TJ, Mush and I began regular trips to Venice maybe 13 or 14 years ago, and we reunited there today. While we didn't see everyone's favorite boardwalk standard, the turbaned rollerskating electric guitar playing hanger-on, much remains unchanged since the days of our first visits. Flavorburst ice cream cones, two girls shooting up heroin, plenty of medicinal weed offerings, overpriced henna, cheap plastic stegosauri that growled, and these delights:
I need one of these for MazdaTron.
Did the missionaries do this? Nice tailoring of the message to the audience.
Need my palm read so desperately. By Zoltar or the lady whose cat has been telling fortunes since the 1970s. Come to think of it, I didn't see her out either.
A fellow was irritated with me for taking this picture because it infringed upon the rights to his work. I'm sure he licensed that photo of Kobe used in his LA skyline poster above.
Technicolor shemaghs...where were these in Yemen last year?
The night Michael Jackson won a record 8 Grammys (RIP, MJ. you are not alone.)
John Denver was the host. (note: John Denver was like mother's milk to me. I grew up with "Calypso" on repeat, he provided my first introduction to Placido Domingo, and I wound up working for his publishing company years later. I wore black the week he died.)
Irene Cara won for "Flashdance...What a Feeling!". I wore the LP of this soundtrack thin, running around my living room on my toes like Jennifer Beals had done. Flashdance is why I danced. And a couple decades later, I might have cried tears of joy when I aerobicized with Richard Simmons to this same tune, hearing him praise my moves with glitter and enthuasiasm.
Note: this also led to a ridiculous love for FlashBeagle a year later.
Cyndi Lauper performed "Time After Time." This was one of many staples at 2009's Night of Soft Rock. Sadly, her guitarist did not join us as he did with her at 0:57. Note the exasperated show casting-away at 2:35 as well...a familiar dance, I'm sure.
Pat Benatar also won for "Love is a Battlefield." So, I love Pat Benatar. I do not know the number of times I have gone on manic, adrenaline-purging late night runs to "Heartbreaker" that morph into thrashing and epic dancing in my alley. But nothing really compares to the Very Special Place In The Middle of My Heart that "We Belong" occupies. I also adore whales.
The Cats soundtrack was awarded. For maybe 2 decades, I desperately wanted to play the role of Victoria, the white cat who begins the official Jellicle's Ball. Instead, I find myself Grizzabell.
But Bonnie Tyler's performance of "Total Eclipse of the Heart"? I don't even know what to say. I am this. Or at least have played this on the piano and danced to it quite. a. lot.
This trite little childhood poem reasserted itself in my life recently, causing irritation of the same ilk as Myers-Briggs categorization or Hogwarts sorting:
Monday's child is fair of face Tuesday's child is full of grace Wednesday's child is full of woe Thursday's child has far to go Friday's child is loving and giving Saturday's child works hard for a living But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.
Note: I was mistakenly born on a Wednesday. Somewhere in the more correct annals of time, it is written that Wendy is, in fact, a Thursday. (art by anji one - thank you)
No matter. This time measurement business is an artificial construct anyway.
But if we ARE going to bother measuring it out as we do in days weeks months years, let's get one thing straight: it's happy birthDATE, not happy birthDAY. I have no intention of instigating reform on the thriving card and balloon industry, nor do I expect people to change up the lyrics to that oft-sung "Happy Birthday" song (note: Warner Chappell makes millions in royalties off that tune still; it doesn't go into the public domain until 2030). However, I do plan on wishing people a happy birthday every time their birth day roles around. Which will be once a week. I need more celebration - and more cupcakes - in my life.
The only human I have seen in the last 24 hours was a woman who just knocked on my door accidentally, thinking mine was the home of the surprise birthday party (nope. that'd be the neighbors across the way, apparently).
I should make use of all this alone time learning how to dance as Ethiopians do. When I was in Yemen last year, I went to an Ethiopian wedding, and the way all the men and women moved their shoulders bordered on unreal. I was expected to dance similarly, and my efforts unsurprisingly provoked giggles. Or pity. I'm not sure.
my celebrations for st. patrick's daypersian new yearthe vernal equinoxmaxine's birthdayand other march delights will take place in germany and morocco this year.
rather last minute, i found flights to frankfurt and marrakesh that were apparently too good to pass up. i'm headed out in 5 hours, returning in 12 days, and dedicated to achieving the following two objectives:
1. seeing the Köln cathedral 2. seeing the tree-climbing goats around Essaouira so, throw back a pint of guiness on my behalf while i'm away, rocking the casbah or riding a camel or something. i'll report soon on any worthwhile adventures.
While we didn't see everyone's favorite boardwalk standard, the turbaned rollerskating electric guitar playing hanger-on, much remains unchanged since the days of our first visits. Flavorburst ice cream cones, two girls shooting up heroin, plenty of medicinal weed offerings, overpriced henna, cheap plastic stegosauri that growled, and these delights:
I need one of these for MazdaTron.
Did the missionaries do this? Nice tailoring of the message to the audience.
Need my palm read so desperately. By Zoltar or the lady whose cat has been telling fortunes since the 1970s. Come to think of it, I didn't see her out either.
A fellow was irritated with me for taking this picture because it infringed upon the rights to his work. I'm sure he licensed that photo of Kobe used in his LA skyline poster above.
Technicolor shemaghs...where were these in Yemen last year?
