At any rate, I’m all about sharin’ the looooooove every chance you get, because sometimes it doesn’t seem like there’s enough a’ that in the world. Which leads me, oddly, to my rumination for today.

And yeah, it has to do with LOOOOVE! Click on!

“Love at first sight.” Do you buy that? Or are you of the opinion that it’s just a bad case of lust and once you manage to get into the pants of the object of your desire, that’s it? I was thinking about this because, as some of you know, I write novels and short stories, many of which explore “attraction” between people (usually women who identify as lesbian or bi). In some of these stories, there’s an immediate spark between characters, in others, it’s something that took a while to build between them. And in one, it’s love at first sight.

I myself know several couples–f/f, m/m, f/m–who have different stories to tell about how they met and what they felt. A few said they started as friends and moved into the lover/partner realm. Others said they met on online dating sites and thus started their relationship on that basis–seeking a lover/partner person. And then there are a few other couples who say it was “love at first sight.” An article in the BBC News suggests that it could be true, but it seems that people know very quickly what kind of relationship they want with someone, thus determining how much effort to put into it. And an article last year in Reuters says it takes half a second to determine whether you’re attracted to someone or not.

I’m not sure that’s what I’m getting at. I’m interested in the situation of the person who isn’t really looking for something, is busy with his/her own life, and ends up in a situation where he/she meets someone else and BAM. Love at first sight, as opposed to just “attraction.” Does THAT happen? That kind of immediate connection to another person, where you just KNOW there’s something about that person that resonates with you and you feel totally turned on but totally comfortable with him/her and that person feels the same about you. Does THAT ever happen?

The couples who said it happened to them often ended up married (if legally able to do so) or heavily involved within a few weeks or months. The couples I know who said they met that way are still together or, as in the case of Danny and Annie Paresa, their bond ended with a death. Here’s an NPR piece about Danny Paresa, who proposed to Annie on their first date. She accepted and they were married for 27 years, until he succumbed to pancreatic cancer.

The people I know who say they’ve had an experience with “love at first sight” talk about an instant, deep connection. A few get kind of embarrassed and mumble about “woo woo stuff” like “soul mates” and “resonance” and stuff like that. Personally, I don’t really care how you define what you felt if you have experienced “love at first sight.” I tend to apply the “unicorn principle” to things like love at first sight. Just because I haven’t seen a unicorn doesn’t necessarily mean they don’t exist. So just because you haven’t had a “love at first sight” experience, who’s to say it doesn’t exist?

Now, let’s get all pragmatic for a moment. A “love at first sight” situation may not last. After all, what do you really know about that person? Not much in that first-sight moment. Which doesn’t necessarily mean there’s no future in a “love at first sight” moment. Danny and Annie Paresa a case in point. And there’s not necessarily a guarantee that a relationship that doesn’t start as a “love at first sight” moment will last. I have friends who were together for over two decades (none a love at first sight situation) and those relationships came to an end.

My point is–if you find someone with whom you resonate, and whether it involves “their gazes met and BAM” or a slow process of getting to know someone, it’s a relationship and those take work. Period. And if you are fortunate enough to have a “love at first sight” moment, and you try to talk yourself out of it because it, like unicorns, doesn’t exist, well…maybe the lesson for you in that case is to trust the process and maybe take a chance. Who knows? Maybe that person you locked gazes with will be someone you’ll spend a long, long time with. But you won’t know if you don’t try.

Anyway. So with all this loooove crap poppin’ out over the holidays, I now offer a couple of

CHEAP-ASS HOLIDAY LOVE TIPS!
Okay, you’ve got your sweetie but you’re over the holiday hype. What to do to show yer love and have a holiday kinda time?

1) light tours. That is, take your sweetie for a walk in your town/city and have a look at the lights. That is some CHEAP-ASS entertainment and c’mon. Holiday lights are pretty. If you go on a night that’s not specifically designated as formal “light tour” with all kinds of people out and food and beverages available, take a couple of travel mugs full of hot spiced cider, coffee, hot chocolate, or tea. Cheap-ass livin’ to make that at home. Plus, the travel mugs can warm your hands up if you’re REALLY cheap and don’t have gloves. Although, that’s also what your sweetie’s pockets are for…just sayin’.

And one more for the road:
2) date night. It is SO important during the holidays to remember to spend some quality time with your sweetie. You’re both probably stressed out and wrung out because of family drama and assorted freak-outs. So surprise your honey with a date. Have him or her over, cook a little dinner or do a little take out. Though honestly, it’s really fun and romantic to cook together. Pick some holiday/festive recipes, go shopping together for ingredients, open a bottle of wine (the one your friends brought over last summer for that barbecue), put on some music, and start cookin’. I guarantee you that halfway through the chopping and prepping, you’re gonna be cookin’ in more ways than one. Other options: pizza, wine, and movie night. Get a sexy movie. Just sayin’. OH! Turn your cell phones off and your land line (if applicable) so you can totally focus on each other. Maybe even exchange little gifts–see last week’s blog for some ideas on home-made coupons.

OH–if you have kids, get that babysitter lined up, ship ‘em to the relatives, or enroll them in military school. Wait. Don’t enroll them in military school. That’s expensive. Ship ‘em to the relatives.

All rightie, then. And if you want to see what novels and stories I write, check my website. My next two novels are due out in December. Speaking of holidays…HA!

Peace, LOVE, and have a groovy week.

At any rate, we made it through November 4th here in this country, but now begins the true test of economic solvency, political staying power, and the overall health of the markets, local and global. Now begins…the battle for the souls of the American consumer! duh duh DUH!!!!

I’m talking about CHRISTMAS. Which apparently starts at 12.01 AM November 1 these days. I noticed this because I made a quick trip into a drug store to buy a box of band-aids on that day and all the Halloween candy had been shoved into bargain bins, while plastic Santas and snowmen had taken shelf space. “What the–” I thought. “What the hell day is this again?” Just yesterday I noticed a few people here in the Holler had their Xmas lights up, though someone pointed out that maybe they put ‘em up so early because it’s still reasonably warm out. And here in the Holler, which sits at about 7500 feet above sea level, that makes some sense. But it does beg the question, however, as to why so many Xmas lights remain up in warmer climes throughout the year. Hmmm.

And here I am, with some tips for your very own cheap-ass holiday season! Click on!

Anyway. I bring this all up because I’m thinkin’ a lot of you don’t have the bucks to bring it. ‘Naw mean? I understand how “buy buy buy” can help fuel an economy that’s sagging lower than tube socks without elastic on my skinny legs. I get that. And I see why that’s useful. But for real. Why do we spend so much time, money, and energy running around for a few weeks out of the year to buy random things for people we may not even talk to the rest of the year? I’m not getting that. But anyway. The point is, we’re entering the time of year in which retailers make assloads of money, consumers go into debt, and the toys end up breaking soon after the new year.

This year, however, it seems lots of folks are cutting back on that spending and for those who have kids, they’re having the little “we can’t afford that” talk, which might not be all that bad a thing, for kids to learn about budgeting and spending money that they have as opposed to living on a credit card. Philosophically, I’m not sure this “instant gratification” culture in which we live is all that, but that’s a discussion for another time.

So with that in mind, howsabout we all come up with some ways to get through the holiday season on less money and more fun? I am all about that. I thus offer my suggestions for

CHEAP-ASS HOLIDAY LIVIN’! Because, as we all know, IT’S THE ECONOMY, STUPID!

1) forget the holiday cards. Send postcards instead. Go to your local supermarket and pick cheesy and/or goofy ones. Just a brief holiday message on the back is appropriate for such a card. Something like: “The weather’s here! Wish you were beautiful! Happy freakin’ holidays! WOOO!” Here in Colorado, I enjoy sending postcards with jackalope on ‘em. Witness, the glory of a jackalope:

[source: axis-of-evil.net (kitsch site)]

Nothing says “Happy Holidays from the Holler” like a jackalope postcard. Or, for SUPER cheap-ass cards, send an email with a link to the card. Nothing says “it’s the economy, stupid” like that. And you can always claim Green points for not using paper products. “We’re reducing our carbon footprint!” (never mind all the electricity you used to boot up your computer and send out the eblast. Or all the chemicals and minerals that your computer is actually made of…but no jackalope were harmed in the sending of this email!)

2) Home-made gift certificates. As opposed to “ho-made.” That’s a whole other kind and I’m sure you can find those elsewhere. Get out your construction paper and markers for some serious home-made gift certificates. Or use your leftover jackalope postcards to make a “favor card.” That is, “This card good for a visit from me, with one six-pack of beer, to watch the game on your HD TV.” Nothing says “I love yuh” like a home-made gift certificate. “Good for an afternoon snipe hunting and jackalope spotting.” Oh, before you actually GO snipe hunting, read this. Anyway, ideas abound! “Good for one bag of microwave popcorn and that lame zombie movie off my Netflix account.” “Good for one afternoon babysitting your kids while you actually leave the house and go indulge in after-Xmas sales with the honey.” Because remember, it’s the economy! Buy useless plastic crap to keep the global market out of the toilet!

3) Pizza. I’m sure if Jesus were alive today, he’d be all about a pizza party with a bunch of your favorite people. And you can always find a sweet deal at one of those chain pizza places. Pool your resources and your money and get yourself 5 big pies and throw a pizza party. Or, alternatively, do a “make yer own pizza potluck party.” Get out those cheesy postcards and write the invite: “Make yer own damn pizza and bring it to our house on such-and-such date. We’re gettin’ a keg with the neighbors. Best pie wins a gift certificate to [insert tacky chain store name here or whatever]. Make it a holiday-themed pizza party and see what kind of absolutely insane things people come up with. Like, reindeer pizza. Or caribou cutlet pizza (something maybe Sarah Palin has indulged in). Or pizzas shaped like elves. Or something equally scary. It’s about FUN here, people. And getting together with folks you actually like. OH, and showing the kids that Xmas doesn’t have to be about buy, buy, buy.

4) Holiday block party. This is primarily for those of you who live in urban areas. It’s a great way to meet the neighbors and get all the gossip on them. “Holy hell. Old Man Thunderhorst is shagging Mrs. Beansmore?” Or, “I always thought Jimmy Tinkton might be a little light in the loafers…” Plus, one of your neighbors has to have a stereo system they can haul out onto the porch to spin some crazy-ass tunes (like an 80s Xmas or something). Drag out the disco, friends. Make it kind of a barbecue/potluck thing and have tables set up with coffee and hot chocolate and baked goods. And if you’re in a colder climate, set up portable fireplaces (or the old “flame-in-a-barrel” trick [and I am NOT talking about Jimmy Tinkton!]). Eat, drink, be merry, hang out with your neighbors and have the impromptu “my decorations are way sexier than yours” discussions. Do some community bonding. As opposed to bondage. That’s probably on that “ho-made” site we discussed briefly earlier.

5) Handy cheap-ass decorating tip from R. Roberti, a fellow author. Since you’re probably eating at less-than-fancy restaurants these days (the economy, y’know), save up those salt packets and maybe even the sugar packets. You can use that as fake snow in your little town dioramas (make sure you hang some “out of business” signs in the windows of your little town shops, to preserve the realism n’ all). I don’t recommend saving the parsley garnishes as a substitute for mistletoe. It doesn’t work as well. But there is a plus side: if your cat eats the parsley, it’ll be okay AND have fresh breath to boot.

And today’s last tip: SHARE THE LOVE.

Get a group of friends and do something for somebody else. Take ‘em to a nursing home or hospice and hand out jackalope postcards and sing holiday songs. Hell, even if you sing badly, there’s something really fun and goofy about singing songs to people. Volunteer somewhere. Help your neighbors put up that giant inflatable Santa display on their roof. Or, if you’re an Xmas purist, learn about Kwanzaa. Have your Jewish friends over for a Hanukkah discussion and commemoration. Or get back to our more primal roots and have a Winter Solstice soiree. Give someone a hand who might need it this time of year, especially.

Because sharin’ the love is what this time of year is all about. And I’ll have more handy cheap-ass holiday tips as the days pass! Feel free to provide some here for readers. Fun, people. FUN!

Thanks for stoppin’ by and thanks to R. Roberti for the decorating tip. You can check out her faboo cookbook here (Italian. Vegetarian. Yum.) Good holiday tip–get a cookbook and try out some recipes on your friends at that block party. Just sayin’.

Start your cheap-ass livin’ and catch you next time!

ANYWAY! So, no. I’m not referring to what you have done when you’re getting ready for bikini season.

I AM referring to Madame Tussauds, specifically in New York City, since that’s where I visited it. So I figured it’d be kinda cool to go have a look at famous people. Even if they are made of wax. And I also thought it might be kinda cool to find out more about this Marie Tussaud woman. I mean, after all, she was a well-known artist during a time that not many women were allowed to do that whole art thing. So let’s take a little stroll through Revolutionary France…

All right, so Madame Tussaud was born Marie Grosholtz in 1761 (though I’ve seen it as 1760 as well) in Strasbourg, France two months after her father’s death in the Franco-Prussian War. When Marie was six, her mother moved them to Paris where she worked as a housekeeper for Phillippe Curtius, a doctor who created wax models to demonstrate anatomy. Curtius became a mentor for Marie, and trained her in sculpting with wax. By 1770, Curtius had opened a museum that featured life-sized wax figures that became popular among local Parisians and visiting royalty.

By 1778, Marie was skilled enough to create a wax portrait of French writer and philosopher Voltaire. Perhaps as a result of that, word spread and two years later, Marie was appointed art tutor to Madame Elisabeth, the sister of King Louis XVI. In so doing, Marie lived at the palace at Versailles, no doubt privy to intrigue and gossip at court.

The artiste herself, Marie Grosholtz (later Tussaud):

[source: Encyclopedia Britannica online]

And indeed, what gossip it must have been. Revolution was brewing in France, and Dr. Curtius himself was involved in the revolutionary movement. He requested that Marie return to Paris in 1789, which she did. In the ensuing upheaval and destruction, hundreds died, many beneath the blade of a guillotine. I’ve heard one story that claimed Marie herself was slated for execution because of her affiliation with Curtius, but the order was cancelled literally as she was leaning over to rest her neck on the ledge of the guillotine because her skills were required to make wax death masks of many of the prominent people who had already died, including King Louis XVI and his wife, the infamous Marie Antoinette.

The other version of this story I’ve heard is that Marie was simply charged with creating the masks (and she may have done so to prove her loyalty to the remaining French royals) but to do so, she had to find the specific heads in piles of corpses. Nice. I’m sure that was a delightful stroll down memory lane for her. Nevertheless, she created the likenesses and they were included in Curtius’s exhibition. When he died in 1794, Marie inherited it and continued displaying the figures. A year later, she married civil engineer Francois Tussaud. Further chaos ensued in the Napoleonic Wars and Marie took her oldest son and the collection of figures from the exhibition and bailed for England in 1802. She never saw Francois again, nor did she return to Paris. Instead, she literally took the whole ball o’ wax and set up shop in the UK.

For the next 33 years, Marie took her collection all over England, finally settling in London in 1835 not far from where the current Madame Tussauds stands on Baker Street. Her last work was a self-portrait she did in 1842. She died in 1850 at the age of 89 and her two sons continued the family business. You can visit exhibitions in New York, Washington DC, Las Vegas, London, Berlin, Amsterdam, Shanghai, and Hong Kong, and you’ll see different figures at each one. Some are celebrities and others are figures from history, and they generally have something to do with the city/area in which the exhibition is.

So there I was, at Marie Tussauds in New York. The place is situated in Times Square, which is probably as close as New York will come to mimicking Las Vegas. It’s right next door to the Ripley’s Believe It or Not museum. I paid the entry fee (which ain’t that cheap–expect to shell out about 35 bucks for the whole meal deal) and walked up a staircase to a landing near a gigantic figure of the Hulk. There you have the option to get your picture taken with him (and yes, you pay for it later) or to continue on to an elevator, where a helpful staffperson takes you to the top floor.

At that point, the elevator doors open and you hear music and you look down on what could be a chi-chi hotel lobby where all these wax figures of celebrities are standing around like they’re at a premiere. Among the famous: Jodie Foster, RuPaul, John Travolta, Leonardo DiCaprio, Tony Bennett, Woody Allen, Whoopie Goldberg, Lou Reed, Tyra Banks, J Lo, Brangelina, Salma Hayek, Susan Sarandon…and a few others I haven’t mentioned. Anyway, the deal is you get to wander around among them and take pictures (you with the famous wax person! WOOOO!). Just don’t touch ‘em. Each figure also has a little description next to it that tells you who it is, and when the actual person sat for the portrait. I asked one of the staff if it creeped her out to work among the wax and she laughed and said that it did at first, but you get used to it. I asked her then if she ever came up to do some dusting or something and discovered that one of the figures had moved or changed positions or something. She laughed again and said that no, she hadn’t experienced that.

Dang.

Anyway, I noticed that the J Lo figure allegedly has this extra ability. Apparently, if you whisper in her ear, she blushes. Okay, so I found that just a little weird, whispering in a wax figure’s ear to get it to blush. “Pssst…J Lo…you sat in some gum…” I guess the artists are experimenting to create even MORE lifelike figures that do stuff like that. I wandered on through, but opted not to do the chamber of horrors because they were treating it like a haunted house and people jumped out at you and stuff. Maybe if the wax figures were doing that, I’d check it out, but otherwise…not my thing. The next floor included historical and cultural figures like Franklin D. Roosevelt, John F. Kennedy, Picasso, Princess Di, Gandhi, and Pope John Paul II. Then on into a nightclub kinda place where George Clooney was hanging out at a corner table and Johnny Depp was near the entrance as you came in. There’s also another room with historical sports figures like Babe Ruth and Jesse Owens. You’ll also see some music personalities (some currently alive, some not) like Jimi Hendrix, Tina Turner, Prince, The Beatles, Ella Fitzgerald, and Janis Joplin.

Here’s the Fab Four:

[source: Encarta MSN]

Then, of course, you can check out the Mets and Yankees room and then wander on into the gift shop to spend yet more money on things like postcards, random doo-dads, and getting a wax mold of your hand (the vats weren’t big enough for a whole body, but don’t think I didn’t ponder that). I opted not to spend more money, and instead headed out. I do have some photos but I’m kinda ol’ skool and they’re on those disposable cameras and I have to get the film developed. When that happens, I’ll post a few and you can decide for yourself if the wax is as good as the real deal.

I think I’d probably dig it a lot more if there was a replica of the original Tussaud exhibit that she inherited from Curtius. But then, I’m a big ol’ history geek. And yeah, I am kinda macabre and I’d like to see the death masks Tussaud created of some of the people who died in the Revolution. At the New York display, I didn’t feel the connection between past and present–Madame Tussaud led a fascinating life, but I’d be willing to bet that most of the people who go to see the wax figures don’t make the link between, say, the Lou Reed figure and the woman who started the legacy in 18th-century France. Which is–whoa! Kinda cool!

Still, it was a nice way to kill a couple of hours. Now if I only had 75 grand. I’d have myself “waxed” and stand myself up in various doorways just for giggles. And I’d be able to talk to myself without people thinking I was completely insane. Then again…maybe not.

Thanks for waxing philosophical and catch you next time!

No, really. I’m now on my sixth day in a row that’s promising to be another 14-hour workfest. I’m sitting here at my desktop computer trying to finish up what feels like 9,334 projects and just when I think there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, something else comes up. What. The. Hell? These projects are like freakin’ tribbles. You start with two and before you know it, you’ve got a room full of ‘em. And they’re still going.

will it ever end? Read on…

[source: memory-alpha, the Star Trek Wiki]

That’s how it is with editing and writing. Generally, feast or famine. Still trying to figure out a happy medium between the two…NO, but thanks for playing! I’ve got three manuscripts to edit that just coincidentally came back from the authors all at the same time. And I have to go through edits of the novels I have coming out in December, which both arrived just as I was leaving for NYC. Hmmm. And then there’s real-life stuff that is ALWAYS something to deal with. I’m a scary-ass cranky bee-yotch right now, which does NOT lend itself to making friends and influencing people. And I’m listening to this weird-ass internet station out of the UK that plays what seems to be a sort of “folk-chill.” Seriously. Not sure whose idea it was to put THOSE two genres together, but here it is. And I’ll start kind of liking it, thinking, “oh, that’s groovy” and then some totally mondo-bizarro tune will come on that sounds like a mix between Woody Guthrie and Café del Mar. And I’m not entirely sure that’s a good mix.

Anyway. And because I’ve been so freakin’ Tribble-ized, I haven’t had the opportunity to properly get ready for Halloween or Day of the Dead (Día de los Muertos). RGH. This, too, makes me cranky. I’m going to try to do some stuff this weekend because we all need downtime (even for creepy, scary, spooky stuff!). So I hope to be visiting the Chicano Humanities and Arts Council in Denver to catch their altars and accompanying exhibits on display through the 8th of November. Hopefully there’ll be stuff like this on display:

[source: Denvergov.org]

Which brings me to something sort of related. I really dig the art of José Guadalupe Posada, whose satirical cartoons during the late 19th and early 20th centuries lampooned Mexican society and created an iconography for modern interpretations of Day of the Dead art. You’re probably familiar with his work and don’t even realize it:

Ring any bells?
[source: Austin Chronicle]

Or how about this one?

That’s “La Catrina,” which can mean “well-dressed” and thus imply “rich/elite.” “Catrina” is the feminine form of “catrín,” which means “dandy.”
[source: Minnesota State University, Mankato Reporter]

At any rate, I’ve seen some really cool tattoos of Posada’s works as well as other tats of Day of the Dead iconography. So if you have a tat like that, drop me a comment here and tell us about it. Make me less cranky!

All right, if I’m able to participate in some Day of the Dead festivities, I’ll let y’all know. In the meantime, I’m up to my ass in tribbles. Hope your week is less fuzzy.

peace!

I just spent a week in New York City. Can I just say: WOOOOOO HOOOOOOO! Here’s the way to do NYC. Know people. That way, you have a place to stay. Because NYC can get a little pricey, especially in terms of lodging. Which is why I consider myself ultra-lucky. I have a friend from grad school who lives in Queens and another friend from a writers’ forum who lives in Brooklyn. So I spent a few days with both, and got a thoroughly awesome NY experience.

wanna get some of my initial impressions of the Big Apple? Click on!

A little bit about me when I travel. I don’t generally do a lot of touristy things. Not that there’s anything wrong with some of the attractions that you’ll get to see. It’s just that those things and places don’t necessarily give you the real flavor of a place or the people who live there. After all, locals don’t generally do touristy stuff unless they’ve got visitors in town. So most of the people you’re going to hang with at touristy places are not local. Again, not that there’s anything wrong with that. But if you want to get a more “local” experience of a place, immerse yourself in it.

Which is not to suggest I didn’t do a few goofy-ass tourist things. I went to Central Park, Times Square, SoHo, Greenwich Village (”the Village”), and Wall Street. I visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art (awesome!) and took my grad school friend’s 5-year-old son to the American Museum of Natural History. She came along, but pretty much let me take him through the museum and talk about whatever he wanted to talk about. Kids are fun that way. They’ll say whatever’s on their minds, and they’re excellent observers. They’ll see things in a totally new way. So when I spend time with kids, I invariably learn something, too.

[source: The New Yorker. I so dug this hall!]

At any rate, I rode the subways and the trains practically every day, whether from south Brooklyn to Midtown Manhattan, from the eastern part of Queens to Penn Station. I also walked. A lot. I love that about cities like New York. People walk. They have their bags and backpacks and they emerge from the subways and go about their business, stopping at local markets and shops for food and whatever else, running errands, arguing on occasion, laughing and living. I love that people shop locally in a city like New York, that for every one chain store I saw there were 20 local merchants. And everywhere I went, I heard a plethora of languages. Russian, Yiddish, Italian, Spanish, English, Arabic, Hindi, Swahili…and many more I couldn’t identify.

So I walked and took public transportation, because you don’t necessarily really get a sense of a place or its people unless you’re right there in the middle of it all and in Manhattan–you’re definitely in the middle of a lot.

[source: Declan McCullagh Photography (this photo came out way better than mine!)]

Manhattan struck me as the pulse of business and industry. I know people live in Manhattan (and god love ‘em if they can afford it!), but it’s an area that feels like a lot of downtown areas of U.S. cities. You go there from the outer boroughs for work or to visit but you live in those outer boroughs. At least people I would know do. I loved Brooklyn. The friend I stayed with is Italian, and the neighborhood in which she lives definitely maintains that identity. We went food shopping one day and I heard so much Italian at the local stores that it was like being in Rome. Which reminds me. My friend is a really excellent chef-type. One of the things I wanted to do when I visited her was to cook an Italian meal with her. You can find out how that went by clicking HERE. I’ll be discussing her cookbook What, No Meat? Traditional Italian Cooking the Vegetarian Way in a later blog because it rocks and I love food.

Anyway, my friend took me to a local restaurant that is to die for, because she loves food, too. If you’re ever in Brooklyn go to L&B Spumoni Gardens for lunch or dinner. Or hell, stay for both. This joint has been in the same family since Ludovico Barbati started it in 1939 and yeah, it’s grown a bit, but not to the point where it’s commercial and scary. The food is unreal and the portions are massive. So take a group and be prepared to eat until you drop. Oh, and try stuff you don’t know about. You might find you like it.

[source: yelp.com]

So in summation, I ate my way across New York and spent a lot of time walking. I only saw a teeny tiny bit of the city, but I got some excellent impressions with regard to sights, sounds, and smells. Next time, I’ll wax philosophical about Madame Tussaud’s and take you through Greenwich Village.

‘Til then, peace out and hope you’re having a great week.

By that, I mean that I really enjoy exploring new places and seeing how people in different parts of the world (heck, even right here in the U.S.) do things. With that in mind, a couple of friends of mine recently attended the Pride celebration in Johannesburg, South Africa. For obvious reasons–they’re South African. And they run an online lesbian bookselling site called Ultra Violet. They’re in the process of expanding so they’ll have a site for books that appeal to gay men, as well, and last I heard, that was soon to launch. Full disclosure: my first novel, Land of Entrapment, is currently featured on the Ultra Violet site along with a book reading and an interview I did.

So. You wanna join me in South Africa for a bit? Well, carry on!

Here’s a handy map (I’m a map freak) showing the provinces in South Africa. Joburg is in Guateng. South Africa (some might not know this) is the southernmost country on the continent of Africa.

[source: SAbookonline.com]

My friend and her wife run Ultra Violet and though they seem to dig me as a person, they also seem to really dig my writing, which is freakin’ flattering to a starving artiste like myself. I mean, wow. South Africa. My book is selling there. That’s…well, that is SO cool.

At any rate, I’m not really here to pimp my book (okay, whatever–pimp it too much, anyway). Rather, I want to delve a little bit into culture and politics. Read the preceding paragraph again. Especially that first five words.

Got ‘em? Okay. I’ll come back to those in just a minute. First, let’s add some context. I am, after all, an anthropologist and a historian (god help me and, by extension, you). Apartheid ended in South Africa in 1994. Begun in 1948, “apartheid” established laws and government policies that ensured the concentration of power in the hands of whites–a numeric minority in the country–and ushered in years of oppression and violence, primarily against the black African majority. Something that maybe many of us don’t think about when we think about this era in African history is the role that technology played in consolidating white power. Especially computers.

With computers, government agencies concentrated administrative power in the hands of whites, and allowed the existence of a racially-based population registry. Throughout the decades of Apartheid, the United States was one of the largest exporters of computers to South Africa, with IBM the largest American supplier of computers there. [see this link for some figures and analysis]

I was a punk-ass sophomore at the University of Colorado at Boulder in 1986. That year, a local student movement that was part of the growing “divestment” movement–to get U.S. corporate interests and U.S. money out of South Africa in hopes of ending Apartheid–galvanized hundreds of students, and some built a shantytown (representative of places like Soweto) outside the student center and lived in it for a few weeks, holding rallies and protests. And yes, I did participate in protests.

Shanytown, Soweto (outside Joburg)

[source: Shapes of Time]

Apartheid did finally end, in the wake of international pressure, sanctions, boycotts, countries withholding investments, and the near-collapse of the South African economy in 1987. In 1991, the South African government repealed apartheid rules and in 1992, a national referendum was held with regard to the leadership of F.W. de Klerk, the white president who had pushed for repealing the laws.

Frederick Willem de Klerk

[source: Nobel Prize.org]

De Klerk received a 70 percent approval rating, with 85 percent voter turnout (he and Nelson Mandela would be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1993). So in 1994, South Africa held its first non-racial democratic election, and Nelson Mandela was sworn in as president because his party–the African National Congress–received 63 percent of the vote. That’s a hell of a turnaround in a few short years.

Nelson Mandela

[source: Nobel Prize.org]

So what does this have to do with Pride? Well, the new South African government hammered out a constitution for the country that was adopted in May, 1996. It’s the first constitution in the world to include the words “sexual orientation” in its rights provisions. Check it out. Section 9, under “Equality.” Number 3 states: “The state may not unfairly discriminate directly or indirectly against anyone on one or more grounds, including race, gender, sex, pregnancy, marital status, ethnic or social origin, colour, sexual orientation, age, disability, religion, conscience, belief, culture, language and birth.” (emphasis mine) Number 5 states: “Discrimination on one or more of the grounds listed in subsection (3) is unfair unless it is established that the discrimination is fair.”

In other words, no discrimination on the basis of anything in number three unless you can prove that it’s “fair,” and that the government presumably “establishes that it’s fair.” And that’s a lot of work, to prove that willfully discriminating against someone is “fair.”

Ten years later, on 1 December 2006, South Africa became the first African country and the fifth country in the world to legalize gay marriage, though there are some provisions that state that civil servants and religious officials can turn gay couples away (refusing to marry them). South Africa’s highest court, the Johannesburg-based Constitutional Court, ordered that the definition of marriage be changed from “a union between a man and a woman” to “a union between two persons.” That, too, is a hell of a change in a country that institutionalized and legalized racism for over 40 years and had criminalized homosexual sex between men throughout Apartheid.

Which is why, when my friend emailed me to tell me that she and her wife had sold a lot of books at Pride over this past weekend, and that it’s estimated that 10,000 people attended, I shook my head in amazement. After all, the first Pride celebration in South Africa happened in Johannesburg 13 October 1990, and some of the people who attended wore bags over their heads to protect their identities. And I thought about how computers had once been used as a basis for institutionalized discrimination in South Africa, but now they’re tools of liberation and connection for people in this country with such a volatile, often divided history. And in the mix of cultures and traditions in South Africa–which is still an extremely socially conservative country in many ways–people found a way to find fairness for all residents in the country, even in the wake of something like Apartheid.

And yeah, there’s still work to do. There’s ALWAYS work to do. It ain’t all wine and roses in South Africa. In 2006, 63 percent of the population in South Africa thought that homosexuality should not be accepted. [click here to read an article on GLBTQ rights and African countries]. There are political and social struggles every day, and violence, anger, prejudice, and poverty. But in fourteen years since the end of Apartheid, in the upheaval that is part and parcel of change, in the re-definition of what it means to be South African, and in the coming to terms with the legacy of Apartheid, there’s something that looks like hope, and maybe a sense of fairness in the wake of past injustices (however begrudgingly some might feel about it), percolating among the peoples who call this country home.

So that’s why I, too, celebrated Joburg Pride, even though I’m on the other side of the planet. So next time you’re doing the Pride thing (for those of you who do it), maybe stop and have a little bit of a think about what it means for you, and for where you are in the world. And do take pride in how far we’ve come, and how things have changed for the better for many people in many countries and will probably continue to change. Yes, there’s work to do. There’s always work to do.

But there’s nothing wrong with taking some time to celebrate the work we HAVE done.

Joburg Pride 2008 logo

[source: Joburg Pride]

But then again, maybe somebody out there might find that “sexy.” Regardless, “sexy” isn’t necessarily a term I apply to myself.

Which brings up another question I have. What, exactly, IS “sexy”?

Feel like deconstructing?

I have my own ideas about what I find sexy. My friends might think a few things about my list are sexy to them, as well, but they also have things they dig that I don’t. This is, of course, predicated on thinking in terms of other adult humans. Some people might find the Borg sexy (Seven of Nine notwithstanding). But for purposes of our discussion here, let’s stick to adult, earthbound humans.

So I have this mountain biking buddy who also has an academic background and we love talking about sex and “sexy.” That is, we totally deconstruct both so that neither term is really about sex OR sexy. Which is pretty interesting, because I end up thinking a lot about the nexus of desire and culture, and what “sexy” may or may not be and what “sex” may or may not be for a variety of people. And I think a lot about the mores and expectations that cultures place on the people born into them, and about the myriad ways sex and “sexy” get expressed, interpreted, and disseminated. And I think, too, about how desire itself can be culturally constructed and directed. Whoa. Heavy.

And then I leave my overarching theory file and go into my individual experience file and I think about what I might find “sexy” and how that’s linked to my own context and experiences. For example, I think humor, self-confidence, and kindness are sexy. I also think curiosity is sexy, because to me, it indicates an inquiring mind and that is totally sexy. To me. I also think that people who take care of themselves physically and are interested in a balance between physical, emotional, and even spiritual health are sexy.

Y’all might think that’s beyond dorky. But hey, that’s one of the cool things about desire and “sexy.” Certainly, there are underlying cultural currents that might determine how we direct our gaze (gettin’ a little po-mo there, yeah?), and what thrums through our inner reaches, but each of us as individuals incorporates “desire” and “sexy” into our own perspectives.

So I thought more about what that might mean, “bringin’ sexy back,” and I decided that heck, yes, we ALL can bring sexy back. If you dig who you are, you like what you do, and you appreciate and respect others, then you are, in fact, bringin’ sexy back.

Did I bring some sexy back after leaving the salon? Well, the day after, I crashed on my mountain bike on this trail that was kinda gnarly in spots. Flying off my bike, skidding down the trail and sliding into a cactus–NOT sexy. Getting up and pulling the spines out of my shoulder and leg–NOT sexy. Athletic, cute. expert mountain biker stopping to ask how I was and offering me her “Oh, you POOR THING!”–kinda sexy. Taking my shirt off in the parking lot and asking my mountain biking buddy to pull the spines out of my back–probably NOT sexy. Mountain biking buddy teasing me, saying, “Oh, yeah. Flex for me, baby!” while she yanks thorns out of my shoulder blade–Not sexy, but pretty funny. Me thinking about athletic, cute, expert mountain biker saying that to me–VERY sexy.

But I digress.

Anyway, “sexy is as sexy does,” I suppose. I’m still not sure I’m “bringin’ sexy back,” but I do appreciate the sentiment and I will probably be endlessly fascinated by what people find “sexy.” That said, if the athletic, cute, expert mountain biker is reading this, um…you can drop me a line here…just sayin’.

All right, thanks for stoppin’ by and pondering sex and sexy with me. Thanks, too, to Justin Timberlake and his fellow songwriters for writing “Bringing Sexy Back” so I could ponder such things today, a few days after flinging into a cactus and a day before my birthday. WOOOOOO!

Oh, here’s Justin and Timbaland bringin’ it back for us.
Click here to view the embedded video.
CLICK THIS if the video doesn’t work.

So c’mon. Bring a little sexy back your own selves. YEAH!

And in a totally unrelated matter, I’m giving a copy of my first novel, Land of Entrapment, away in a drawing. Click here for details and to enter. The drawing’s on October 4th.

peace!

Washington Park (”Wash Park”) has two nice little lakes, a rec center, flower gardens, and these great trails. There’s an outer loop in dirt that people run on and then an inner asphalt road that is filled with cyclists and roller-bladers. I, of course, did the outer dirt loop. It’s got some nice dips and rises, so you can work different paces. I think all told, the loop is about 2 miles.

Check it!


[source: Prugh Law Firm website]

Anyway, I start my run and that initial five-ten minutes or so are generally really sucky. I don’t know why that is, but it’s like my skeletal system is in total resistance to any forward motion and my muscles are trying to pull it along. After about 10 minutes, my skeleton’s all warmed up and good to go and cruising along and for about 20 minutes, bones and muscles are in total sync. Then about 25 minutes in, the muscles start having an issue. “Oh, c’mon. Why the hell are we out here? This is stupid. Let’s go home and drink one of those deee-lish Breckinridge Vanilla Porters.” (current fave)

And they protest more, especially when I pass by that woman who’s about 23 and is built like an Olympic athlete, dressed in some kind of super high-tensile fabric and she’s smiling and barely broken a sweat since I passed her the last time–we’re running in opposite directions–even though she’s practically wearing the equivalent of one of those full body Speedos. Wait–no, she’s not sweating at all. Bee-yotch! She’s not even breathing hard! I so hate her!

Must…not…look…old…

I smile back, but it’s probably a grimace of pain and makes me look like someone’s shot me in the ass, except I wouldn’t even notice if that happened because my ass already hurts from running that last interval. This IS kinda stupid. Why the hell AM I out here? And then I catch another wind and bones and muscles are once again in sync and I speed up, forgetting all about that vanilla porter and instead get caught up in the rhythm of my breathing, in how it feels to pull extra speed from my thighs, and how I can smell autumn in the air.

There’s a guy running in front of me and he must be pushing 75. I wait for a good spot and then cruise past him on his left and I think: “right on.” His breathing sounds okay and he’s got a steady pace going and I wonder if that sleek android woman thought “you GO!” about him when she raced by. I wonder if she thought that about me, since I have about 20 years on her. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe she was all into listening to Coldplay or some other brooding guy band on her sleek, android-like iPod nano.

That becomes a game for a quarter-mile: trying to guess what people are listening to on their iPods. I don’t run with music, since I’m afraid I won’t be able to hear the zombie invasion coming up behind me. Or the nutso untrained golden lab that weighs 122 pounds that broke out of its owner’s grip and is now barreling down the path and closing the gap between it and me. And there I’d be, Ani DiFranco blaring in my earbuds, totally oblivious, until this giant canine launched itself and landed square on my back, oh, so glad to meet me! And I’d sprawl, facedown, screaming “AHHHHH! FUCKIN’ NAPOLEON! EVERYONE IS A FUCKIN’ NAPOLEON!”

…wanna sing along? Here.

Anyway. I don’t run with music. Sorry, Ani.

So I finally finish my run and android-woman cruises by again as I’m doing some stretching. Still smiling. Still not sweating. Just wait ’til you’re 40, I think. MUAH HA HA! And then I realize that, hey. Yeah, I’m comin’ up real soon on 41. But I’m out here, running a few miles. I’m out here, enjoying the autumn, enjoying the interludes when my bones and muscles are in sync, enjoying how it feels to be alive. And so is she. The older guy walks past, on a cool-down. I wave at him and he smiles at me. Wait ’til you’re MY age, he’s probably thinking. Or maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s thinking that it’s so nice to see all kinds of people out here, using this park, getting some exercise.

And I realize that even though I’m now officially in my 40s, I’m so freakin’ glad I can still be out here, doing this. I walk back to my car and I think, “GO, android-woman! Kick some ass for the next 20 years and beyond!” And I think about that guy, and I hope that when I’m that age, I’m still able to get out and run.

Happy fall, y’all!

And thanks to A Flock of Seagulls for the song lyric in the title. I’m so having an 80s binge right now…

Oh, hope you stop by Women and Words. I’ll be posting an excerpt there from my upcoming sci fi book that’s being published in December. And if you’re interested in learning some tips about writing, I’m doing a little info-series on my blog on my homesite. Click here to check it out. Peace!

Well, gol’ durn, that sounds mighty pleasant! So what’s with this NOT going away on a vacation? Most people will say “it’s the economy,” which generally means “can’t afford the gas” or “can’t afford the extra fifty bucks for a plane ticket, since I want to take some luggage and not have to wear the same pair of underwear for a week.” Funny, how stressful economic times keep people closer to home.

Ultimately, I think that’s a totally good thing, re-connecting with where you live. I’m really fortunate in that I live in a state that offers tons of outdoor recreation all year long. I just went mountain biking and in a few days, I’m going hiking. Awesome trails abound within 20 miles of where I’m currently based and when I did a little whitewater kayaking in July, I did it on the Arkansas River, which runs 30 feet from my front door. Yeah. I’m really freakin’ lucky. Here’s a shot of the boaters’ “playhole” that was constructed where I now reside. This is right downtown.

[source: Hello Colorado Springs]

Right downtown. I am not making that up. Here’s a shot of downtown, for funsies.

[source: Bargain Retirement Places (but don't necessarily believe that!)]

So for someone like me, who really digs outdoor activities and running around in the mountains or rafting/boating on the river, staycationing makes total sense to me. And you don’t necessarily HAVE to stay at home or even in your home city. You can take a staycation just by going to the next town over (or city) and spending the day there. Sure, it might involve driving, but not a thousand miles (unless you reside in the Northwest Territories). Maybe a hundred. Probably less. And it’s kinda cool, actually, to get to know more about where you’re living.

And some days, if the weather ain’t all that, you can take a staycation over the weekend in your house and rent a few movies and just hang out with your friends, family, kids, neighbors, whomever. Or take your kids to the local library (ooo! You can check movies out there, too!) on a day like that. Maybe to the local museum or zoo. Maybe have a dinner party or potluck at your house with friends. Invite some people you don’t know very well but would like to get to know. It’s low-key, mellow, and parties can be fun.

So, yeah. Lately, I’m kinda diggin’ this staycation thing. I’m liking meeting more people where I live, and getting to know more about the surrounding area. And yeah, it can save you some money. And that’s always good.

Anyway, I’m doing a little staycationing this week. If you want to find out more about other crazy stuff I’m up to, catch me at MySpace, too. If you want to find out more about what I write and my first novel that was just published and the next two that come out this December, catch me at my website.

Thanks a bunch for stopping by and hope all y’all enjoy some downtime.

[source: Palisade Chamber of Commerce]

What does this have to do with gas? Read on!

Palisade–named because of the stark, tower-like buttes of Mancos shale that surround it–is tucked along the Colorado River and it’s world famous for its peaches. Here you’ll find quiet streets lined with Queen Anne style houses and a downtown that’s about three blocks long. It might remind you of the Iowa town your grandma grew up in, back when people walked everywhere and knew everybody and you stayed out of trouble because holy crap, everybody kept an eye on the kids and would tell your mama if you were doing anything questionable. That’s the kind of vibe that still exists in Palisade, though its myriad fruit stands and vineyards–the Confre wine cellars tasting room is right off the interstate–demonstrate that it’s a small town that recognizes the need to put one foot in the future while keeping the other firmly in the past.

This is an area of Colorado that demonstrates extremes in its topography. A mixture of canyonlands, desert buttes, and high mesas, the drive along I-70 takes you through eroding sandstone and shale obelisks and hoodoos–formations that might be comfortable in a cave or on a pockmarked lunar landscape. Agriculture clings stubbornly to the floodplains long irrigated by the Colorado River, continuing to produce world-class fruits and vegetables, in small family operations that somehow continue to survive and maybe even thrive in this mixture of harsh and hospitable landscape.

But as I’m driving west toward Rifle, and ultimately Glenwood Springs, where I’ll head south toward Aspen back toward my current home base, I’m seeing a lot of new growth along the river to my right and all along the bluffs to my left. Big, black or silver drilling rigs are sprouting like corn, and crews sink pipe miles underground to access natural gas deposits that are trapped in the millions of years of layers of shale. This part of Colorado is one of the richest natural gas deposits in the country, and with its promises it brings pain, too.

[source: Denver Post business section]

Colorado’s Western Slope has been in the news for the past couple of years pretty steadily because it happens to harbor a resource that lots of people are talking about, lots of people want, and lots of people don’t want. The oil and gas industry brings tons of money into the region, and you’ll see it reflected in new buildings and infrastructure in cities like Grand Junction. There’s no doubt that local communities benefit in economic ways from the oil and gas industry, and no doubt that these communities are experiencing growing pains because money talks and lures people who want to experience a wild west setting and access to mild weather patterns as well as to some of the most amazing outdoor recreation in the state. Mountain biking, fishing, hunting, camping, rafting, kayaking, rock-climbing–you can find all of this on the Western Slope, and lots of gearheads have moved in, snatching up cheap housing and property and trying to enjoy what the wilderness has to offer. The nice climate also attracts a lot of retirees, who are able to afford housing that hasn’t skyrocketed to Aspen prices (a million for a house, low-end), a quiet town, and ease of getting around.

All of these are good things. But out on the Western Slope, there’s an old battle raging across a moonscape that still bears the toxic scars from the uranium boom in the 1950s and 1960s. Americans are an extractive lot, facing west with fresh-faced idealism and big ideas about natural resources and how to 1) get ‘em out of the ground as quickly as possible and 2) how to capitalize on said resources locally. But Americans also have a grand “we love wilderness” tradition embedded deep in most of our souls. A sense that the next great mountain is just over the hill we’re currently climbing, that the next awesome waterhole that’s never been discovered is just downriver, and that there’s something inherently valuable and useful to backpack twenty miles from the nearest town and stare at a night sky that stretches like unending velvet overhead.

And therein lies the essence of the battle in places like Colorado’s Western Slope. Money is good, especially for depressed communities. But the destruction of wilderness–something that turns off money that outdoor recreation fanatics can bring–affects locals who have suffered health problems from the waste generated by extractive industries in the area, and that could mean that eventually, the only crop growing in the area will be drill rigs, and the only outdoor recreation will be an ATV obstacle course through the drilling fields.

View of a natural gas field in Wyoming.

[source: "Impacts of Resource Development on Native American Lands"]

It’s a classic conundrum for those of us who live in an area rich in natural beauty, abundant in outdoor recreation opportunities, but also sitting on vast reserves of natural resources. To fuel our American way of life, we do have to extract natural resources. But the price we end up paying in the long run may not be worth the benefit we might derive. Costs in health problems; social tensions between local communities and the hundreds of temporary workers that follow extractive industries; rising crime and stress triggered by the latter; diminishing of outdoor recreation areas that include places to hunt, fish, and ride ATVs (if that’s your thing), which means a concurrent drop in outdoor tourism to the region.

I don’t know what the answer is because as I’m driving west toward Glenwood, I know I’m part of the problem, every time I put gas in my car, every time I turn on the furnace (natural gas), or turn on a light (coal-powered electricity). And I like those conveniences. But I also like staring out over miles of wilderness without a drilling rig in site, where it’s just me, my mountain bike, and the slickrock. I’m like many native Westerners, I suppose. I grew up in a small depressed ranching community that practically died when mining tanked in the 1980s. And I saw money start coming in again from outdoor tourism, from the boaters and rafters and assorted gearheads that turned the town where I grew up into a mecca for whitewater sport. I’ve lived the devil’s bargain struck between western communities and extractive industry, and the uneasy assimilation of an outdoor recreation economy into an area traditionally conservative and fueled on the backs of cattle and miners. And the newcomers are young, hip, socially progressive, and bombastic about preserving wilderness, almost dogmatic in their approaches to it. And I find myself mistrustful of their intentions, thinking that they don’t really know the pulse of the cultures in these small towns, that the history of the American West is fraught with these insider/outsider wars, and ultimately, nobody really wins.

I don’t know what the answer is, but as I head south on Colorado 82 toward Aspen, where some of the residents can afford to buy entire islands, I don’t see drilling rigs or the temporary housing alloted to the guys who work them and I’m reminded, again, of the power of money to transform and tear down communities. And by the time I hit the summit of Independence Pass, 12095 feet above sea level, I stop and stand in a brisk wind that pulls goosebumps from my skin, staring across a tundra surrounded by Alps-like peaks. And on the way down, barely below timberline, the sagging, decaying remnants of a mining camp clings to the sides of the mountain. Some day, the structures will finally collapse to the earth and I idly wonder, as I pass, if they’ll be replaced by three-story drilling rigs.

For more takes on Western Slope oil and gas drilling, click here for a Vail Daily News article. And check this piece out from the Grand Junction Daily Sentinel. For a look at the good and bad in oil and gas drilling on the Western Slope–especially with regard to Rifle, CO–click here for a piece by my fellow intern at High Country News.