literally can't get enough ... of me.

So, if you happen to see me walking down the street, or driving in my car, and it looks like I'm sticking my tongue out at you, but that it didn't quite make it past my lips ... I hope you realize that I'm just applying inner pressure against my wound, and that you pray for me that I don't actually bite my tongue off, because that would really bite the big one (so to speak).

And old story retold ... with soul

Went to the movies tonight. By myself. Used the last of the passes A got me as a gift way back when. (Aside: I can't believe that evening movies are now $11 at AMC. Even the mattinees are $9. That's about as close to highway robbery as one can get in a town that frequently makes movies about highway robbery. Good grief! This makes the decision, of which movies are theatre ones vs rentals, much, much easier. I should also note that I used the other pass to see "Step Up," which really didn't merit the ticket, as the dancing, choreography, plot and acting were pretty awful).

Tonight's movie was Stomp the Yard. Yes, the plot was
You Got Served all over again. And yes, the acting was rather mediocre. And yes, I had to laugh and wince whenever some frat boy threw back his head and howled, or made the sign of the hissing cobra with his hand. But the dancing ... aaahhh, the dancing ... 'twas fabulous. And the cinematography kept me riveted. A little choppy, but gritty and gripping. So much so that I didn't even groan (at least not audibly) when the movie ended with the tired and old "tie-breaker" device. Those of you who have seen "You Got Served" will remember what this is.

Anyway. It was expensive. And late. On a night after work. And predictable. But it was great. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a sudden urge to watch my YGS dvd. Thank heavens for dvd menus and scene selection!

Musically Inclined

I’ve been thinking about music lately. Especially since I’m not listening to any in my car. Anyway, a friend asked me about my favorite songs. I started to email back my list, then realized that I missed the important kicker. The actually question was, “do you have a list of songs that you once considered your "favorite," which you look back at and scratch you head about?” Which is an entirely different question. Which did make me scratch my head. This is what I came up with:

In junior high school, I used to be a Depeche Mode devotee. I wore dark eyeshadow, had peroxided hair (which tend to do bad things to asian hair, like make my hair look like a singed black cat), and got my ears double pierced without my parents’ knowledge or consent. Anyway, when I look back on DM songs, I can see how dark, twisty and weird a lot of their lyrics are … not all of it was the up-beat “I Just Can’t Get Enough” stuff. And I think I was properly worn out on “Somebody” from attending too many church dances.

Then there was the summer that my ward went to BYU youth conference, and my friend Rob introduced me to the Def Leopard song, “Pour Some Sugar On Me.” I loved it, but then again, I wasn’t the only one. I think it even garnered a play at one of the youth mega-dances that week. Even funnier was Starr 98.7 FM playing it over and over last year. Quite bizarre to have the old come back as new.

And, I still feel like moving my body every time the Gold Digger song comes on. There’s just something about the way the guys shout, “We want pre-nup! We want pre-nup! Yeaaah” that makes me want to laugh.

However, I do still want to address the favorite songs (sans head scratching) issue. This may be particularly less entertaining, if you even found the first part of this post entertaining, but I give you permission to stop reading at any time.

Favorite song to karaoke to: Sweet Home Alabama by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Favorite song lyrics: The Prayer (I prefer the Charlotte Church and Josh Groban cover)
Favorite song to dance to: Wade in the Water by Eva Cassidy
Favorite repetitive song: Praise You by Fatboy Slim and Honey by Moby
Favorite Christmas songs: Coventry Carol, Go Tell It On the Mountain and Angels We Have Heard On High
Favorite song to practice conducting to: Hallelujah chorus
Favorite all time song: Orchestral version of the Love Story theme song

Are there more? Indubitably.

'Tisn't the season, but the spirit moved me

Yes, Christmas and New Year’s was a couple weeks ago. I realize that. However, when the spirit (of who … Martha Stewart?) moves me to move furniture, I must comply.

Let me explain a bit, so that I don’t sound like a completely obsessed and compulsed person. Like most people, I associate New Year’s with new beginnings. And a desire to clean house. I tend to think of this as a Japanese tradition, from all that my grandmother ingrained in me. And while I’m sure that there are plenty of cultural traditions that allow for cleaning out one’s house in preparation for the new year, it will always be associated most closely with my maternal heritage.

Added to this cultural training, I also have a personal investment in mixing things up every once in a while. In college, I would rearrange the furniture in my bedroom about twice a year … just to get a new outlook on the possibilities. And because rearranging furniture was significantly less expensive than buying new furniture. And now that I am gainfully employed, I like to keep up the tradition, and couple it with mega-cleaning and sorting, of the Trash. Deseret Industries, and Save For Future Unknown Applications varieties. Because rearranging furniture is still significantly less expensive than buying new furniture.

So, I’d been feeling the stirrings of the spirit (funny, she’s also an ex-con) for a couple of weeks, but I’d managed to put it off. Too busy. Not enough time. I’ll do it later.

On Monday I went to work, and worked really hard. I mean, really hard. ECMO on the Cardiothoracic ICU. Baby with an open chest, heart visibly beating through a clear, betadine-stained patch, bedside surgery, continuous administration of various blood products, many pump adjustments, walking air out of the circuit, etc etc. Hectic and draining. After work I went home and crashed. Woke up the next morning and got myself to work.

Except that I wasn’t scheduled. And they were fully staffed. And I bounced out of the hospital, enthused at having the day off. Spent some quality time at Target and Trader Joe’s. And when I got home, the spirit of Martha moved so strongly that I had no excuse to delay any longer. So, on went the Christmas music from my ipod (just to give the day the right ambience), and I was in for the long haul. The bed went up against as as-yet-untried wall, and everything else followed like pieces in a puzzle. Martha was appeased. And I feel good. Closets and storage newly reorganized. Lots of space. My car trunk full of things to donate to DI. I still have to tackle the books, but they’re all on shelves, and resting comfortably just now. And now for a well deserved rest …

Finding Nemo ... er ... Charlie Tuna

Made plans with a friend to go for a late Saturday lunch, sushi or seafood. It fell to me to find a place, and I had the awful realization that I don't have a good sushi place for West Los Angeles. My favorite sushi place, Sushi Nozawa, is up in Studio City, and isn't even open on the weekend. My favorite general seafood place, Malibu Seafood, is (you guessed it) all the way up in Malibu. And other than those two places, I haven't really frequented sushi or seafood restaurants for the last, say … nine years. Sounds bizarre, given that I actually like fish, and like to order it when I dine out (although I don't really like to cook it at home). However, given Precious' fish ban (that's since been lifted to allow for white fish), it's no wonder that we generally find some Italian or Indian (or even Pho) place to eat.

So, I was on a mission. Find a good sushi/seafood place in West Los Angeles for a late lunch on a Saturday.. Not too expensive, but not cheap either. Some place where it's possible to have a conversation. And some place where the fish is good (and not covered with goopey sauces or other strange accoutrements). Doesn't sound like it should be too difficult? Especially with recommendations from friends …

Au contraire, mon ami. First of all, most reputable sushi places close after lunch at 1430, if they are even open for lunch on the weekend. Most places like like K-ZO, Nagao and The Hump don’t even open for business until 1730 on the weekend. A lot of the other places that are open on the weekend are little hole-in-the-wall types places that are crowded, noisy and not conducible to a nice get-to-know-you conversation. Not that I dislike HITW-type places. Nozawa definitely qualifies as a HITW place. But the chisai maguro there is so delectable that one feels transported to a different plane of existence, so that it is entirely possible to disregard the surroundings.

So, after a couple of days scrounging through various internet sites to find a good place, I went out to do some fieldwork. Scouted out a couple places, but most were not going to be open when I needed them to be, and so I moved on. Finally found a place on Sawtelle that was going to be open, and looked rather passable … if one were to disregard the sakura painted on to the overhead fluorescent light covers. Yes, it’s a bit crowded, but not overly so. And the sushi bar looked well-stocked. Tried the fatty tuna and the jellyfish rolls. Fatty tuna sounds really … well, gross, but it was quite delicious. Plus, the sushi chef chops it up prior to rolling it up, so there is none of that irritating tugging that often happens with unchopped fish. And the jellyfish, which sounded quite interesting, was less that exciting. Also tried the regular tuna, which was good. When it comes down to it, I really like tuna.

As I drove home, I also had another thought. Houston’s. Yes, I know it sounds bizarre that Houston’s would be serving sushi, but I know that they do. And the last time I ate there I actually had some, and it was tasty and inventive without being too over-the-top on trying to be creative. And Houston’s is generally quiet and calm. And there’s plenty of parking. And it’s nearby. And it’s hopefully open.

So, two options for my specific requirements. And now I’m dreaming of Nozawa again …

Ready to Say Goodbye

My patient from yesterday was very sick. He was in a steady decline that lasted all day. Lots of vent and med changes, and we spent the last two hours of my shift getting an arterial and central venous line in, then cleaning him up. Dr. Metro had a very long, frank and compassionate talk with the parents. Lots of visitors came to see the family … the home-care nurse, family, even a female chaplain who prayed with the family. At the end of the day, I gratefully gave report to the on-coming nurse. When I was done, I told her I was going to get a drink, then I’d be back to finish up my charting. When I got back, they were coding the patient. They got him back, and he’d stabilized out by the time I was ready to leave. As I left the unit, I saw the parents and a number of relatives walking to the unit. As I approached the mother, she turned to embrace me, and started crying again. I held her tight, and gave her what comfort I could in my broken Spanish. She gave me a thankful and teary smile, then continued down the hall to the unit.

When I got in to work this morning, his name was absent from the patient list. Apparently the parents had decided, given his extremely critical condition, his long-standing history of medical problems, and bleak prognosis, to withdraw life support. He died very shortly after.

I know this sounds so very clinical. However, I applaud this particular family for making a very tough decision. They obviously loved their child very much. They were a family of faith. And they wanted what was best for their child, even if it would cause them a lot of pain. It’s not everyday that I meet with parents that have loved their child so well during their life, that they are able to let them go when the time is right.

In a Friend-ing Mood

Good things the past couple of weeks.

Movie with a friend. Dreamgirls. Fabulous. Hudson was amazing.

Emailing with a new Friend.

To Venice Beach with a friend for walking and talking about cabbages and kings and sundry things.

Young friend getting married. Hope all kinds of good things for him and her.

Found by a very old friend on linkup. No, she's not old, but she knows me from way back in my YW days. One of the 3 or 4 girls I actually liked in my ward.

Friends over to play games ... Catan, Pop 5 (new, and I like it, especially when Wonder Woman, Perky and I are on the same team), and Family Business.

Dancing with friends. XRay celebrated Speakeasy Blue's one year anniversary by having Teddy Lee Hooker play again. So proud of what XRay has accomplished, and hope it continues strong after the move to Arcadia.

Will see Outhouse friends on Wed ... first discussion of the new year.

Funny in French

So, I have decided to learn French. In my car. Actually, I decided to do it long ago. Mr. Baritone had actually loaned me his French language cd’s a while back, but I never got motivated enough to start until after Morocco. After being frustrated at being so little able to communicate, I decided that since the French conquered so much of the world way back when, French would be the next most logical language to learn. Plus, I want to go to Paris.

So, I am learning French in my car. The French voice belongs to a young (?) woman who I imagine looks like Julianne Nicholson from Law & Order: Criminal Intent. And everyone in a while I run across something that makes me chuckle.

Une femme: Why is the word for woman and wife the same? As if one automatically presupposes the other.

Une entrée: In French, the entrance or an appetizer. In English, the main course. Do the French eat that much better than those in English speaking nations that our main courses are so junior to their tny dabs of food that are supposed to just whet one’s appetite?

Soixante-dix, quatre-vingt, quatre-vingt-dix: Seventy, eighty and ninety respectively. Or rather, sixty-ten, four-twenty and four-twenty-ten. I mean, really. Why not just have dedicated words for the numbers seventy, eighty and ninety? Did they run out of words for numbers?

Lu tren: My least favorite word so far. Not that I have anything against trains. I would love to take the train in Los Angeles if they city could ever build around the self-important behemoth of Beverly Hills. No, it’s just the really harsh and guttural pronunciation of the otherwise lovely vocals of the woman on the cd’s. When she says lu tren, she sounds like my brothers when they have chest colds.

My favorite phrases to repeat so far, “Quesque vous voulais?” (What would you like?) and “Je cherche quelque chose comme ce.” (I am looking for something like that). Don’t ask me why, they just are fun to say. Or maybe I’m dreaming of shopping along the Champs Elysee (as if I would ever have the budget to do this).

However, the most fun is imagining what a word actually looks like on a page. The languages that I have studied have been pretty phonetic in nature. Japanese (at least in romaji), Spanish and Italian all pretty much spell the way they sound (And unlike Anne Elliot, I really am not a true proficient in any of them). For years, the phrase hors d’oeuvres would baffle me … I knew how it was supposed to sound, but it always took me a second to route around the natural inclination to say something that sounded like “horse dovres.”

Anyway, I’ve finally made it to the second cd of the series. Hopefully I’ll have made enough headway by fall or next spring to make my way to Paris for a couple of weeks to take some serious language classes, enjoy the city, and take a couple of weekend visits to nearby places (and aren’t all places nearby once you get on The Continent?”).

New Year's Resolutions

#1 ... Be a more consistent blogger, since I know that backblogging (as I am very wont to do) can be very confusing to readers. Anyway, I've posted a few pictures of recent events. Will back blog when time allows. But if I don't ever get to it, they certainly are some tantalizing photos!

2006 Book List

Once again, I find myself looking at the list of books I read during the past year, and being startled at how short the list is.

My favorite read this year was undoubtedly The Bookseller of Kabul. Phenomenal. This is a book that I could reread each year, along with The Emperor of Scent.

The runner-up this year was Blink. I raced through it, loaned it out to friends, and reread portions between loans.

The rest of the books are as listed below. Yes, I padded the numbers with a couple children's books. So sue me. I *'d the ones that were particularly good.
Artemis Fowl
* Garlic and Sapphires
Goodbye, I Love You
The Kite Runner
The Know-It-All
* Mauss
Mormon Enigma
Never Let Me Go
* Nickel and Dimed
O Pioneer
Seasoning of a Chef
Snowflake Bentley
* Soul of a Chef
Spook.
Tender at the Bone

As for rereads? The usual. The Emperor of Scent, Pride and Prejudice, Persuasion. So marvelous and fascinating that they draw me back year after year.

An Arabian Nights New Year's

There's nothing like one of Wonder Woman's Arabian Nights parties!



The married men seemed to take quite well to belly dancing.




But they really were outdone by the women.

New Year's Greetings and a big Oops!

Every year I start the holiday season with the best intentions to get a Christmas card out. Really, I do. I would love to follow the tradition many of my friends have adopted of sending out a beautiful family photo with a lengthy verbal descriptor of all the wonderful things they've done during the year. Because really, I tend to do lots of fabulous things (at least I think so), and holiday bragging is generally quite forgiveable, and almost de rigeur.

But, I can never seem to do it ... get a card out before Christmas, that is. So, for the past few years, it's been New Year's cards. Amazingmail ones for those whose real world addresses I have, and emails for those for whom a cyber address will have to suffice. I'd just like to assure those people, who may be a little concerned, that yes, I do indeed celebrate and love Christmas, and I wish them all the merriest, but New Year's is infinitely easier to celebrate in the epistolary way.

And, to confess all my sins ... I'd like to apologize for sending out the huge list of everyone's emails. I thought I'd pasted the addresses into the "bcc" section, but it turns out to have been the "cc" section. Oops! If you're not too annoyed, just think of it ass my way of making introductions to some of the most fascinating people I know.

The Second Vision

I had that vision again. Or, rather, it was the second part of the first one, so along ago. All I know is that I clung to it even as Aurora’s tendrils inevitably extricated me from the dream world where I longed to remain. I woke most reluctantly, to a distant knocking I thought may have been at my door. Forlornly, I went to answer it, and was greeted only by the crisp morning air. And yet the comfort and hope of the vision remain.

About eight years ago, I remember feeling very disgruntled. I’d dreamed my whole life of being in love … the dramatic, earth-shattering, soul searching and transformative love that comes with much pain and even greater joy. And as time marched ever steadfastedly onward, I began to lose hope that I would ever find it. And then I had the first vision. I cannot remember much of it, only that I awoke with the deepest satisfaction that someday I would have the passionate love that I dreamed of. I knew that sometime in my existence, I would experience the body and soul engulfing love that I longed for. I knew that I could not settle for shoddy imitations.

The intervening years have been amusing, but ofttimes lonely. And more lonely most recently. However, this morning I had a vision that I’d found it, that miraculous love, and the man who I will share it with. I won’t bother with physical descriptions of my dream lover … they are only hazy at best. However, I can still feel that immense relief at knowing another soul, being known, and sharing deeply joyful love. A love that demands that I sacrifice the unworthy parts of my being. A love that propels me to magnify the best parts of myself. A complete love, encompassing storge, agape, philia and eros. A thrilling love, open to the possibility of exploring new worlds.

Somewhere, I remember reading, “The heart is a lute/ Touch it/ And the strings resound.” My whole being is thrumming with the resounding chord, searching for that matching chord. Maybe it’s a delusion. The overwrought desires of an emotional woman. In some dim corner of my mind, I’m prepared for it to be so. However, at this moment, I have a renewed sense of the possibility of the miracle of love.

Memorable Christmases Past

I wish these seemed more interesting, but they are just memories that I've been ruminating on the past few days. Don’t even ask about what year these events actually happened, just rest assured that it was at some point in the past

The year of the Christmas Stand: A pseudo-grinchy year. None of us wanted to buy, set up, or clean up a tree … real or fake. So on Christmas Eve, I plopped a fake pointsettia plant on top of an old music stand. We piled the Christmas presents around the bottom (we’re generally never so grinchy that presents fail to appear), and sang odes to the Christmas stand.

The year of the Best Christmas Present Ever: I’d gotten to the point where I knew that I was the best Christmas-present-giver in the family because I had the most disposable income to use on presents, and my brother Spork really hadn’t gotten into present giving yet. I hadn’t even really thought about what I wanted that year. But my sister JLITH had, and got everyone in the family to pitch in. Imagine my surprise when I opened a small jeweler’s box to find a pair of diamond stud earrings set in white gold. So beautiful and perfect. I was absolutely blown away. I wore them constantly for about four years. Then, one sad day, when I was out on the town, I saw that one was missing. I backtracked, but the earring was not to be found. I still keep the one in my jewelry box … a memento of the BCPE. Diamonds are lovely, but even better was my sister’s thoughtfulness.

The year of the Christmas Argument: My maternal grandmother died in 2005. However, before she became too ill, she wrote a short autobiography. Not long … maybe 20 handwritten pages. But all in Japanese. Which I can’t read. So when my aunt brought the pages, along with a bunch of old family photos, I got them all scanned and copied. And I asked a good friend if I could pay him to translate them into English so that our family could read it together. On Christmas day, I told my mother that this was going to be one of my presents to the family. And she got very upset. And said some unexpected (and therefore hurtful) things. The gist of it is that she wants to translate it, and would not like anyone outside of the family to work on it. Which I just don’t understand. However, I told my friend the story, and work on the translation was never actually done. A year later, there is still no English translation, and still no idea of what is in those pages. Hopefully someday my mother will get around to translating them, or get tired of the obligation, and let me have them translated.

The year of the Christmas Pictures I Took of Spork: My youngest brother is seven years my junior. Which means that when I was about 13, he was about 6. A carefree and happy-go-lucky 6, who always fell for my bear-hug ruse … which always ended up in a tickle-fest. Anyway, one Christmas I dressed him up in his festive pj’s and took a bunch of posed pictures of him … snuggled up with a teddy bear, shaking presents, reading Christmas cards, fast asleep and waiting for Santa. I’d almost forgotten about them, until I looked through a photo book with my nephew a couple of days ago. They’ll make pretty good blackmail shots someday.

The year of the Rocking Christmas Program: I think this was the last year that Music Man was in the singles' ward. He always put together fantastic musical programs for the choir. This year was no exception. Actually, the only song I can remember singing is, "Go Tell It On The Mountain." But for an LDS choir, it's a bit daring for sacrament meeting. Choir was never quite the same without Music Man, and I soon changed over to the family ward, which was a big change in general, and a big change in choirs specifically. This year I looked around i-Tunes for a version of the song, but couldn't find any that had the same energy and hope that Music Man's version had. So, I just sing it in my head, and remember that snappy-happy sound.

My mind/time warping Christmas

Or ... On Becoming the Greatest-Aunt-In-The-World-Except-For-The-One-Who-Actually-Provides-Housing.


And some more pictures ... these ones were the easy ones.

Dancing notes

Red slippers will do very well for dancing. Test drove them by slapping moleskin on the bottom, and they danced beautifully. Now I feel good about investing in chrome suede for the soles. Note: Moleskin joins the Wonderful Everyday Inventions List … along with ziplock baggies, drier sheets, post-its, advil and benadryl.

Nostalgic night of dancing. Saw and danced with Watakun, my first lindy boyfriend, for the first time in a long time. Healed a breach caused by an old argument with Lancer, with a wonderfully danced song. Also ran into 8-ON, Little Julie and Ben. DJ’s Tony and JD played lots of 40’s era swing music, with a fair amount of Charleston thrown in. And, Norma Miller, the grand dame of lindy, made an appearance. What a night!

A Beverly Hills Christmas

Heaven

Coming home after a long, stressful day. Getting in the shower and letting the hot water pound on the back of my neck. But it was still too much effort. Turning the water to Really Rather Hot (just past Rather Hot, but just short of Scalding), angling it to the back of the tub, and sprawling myself under the spray. Ahhhhh .......

The heartache and glory of the nativity

Went to the musical fireside tonight, because I really needed to hear some good Christmas music. YSA ward sharing their talents with the stake. Enjoyed the choral groups.

And then the premiere. Rob M and Diego H's magnus opus (at least, so far). A collection of songs written about the players in the nativity. Zachariah, Elizabeth, Mary, Joseph, Gabriel and shepherds. So wonderful. The talents of the lyricist, composer (and accompanist!) and singers helped me to discover anew the heartache and glory of the Christmas story. Such an accomplishment for all involved. Soon Rob leaves to join a Broadway show in Vegas (the boy also sings beautifully ... so much talent wrapped up in one person). Makes one wonder what lies in store for him. I, for one, already have visions of a Nativity musical hitting NYC in about a decade.

Parade of the White Elephant Gifts

Gadget Boy’s WEGE Christmas party. Haven’t been to a WEGE party in a while. Mostly because I associate them with gross gifts like reindeer poo cocktail swizzle sticks, etc. However, after witnessing Superman and Improv-er’s amicable sharing of Shakespeare’s bust (a Christmas-past, hotly contested WEG), I decided it was time to try again.

I arrived a little late. Not as late as I could have arrived, since Perky and I were going to carpool, but she was running very late, and I came ahead of her. But still. Arriving a little (but not too) late made me realize why people arrive late to parties … too little buzz to accommodate inane conversation, and too little in the way of people to size up. I ended up talking to Feminist A for a while, comparing notes on the scenes in the Santa Monica and LA stakes. And just when I thought I’d just have to pack it in a leave, because I am NOT a good-stand-around-small-talker, there were suddenly enough people to start the gift exchange.

Santa showed up, looking suspiciously like Improv-er and with the concomitant cookie request, so we all trouped up in turn to tell what it was we wanted for Christmas, and choose or take a gift.

Me? Well, I want to win every game of Catan I play in 2007. But if I can’t have that, I guess I’d be willing to settle for a kayak. Not that I have a car in which to move it from apartment to beach, or a wetsuit to use with it in the winter months. But I think a kayak would be ever so much fun.

As for my many WEG’s? First I stole a set of the most recent Spiderman dvd’s. When that was stolen from me, I stole someone else’s motorcycle model. I considered this a favor to the girl who had it at the time, since she ended up choosing a mechanical caged bird instead.

At one point, I had in my possession a lost dream that has haunted me since the 4th grade … a powder blue Member’s Only jacket. Honestly, I opened the gift with no idea what was inside … no stealing. Anyway, since my parents were the cruel kind who always had money for piano lessons and camping trips, but none for the MO jackets, madras short and polo shirts that ruled at my elementary school, I’d always felt deprived. It was a dream come true to see the signature collar unfold from the packaging. I draped my prize over my shoulders and felt like a school yard princess … until someone stole it from me, and it was then stolen again, making the third owner immune from further theft. I then perchanced to obtain a genuine glaring green 7-11 polo shirt (along with a Napolean Dynamite t-shirt and a Bob Dylan shirt), but that too was taken from me. In the end, I took home a bag of seven cd’s, with such diverse selections as the Dandy Warhols, the Beach Boys, MoTab and Space Ghost. Other hot items of the evening included a bag of goldfish, toy car race track, white Stetson with salsa and picante sauce, a duck light (glass duck which lit up!), a Deep Space Nine framed and pin-point lighted poster, and an Apocalypto cd with a free admission to Disneyland.

To add to all the excitement, there was also kissing. Santa had in his pocket cards anonymously designated for each boy and girl. Pairs were called out and invited to kiss for the camera. Now, let’s be honest, the kissing wasn’t all that exciting (except for SB, BP and DT, which was more like doggie kissing than human kissing). All the guys tried hard to be pumped up and aggressive (whether they wanted to or not), and all the girls tried hard to be demure and dainty (whether they wanted to or not). But it was diverting, and one of those things that only Gadget Boy could pull off.

I left the festivities around 2300. Really, there is only so much Big Party I can take in one night. Was saying goodbye to FGITW, when I noticed a tall guy wearing the ever so uniquely ubiquitous mistletoed head apparatus. I asked if it had worked well for him. He said, “Well, let’s see.” At which point he moved in. And I inadvertently ducked. Maybe I’m just used to giving cheek kisses like in Italy, Argentina or Peru. Maybe I’m not used to tall guys like him moving in for a smooch (the sky seemed to go dark). Or maybe it was my aversion to casual kissing (although this decreases proportionate to how long it’s been since I’ve been kissed). I’m not sure. Whatever the reason, I inadvertently ducked. And he noticed and laughingly commented. At which point I laughed at myself, offered my cheek, got my kiss, and left.

I'm grateful for ...

Hmmm … I’m finally getting over the scrooge-y phase that’s recently been darkening my doorstep. This morning, as I was driving to work, I was even able to think of things I’m grateful for.

I’m grateful for self-scheduling at work. Even if I sometimes forget about important things like one of the best dancing nights of the year, and schedule myself on a stretch of three days, with the dancing night being the one in the middle.

I’m grateful for guys who wear long sleeves when they go out dancing. As opposed to guys who wear short sleeves and sweat all over my dress. Then again, StretchJ asked me to dance again last night, and I made him laugh with my gratefulness.

I’m grateful for the internet. I was able to find the right size and color (patent leather red!) slippers (that will be perfect for dancing once I cover the bottoms in chrome suede) when the local store was sold out. I’m also grateful for postal delivery, even if the shoes are arriving too late to wear to the Lindy Groove holiday party.

I’m grateful for hitting the snooze button this morning. As a result of getting too little sleep last night (the dancing was really fantastic), I left for work a little late, and was able to see a spectacular sunrise.

I’m grateful for smog. Because the crimson sunset was probably due to the smog and low lying clouds that are verboten in December in Los Angeles.

And, I’m grateful for occasional bouts of scrooge-y-ness, which make the rest of life seem pearly and pretty.

And, mostly, I’m grateful for dancing. The last few weeks have been irritating and unfulfilling. When I took a step back to evaluate, I realized the missing piece was dancing. It helps me feel creative, productive and connected. It’s a good way to stay in shape. It’s a great way to meet and make friends. And I’ve been neglecting it to make room for things that just don’t satisfy as much. So, this year next year I’m going to make more room for dancing.

Have me committed

It drives me crazy. People not keeping their end of a commitment. Especially when we've made plans, they back out, and I'm left holding the bag. I may not have even wanted what was in the proverbial bag in the first place, but was willing to support it based on time spent together with flaky people.

Now, I understand emergencies. Relatives dying. Car exploding on the 405. Getting asked out on a date by Mr. Wonderful. And there are definitely times when I want to back out of plans because I'm not longer enthused about something, or something better comes up, or I just feel like spending some quality alone-time. But, I generally will just about kill myself to follow through on plans when someone is depending on me. What really drives me nuts is when someone says they're committed to doing something, and plans are made based on that commitment, then the committed person becomes suddenly uncommitted, but the plans can't be taken back because other people are now involved.

Or maybe I'm too rigid. I concede that it's a possibility. Maybe I need to take a more lax view. Not rely on people to remember or even keep their word. But somehow that seems like a very cynical and depressing way to live. I guess it ties in to my occasional distrust of people, or at least a belief in their fallibility. So, the best way I've come up to deal with it is to live and learn. Trust those people who are reliable, and be wary of those who prove themselves not to be. It’s one way to keep my sanity … or what’s left of it.

NYC Day 4

Up early again, to squeeze in the Met and the Cloisters. Really, I should have gone
on Thursday, but the fair weather practically demanded the ferry trip, and Roseanna had warned me against using her pass on Friday, which is when her roommate uses her half of the pass. So, it was that I ended up getting up to the Cloisters a few minutes before opening, so that I wouldn’t waste any time. The scene was lovely … fall, with golden and crimson leaves carpeting the sidewalks. Couples old and young meadering by completed the scene.




What I loved best about
The Cloisters were the gardens … looking so peaceful and
inviting one to sit and contemplate simplicity. Also enjoyed the illuminated sacred texts, especially the small prayer books that I hope were some person’s well-used scriptures. And, I greatly admired the wooden scultped chairs and tableaux ... I feel so much more affinity with things carved from wood than I do with similar things carved from stone, etc. Ended up buying a cd titled, "11,00 Virgins: Chants for the Feast of Saint Ursula." Beautiful, simple and moving music. Slightly lonely, infinitely peaceful, a window of light.

Quickly jaunted over to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It’s so enormous, it would take a month of visits to see it all. Breezed through the Egyptian exhibit, then took a look at the Americans in Paris special exhibit. Parisian art has such an air of casual, laissez-faire, joie de vivre. Some wonderful Sargeants (esp Madame X, who rouged her ears for a more sensual look), Cassats, Van Dycks, etc. I am intrigued by portraits that invite the viewer to contemplate the private life of the subject.

Some others I found particularly moving were Ellen Day Hale's Self Portrait,

and Edmund C. Tarbell's Three Sisters

During my last bits of time in NYC, I decided to walk through Central Park. Lovely day. Many dog walkers. Many families and couples strolling around and picnicking. Some sports events. Leaves of all colors and a brisk breeze. Ate some roasted cashews and a hotdog just to complete the picture. I sometimes think that parks in large cities draw the denizens closer together, as solitary backyards in suburbia often provide an excuse to not mingle with others.

Made it up to Kevin’s a little later than I’d planned. Changed, finished packing,
straightened up, and left Peter with the keys, Roseanna’s museum card, and
a quick hug.

NYC Day 3

This was a day of Coulda-Shoulda's.

Shoulda woken up early. But I slept in, until about 1100. Perhaps I shoulda gone to the Met yesterday and done the ferry today, as the weather was once again beautiful.

First I went over to Ground Zero. Didn't feel much. Infact, I felt rather empty. Almost like I didn't want to be engaged in the whole morass of suffering. Thought of all the shoulda's that led up to 9/11.

Went over to Delancy Street. Ate some wonderful coq au vin at Cafe Charbon on Orchard Street, while I wrote postcards. I coulda taken the Tenement Museum tour, if I had gotten there early enough to buy tickets before they were all booked up.

Over to the Empire State Building. Like the Tenement Museum, I shoulda gone much earlier. Must say that it isn't nearly as impressive from the ground, during the day. The outside line didn't look too bad, so I joined the queue. Once inside, I saw that it was going to be a mistake. The line took us up some stairs to the second floor, where is curved and curled around like the line for a Magic Mountain rollercoaster ride ... or the security line at LAX. We were told that the expected waiting time was 2 hours, however, for just a little over twice the price, we could skip to the head of the line, etc etc. At which point I decided that there were other things that would better occupy my time, and I left.

(I did not take this photo, although I wish I had) Went over to the Guggenheim. Again, not a fan of the art particular to this museum, but it was open late this evening, and I was excited about the spiral walk
down. Shoulda checked out the website more carefuly. Turns out I was doomed to disappointment again. They were getting ready for a retrospective on Spanish art, and all but two side exhibits were closed. The
Lucio Fontana was, well disappointing. And the Kadinsky Gallery was even worse. A good thing that the ticket was only 1/3rd of the normal price. However, I was able to look out over the atrium on both floors, and get a feel for the museum. Then I went down to the atrium, had a seat, and poured over my AAA book looking for a good Italian restaurant in which to dine. Decided to fill my tummy at
Patsy's Italian Restaurant. Mostly because they advertised good risottos, but also because it would be easy to get to and leave from.


When I got to Patsy’s (a name which would make one think Irish intead of Italian), I was promptly seated, it being too early for the after-theatre diners. My waiter was a charming, rugged, transplanted pear tree. When I proved myself at being able to pronounce my order with a proper accent (or at least, being able to give the correct pronunciation), he responded with a torrent of that beautiful language, of which I caught maybe every other word. He sent over some bruschetta (brus-ket'-ta, not bru-shet'-ta) on the house, and frequently checked back to see that I was enjoying everything, which I was. I ended up deciding against the seafood risotto special. Portobello mushrooms marinated in a lovely aged-balsamic vinegar sauce, with spring greens to temper the sweetness of the vinegar with a little bitterness. Filet mignon, medium-rare, with caramelized onions and a white sauce flavored with truffle oil; with the most delicious garlic mashed potates on the side. Yes, by the end, I was full and sated. Alessandro tried to tempt me to stay with dessert, even una grappa (?) on the house, but I knew it was time to go, and bittersweetly bid goodnight to my handsome cameriere.

I will add a little note and say that I am not adverse to dining in a restaurant by myself. Happens all the time when I'm travelling solo ... mostly because I'm jut not social enough to meet and dine people while I'm on the go. However, I would always choose to eat with other people ... if only to have more dishes to sample from. I adore eating family-style. The Korean side of my family had numerous get-togethers as I was growing up. Lots of family-style dinners at Korean and Chinese restaurants where I would get to sample 10+ dishes at a single seating. Must say that I miss it.

Anyway, dinner was a wonderful way to say goodnight to a rather ho-hum day. I caught the train back to Monkster's and collapsed into bed.

NYC Day 2

Up early, beautiful day. Decided to head over to see Lady Liberty and Ellis Island
Gorgeous views of NYC, clear blue skies, Statue of Liberty awesome. Thought of all
those who came over the Atlantic and saw her as a beacon of hope for a better life.




Really enjoyed the Ellis Island Museum. Various ways to represent statistical data quite fun. Ethnic origins of immigrants over time. Ratio of men to women immigrants over time. The American flag display that changes to reflect immigrant faces. Photos of waves of immigrants. Left behind momentos donated to museum from descendants. The Grand Hall.

Confess I fell asleep during the movie. Exhausted.

Got up to MoMA, where Lenin's Son was waiting with a ticket in hand. Must confess that I’m not really a fan of modern art (Mondrian, Marden and such), but I was very interested in seeing the new museum. I especially enjoyed the photography and design exhibits. And, it was a pleasure to see more of Monet’s water lilies, and Van Gough’s Starry Night. I also really enjoyed the store. Lots of cool cooking utensils, office stuff, and knickknacks. Bought some holo postcards, some moonphase calendars, a necklace with squishy pendants, and a wrinkly t-shirt. Was tempted by a pair of kitchen knives, a traditional black bowl umbrella with blue sky underneath, and salt and pepper shakers that wobbled like weebelos, but I restrained myself.


Museum of Biblical Art (MoBIA)– On view were select pages from the
Saint John's Bible: commissioned art … hand calligraphied copy
of the Bible. Strange to see medieval-looking writings alongside very
modern-artish illuminations with gold leaf.

Met Rosebud at the Biltmore theatre. Comedy, “Losing Louie,” starring Mark Linn-Baker from Perfect Strangers. Can it have been that long ago that it was airing, because he now looks really old. Almost felt like that moment when a teenaged patient told me that she’d never even heard of “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,” as if I was ancient. Lots of sexual innuendo in the play, but interesting.



Walked up Broadway to Gray Papaya for hotdogs. Remembered scene from “You’ve Got Mail.” Ate in park and talked as we waited for Monkster to get off work and meet us. Lots of tips on what to do.



Took subway over to Brooklyn Bridge and walked across. By this time it was very
late,. However, there were only pedestrian lights, and no lights up the cables,
which made for a rather disappointing walk. A few couples, a couple of tourists, and one jogger. And me with my space pen, at the ready to defend myself against anyone foolish enough to accost a woman with a dangerous pen. When I got to the other side, a sign directed me to take the left fork, and go right at the bottom of the stairs to get to the subway station, After I’d gone a few meters, I heard something behind me. I glanced behind me, pen at the ready, and saw what looked like a piece of trash blowing in the wind. However, there was no wind under the bridge. I looked again, and it was a gray rat scurrying across the sidewalk for the relative safety of the brush.
This made me take a better look at my path, which was going to lead me through a dark, isolated, and perfectly peopleless park. This was far too much for my imagination to handle, so I turned around and retraced my steps, wishing good hunting to the kitty that was now stalking the brush. I continued on the lit path following the road, feeling very much like I was a progressing pilgrim. And low and behold, I soon saw the subway station beckoning to me on my left. Except that the barricade was topped with a pointy metal fence, with rather too much traffic whizzing by, even at 0230 in the morning, with a rather too far drop. And so I agonizingly continued on
the path, until it sternly released me to my own recognizance.Was really relieved to arrive at Monkster's, baby callouses and all.

NYC Day 1

Up before the crack of dawn to do last minute packing and be ready for shuttle. Almost forgot my heavy coat … probably better if I had.

Arrive at JFK – rainy. Called Super Shuttle. Waited 40 minutes. Called again. Waited another 20 minutes … an hour of my life that I can never get back.

Arrived at Monkster’s. Didn’t know if I wanted to tip the driver, but I did. Then he gave me a hard time because he wasn’t aware that I had already paid when I booked. This does not bode well for Super Shuttle. Or for my return trip to JKF. Already thinking that Prime Time will be my shuttle of choice from here on in.

Up to Monkster’s. Met Rosebud, Monkster’s girlfriend from Canada. Decided to go to dinner at a little Italian place just below her apartment. Lenin's Son to meet us there. Took the 1 subway (along Broadway). Got my week’s pass, so I don’t have to worry about getting lost, I can always just hop back on going the other direction. Roseanna gave me her subway map, already with the Manhattan fold.

Great little Italian place, bustling and aromatic. Lenin's Son already there. Confess I was a little startled, as he looked like a young Lenin, complete with beard and a twirly-ended mustache. Had mussels and asparagus for appetizers. Peter showed us a new way to eat the mussels … use the shells in the dominant hand to pluck the meat of the one held in the other hand. I ordered steak a stracciata … eating protein a good idea with all the walking I intend to do. When my dish arrived, I took a moment to stare … steak that had been cut up and basically strangled.


When dinner was over, I opted to walk back with Lenin's Son … could tell that Monkster wanted some time alone with Rosebud, despite them inviting me up to visit some. Anyway, walked back to Harlem with Lenin's Son in the rain. Weird to attempt conversation with someone I don’t know at all, who didn’t actually choose to spend time with me. After a couple of awkward topics, we finally started talking about liberals versusconservatives (we’ve both rather converged from opposite ends of the political spectrum), and church versus federal forms of welfare.

Offers for free stuff … getting into MoMA courtesy of Lenin's Son, the Met and Cloisters courtesy of Rosebud, and an off-Broadway show from Monkster. Connections are fantastic!

Later that night, when I heard someone come in the door after me, I called out a hello, thinking it was Monkster. But no. It was his other roommate, B. As it was late, and knowing that the last thing I want to do when I’m tired is talk to a stranger in the hallway, I soon said goodnight. When I realized that maybe his curtness (?) was due to shyness or being startled, instead of a disinclination to talk, I felt that I had committed a gaffe. Whoops.