Happy Valentine's Day To Me!

or where's my cocktail? I'm freaking dehydrated here...

Dear Penthouse Forum-

Last night I spent 120 gloriously sweaty minutes with five strapping black men, one Asian and three white guys, two of whom were my hubby, Geo and my go-to-date, Howard. This morning I woke up with burning thighs, a sore neck and my back crying out for the sweet release of a chiropractic crack.

I believe I also caught a fever... a fever from an infectious ska-beat of British origin. It was the English Beat!!

That's right. We spent two non-stop, high-energy, dance-a-thon, rhythmic hours in a grungy theater packed with a sea of fellow middle-aged English Beat followers having a ball grooving to one of the few 80s bands whose return is most welcomed. I haven't danced that much for probably a decade... hence the bad case of "dance neck" and burning quads this morning.

The evening started with a local ska band No Pressure comprised of five guys and a gal who kept chewing her gum while alternately singing on-key then off-key. I kept expecting the offending wad of chicle to spew forth into the crowd as she blurted one sour note after another. Apparently she had it tucked deep in her cheek like a squirrel on an eating binge... so crisis averted there.

But by far the most entertaining part of this band was the bass player. His fingers sailed up and down the neck of his bass, keeping a perfect ska beat with the rest of the band, but his body movements were distorted, twisted and completely out of step.

How is that even possible?

How can you keep one rhythm with your fingers and a totally unrelated I-think-I'm-having-a-seizure-ala-Elaine-Benis beat with your body?!? While everyone else was bopping and jumping in time, he was moving in some other time zone to a crazy-assed, awkward, atonal beat like the poster child for the whitest of white guy dancing.

Seriously!

It was hilarious to watch. Then to top it off, at the end of their set, Fred Astaire raised his bass guitar to reveal to the crowd he had split the front of his pants. I kid you not. Thank God he was wearing Underoos because nobody needed to see his Wee Willie winking out from his crotch. Endless entertainment, this lot. In spite of all that, the music was actually pretty good.

Then the English Beat took the stage and the energy level went into orbit--not to return to Earth until the End of the Party! Pounding bass lines, commanding drum beats, screaming sax solos and Dave Wakeling sounding like he did 30 years ago. At the stroke of the first note, all of us old farts were up and dancing for the rest of the evening. (here's Geo's favorite)

It was fucking brilliant!!

Apparently the promoters were less than hospitable to Dave and the gang, because he was relentlessly slamming them throughout the evening. Calling them out for not providing water, Gatorade, sandwiches or a nice cup a tea. Come on, people! They're English! You could have at least given them a pot of tea beforehand. Then to add insult to injury, the brain trust in charge insisted they only play 90 minutes.

They obviously had no idea who they were dealing with. Ole Dave flipped them ye olde "up yours" two-finger salute and proceeded to spend the next two hours electrifying the crowd with all the old favs and a couple new bits. Aaaaah... Good times. Good times.

(By the way, turns out all the chiding during the night worked... The management did a Mea Culpa and ponied up for Subway subs for the band. It was all love and kisses during the encore.)

I crawled into bed at 12:35am with the sound of a thousand cicadas ringing in my ear, more exhausted than I'd been in recent memory and the glow of a night well spent.

It was a Happy Valentine's Day, indeed.

Nobody Knows Me Like My Baby

or an evening with Lyle Lovett and John Hiatt

Okay, so Geo, Mary Ann, Howard and I went to see Lyle Lovett and John Hiatt perform at the music hall last Thursday night.

We ate dinner beforehand at a not-so-little place called LuLu's Noodles whose cuisine was a combo Vietnamese/Japanese/Chinese. Good thing the food was spicy hot, because the restaurant was freaking iceberg cold. Seriously. I felt like I was sitting in an igloo. I almost put my coat back on. Pay the gas bill already!

It's always a good time hanging with MA and Howard, and this evening was no exception. The three of us are planning to attend SXSW (the four day Austin music festival with a zillion musical acts) next year--not Geo's cup 'o java, but thankfully he's cool with me dragging my friends along for the ride. (Just one of the many reasons I'm lucky to be hitched to his wagon) Anywho, we started discussing other festivals we three might want to attend... Austin City Limits Festival, Bonarroo... when I mentioned Burning Man, MA let out this incredible, somewhat loud, excited yelp--which of course made me mirror her yelp--which made the man behind her levitate off his chair, forcing his LuLu noodle to slither from his gaping jaw--which made me laugh and point. Okay I didn't point, but I did laugh out loud.

So we file into the theater, settle into our seats and who should be sitting across from us? Why the levitating, noodle-dropping, "Burning Man" dude from the restaurant. And just because we're so mature, we kept calling out "Burning Man" and laughing... Okay, you probably had to be there.

Anyhoo...

The concert was a lovely, low-keyed affair. Each singer took his turn performing one of his hits for the audience, taking time in between to tell stories, converse with each other or in some instances interview the other.

At one point John Hiatt acknowledged his daughter's presence in the audience. Turns out she and her gaggle of college friends were sitting right in front of us. You know, for young girls they sure do have small bladders. They must have climbed in and out of their seats at least six times during the show. Either they were drinking a LOT beforehand, or they collectively have the laziest sphincters of their age group. 

But I digress...

So at one point Lyle started singing "Nobody Knows Me" which is a beautiful song that happens to be about cheating, but also speaks to one's deep connection to another.

That got me thinking about intimacy and what exactly that term means.

Sure most people equate the ultimate act of intimacy with swapping fluids during the heat of passion. And yeah, sex is an activity where the partners should have a strong bond of trust and love towards one another, but I'm not sure it qualifies as the definition of intimacy. Don't get me wrong...fewer sites are as sexy as clothing scattered hastily on a staircase, but who hasn't been caught up in the pure lust of an undeniable attraction only to discover the complete void of a connection afterwards. Left only with the uncomfortable awkwardness that comes from satisfying a physical urge, but not the emotional need.

No, I think true intimacy lives in the little acts... knowing he likes the sweetener in his coffee cup before pouring, leaving a Reese's peanut butter egg by her keys in the morning, buying him his favorite bagels, calling her to let her know her favorite singer is on World Cafe, needing to utter only the punch line of a joke to make each other laugh, finishing his thought, rubbing her feet without being asked, purposely saving part of her meal to share with him, the gentle pressing of his hand against the small of her back while waiting in line, the soft rubbing of her thumb atop his while holding hands, running his fingers through her hair while listening to a band play in a darkened night club, casting a look across a crowded room conveying a thought whose meaning only the two of them understand...

Monday Geo and I will be marking our 24th year of marriage. At times it hasn't been a cake walk--just ask him. (Oh, he's got stories... and maybe a few scars. I kid... or do I?) Still I can't remember the time he wasn't part of my life. And I can't imagine life without him. It has been a wonderful journey. I'm blessed that way.

I tease him there's no way I'd leave him for someone else. Truth is it'd be way too much work catching a new dude up on my life, likes, friends, inside jokes, idiosincrasies, phobias... This level of intimacy takes a long time to grow. So I guess he's just stuck with me.

Like Lyle says... nobody knows me like my baby.  

Friday Photo #14 

in which this should be blank 

Okay, so I intended to post the following statement today:

"Friday Photo #14: in which I ignore the whole Friday the 13th thing" 

That's it. Nothing more. 

I'd like to say it was because I didn't want to acknowledge the day or some other such piece of bull, but the sad, honest truth is I really didn't have any decent photo in mind to show and I meant to scan some pix I had stashed here and there but didn't get around to and I was just too lazy today to complete anything.

You: But... there's a photo at the top of this post.

Me: Very observant, grasshopper.

You: What gives?

Me: Serendipity.

You: ...Why do you have to be such a pompous asshat?

Me: Hey, hey... there's no need for name calling.

You: Just finish the story... and make it quick. I've got dinner on the stove.

Me: Alright! Jeez.. Don't get your knickers in a twist, Chippie. Have another cocktail, why don't ya. 

So I was driving back from another highly entertaining lunch with my gal pals from the Special K, when I got stopped in traffic on this bridge and saw this through my windshield. I thought it was really cool. And that is why there's a photo today. 

(P.S.: I think there really is something to this whole, scary Friday the 13th thing... First a pipe burst at the doctor's office, I couldn't get an online registration to go through and now Mr. Blogger.com is unable to save my crap. What up, Universe?)

Auntie Em! Auntie Em! 

or where the f*ck are we, anyway? 

Holy CRAP!!?!

For the last 14 hours we've been having ginormous winds gusting up to ... 92 mph!?! 

92 freaking miles per hour, people. That is like Wizard of flippin' Oz winds! It's so wicked outside today, our county even got a shout out on the NPR top of the hour news report. And there is no sign of any of it letting up any time soon. 

What the eff?!? Did we astrally project to flatter-than-W's-brain-wave Kansas while we slept peacefully unaware. 

The winds were so powerful, I think my Peter Pan hair stretched at least a half inch. No shit. Okay...maybe not, but you get the idea. There was actually a point today in my travels when I could barely open my car door to move rogue trash cans from the middle of the road. Oh and that's another thing... why are people so afraid to pull over and move a big, effin trash can from their lane? It takes like, two minutes. No, they'd rather speed and swerve around it. People kill me. Whatever. Sometimes I feel like the Cosmos' Mom.

On a different note... my missing shoe was delivered TODAY. Wow! Girlfriends, you need to patronize Clarks. Those people are on the ball. 

Well, here's hoping we're all still on the ground tonight. I mean, come on. It's Thursday night. I gotta watch 30 Rock. 

All Hail The Thaw Gods!!  

or what a difference a week makes 

Okay, so today is a banner day, Man! The wonderful winter Thaw Gods have smiled upon us to change the scenery from this

to this. 

Thanks, Dudes! You really did my attitude a solid. Not only are the nasty piles of dirt-encrusted, ice pyramids a distant memory, the temperature is a beautifully, balmy 67 degrees... with sunshine!!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh!! 

God bless February. There always seem to be a few days in this littlest of months which are warm, breezy reminders of what is waiting around the corner. A little rejuvenator of the spirit. And as those of you who have read my postings from December and January are painstakingly aware (thanks for your patience by the way)... I really, really needed this attitude adjuster. I mean, seriously. I couldn't even stand myself. All the bitching and grousing... Oy! 

And just when I thought the day couldn't get any better... a box was waiting on my doorstep when I arrived home. Not just any box. A Clarks shoe box!!!! 

Are you kidding me!!??!! Sunshine AND new kick-ass, incredibly comfortable, on sale Clarks shoes!! The day could not possibly get any better. They are a thing of beauty. Can I get an Amen from my fellow shoe-lovin' sisters.

But wait... what the? One... Two... Three... Hey! Where the eff is my other shoe? 

If it was any other shoe company I'd be pissed, but it's Clarks. Their service is great. One quick call and the entire matter is sorted out. The rogue shoe has been rounded up and is on its way. 

What a great day!

Friday Photo #13 

this is going to sound weird, but ...

I like cemeteries. They're really quiet and contemplative. Plus they're full of history... personal history. There's this great old cemetery two blocks away from us which contains some wonderfully weathered tombstones dating as far back as the early 1800s. 

The historical significance is worth the trip alone, but what fascinates me most are the tokens loved ones leave behind in a desperate attempt to cling to the memory of those lost.

Many are adorned with traditional statuary of saints, Jesus or Mary, but there are a lot of unorthodox, more personal items lovingly placed on these grave sites. Things like gnomes riding frogs, pinwheels, bunnies and squirrels, sea shells, baseball caps, even a small concrete ducks dressed in season-appropriate attire. At a relatively new grave there was a sad, picnic tableau complete with Weber grill, empty beer cans and burned out bottle rocket remains. 

But by far the most crushing scene in the entire cemetery was a large, brightly painted Tonka Truck atop an enormous headstone lined with a child's trinkets, lovingly left by his parents whose shattered hearts will never be whole again...even if they live to be one hundred years old. 

You know one of these days I'm going to get my act together and make a photo book out of these shots titled "Tokens". It seems somehow disrespectful to just leave these photos lingering on my desktop. 

More Bits And Pieces  

or cleaning out my mind's attic...

As  noted in the prior posting, my muse hit the highway some time last week and all I got was this lousy t-shirt. (www.nataliedee.com)

So I figured I'd just toss a bunch of random mental trash on the junk heap. 

1. As if you didn't know, the Steelers won the Super Bowl lasts Sunday. Pittsburgh celebrated with a "Salute to the Champions" parade on Tuesday. 350,000+ Steelers Nation faithful lined the Boulevard to cheer and revel in the glory of our unprecedented sixth title. Some of the players stepped off their cars and walked the parade route. One went one step further...

Yes, Troy Polamalu treated his rabid fans with a repeat of his crowd dive from 2005. You can see a much cleaner, professional video from a rival TV station here. Can you say "crowd pleaser"?

2. So apparently an Arizona newspaper reporter has been bad mouthing Steelers fans. He was saying crap like we're just a bunch of rude, ignorant rubes who are loud and ill-mannered. WaWaWa...sore loser. Does this cat not know there is an entire NATION of Steelers fans around the country and the world...even in Phoenix?!? What a douche. Perhaps he and the other Cardinals fans should remove the stick from their collective butts and learn how to have some good, old-fashioned, blue collar fun. Bottom line is they can say anything they want. The fact remains we have six Lombardi trophies AND Troy Polamalu stage diving. In the words of Tina Fey... he can just suck it.

3. Okay, so remember my "wiener of the week" posting from January 28th wherein I spoke of a co-worker's anxiety over what was prowling around in her new beau's pantaloons? No? Well you can read it here, then come back.... I'll wait.....

(whistling Jeopardy theme....) 

Done, okay. So last night we were at a wine tasting with one of our favorite couples. Afterwards we were at a bar when I told my girlfriend Kels about my wiener posting. Well... she has her own horrendous hambone horror story. 

Get this!! She once dated a guy who had one ball ... and two holes.

I repeat... Two. Holes.

The one ball thing is no big deal, but he had TWO HOLES. 

I mean, come on. That just brings up all kinds of questions.... what happened to his other nard... what's with the two holes... seriously, does like .. pee come flying out in two different directions?  How the hell does one end up with two holes in his schlong? A Prince Albert piercing gone horribly wrong? A shaky Mohel at a Bris? A bizarre bicycle accident? (seriously...who's bright idea was it to make boys bikes with that scrotum crushing bar, anyway?)  What could possibly have happened to this dude to turn his tube steak into a meat whistle.

Of course, she was so stunned (and much more of a lady than I) she never talked to him about it, thereby denying we twisted and curious from obtaining the (w)hole story. Sorry. had to do it. Oh well. Maybe it's more fun to ponder anyway. 

4. I haven't obsessed about the king of all my things lately, so here's a video just for me... because it's MY blog, dammit!! 

One of the best parts of Rhett's solo shows is his storytelling and banter with the audience. This is classic. And, no... they won't play at your wedding... unless you have lots and lots of money to throw their way. 

Hmmmmm... note to self... if we ever win the lottery... restring all your guitars and pack up all your stuff, boys. You're playing at my house!