It's all relative

How rich are you? >> I'm loaded. It's official. I'm the 692,212,161 richest person on earth!

Come, rest a while.

McBeth.

I've been thinking about being in relationship with others: how and why we make the choices we do, how we deal (or don'€™t) with the consequences, what the next steps can be (which may or may not have any bearing on what actually happens).

I was on the floor of the lower-level room where my son tucks himself away for TV watching, computering, and other miscellaneous things mothers should not be required to keep close track of (this one doesn'€™t, at any rate). We were hanging out, watching a George Carlin video, laughing (possibly slightly more than gives positive indication of an overtly healthy mind). As we giggled and guffawed and high-fived Curious George, I poked around at the contents of items on the bottom of the bookshelf my father made for me in 1986, created after I was forcibly ejected from my parent'€™s home for the ultimate offense of loving a person deemed evil ~ sinful ~ un-loveworthy. I didn'€™t simply date him and love him, no. I continued to date and love him after my mother made her opinions and, in due time, her forbiddance frighteningly, screamingly clear. The cost of that decision - not to mention a few choices later on -€“ was energizing but ultimately fiercely destructive (for me, for him, for my sense of family) on a number of levels.

While gently using my hand as a dust bulldozer to shove layers of months-long inattentive housekeeping to the side, I uncovered an envelope mailed to me by that fellow I'™d dated back in the day. The envelope was postmarked 10 July 2000 and had affixed to it the ho-hum flag-and-a-building 33-cent postage stamp. Enclosed along with his letter was a page ripped from a J.C. Penney catalog. A lovely plus-sized blonde woman model in a periwinkle blue two-pieced outfit was slung comfortably upright in a white hammock, a pair of white slings to her left side. Her expression says "hey, I'€™m cute. Would you like to swing in my hammock with me?"€™; she'™s very appealing to me and a downright cutie. She's the gal who I'd imagine visits nursing homes on weekends, just because; who buys the extra groceries to place a few in the food pantry donation bin. On the picture he'€™d written '€˜Beth --->'™, assigning me to her characteristics. Funny ... we do sorta look the tiniest bit alike if you squint. Anyway.

The letter, written in loopy scrolling blue ballpoint pen read:
"€œDear Beth,
Hi. Ever think about going total blonde. You're much more beautiful than the JCP Modle, but you get the idea.
I understand you tried to contact me, and I'€™m puzzled as to why since you don'€™t want to be friends. Or is it from the bracelet you gave me? (I still have it), 'œThat'€™s what friends are for.'. I guess I just don'€™t understand.

You should see my new Apt. WOW! Its basicly sound proof; which I was not aware of till I went out in the hall; but it'™s a one bedroom loft Apt. with a sky light and cathedral ceiling; it has two floors since it'€™s a loft. And I love it.

Right now I'€™m still psychologicly ill and taking no calls, just writing, and I'€™m staying at my parents till I feel safe enough to go back to the Apt. without delusions. I'€™ve done some Art and a lot of Poetry since I last saw you. Its really a shame I'€™m not able to share it.

If I talk with you, will you once again burn the bridges of friendship? You hurt me, I don'™t know why -€“ If it was about the kiss, I just wanted to.

One time long ago, I asked you if I could kiss you and you said 'no, because I shouldn'™t have to be asked.' This time you kissed me, and I kissed the way I do. That'€™s it. Lisa is pregnut again. Her due date is Dec 25. And Laura will be 3, Jan 2.

Anyway I'€™d better close, take care and write me if you need to, but think about what I said.

Love Almost Always
M---"€œ



I can'€™t recall now if I responded to this letter when I ha€™d first received it. I know we talked, but I cannot recall the details of which conversation happened when. I also feel consecratedly, intensely grief-laden that I am not required to follow the basic rules of proper netiquette and common decency by asking him if I could have his permission to reprint his words here. And that is because he's dead. He was young, in his late 30s, and he'€™s fucking dead now.

I think of M--- a great deal, especially when I am struggling and want someone to just hug me, or when I'€™m insecure and want to be reached out to by another person. When I see super-excellent cloud shapes I think of him. His heart was so big, so hurtable, occasionally hittable, filled with anger and an unsteady mix of '€˜don'€™t push me'€™ and '˜please push me. Harder'€™.

I cut him off. Completely. I extricated myself from relationship with him long after we broke off our relationship, including the engagement I never had the opportunity to announce, save for meetings with the ring designer in Des Moines to create an unique wedding band from a bracelet of gold and diamonds I found several years prior. But that'€™s another story for another time, that bracelet. After our breakup turned to friendship and then friendship turned to an indefinable something else we danced back and forth around; I made clumsy attempts to reconnect with him at a level I could bear but it never seemed to be what he wanted from me: it never seemed to be enough. He wanted me back; he wanted our relationship back. He wanted me to accept his apologies. He wanted to make up. He wanted to not be crazy anymore. He wanted me, a loved person who understood the scariness of occasional mind-losing, to hold hands when he was frightened.

I cannot take staring into the puckered superficial face of decisions I made toward the end of his life. I believe it is an unwise move to live the next section(s) of my life in an unexamined happy lala-world state, but the guilt I continue to bear feels so soggy, so heavy. It's like tasting a mouth-watering dessert ... a little is so good ~ too much is sickening. Yeah, the examination process of my personal accountability and my continuing grief is a little like that.

Today I'€™m so sorry. I hope there is a spiritual part of him hovering close by because I'€™d like to think that by my whispering these admissions now he can find a way to forgive me. I'€™m not sure what I would say if he was still alive, but I'm certain it would be a hell of a lot more than I did back when I knew everything; before he offed himself, centuries before George Carlin help me forget for an afternoon.

a twisted idea

McBeth.

...if you don't like the way your growth is turning out, consider changing your direction.

Flexibility

McBeth.

"But this is uncomfortable!" her student complained.

"Ahh, my dear you're trying too hard."
"The trick", the instructor continued, "is to become flexible enough with your daily practice here such that you will learn to bend without breaking".

Bare it and share it

McBeth.

After time had passed, she eventually decided to leave her heart on the outside.

She thought it might help others to have a visual representation of how much of the tender green she had lost but more importantly, how much she still had to offer.

It also was reported to have had a positive effect on her ability to withstand the wind and weather.

Medieval warriors in the data entry age

McBeth.

There was a time when knights slew the dragons, when damsels and lords fervently practiced each stroke in the 'courtly love' primer, when time plod slowly.

Now the dragon has risen up, taking the pointed sword into his wild webbed wing, jousting in a contest against no one for the prize of nothing.

Touche~

Dona Nobis Pacem

McBeth.

I have returned from a very spoiling, overindulgently delightful visit with a dear friend. She is so good to me and ranks high among the things I have worked, without hard work, to preserve as necessary and good in my life.

We spent part of an afternoon in the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C. but I don't consider that particular visit a tourist gig. The emotional component of bigness, vastness, tinyness, frail and humbleness ... I don't tend to get centered from tourist stops: I do here.

AFK for a few days

McBeth.

Shiver me timbers, don't you chickadees worry - speaking of birds and berries and little animals that make themselves terribly difficult to photograph... of the three (meaning wrens, chickadees and sparrows, okay add yellow finches and one other sweet fat little bird for which I have no official name yet) the chickadee is by far the most nervous of the bunch. Flit flit flit. Nervous little critters, they are. Maybe they feel a keen connection to the mourning dove, who are now officially shootable for that ginormous shrimp-sized portion of meat they provide. Mourning doves are some of my mother's favorite birds and by proxy, mine. They don't provide much of a hunting challenge. Quit shooting them, let's just stop shall we?

Anyway, I'm heading to D.C. for a mini-vacation-that-isn't-truly-a-vacation from this very strange and interesting life of mine for a few days of indulgent attention paid by a close friend. I am insisting on National Cathedral time. Other than that? I could give a shit where we go or what we do. I like her, I like spending time together and we invariably get into mischief together. That's what spending time should be about.

I'm turning 38 on Friday.
Who'd have thought I'd live to see it?

There's something worth pondering over a few quiet moments at a memorial exhibit.

Be kind to one another and miss me just a little.

Sorry Everybody

McBeth.

I've been laughing and weeping (mostly weeping) while finding the most elementally important connection between myself, my fellow Americans, and the fellowship of humans really trying - HARD - to make purposefully peaceful loving caring decisions. Like not voting for Bush last week.

We didn't do enough.

Some of our ballots were either ranked less important or were not counted.

The implications of what seemed like teeny choices I did or didn't make? I am beginning to better understand the implications of my choices... they were huge. They were global.

I don't think anyone can lead a balanced life if she is only giving of herself or if he steals his energy from one important 'emotional' bank to feed another (i.e. never see the family in order to rabblerouse). But I can try to do differently in the coming months, and years until the next election.

Allow yourself to be open to forgiveness. And never hesitate to cop to your own fuckups, especially to the people who could most (along with you) benefit from your confession.

Absolution comes with a price, but it needn't be an act you disavow in favor of your fear.

Sorry Everybody

Hard Times Come Again No More

McBeth.

Let us pause in life's pleasures to count its many tears
While we all sop sorrow with the poor:
There's a song that will linger forever in our ears
Oh! Hard times, come again no more

'Tis the song, the sigh of the weary,
Hard times, hard times, come again no more:
Many days you have lingered around my cabin door;
Oh! Hard times, come again no more.

While we seek mirth and beauty and music light and gay
There are frail forms fainting at the door:
Though their voices are silent, their pleading looks will say
Oh!! Hard times, come again no more.

'Tis a sigh that is wafted across teh troubled wave,
'Tis a wail that is heard upon the shore,
'Tis a dirge that is murmured around the lowly grave.
Oh! Hard times, come again no more.

-Stephen C. Foster

A Relationship, in one act

Blight
uptight
polite
Height?
BITE!
~fight~
Smite
_fright_

flight

-->tight<--
contrite
might
night
light
bright

Quite.

'So Bob, do you like your job?'

McBeth.

"Vocation does not come from willfulness. It comes from listening. I must listen to my life and try to understand what it is truly about - or my life will never represent anything real in the world, no matter how earnest my intentions."

-Parker Palmer, excerpted from 'Let Your Life Speak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation

McBeth.

Antisthenes says that in a certain faraway land the cold is so intense that words freeze as soon as they are uttered, and after some time then thaw and become audible, so that words spoken in winter go unheard until the next summer. ~Plutarch, Moralia

Visions

McBeth.

I cannot find graciousness in my heart today. I can't breathe either.

My president, the man who appears to be the person who will continue to be in charge of my country for another four years, was willing to throw me - ME - on top of the fire as a sacrifice to appease the fears of immovable right wingers everywhere. That is unforgiveable.

I've been burned and have sustained severe nerve damage. I'm worried. I'm sick. I want my own self-contolled morphine IV drip because it appears that Nurse Bush certainly isn't going to be offering me pain relief.

new points of light

The sparkle of possibility

I woke this morning with a highly unusual thought. Even for me. Especially for me.
The first idea that came into my mind after my eyes sleepily opened was this:

This is a great day for a revolution.

How often do I consider my days as such opportunities? Not often. But I wonder how I might be different in my own life if I did try to think of revolutionary changes I might help to make happen, even something so small as taking the initiative to say something kind to the people I can least tolerate. Revolutions come in mysterious packages, after all.

Another "wheelie" memorable point to my activities today will be that today - election day - is the day I had to figure out what to do about the thumb-sized hole in the rear passenger side of my car. I just paid for a new spiffy set of good tires earlier this year and wouldn't you know it, last night I managed to poke an impressive hole through the wall of one of them. Piss. Oh well, it's just a wheel.

For all that is good and just in the universe, I hope my revolutionary vote, and the votes of all disenfranchised, unhappy, unimpressed, lied-to, bitter, ready for something new U.S. citizens will be properly counted, that our collective revolution will speak to the rest of the world (who has every right to doubt and dismiss us as a collective collateral mess), that we can begin to have hope of new possibilities.

-isms abounding

I’ve been participating in a nine-week workshop on anti-racism, the main goals of which are:

• Work with other white European Americans to take responsibility for challenging racism and white privilege
• Respect the leadership of people of color in the community
• Work to end all oppression
• Practice and model respectful and accountable behavior in all our anti-racist work, especially in our families and circles of influence

The workshop sessions have included weekly readings, critical questions, individual, small and large group participatory exercises; videos, guest speakers and volunteer experiences as a part of the learning process.
Hard stuff, and worthwhile.

For my volunteer experience I chose the MEP (Money – Education – Prisons) Taskforce. Project Reentry, a MEP project, assists returned prisoners who are reentering the community who find themselves blocked from meaningful employment by lack of training, lack of experience or prejudice. There is a disproportionate number of persons of color in the penal system (Madison, embarrassingly, has the highest percentage in the entire UNITED STATES) and, according to MEP board member and professor Pamela Oliver’s website, within the first 21 months of release 50% of blacks and 37% of whites return to prison in Wisconsin. Yikes.

Project Reentry assists returning prisoners in developing their resumes and connects the returning prisoner with a developed list of available jobs. Project Reentry also calls each employer to ensure that they will hire felons, which doesn’t eliminate the personal accountability of the returning prisoner but it does help to reduce the number of added/unnecessary hassles for the person (who is likely already filled to capacity with dread, fear, anger, and mistrust). The anticipated outcomes of Project Reentry, according to an informational pamphlet, include “reduction of recidivism, lower numbers of people in both the Dane County Jail and the Wisconsin Prison System, and a healthier community where people are employed, sheltered and fed”.

My MEP work this week was to take the Job Services bulletin (20 pages with approx. seven job postings per page), call each telephone number listed and ask if each employer was willing to work with ex-offenders. Given that I was calling on the final afternoon of an unseasonably warm week as well as the Friday before Halloween when everyone seems to have an itch in their undies to bust outta work early, it was not exactly surprising that I had little success reaching many live people actually doing work at work.

One of the places at which I was able to reach a real live person – a company I hesitate to specifically name – was a transportation company (*two-syllable word that begins with the past tense of ‘lay’ and ends with the work that lawyers practice). The gentleman I spoke with had a brusque, purposefully harried tone to his voice once I identified myself and my purpose for calling. When I asked the gentleman if his organization was willing to work with returned prisoners his response was direct: “Oh, no no, we can’t be hiring felons. We transport children and other sensitive and at-risk populations”. I thanked him for the information and his time, and put the receiver back onto the telephone base. Then I flipped through some of the materials I’d been given until I hit on what I’d been looking for: ‘EMPLOYMENT RESTRICTIONS FOR EX-OFFENDERS’.

First of all, there are federal laws and there are state laws. Not all state laws are alike, but all state-led restrictions must comply with federal rules.

Some day when I’m really up for a rousing good time, I’ll try to list all the Federal no-no’s. There is a bunch. Specifically in Wisconsin an ex-felon maybe be denied, revoked or refused renewal of license for: private investigator, security guard, private detective, security alarm installer, and their liquor license (if convicted of certain drug-related offenses). Additionally there’s something called the Wisconsin Caregiver Law that identifies specific offenses that affect caregiver eligibility. But there’s also a provision for rehabilitation review of these offenders. (All that stuff can be found here).

So really, the gentleman who was having his horizontal corncob moment really was conducting business illegally: ex-felons who have not been convicted of crimes against life and bodily security or crimes against children have EVERY SINGLE RIGHT to apply for jobs, even at transportation companies who work with children and other ‘sensitive’ populations.

I can understand the reticence of an employer to take what probably feels like an impossible leap of faith with a potential new employee. The thing is, they’re making the same leap with me, or with my law-abiding brother, or with my law-abiding neighbor as they’re making with someone who has been released from prison after a felony conviction (because let’s face it, we have a whole lotta shit that qualifies for felony arrest/trial/conviction anymore). What this employer is doing is wrong. It’s illegal.

At one point I’d turned around in my chair to ask for clarification from one of the MEP staffers. I told her about my telephone exchange and asked her if she could clarify the law and if the guy had legal backing to say ‘no’. She handled it coolly, shrugging her shoulders and saying only "Yep. Some people are going to respond that way. All you can do is move on to the next one".

I can only imagine the levels of frustration and anger returned prisoners must feel upon their release. They have a community who has alienated and fears them, a dismal job prospective and few housing options without solid job leads. My coworker, an ex-offender herself, demonstrated the calm so many other returned prisoners probably lack. Calm they desperately could use - the calm I suspect the rest of us have had the great privilege to never have been concerned about.

Imagine that.

Kissing Courage

McBeth.

"To me there is no greater act of courage than being the one who kisses first"
-Janine Garofalo

Amen, Janine. What bravery must swell in the heart of one who is enamored with another, bravery enough to overcome the nagging possibility of abject undeniable failure? In Western heterosexual culture the "Kisser" role has generally been assigned to the fellas. Where would we be without our fairytales of shining knights fighting valiantly for the hand of the fair maiden?

We'd be nowhere, that's where we'd be. We would have nothing on which to base girlish dreams, nor (for those of us who find fairytales offensive and demeaning) would we have anything to shove away from in disgust. Thanks, guys. I mean that sincerely - thank you. You may sometimes be purposeful pigs and you may not be fluent in clitorese, and you may occasionally be all the wrong kinds of inappropriate at the oh-so-very-wrong times, and you may also forget to shut up and just hug her when she is sure her ankles have sprouted an extra fat layer and three dark hairs have simultaneously relocated from her eyebrows to set up shop on her chin, but you certainly have your wooing work cut out for you. For that, you have my admiration and support.

I have recently come to have a far greater, far more uncomfortably close understanding of what you have been dealing with for centuries and all I can say is pucker up sweeties because I've got something juicy for you.

But first, let's talk for a moment. I mean, we don't know one another very well so maybe if we exchange pleasantries first we won't feel so awkward when I finally settle on that moment... that moment when I tentatively -but casually- extend my arm around you, when I press my freshly Burt's Bees-ed pout softly to your lips.

I've recently reentered the dating world after a long contented hiatus. Yes, I know, the same thought crosses my mind... What on earth was I thinking? I'm no slinking sex kitten. I got no game. I can't dance. Though my last partner and I split nearly two years ago I haven't felt deep urgent compulsions to leap tall buildings or swim oceans to impress anyone. Not one urge, which may speak more to a possible lackadaisical laziness on my part than anything else, but still, I think being urge-less says something.

What I have been feeling is lonesome. I've been missing the grown-up silliness of adults sharing 10 year olds' humor, the conversation and glasses of convivial jocundity poured by someone else especially for me. I've missed having someone search for and delightedly discover one of my secret sweet spots. I've missed curling up together. I've missed sharing details of my day. I've missed counting on someone. I've missed knowing I'm being counted on so I had better step my ass up to the plate because the show is ON, buster. I've missed teasing and teasing taken too far. I've missed hurt feelings, fighting and make-up sex. I want all of that! I want another adult who is mystified by me; I want to know one other person trusts me especially. I want to have a Certain Other Someone who thinks I am remarkable, who may be slightly alarmed but who is nevertheless willing to play my favorite bedroom games. I want someone special who I can come to trust with my ugliest secrets, someone who will trust me to share their ugliest secrets.

How about you pour me a glass of whatever it is that you have there in yours and we talk? Because darlin', you've undoubtedly been shot down more times than you have digits on which to count the failures and I need your counsel now. How do you DO this thing over and over? You're a walking talking miracle, that's what you are. Whiskey? Sure, I'll take five fingers and a dribble.

Now let me tell you, there's someone I kissed; or nearly kissed, or soon will kiss. I will, I will! I've only begun to understand the other side of this predatory hunt. You see, I've been prey. I liked being prey. Well, I didn't LIKE being prey - being on the receiving end has a tendency to leave one seeing the reflection of a promising but bloody porterhouse in the mirror, but there are definite advantages to laying back in defenseless repose, feigning disinterest, begging for gentle mercies. Prey relies on a different set of tactics to complete a successful hunt.

Now here I am, sitting here with you, three fingers to the wind with two to the air, telling YOU what the chase is like from the aggressor's perspective. Now ain't that something? Haw!

Now this one, she's something. Really something. You probably already know this, but the cherishable ones, I think, are the ones who don't think they are. Hidden gems. It's not my job to make someone see their worth, but I sure can see it if it's there, and when it is there - oh my yes. The eyes, the smile - oh my yes. Now I'm beginning to understand what it is that you must be seeing in beatific winsome glances. I kissed her, you know. It was just a soft kiss on her cheek, but I meant six years worth of please let me catch up in that kiss. I called her while driving home, to tell her that I intended not to aim for her cheek the next time. She laughed and blushed across the telephone lines and though I was mystified how I possibly could find the courage within myself to follow through, I think about her eyes, her smile - oh my yes. So I am learning what you also have had to learn, that I can aim with delightful accuracy the next time.

Pluto square Pluto: Which category?

My Pluto must be woofing up one helluva storm. I noticed an email on a local listserv yesterday, someone who had moved from NYC to a small sleepy community nearby was asking for suggestions on where she could go to get moving helpers for an impending move to the Mad City. She mentioned she was a writer (my thinking: could be good, something possibly in common/could be bad - tons of books) and something about her plea spoke to me. I emailed a response, offering the services of McB & Son Moving Co. (I think our motto could be "We're not professionals but we grunt like the ones on TV") and asking for details. She called me this morning. Life happens this way. I should not be surprised that it does - that it has and continues to - but I am and it does.

While making arrangements on the telephone today, we got to talking about sun signs. She asked me about my moon. I had the internal smartass response ready, begging to snark 'I gotcha moon right heah', but all things thought need not be all words spoken, and we continued talking about astrology. She pointed me to Astro to get a very specific-to-me personal read based on my birth date, time, and location. Here's a portion of my 'forecast':

1 October 2004 until 21 November 2004: This is a period of general regeneration, which may not be entirely pleasant. Most of us are attached to the past whether or not it is good for us. And this influence will root out precisely those elements of the past that are not good for you, even those aspects that you have forgotten about. Problems that you may have lost track of entirely but which are still working unconsciously in your life may reappear and become active now, usually but not always to your detriment.

This influence is associated with forces for change that are inherent within the hidden depths of things. Therefore you should not blame the unpleasant changes that occur now on circumstances or persons in your environment. Look within yourself to see how the groundwork for the present is laid in the past.

Many things may be destroyed at this time, and the destruction will be ruthless if you defend them with rigidity. The action of this influence upon unyielding entities is particularly harsh. Therefore you should simply allow the things of the past to fade and allow the future to be born on their ruins. If you can do this, the potential for positive change is very great.

This influence may also increase your concern about the creative and regenerative processes within the universe and cause you to become interested in the occult. However, certain aspects of the occult, such as magic, are best avoided during this time, because the energies involved will be difficult to control now. Although your conscious mind may be in control at first, you are likely to find that entirely unconscious forces within you have taken over and are running you completely. This can have disastrous consequences.

You may also get into severe power struggles with people who are trying to prevent the changes in your life or who are trying to expedite changes that you are resisting. Look very carefully to ascertain which category they are in.

The Inner Rigidity in me has to warn you: If you're the bully who plans to get in my way these next few days, I'd step aside if I was you.

There are just a few more days left in this section of the reading and I'll likely post the next piece (which I haven't read - that's like cheating by skipping chapters in a book to get to the next bodice-ripping scene just because the inane commentary about what Miss Maisie served up for dinner seems so ho-hum blah. IF they didn't have dinner they'd die and there'd be NO bodice-ripping scene at all so DEAL WITH THE DINNER and the best part will come eventually!) What was I talking about anyway?? Oh, yes. Life changes. Whether or not you believe in astral phenonema, if you are a close friend who knows some of my revealed inner workings of late, you might find this Oct/Nov reading for me eerie. Chilling even. (I don't know, DO you?) It's not like I knew what it was going to say ahead of time, not like I planned to mindfully leap into some new stuff and make some of the changes I've decided to make knowing, even subconsciously, that some report said 'blahblahblah, you will be doing this you mindless drone' and so I did it. I did it, THEN read about it. oooooOOOooooo

You're not doing anything particularly important right now (oh come on, you know you're not) - go over to Astro and enter you details. They don't ask you to register, they don't even ask your last name or address, isn't that kind of them? I'm really interested in knowing if your findings are as creepyaccurate as mine seem to be.

Oh yes, after you've pondered yourself into a corner, come back here and let me know what you've discovered? Let's quietly puzzle it out together.

sing your heart out

Think karaoke. Yeah, got the picture in your mind's eye? Fun, hunh. Good singing, slightly erratic singing, goofball singing, costumed singing, practiced or unpracticed, comletely unprofessional fun. Even the worst of us can be a karaoke star.

Now, lets ramp it up, baby. You know you want to. Instead of a music track as your backup, throw out the tape player and add a band. A professional live band. A bunch of music nuts playing for the delight of whatever can happen when they're backing up unpracticed unprofessional karaoke singers.

And there you have it: Gomeroke.

As the single (slightly nervous) Gomeroke virgin in the new group of pals I was hanging out with, I responded to 'are you gonna get up and sing?' with various versions of 'no, haha', 'um, I don't think so', and 'helllllno'. How ridiculous that I permitted my self-consciousness to be allowed out for the evening with me.

I haven't been out socially in ages; the reasons are numerous, tangled and perhaps slightly ridiculous but it means that once I do go out I feel myself let it out. Alllllll out, even with new friends who I hope to impress. I say 'fuck inhibition, this is great!' and let life happen. There's no way one can just sit there during a group sing-along to 'Ruby Tuesday'. It's impossible or your money back.

L. brought us all bobbing bat headbands in honor of spooktastic Halloween. A smattering o' caribou feathers, two long spiralled metallic pipe cleaners protruding up on either side, with sparkleball-bellied bats hovering above, glittery wings flashing and catching the lights. I brought some glow in the dark necklaces to share, extras from my overexcited expenditures at the party store, when J. wanted a couple of rave-ish toys for himself and a couple of friends for a school dance. (me: you can't just get ONE each, lets buy sixteen!)

I brought shower curtain rings, but try as I may, I couldn't think of any sensible public decorating ideas for the curtain rings (though I did consider a few potentially interesting naughty uses). They were actually an extra set I'd had at home that I'd brought along for K. who just recently moved into a specTACular new apartment - fab-fab-fabulous but missing the shower curtain. The truth is, one day I may find myself with the opportunity to use K's whirlpoolish deep-dish bathtub (why? I'm not sure but it could happen) and well, a bathtub needs a curtain, right?, and a curtain needs rings, right?, and that's just the way it is so quit asking me these questions already - don't you have something to be reading?

Among his other stellar performances, P. did a head-banging rendition of 'The Devil Went Down to Georgia' - complete with a violin solo done by the band guy standing behind P. (band guy reaching his arms around P's shoulders, placing the chinrest on P's left shoulder and the both of them getting violinfunkadelic. L., or rather her alter-ego Heidi Ho, captured Grace Slick with adept sneering growl.

A fella from the State Journal was there (though I'm not sure why), happily snapping away. My attention was paid in measure of drool and covetous thoughts... great digital camera, expansive lenses and multiple flash setup. Wish I could have seen the camera details better but I didn't want to be unseemly and follow the poor guy around asking dumb 'whassat? what does it do? how does this work?' questions. It made more sense to me at the time to compliment his nice haircut and leave it at that. Now? I'm not exactly sure what I was thinking, but I guess the compliment worked because I did not tackle him for his equipment nor was I asked to leave.

When I returned home last night I immediately sat down to look through the song list, writing down preferences, speculating which of them I'd forget the fewest amount of words if I was to lose my place on the lyrics sheet.

Because next time? I'll sing.