black friday makes my soul poop brown

Happy Post-Thanksgiving, ya'll! Hope your big day of eating was a cheery one. Turkey day is really kind of a bird holocaust sanctioned by American tradition, but I love the holiday anyway. I guess there's just something about having an excuse to stuff face with food that I really appreciate.

My Thanksgiving was a quiet one. This was mainly due to the fact I had to be at work at 5:30am this morning for the horror that is known as Black Friday. Waking up at 4:45am is not exactly my thing, and I had to be sure to go to bed extra early last night in order to wake up in time.

Of course, I wasn't able to get a good evening's rest at all. I'm allergic to a bed time. As soon as I tell my body that it must be asleep by a certain time, it goes and does the opposite. My mind goes in to Super Mega Thinking Concentration Mode. It's really not as productive as it sounds, either.

Seriously, my body and brain hold a conversation that goes something like this:

2 HOURS BEFORE BEDTIME
Body: I need you fast asleep by 10:30pm AT THE LATEST. Okay?
Brain: Sure, sure. 10:30pm. Gotcha.

BEDTIME
Body: Okay. Sleepy time. Ya ready?
Brain: *suddenly clicks on after being shut down all day* No. Actually, I just came up with 50 new things to stress and worry about.
Body: But ... I need to sleep.
Brain: Well, too bad.

2 HOURS AFTER BEDTIME
Body: Why am I still awake?
Brain: Because I hate you.

And that, folks, sums up my life.

In other news, I'm working a new part time retail position. I can't say I love it, especially during weekends like this. The store is always crowded, it's stifling hot, I stand on my feet all day, and I have to be nice to everyone no matter what. The latter is what especially drives me crazy -- I won't even type some of the things I've silently said in my head to a few choice jerks who've stepped foot in to my store. I smile and perkily tell everyone to have a great day, but in my brain I might be thinking something quite the opposite.

Then there are days like this one, where I have to haul around a giant bag on the sales floor and pitch it to people. Mind you, these are busy, harassed shoppers who don't want to hear about a bunch of expensive goodies. They'd rather me just shut up and tell them how to get to the exit without getting trampled to death. But nope, I have to sell away, lugging around a heavy bag, showing off its contents like its Blackbeard's pirate booty itself.

(Is this going to get me fired? Oh well.)

Then, of course, there are my co-workers. Some of them are genuinely nice people, but some of them are almost young enough to be my children. (Weird feeling.) I have nothing in common with these people. They worry about boys and freshmen-year-in-college types of things. I worry about graduate school applications and making beautiful music. We speak foreign languages, me and them. But we stand united, under the common goal of earning a shitty paycheck.

Such is life.

Hopefully tonight I will get a good night's rest. I have a long day ahead of me Saturday: a day of work and then several hours of practice/rehearsal afterwards. Here's hoping my brain will actually cut me a break tonight, and let me sleep for once!

vonnegut lends a literary helping hand

I've been reading Kurt Vonnegut's 'Mother Night' and, of course, loving it. Vonnegut has ranked as among my favorite writers for many years. The way he plays with words is so entertaining yet, at times, profound. His biting wit is mixed with a sort of jovial irony, which makes for a very interesting take on the world. Naturally, I can't help but admire the man's writing.

It's a well known fact to my friends and family that Vonnegut stands as a member of my Holy Trinity of Authors, the other two being Flannery O'Connor and Henry Miller. But where O'Connor has a morbid, almost claustrophobic tendency in her work, Vonnegut is the opposite -- free, open, expansive. Henry Miller may be a genius, (and make no mistake, he most certainly is), but he is so caustic at times that it makes one flinch when reading his material. Vonnegut never hurts me to read. He only makes me laugh and self reflect.

That said, I loved a few of the following passages from the novel 'Mother Night' and wanted to share them. They're classic Vonnegut: philosophical, but deceptively simple.

The first is a description of New York City, which I absolutely adore:

" ... And I left the seashell roar and the aurora borealis of the city's heart farther and farther behind me" (Vonnegut, 176)

Oh, how lovely! How true, even. The seashell roar -- the distant muffled sounds of the oceanic movement of honking cars and swerving delivery trucks -- mingled with the bright lights and pulsing neon signs that cast an aurora borealis over Times Square.

Love it.

Vonnegut, who was himself a World War II veteran, often deals with war and inhumanity in his writing as well. This next passage I selected because it sums up a personal philosophy of my own, and I was glad to see it echoed in the writing of a man who's reputation far exceeds my own:

" 'There are plenty of reasons for fighting,' I said, 'but no good reason ever to hate without reservation, to imagine that God Almighty Himself hates with you, too. Where's evil? It's that large part of every man that wants to hate without limit, that wants to hate with God on its side. It's that part of every man that finds all kinds of ugliness so attractive.'
'It's that part of an imbecile,' I said, 'that punishes and villifies and makes war gladly.' " (Vonnegut, 190)

This, to me, applies to world events right now. Taliban fighters, are you listening? Zealous evangelists, are you listening? Read some Vonnegut.

Lastly, this little truth from Vonnegut, which comes from the mouth of his narrator, Howard W. Campbell, Jr:

"This is the only story of mine whose moral I know. I don't think it's a marvelous moral; I simply happen to know what it is: We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be." (Vonnegut, v)

Seems straight forward, right? But oh, how it applies to so many people I've known in my life. Myself, even.

I'll end the post on that final literary note.

Happy Pre-Thanksgiving, and may you find a good Vonnegut book to read during your holiday.

meow

This short video completely made my otherwise lame and freezing cold day:

letting go

Rainy days always bring out the melancholy in me. It's not a bad thing, it just is what it is. To me, rain signifies contemplation and reflection. Well, that and snuggling up in bed with a good book.

Lately I've been learning the lesson of Letting Go. It's not something I'm good at, or have been very prone to do in my life. I'll stay friends with people I don't even like that much, simply because it's too difficult to kick them to the curb. I've certainly let guys overstay their welcome in relationships, simply because I hate being the one to do the dumping. I've even clung to half baked plans and dreams for too long, and why? Because letting go is hard to do.

There are people and things in life worth holding on to. I believe this with a passion. I've fought a few hard and long battles in my life over certain people and things that I have truly belived in.

However, there are many other people and things that aren't worth the fight. Sometimes it's better just to let them go, as nicely as possible, and wish them well in life. It completely sucks, and it inevitably ends up hurting someone in the equation, but well ... I think that holding on to something old and broken is probably worse in the long run.

I've been learning a lot about letting go lately. It's a hard thing to accept. But it's time, and I'm absorbing the lesson as gracefully and maturely as possible.

a friday night drag show

Well, in anti-celebration of the idiots in California who decided that sexuality should determine one's ability to marry, I decided to attend a drag show.

I've been to a few in New York City, but this was my first small town experience with one. Let's just say it was a low rent version of what a drag show should be. However, for all the camp and silliness (and lack of stilettos), there was something completely charming about the overweight, pink bewigged mommas flashing their gams on stage.

First of all, it was a Patsy Cline tribute night. I had no idea the famed country singer was a gay icon, but apparently she is. (News to me!) I was thrilled about this fact, until two songs in to the show, the Patsy Cline lip synching came to an abrupt end and was replaced by decidedly non-country tunes such as 'Everybody Dance Now' and 'Sweet Dreams Are Made of This.'

I was none too impressed with the actual drag queens themselves (more like draggled queens), but I had a blast dancing along to the music, cheering the ladies on in their moment of glory, and admiring the sheer amount of glitter that coated the hair, face and body of one particular high heeled man-lady.

The best part of the evening, however, had nothing to do with the ladies themselves. It was the fact that were straight women, gay women, straight men and gay men all mingling together in support of a decidedly alternative cause. Also, the appletini shots and $4 cranberry and vodkas weren't a bad deal either. (Perhaps a little more off putting was the young fellow walking around in tight black underwear who was serving the above mentioned appletini shots.)

I'm not planning on going back anytime soon, but I certainly had a blast on the dance floor after the drag show. I was also very glad to see that the passing of Proposition 8 hadn't dapened anyone's spirits too much. Perhaps no one cared, but more likely, everyone just decided to say screw it, we're still going to live our lives!

I'm including some pictures of the evening, although they're low quality, very blurry cell phone shots. They gave the general impression of the evening, however. Enjoy, and yes, I promise to stop politicizing after this post!

congratulations

Congratulations to Barack Obama for his historic victory as PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA!!!

(I finally voted for someone who won an election!)

For the first time in years, I felt proud to be an American last night. The young adults of my generation came together and united under one cause: to make a change in America. We voted, and we did it!

However, I am super bummed to learn that Proposition 8 in California (which is against gay marriage and a strikedown of gay rights) is looking like it will pass. I am not one to politicize; however, since when is equality a privilege, not a right?

Love is love, people, no matter the genitals attached to it.

in which i describe my movie marathon

I trust Halloween treated you all nicely.

I had a good and rather quiet holiday. I had a movie marathon at my friend's house, and then popped back over to my house with two other friends to watch an episode of an old vampire anime series that I own.

The Official Halloween Movie Marathon went as follows:

The Devil's Advocate (creepy thriller involving a law firm -- very Rosemary's Baby meets The Firm or something)

Rob Zombie's Halloween (a take on the classic horror flick; really terrible movie, except for the last 15 minutes or so.)

Seven (seen it a million times, but still a creepfest)

Episode 1 of Hellsing (an entertaining if cheesy Japanese vampire series)

I am going to continue the Halloween movie-a-thon by watching 30 Days of Night and perhaps Poltergeist II. I do love me some horror flicks!!

In other news: I am looking forward to buying discount candy en masse today. That's the one good thing about the start of November -- all the cheap candy just waiting for me to stuff into my face!! November is generally a crappy month, except for Thanksgiving, but at least there is cheap candy to kick off the crapfest with.

I am glad about the candy, but the rest of life in general has me a bit down these days. I'm struggling with finding a job, sorting out graduate school (where to go? what program? who do I talk to? how do I get funding?), dealing with this god awful economy, getting my license and, of course, guys. Men. Oh, how sometimes I loathe thee. The bane of my existence has been the eternal problem: males!

Anyway, I'm not prone to getting overly personal on here, so I'll leave the gory details out. Needless to say, they're not very exciting and only really matter to me anyway. But those problems hurt and frustrate me.

Whelp, that's all. (And yes, I typed 'whelp.' I know what it means. But I'm leaving it anyway.)

If you get a chance, please click on this link: http://goosetopia.myminicity.com/. I'm trying to get my city to grow. Gracias!


Also, the travel blog is getting another update. Go check it out.

happy halloween

Happy Halloween.

For a few days it looked like we'd be having a white Halloween. It snowed a few days back -- and how! -- but it's all melting off the ground now. There are slippery wet puddles everywhere. Sidewalks and parking lots are like swimming pools. Very disconcerting when you don't look and step in one, but I suppose also refreshing. Kind of, anyway.

I'm not entirely sure what my Ghoul Day plans are, but something will come in to fruition. I already did some celebrating at a friend's family party in the Hamptons, so there's no pressing need for me to mark the passing of Halloween this year. I don't feel an urgent rush to run out and catch a concert or dress up with all the other butterfly fairies and angels at a party this year. It's a nice change of pace from how I normally feel, which is pressured in to acknowledging the holiday.

Halloween is my favorite celebration, but more because of the time of year, weather and general campiness of the holiday. I also love the movies and candy associated with Halloween -- horror flicks and candy corn galore!!

So, Happy Halloween. Candy corn it up. And then check out my travel blog, which has been updated yet again.

brooklyn birthday visit

I just got back from an evening/afternoon in Brooklyn. It was so nice to be ... home. There. I typed it. Brooklyn feels like home to me. I just love being there so much, and it was lovely being back in the big city again. I know that I will be moving back there again at some point in the future. (Moving back home -- oh snap!)

I had a lovely birthday celebration with a friend at the esteemed Blue Ribbon Brooklyn. We gorged on shrimp cocktails, New Orleans shrimp, an oyster each (we just wanted to try one), and a nice cocktail. I had salmon for my main course, which was delicious. My friend got the equally delicious catfish.

Then it was off to Bar Reis for some well made drinks in the dimly lit basement and upstairs. (Considerable time was spent there, and we moved spots after a certain point.) The bar was playing great music (until 11pm, anyway), and had a nice, relaxed atmosphere and an appropriately dingy-chique vibe. Props to the bartenders for putting on classic musical gold such as Bill Withers, Aretha Franklin and Donnie Hathaway. You NEVER hear things like that at bars around here. Never.

Oh, Park Slope, how I have missed you!

I finished the evening off with good company, and then woke up late this morning and ate yummy Italian for lunch while watching a John Cusack movie.

Good times.

In other news, I've been listening to these albums, and can't seem to get enough of them for various reasons. They are:

Donuts by J Dilla
23 by Blonde Redhead
Dear Science by TV On The Radio (mixed feelings about this one, but there's still redeeming qualities to it)
Godmusic by Chocolate Genius
Redheaded Stranger by Willie Nelson

Blonde Redhead really has hit home with me lately. There's just something about that band that I really like. I can't pinpoint it, and I can say what I *don't* like, but as for what makes me coming back to listen, I can't really say.

The J Dilla album really gets to me, because it was the last thing he ever created before he died. That knowledge makes for a heavy aural experience.

Oh, and Willie ... I just want to give that man a hug. A big, long and affectionate bear hug. Long live Willie Nelson.

I'm off to go watch another episode of Dexter -- an obsession, by the way, that several of my friends share. I don't feel so alone now.

happy birthday to myself

Happy Birthday to myself.

Admission: I'm scared of getting older.

Admission: I haven't accomplished half the things I would have hoped to by now.

Admission: Sometimes this makes me feel like a bad person.

Admission: Yet, somehow, I'm excited I left so many possibilities open for myself.

It's all been about exploring thus far, and now it's going to be about reaching, reaching, reaching and grabbing what is mine in life.

Kind of cliche, yes, but I think listening to too much Blonde Redhead does that to me. But oh man, I love that group. Even if they make me write cliche, dippy things on my birthday.

Anyway.

Happy Birthday to me!

aussie blog

I've been working slowly but steadily on my Aussie travel blog. So far there are only 3 entries, but more are coming daily.

The address is at: http://cityflipaussiejourney.blogspot.com/

Check it out.

i'm back from australia

My five week adventure across the Pacific has sadly come to a close. I had many wonderful experiences there, met a handful of amazing people, experienced a variety of new things, and even held a koala!

I will be sure to post up blogs about my trip very soon. Plenty of photos will be included too.

It's good to be home, but I miss Australia TERRIBLY.

Keep checking back -- I have plenty of updating to catch you up on!

Until then, take care.

my cat :(

I will post soon, but I'm delayed because my very loved, very special cat is currently at the animal hospital undergoing all sorts of tests and exams. The vet believes he has lung/heart disease and is, in his words, "a very sick kitty."

Well, that makes me a very sad kitty mom.

My cat has lost a ton of weight, wheezes/has lung congestion, and bronchial problems, not to mention he's off his feed and very lethargic.

I'm feeling terrible about this, as I'm going on an international 5 week trip in a manner of days. I can't cancel the trip, but I feel terrible for my boy and am really hoping he'll pull through.

Keep your fingers crossed.

I'll post more about the train adventure in the next entry.

the great train adventure, part I

Finally. As promised ages ago, I am posting the pictures and memories from my first (and possibly only) Great Train Adventure. I've been meaning to share this story for a long time, but I've been putting off posting about it for weeks. I think you guys will forgive me, however, given all that has happened over the past few weeks. (Near death experiences, spending copious amounts of time in a hospital, getting performances, gigs and rehearsals together, visiting NYC way too much ....)

With that little introduction aside, let me set the stage for the Great Adventure.

First of all, imagine a lovely little park named Nayaug in the middle of Scranton city limits. This park is quite nice, with a public pool, wildlife center, tree house and plenty of walking trails. It's the sort of place one would go to for a picnic, or a midday snooze, or something of the sort. It's very different than my beloved Prospect Park in Brooklyn, and not nearly as big, but an enjoyable place, all the same.

One of the best parts of the park is that it's very easy to slip off the paths and go wandering over rocks and in to a creek and the like. There's also a railroad line that runs along part of the park -- a perfect place to do some exploring, if one is into trains. (Which, by the way, I totally am.)

(Over to the right of the margin is a pretty terrible cell phone photo of part of the park.)

It was a warm day in early summer when a friend and I decided that it would be a lovely idea to go on a 3 mile walk to downtown Scranton via some back "trails" in Nayaug Park. I was a little apprehensive when my friend mentioned something about 'exploring a train tunnel' and 'walking along the railroad tracks'. He only managed to convince me to go after telling me about how scenic the walk would be. My friend promised all sorts of things, including a waterfall, rock art of Jim Morrison, and lots of flowers and bushes and green things. Being a fan of both Jim Morrison and nature, I was enticed by his descriptions.

And so we set off on our journey. It began innocently enough, with a leisurely walk along one of the paved main trails of Nayaug. This brief little spell soon ended, however, as I followed my friend and cut off the main trail. We made for a small field, which was really more of a paddock than a meadow, minus the required horses and fencing. Littered with debris and covered in flowers, the grassy area made an oddly beautiful scene. Cut glass sparked in the sunlight, while purple flowers bobbed in the breeze. Kind of magical, really.

Eventually a rock wall rose up in front of us. It had two tunnels blasted through it. The tunnel on the right had a railroad line running through it, but the tunnel on the left looked to be unfinished and abandoned, with no train tracks. We picked that one to walk through.











(Above, the tunnel in question. The left hand tunnel we took, and the right hand tunnel is the one with a train parked in front of it.)

The tunnel was cut through living rock, which dripped water on to the gravel floor. It was like the space was sweating and breathing, exhaling and inhaling with our every step. It was also incredibly dark, an overwhelming pitch black that obliterated and eliminated everything from sight.

There are few times in life where I have felt as claustrophobic as I have in that tunnel. The space was large, and the ceiling high, but I could still feel the weight of the earth crushing in on me. It was an awe inspiring and frightening experience, although one I am glad that I had.

After carefully picking our way through the pitch black tunnel, we emerged out the other side and began to walk alongside the railroad tracks. An impossibly long and winding train was parked directly outside one of the tunnels, and looked for all the world like some sort of slumbering and impressively huge beast. I made a joke about it resembling Falcor from the film 'The Never Ending Story', simply because it was so long, skinny and white. (Hey, and there is Falcor in his cinematic glory, to the right.)

We spent some time walking along the train and marveling at all the flowers growing alongside the track. It truly was beautiful here, with all sorts of colorful blooms and waving grasses dancing in the sunlight.

At one point we happened across an almost-ripe patch of raspberries, and of course dove in to pick some -- until we realized that ouch!! Raspberry bushes have thorns. Still, we picked away, and nearly got sick on the taste of almost-sweet-and-slightly-sour raspberries. The best part was how purple our fingers got from the berry juice, and how it stained our skin.

It was a marvel, really, biting into their juicy skins and getting at their bittersweet interiors. Having spent the past several years living in a city, I had forgotten what it was like to eat food right off the bush. It was a revelation and a reminder of how sweet life outside of the urban sprawl can be.

With our bellies now a little fuller, and our fingers nicely stained, my friend and I decided it would be interesting to climb up on the parked train and see if it was carrying any cargo. (For the record, it wasn't.)

My friend went up the side of the train first. He looked like a monkey as he ascended, and pronounced it a 'very cool view' from the top. Which, by the way, was really high up. I don't think people realize how tall trains are until they're actually standing next to them. They are like dinosaurs! Huge and imposing. Mammoth, really.

After my friend had his fill of climbing around, on, and over the train, I tentatively took hold of the ladder up the side of one of the cars and began to climb. I'm afraid of heights, however, and chickened out half way to the top. Despite my friend's encouragement, which began to border on irritation at my lack of bravery, I opted not to climb all the way up.

I did, however, get under the train and had my friend snap a picture of me trying to look cool. This was my bad ass moment. If I couldn't climb on top of a train, at least I could climb under one. The view was probably a little less inspiring, although no less interesting.

(To the right is what it looks like under a train, minus my grinning face.)

While it was very fun to climb around under a train, it's a really dirty thing to do. Literally. I wound up with grease on my face and all over my fingers and legs. It was really sticky, like black tar, and hard to get off. Also, it smelled bad and gave me a headache. All in all, a very annoying substance. However, getting covered in the gook was a small price to pay for clambering around a train, and anyway, it's always kind of fun to get covered in muck.

I'm stopping at this point because I've had enough typing for the day, and you've probably had enough reading, but I will continue with Part 2 soon. Lots to come -- Jim Morrison (on a rock), some colorful graffiti and a band of cute stray cats that I managed to take photos of. Oh yes, and a tense moment crossing a crevasse will also be described.

Until then ... happy train riding, or however it is you're spending your summer.

scared but now happy

I'm not sure where to begin. I suppose the start is the most logical place, but I'm not even sure when all of this began, or how, or why ...

I don't even know if I can really go in to specifics, because I don't want to embarrass anyone or reveal any information that shouldn't be floating around the internet. At the same time, I want to share a little about what's been happening in my life, and why I've been virtually M.I.A. from this blog for so long.

So, I suppose all I can really write is that I recently had an immediate family member take up residence in the hospital. Roughly 11 days of medication, constant monitoring by doctors and nurses and roughly 264 hours of bed rest,all because of a very serious condition which was life threatening and could have had a tragic outcome.

Luckily, the family member is much improved and now at home. This outcome is exceedingly rare and fortunate, and has made me realize, yet again, that I am blessed.

Beyond blessed.

However, it was a very scary past two weeks, and confronting issues of mortality is never pleasant. Especially for me, since I already have such issues with the topic.

That said, I am grateful, happy and pleased -- all of which are inadequate terms to describe my feelings, but the only words I can think of at the moment -- that everything has turned out alright.

And, to my friend graywayfarer, the train story will be coming soon.

Promise.

on the road again ....

So.

It's that time of year again.

Time to travel.

Like clockwork, my nomadic instincts kick in every summer and I have an overwhelming urge to get out, pack the bags and see something (or somewhere) new.

My tickets are bought, so I can now officially announce my biggest trip yet ...

Australia and New Zealand in '08!!

Yes, you read that correctly.

Australia. As in kangaroos.

New Zealand. As in hobbits and Lord of the Rings.

I am going to both of those places!!

I leave L.A. on August 27, arrive in Australia on August 29 and stay on that lovely continent until October 2. On October 2 I will be flying out to New Zealand, where I will have a whirlwind 4 days before jetting back to the United States.

As most of you know, I loathe flying, so this will be quite the journey for me. I'm taking this trip to confront my fears about death, flying, heights and being alone.

Oh yeah, and I should add ... I'm going by myself.

I am planning on taking an emergency supply of Xanax on the airplane with me for those just-in-case-freak-outs. (Seriously.)

I will of course blog about my adventure and be posting photos as I travel about Queensland and Auckland.

Check back in the next day or so for yet another blog post -- my Train Adventure needs telling, still!

update

If I were a parent and this blog were my child, I'd be reported for neglect. That said, I haven't totally forgotten about this blog -- it's just that life has been keeping me so full (literally, like I'm constantly filled up on a good meal) and busy that having some time to write hasn't been easy.

That said, I do have 1 or 2 things to blog about, including my Most Excellent Train Adventure and my summer trip that I am planning!!!

More details to come. Keep posted, because I will be back in blogging action quite soon.

drop acid (not bombs)

This past weekend I visited NYC. I went to film a commercial my friend's company was producing (which is a whole different story), and happened to find myself, the night before the shoot, in a little dingy bar on the Lower East Side. Johnson's, which is at the corner of Rivington and Essex Streets, has $2 cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, $6 mixed cocktail drinks and other cheap goodness a young twenty-something can appreciate.

Something else they can appreciate? The incredible amount of graffiti on the bathroom wall there. I couldn't resist taking some photos on my cell phone camera.

The bathroom wall in question:

A close-up of some graffiti, titled 'orchestrate reality':

and my favorite, 'drop acid (not bombs)':

I can verify that both of the bathrooms in the joint were packed with similar types of messages.

My eyes were exhausted trying to keep up with the scrawl on the walls.

Yet another reason to love New York City ... bathroom walls inked with 'drop acid (not bombs)'.

Pure gold!

making music

My grandmother died on Sunday. Very sad news, especially since I had to call up my mom and tell her own mother had just passed away. Not a fun phone call to make.

However, out of the sadness has come incredible joy.

It started with a recording I made for my grandmother's funeral. Since I can't attend due to financial reasons, the family decided it would be nice if I could record several of her favorite hymns to play at the funeral. I happily did so, and recorded some classic gems like 'Amazing Grace' and 'Jesus Loves Me.' (All songs a half-Jewish girl can relate to ... ha. Not quite. But I still love them!) The recording process was relaxed and easy, since it was done in my friend's recording studio in town.

After recording the hymns, that same friend and I decided it would be fun to 'lay down' a few tracks of our own. Just for fun. Nothing for the funeral, or even meant to be heard by anyone but us. We spent about two hours recording ourselves using the Reason program -- so. Much. Fun.

My instrument had two microphones on it, and sounded surprisingly nice. Fed through Reason, my normally sweet sounding instrument sounded demonic, loud, in charge. I felt like a rock guitarist. A loud, bombastic rock guitarist. It was so cool. With a few clicks of a computer mouse, my instrument went from demonic to angelic, and then from angelic to celestial. It was out of this world.

My friend and I experimented with all sorts of free improv, and I became addicted to counting in 5. 5 and 7, to be exact. We were purposely trying to stay in odd meters for my benefit, because of the way they sound on my instrument.

This same friend just got offered a record, all studio and musical expenses paid, so he is going to take it to the potential producer of his upcoming record to see what happens. He thinks some of the material is workable into an ultimate final track.

Fun, fun.

I had another uplifting musical experience this past Friday night. I performed with my musical duo partner at a local restaurant, and we ended up with quite a crowd. People were listening, applauding, shouting our names, hooting and hollering -- it was great. Some local friends came to enjoy the music, which was super nice of them and a great show of support. It's always difficult in situations where you perform at a restaurant or bar, because you want enough people to come that you get invited back again. When friends come as a show of support, it not only helps the musician, it makes the bar or cafe owner think that more people are showing up to spend money at their establishment.

Based on our gig at the little eatery, my duo partner and I have been invited to do some more gigs around town. It's a refreshing change from New York City, where I never did much gigging. (Of course, I was so busy with school all the time I never bothered trying to book any, but that's a whole different story.)

Anyway, my friend Q showed up to lay down some electric bass. His brother is a drummer and has worked for all sorts of top musicians and bands, including David Bowie and Weather Report. Q has some serious funky chops, so that was a lot of fun to hear him play. A beat boxing flute player also joined our group at one point, to the audience's surprise and seeming pleasure.

Over all, it was one of the nicer gigs I've had in a while. Everyone was so receptive to the music. It was what I refer to as a 'warm' gig -- everyone was warm and friendly and, better yet, eager to listen.

Anyway. I have more to blog about, but I'm getting ready to go back in to the recording studio tonight to play some more. In addition, I'm going on a short road trip to Nova Scotia. I leave next week. Shortly after that it's off to the beach with friends, and then I'm planning a big trip sometime in late August/early September. (I can't reveal anything until it's final, though!) Traveling! I love it.

I'm just so happy that out of something so terribly sad as my grandmother dying, I've been given a blessing. Making music is such a joy, and it's even better when you make it with friends you love and work well with.

hats

There are lots of hats.

Everywhere.

Akubras, berets, boaters and bowlers. Buckets, cloches, cowboy, fedoras, and panamas. Hats for rainy days. Caps for balding men. Formal head attire for wedding party members. Every and any kind of hat.

There are also lots of boxes. Brown, black and beige boxes. Big and small boxes. Boxes to the ceiling, behind shelves and on shelves. Boxes stacked on top of each other. Piled high, piled sideways, piled right side up and collecting dust. Boxes of hats, and hats in boxes.

Everywhere.

The man who runs the place is old. Very old. He's eighty-nine, to be exact. I don't catch his name, but he looks like some one's grandfather. (In fact, he probably is.) He's short, wears a long sleeved shirt and sweater vest, long corduroy pants and, fittingly enough, a hat on his scantily haired head. There's a hearing aid in one of his ears, but he still has a hard time catching the phrases and words that people tell him.

He likes to talk, though. Not being able to hear well doesn't seem to stop him from wanting to speak. He talks and talks and tries to listen a little and then talks some more. About hats. About being a military veteran. About his wife and growing up and living in the same town his entire life. About running a hat shop. About hats again. And so on.

Deitz's Hat Shop has been a Scranton, PA staple for any number of years. The exact span of time has slipped my memory, but trust when I say it's been longer than I've been alive.

The old man has been running the shop for a large part of this time span.

Business used to be good, but current times aren't so hat friendly. This, at least, is according to the old man who runs Deitz's. To begin with, hats have gotten more expensive. It used to be you could get a nice rabbit fur hat for a decent price, but now a similar type of hat would run you around $150. Which is too much money, according to the old man. No one wants to spend that much money on a hat.

Another problem is how hats are sold to suppliers. Store owners have to buy them in groups of a dozen. Since there isn't a large turn over rate for hats, most of the dozen hats ordered will just sit around for years, collecting dust. You simply can't buy one hat at a time. You have to buy the whole lot of 'em. In a place like Scranton, that makes hat buying rather difficult for store owners.

Which explains all the boxes in Deitz's. And all the hats.

Boxes and boxes and boxes of hats and hats and hats.

Everywhere.

The fun part is trying on the hats. There are many sitting out on racks, waiting to be scooped up and bought. I try on a few types of hats, parading around the shop like I own the place. My friends are doing the same thing, fingering hat brims and then delicately placing their choices on their heads. Hats aren't the type of thing you just slam down on your cranium. They deserve a little respect.

We stalk around the shop -- we are the only customers, after all -- and make conversation with the old man and muse at the prices of what we're wearing on our heads. I put on a cloche, exactly the style my grandmother wore in the 1920's, and examine myself in a mirror. How very last century.

(But I like it!)

I try on a cowboy hat and look ridiculous.

A beret goes on next, and I pretend to talk with a French accent. No one thinks it's funny except for me. I make a joke about Brie and French bread and then immediately feel like an idiot and take off the hat.

Funny how hats can bring out different sides of one's personality. Even the geeky parts.

We eventually left the store without buying anything. The old man said he was happy to let us try on the hats and it was fine not to buy anything. He said he gets bored in there anyway, and it was nice to liven things up with some kids.

I have a feeling I'll be back, though. Hat shops aren't a common site these days. Anyway, I could really use an akabura. Or a boater. Or a fedora.

You never know.