Of Hootenannies, Holiday Parties and Hanging Out in NYC 
or December wrap-up, part 2

Okay, so in the continued spirit of my backwards motion through December, ala Momento (go Netflix this movie. seriously!), my card club mates, Toni and Diane accompanied me to WYEP's annual Holiday Hootenanny at a local theater on the North Side.

bad santa getting all friendly with Toni

It was bigger than the last several, much more structured and sadly, not as much fun. There were some really fun, upbeat performances of some classic and not-so-classic Christmas songs, the standouts being Holiday Road, Must Be Santa and New Year's Resolution, but for the most part, what should have been festive, up-tempo, foot-stomping tunes were given the slow, dismal, I-want-to-stab-myself-in-the-chest treatment.

Holiday Road (one of the better arrangements)

They dropped the ball big time for the final number with a completely flat, lifeless version of the Darlene Love rocker, Christmas (Baby Please Come Home). That song's a no-brainer, right? That one should have had all of us on our feet dancing, clapping and singing all the way to our cars, but alas, it was sung as a fucking soul-sucking dirge.

Happy fucking Christmas. Kill me now.

Moving on...

For the last couple of years, my group of friends from high school/college have got together for a Christmas outing and/or soiree. This year's shindig was hosted by our friend Jim who lives in one of those amazing urban industrial reclamation condos. Walking into his place is like being transported to a swanky SoHo loft in the Big Apple. So cool.

He graciously agreed (read: forced into it by me and Mary Ann) to let us trash his spotless environs with our holiday food stuffs and effed up gifts. We do this goofy gift swap thingie wherein each person wraps up whatever awful shit they have lying around the house, we fight over the packaging and try not to look too horrified when the "treasure" is unwrapped before we toss them all away. It's very amusing, mainly because it never fails that our friend's teen aged son randomly selects the most inappropriate gift. One year it was male adult diapers. Another it was ass-less, animal print leggings. Don't ask. This year he got these:

tack on another year of therapy for this poor child

Ah, but Cheryly wears it best.

queen of the sylvester face

Geo won out for tastiest pork-based products. We're actually keeping these. Mmmmmm....bacon.

please sir, may i have some more novelty bacon stuffs

practicing for new year's eve

normal

abby normal

Clearly, we have had too much Holiday Cheer.


Our final stop in the Way-Back Machine--New Yawk City!!

For the last couple of Decembers, we've been caught in the good karma loop of having both of our musical loves, Francis Dunnery and Rhett Miller performing sometime during our vacation. This year Mr. Miller was enjoying his life elsewhere, but we were lucky enough to have Francis bookend our week in New York. Score!!

The first weekend took us to Central Pennsylvania and a barn in the middle of a swanky housing development.

Yes. A Barn. In December.

That sumbitch was COOOOOLD!

Anywho, we arrived at the same time as Francis who promptly tossed boxes of CDs to Geo and dubbed him Merch Man for the evening.

merch pusher 

We did pretty well, too. Sold sixteen CDs. Francis sang his Man show, based on his CD of the same name. He opened with our favorite, The Only Thing and rattled off one great tune after another, many we hadn't heard live before. I had forgotten how many amazing songs are on that disc. Every one he played was a gem.

he's gotta be sick of us by now

Side Note: Central PA is weird, yo. The bar in our hotel was jammed with country poseurs in plaid shirts, cowboy hats and boots, line dancing to a fiddle-featured country band. Last time I checked we were still north of the Mason/Dixon line, but DAMN if it didn't feel like we took a wrong turn and ended up in Tennessee. Not the friendliest environment either. Too bad, too because the cocktails were awesome and cheap. We downed our drinks and high-tailed it out of there.

not the wisest business to have
across from your hotel. just sayin'

The following weekend was Philadelphia and the Tin Angel with Francis' house concert booker extraordinaire, the lovely Kate and her hubs, Larry. Francis doesn't play clubs anymore except for the Tin Angel. This intimate narrow 2nd story venue is his club home of sorts. Francis doesn't allow recordings at his house concerts, but you may tape at will in the club. He played a lot of rarities that evening, Jonah, Me and Francine, and In the Garden of Mystic Lovers. None of which I taped, because I just wanted to sit back, drink in the vibe and sing.

What?!? No taping? I know. I must have had a fever, right?

Note #1: We got to go backstage to say hello before the show. (Holla!!) All four walls and the ceiling were covered in signatures, limericks and drawings. Reading which notable artists have sat in that same room waiting to take the stage is way too cool. But I have one question for you musicians... Why all the penises? Seriously. What's up with that? Although extra points to the creative one who drew the Leaning Tower of Penis. A+, Dude.

Note #2: The Old Town Section of Philly was awash in drunken Santas and their Claus Courtesans. Hootchie Ho Hos, if you will. Don't let the fact that it's 25 degrees out or your bare legs are freezer-burn red and the tatas your daddy bought you are frozen stiffer than normal, ladies. Your ass-high skirt and FM pumps are too hot to cover up. You'll thaw out by March.

We also stumbled upon a tres cool outdoor art installation. A mastodon rib cage terrarium with beautiful neon Plexiglas containers filled with various plant life.

Gorgeous, but DAMN! It was cold out there, yo! Like, biting chill with harsh wind kinda cold. Yowza!

Okay, so I lied. I'm bumping the Big Apple bits to the next post. No matter how I try, brevity is not in my skill set. So sue me. I'm chatty and verbose and blah blah BLAH BITE ME.

December Recap In Several Parts 
or what happened to Baby Jane

Hi. Remember me?

Yeah, I've been lax about updating this here internet diary. Okay, I've been downright negligent. So much so that if this was my baby, CYS would have busted down my door, snatched her up from the center of a pack of feral cats and bitch-slapped my Tammy Faye mascara-streaked, tear-stained face all the way to the pokey.

Mea Culpa. The month ran away from me. I got swept up in pre-Christmas mayhem. My imaginary dog ate my computer mouse.

The God's honest truth of the matter is I just wasn't into writing. I lost my muse, my mojo and my mirth to pen the minutiae of my paltry existence.

Meh.

But I'm back, for the moment anyway and working my way backwards in December like the movie Momento only without all the murder or short-term memory loss. Okay, maybe a little memory... what was I saying?

Okay, so Geo and I hosted our family's annual Christmas Eve party at our humble abode this year. Through some fluky hole in the universe, I had four days off from the Special K leading up to Christmas which I spent consumed with pouring over menu lists, shopping lists, lists of lists...

*sigh* I make too many lists.

Anywho, four days and one short breakdown later, the doorbell started ringing and various family and friends arrived to nosh, imbibe and be jovial. Who wouldn't be merry drinking from these grooviest of  groovy Paul Frank liquor dispensers.

Red or White?

Okay, so maybe it was a tad disturbing drinking a blood-colored liquid from a monkey head. The happy Tequila man doesn't seem to mind. Or is that sinister bastard just egging everyone on?

Highlight #1: Family FaceTime With Regi

Merry Christmas from the sisters Pelini, Futurama Girl

Through the magical world of the interwebs, we had prearranged with our lovely, faraway niece, Regi (who lives in the future, AKA Japan) to FaceTime at 9 bells.

Gramma's first exposure to the wonders of Apple

don't you just LOVE goofy little Guinea Pig arms?
"damn! i'm not a squeezy toy, yo!"

She got to both see and talk to literally everyone in her big, boisterous family. Maybe it was the champagne punch, but I got a little verklempt sharing her in this remarkable way, passing her along in that thin square frame, watching the joy in each face as they held her in the palm of their hand.

Again, I am forever grateful to Mr. Jobs and all the beautiful eggheads at Apple for the ability to see and hear our Futurama niece halfway across our shiny, blue planet. *MUAH!!*

Meanwhile, I'm in the dining room talking to my cousins when Geo pops in looking for our little bottle of Pravda vodka. That's when I notice the kitchen is filled with the menfolk and it's getting all noisy up in there.

In case you hadn't noticed, Geo and I like the vodka. It's our firewater of choice. We have a number of different brands, but I didn't realize how many until they were all lined up on the counter and those goofballs were knocking them down one after another. Seven...now six...now five...

Which leads me to:

Highlight #2: Russian caroling

It has been decades since the hubs and I went caroling with his church people. Trust me, it's not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach lining. The event is comprised of singing (sort of) at a dozen homes in which we were plied with liquor and Christmas foods until we couldn't stand or think straight, let alone carry a tune. Except for the old guys. They were hardcore, man. They put all of it away AND drove their big-ass, killing machine Buicks to the next stop without plowing into a 7 Eleven. In hindsight, maybe not the best idea on a snowy January day.

But I digress...

So I casually stroll into the kitchen in time to hear Geo regale the other half-baked y-chromosomes with the first song sung upon entering each home. With gusto. In Russian.

Dude. It was AWESOME!

It was also clear that he had neglected to eat anything that evening. But seriously, freaking awesome! He has a rich baritone voice, but rarely sings in front of people until the proper vodka-shot-to-empty-stomach quotient is hit.

Good times. Good times.

What was the first thing my ever-loving said the next morning when he saw the empties lined up like soldiers on the kitchen counter? "Oh man! Now we have to restock!?!!"


Christmas Day brought our own unique Gifts of the Magi:

TURBO TOILETS

TENNIS SHOES

and TRAINING BRAS 

(not shown here, but given to the brother along with menopause pills and girlie polish for a smart ass comment made in an email. Long story. Watch the video. He's a good sport.)

WITH A LITTLE HAND SANITIZER FOR GOOD MEASURE

maybe you DID touch yo junk

And just for grins, here are some merrily inappropriate Christmas decorations courtesy of the most hilarious website in the universe, Happyplace.com.

what that creepy elf on the
shelf does while you sleep

um...hello
lighted money shot

what's my name, bitch!

In Which My Faith In Humanity Is Restored A Little

It started in a Michigan Kmart.

A woman in her 30s walked up to the layaway counter and told the clerk she wanted to pay off a couple of accounts.

There had to be a catch, right? There's always a catch. People don't just make a selfless gesture that grand without wanting something, anything in return. 

There was a catch. Two, in fact. The orders had to include toys, and she had to remain anonymous. She paid the bills, she wrote "Happy Holidays" on the receipts... and then she walked out of the store. 

http://www.washingtonpost.com/national/secret-santa-pays-off-layaway-bills/2011/12/15/gIQAymiowO_video.html#

I remember as a kid (the youngest of five), tagging along with Big Mar every two weeks to the local Murphy's Mart to put $5 or 10 towards new sheets, clothes, Christmas presents. My Dad didn't make a lot of money back then. That extra $5 twice a month stretched an already tight budget even thinner. Layaway was the only way my parents could afford to keep up with our growth spurts. I know my Mother would have shed tears of gratitude had someone played Secret Santa with her account.

The beauty of this story is a young woman's singular random act of kindness has inspired others all around the country to similarly lighten the financial burden of needy families in their own communities.

So thank you, kind stranger for spreading the spirit of Secret Santa. Your beautiful heart brings me to tears, renews my hope, and restores my faith in humanity. 

In Which I Go Rocking Around The Tex-Mex Christmas Tree With Raul Malo

Okay, so I ask you, is there anything that can get you out of your chair and dancing faster than a festive mariachi beat played on the accordion? Seriously, in the correct hands an accordion is a magnificent thing.

Last night Betty, Barney and I ventured out in the cold night air to soak up some San Antonio sunshine in the form of Raul Malo (sporting a fetching fedora) and his band of merry men. Raul's rich and smooth voice is enough to get us out of the house, but when they bust out the accordion and trumpet, it's a PARTY!

CHA CHA CHA

The place was packed which meant we couldn't grab our normal table, but no worries, man. The best place to enjoy one of his shows is on the dance space near the bar because there is no way you can stand still for this one. The rhythm grabs you and won't let go. 

At one point an obviously drunk woman bellowed a request to "play Girl in the White Dress". What the Hell is that? Raul called her on it and started getting all up in her shit about screaming for a song that doesn't exist. Next thing you know, the audience is chiming in on the ribbing of both. It was hilarious and all in good fun! 

At one point the upright bass player started playing the line to You've Lost That Loving Feeling, which set them on a medley of what he referred to as "half songs". Bits of songs they sing when they're hanging around the garage drinking beer and goofing off. Can you name the covers?




The sick thing is we knew the words to those oldies. The Polkas were a nice touch though. Appropriate for the South Side of Pittsburgh known for its Polish population.

Being his official Christmas show, he sang a number of traditional and non-tradtional holiday tunes (Blue Christmas, Silent Night) as well as heating up the place with his classic Maverick's, jumping crowd pleasers. They ended their main set with the ever popular (and my favorite) I Said I Love You that had every drunken one of us enthusiastically singing and bouncing.

I love this song. Normally I would have been obnoxious and taped it, but honestly I just wanted to sing and dance with abandon. So as you watch this video, just imagine him with a brown fedora on and not so much... visible chest hair. That would be last night. 

His evening closer was a rousing, high energy, full-tilt extended version of All You Want To Do Is Bring Me Down, leaving us a sweaty mass and promising to bring the Mavericks through again next year. We're holding you to that, Raul.


WEIRDO ALERT:

I have no idea what it is about a Raul concert, but there was some weird-ass, disturbing shit going down in this crowd of predominantly oldsters, most of which was playing out in front of us.

Blech!

I have no problem with older fans. Hell, I'm in that category, but there were more PDLs (public displays of lewdness) springing up than in any younger skewed crowd I'd been around.

First off, WTF was up with the old guy probing his much younger, beach-blonde chippie with the painted on skinny jeans and mangled orthodontia? Dude. You're standing right in front of me. Hello...I can see your creepiness .

Holy Crap! Stop it.

It's icky.

We debated whether or not she was a paid escort (public pubic probing is an extra $50) although, I don't know, do they let escorts have messed up and missing teeth or was she the Groupon of the day?

Oh, and then get this, ANOTHER woman shuffles over and starts hanging on the other side of him. This frumpy old Tom Cat better be loaded with dough or at least lay some major pipe to attract that action. It's a Viagara night. Again, BLECH!

Guy standing around in the long flasher trench coat. Why? Just...why?

Sporting a boner and sexually mauling your girlfriend is not really the appropriate reaction to a beautiful rendition of Silent Night. Okay, so he wasn't showing wood that I could see (thank God), but seriously, pawing, groping and tongue-bathing your woman to Silent Night... Sorry Jesus.

You can't make that shit up.

I know it sounds like we were completely repulsed by the antics of our lascivious neighbors, but honestly, it made for entertaining fodder. These crazies certainly didn't detract from the true entertainment of the evening, a Texas band whose members were having as much fun playing for us as we were listening to them. His form of Tex-Mex makes me happy beyond belief.

This morning my ringing ears, achy dance neck and burning thighs tell me it was a very good night indeed.

In Which I Spend A Musical Evening In The Company Of A Norwegian Elf

Okay, so my friends and fellow steel pan playas, Sheila and Tim and I (boy that's an obnoxious lot of "ands") spent the ever-popular Thanksgiving Eve at our favorite watering hole/music venue, Club Cafe to hear the elfish Norwegian, Sondre Lerche.

Lerche is one of those talents who has been honing his musical chops since he was 16. He's only 29, but it seems like he's been around forever, which in musician years, it turns out, he has. He's one of my favorites.

Anywho, he's is so tiny... little hands, little legs, GIANT head. Seriously. he has the biggest triangular face on the planet for such a wee man. His forehead alone is billboard ready. If he was a bug, he'd totally be a Praying Mantis, but with, you know, freakishly dwarf-sized pegs.

"space for rent" on this adorable singers cranium

C'mon! That thing is ginormous! Or I just have a pea-sized head.

But I digress...

Oh, one quick aside: while I was waiting for Sheila and Tim outside the venue in the freezing cold, I started reading Tina Fey's book, "Bossypants" on my phone. (Have I mentioned how much I love my iPhone? In.Total.LOVE!) This tome is hilarious! In the part I was reading, she was talking about how she always received praise from her parents for everything she did no matter how menial. When she was five, she was drawing next to a boy, Alex while waiting for her Mother to finish talking to her perspective kindergarten teacher. When she held it up to show Alex and collect the praise she was used to receiving, he ripped it in half.

"I didn't have the language to express my feelings then, but my thoughts were something like 'Oh, it's like that, motherfucker? Got it.' Mrs. Fey's change-of-life baby had entered the real world."

Love her! Of course this has absolutely nothing to do with the concert, but it made me laugh out loud, by myself, in a line of strangers who were now giving me a wide berth. So there's that.

Back to the show. We had a terrific evening except for the unfortunate placement of the WORST opening act I have seen in years, nay decades. The abomination was named Peter Wolf Crier and it was the most horrid, atonal noise. They hurt my soul. Seriously. So bad I had to tweet about it.

"Maybe it's the vodka, but it's all yowling alley cats up in here." (it wasn't the vodka)

"Oh and now the extra bonus of feedback. yaaaaay." (the only thing on key)

"A band's talent is directly proportionate to the number of women taking the opportunity to pee. FYI:There's a long line for the restroom." (and it didn't sound any better through thick bathroom walls)

and finally

"'Good God! Make it stop!!' - me to this wretched opening act." (which finally happened after a lifetime)

That's 40 minutes of my life I'll never get back.

They seemed like very nice young men and they actually played backed up for Sondre extremely well on a couple of songs, but on their own... YOWZA! Knitting needles in the ears awful.

Fortunately, Lerche came out and washed the bad away. He shook his long mop of hair, danced around the stage and sang his heart out while his grinding guitar riffs Febreezed the opening act stank.

Proof that the openers can actually make music

Almost every singer has a closer, a go-to song that wraps up the evening in a nice little package. Something that leaves the audience wanting more. Sondre's closer is an unplugged version of Modern Nature from his first exemplary CD, Faces Down. On the disc, it's sung as a duet. Performed live, the lasses in the crowd do the honors.




Beautiful.

It's been a really amazing year for music in the Burgh. I've been really blessed to attend so many great events. But wait! The year's not over yet. Tonight my SXSW buds and I are hitting the Cafe for a little Tex-Mex Christmas cheer with Raul Malo of the Mavericks. Ole!

As a very wise fortune cookie once told me, the world is nothing without music.

He's BAAAAAAAACK!

or excuse my hockey fangirl gush 

After 10 1/2 months of recuperation, speculation and anticipation, one of hockey's greats, Sidney Crosby hit the ice to a deafening roar from a capacity crowd.

And boy, did he bring it.

At 5:24 into his first game after a double concussion almost put an early end to his brilliant career, he stuffed the net with his first shot on goal after speeding down ice on a magnificent breakaway. 

You can watch this beautiful moment over and over and over to your heart's content right here

"I'm back, bitches!
How do you like me now?"

His face, the notable face of hockey, exploded with an ear-to-ear, self-satisfied grin, punctuated with an emphatic "FUCK YEAH!!" as the fans in the stands leapt to their feet in celebration. (Seriously. He clearly says the f-bomb. Go back and look at the clip. LOVE!)

a sea of Welcome Back SID signs
(Mario's idea)

He's back, BABY and making up for lost time.

Later in the first period, we all held our breath when he took his first crushing hit against the boards from the Islanders' Travis Hamonic, and we all exhaled in unison when he popped right back up to resume play as though he was never injured.

WHEW!!

Sid promised us he wouldn't return until he was 100 percent. Surviving that first leveling, racking up two goals and logging two assists proves he's a man of his word. The Pens performed remarkably well in Sid's absence, keeping the team on top. It seemed each night marked a new leader. They made it damn difficult to pick my extra attacker for every game.

The boys were outstanding without him, but they are spectacular with him. His presence on the ice last night elevated every single teammate's level of play. For the first time in a long while, all of our big guns are healthy and skating together. Now we have three amazing lines jam packed with talent to die for. Unbelievable fun to witness.

As anxious as we all were to see our hero return to the lineup, imagine how frustrated Crosby felt. Being a hockey player isn't just what he does, it's who he is. And he's the best. He IS a Ferrari. He's in a class unto himself. His talent is a thing of beauty. It must have just killed him not to be able to perform at full tilt. We haven't seen a comeback of this magnitude since Mario's triumphant return. When asked about his return, the kid with the luscious red lips said, "I've been waiting a long time to have the chance to go out there. I wanted to make sure I gave it my best effort."

His best effort is the stuff of hockey legend.

It was one HELL of a contest. An emotional evening that galvanized a community and defied description. As Coach Bylsma stated after the game, "I don't really have good words for it. That was special in a lot of ways."

Indeed.

i'm too sexy for my stache...

Not only is Crosby perhaps the most awesome player in the NHL, he's incredibly sweet, grounded and the consummate team player. When asked before the game if he expects to be where he was in January of last year (66 points in 41 games), the superstar humbly replied "Probably not, but I expect to, hopefully, contribute."

Mission accomplished, Boy Wonder.

Welcome back, Sid. We've missed your magic.

Now if you can only get rid of that sorry excuse for a mustache, we'll be golden. Besides, you're too pretty for facial hair. 

Baby's First Drag Pageant 
Or on the seventh day ye shall strut thy stuff

Okay, so Sunday night this happened.




That's right. That long, lithe lady rocking those heels (and skimpy threads) on well-defined calves... is a Dude.

I am not even kidding. There's not one inch of cottage cheesy flab on her 59 year-old bare buttocks. That is soooo not fair.

Miss Thang working that dress

A pile of us old friends attended the Tri-State Drag Pageant. The 19th Annual for them, the first for all of us. I had heard about these affairs from our beloved niece, Regi who attended a number of similar festivities when she lived in the Burgh. I'm not unfamiliar with this particular type of spectacle. Long ago and far away when Geo and I used to frequent the indie movie theaters, we saw the quintessential drag-pageant doc, Paris is Burning, but I've never experienced one first hand.

these two are like 6'10"

It was too funny. Giiiiirl, there was so much glitter, lashes and falsies, it felt like a real-life Priscilla, Queen of the Desert without all the excessive ABBA love. And that was just the audience. Hey Oooooo!




Man, I love that movie. Did you recognize the girl in the long white wig? That's Guy Pearce. Yes, that Guy Pearce from LA Confidential and Memento. No shit. He looks FABULOUS in make up. The other one is the nasty sunglass-wearing cur from The Matrix and the third is legendary actor Terrence Stamp as the old queen. It's a great movie. Go Netflix it.

Anywho...

I'm not a short person, but waiting for my buds in the lobby I felt like a munchkin amongst the towering frames of poofed out, vamped up and tucked in attendants gliding along in their five inch heels.

Seriously. Only a drag queen can walk in these beauties
no cankles on this runway, dahlink

How do they do that?!? I don't know of any women who can effortlessly strut along in those spikes. Again, so not fair.

the higher the hair, the closer to God

The competition was broken up into two parts: evening wear and talent which mainly consisted of lipsynching, voguing and emoting to songs. In between sets, former winners and famous (to this community) performers worked the crowd into a fevered pitch with what I assume are their classic numbers and in turn were showered with appreciation in the form of singles.

She's as gorgeous as Lena Horn
how is that even possible?

By far the most amusing and slightly disturbing act of the evening was this Joan Crawford medley.




That is just so wrong in so many deliciously sick and twisted ways. I particularly enjoy how her wig moves back and forth as if floating on a cushion of air.

In the end, the winner was a gal who goes by the middle name of Pork Chop.

Some observations:

1. Cartwheels and handsprings on a narrow runway are impressive in their own right, but executed in four-inch heels is downright magnificent.

2. The act of lining up to hand over dollar bills to the "ladies" performing on the runway felt a little icky and stripperish, but who am I to judge.

3. Standing beside beautifully bedazzled, statuesque drag queens in the ladies room is a little unsettling, if only for the fact they make this natural born double XXers feel like a troll.

4. FYI: Drag queens sit when they tinkle, Yo.

5. The Ladies looooooove the bling.

6. When the gals by bazongas, they buy up, BABY.

Cowabunga!

7. Is it pervy that I couldn't stop looking at their boobage spilling forth from their deep V necklines? I mean, come on. They were just... out there.

8. Not all drag queens are created equal as evidenced by this dude in the red frock. From the front, he looked like Ned Flanders and he is NOT meant for heels. Ever.

stick to the church lady footwear

Oh, SNAP!

And Finally, the question you all want to ask....

9. Where do they hide their junk? Seriously.

so little fabric
so much duct tape

The evening was certainly an interesting look into an entire subculture I didn't realize existed in our town. A nurturing culture which takes care of its own. One which encourages it's member to be who they are with a warm embrace, cheering each other on. Sure there was a lot of good-natured snark and attitude in the room, but I could also feel an enormous amount of love and support.

And really, how could that be a bad thing.