Tag: kisa

Outdoor Natalie

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Here’s one thing I adored about Vegas. Music was everywhere. No matter where you were. In the elevator, in a store, on the sidewalk, on the escalator, in the elevator. Didn’t matter. Music was there and everywhere. One of the best moments was hearing Natalie while basking in the midday sun. We were coming back from exploring the newest casinos (& stopping in my favorite indulgence, Sephora) when all of a sudden kisa stopped me and said to listen. What? Water fountains? The Japanese tourists behind us discussing shutter speed? The traffic weaving its way up the strip? For a moment I was lost. Then I heard the voice.
My former boss had told me there was no greater show than seeing Celine. I never saw anything indicating Celine was even around. Bette, Cher & Elton all had their moments, but it was Natalie who stole my show.

Free Show for the Insane

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First Look at VegasI think my husband is part evil. No, scratch that. I think he’s a glutton for punishment. We had been up since 4am, been on a plane for over five hours, hadn’t even checked into our room yet and suddenly he’s agreeing to some two hour “presentation” on time shares. The woman that roped us in was a fast moving, smooth talking woman from New York with bleached blond hair, bright circus makeup and a huge toothy smile. She had lipstick on her teeth and a gleam in her eye as she first circled then approached us. Her first words were, “How would you like to see a free show while you are here?” How could we resist? I barely had time to pee before we were whisked off to answer a bunch a questions, confirm those answers and get shuttled somewhere else. I had been in Vegas for not even two hours.
Sitting down with a rep is a lot like playing cat and mouse. They’ll ask you silly questions and you give silly answers. You circle around the cold, hard facts (like price & interest rate) all the while thinking you could just be the cat in this game. The longer you play hard to get, the harder they try. Reps consult managers, managers come out to sweet talk you. Suddenly, you are in the driver’s seat and they’re saying things like, “we normally don’t make this kind of offer…this has never been done before…my boss is going to kill me, but…” On and on it goes until finally someone gives in, gives up. By the time the interest rate was finally muttered we knew we had won. Over 15% was a ridiculous rate no matter how many free trips to Hawaii they would throw in. With NoThankYou firmly planted in our mouths and a resolution to walk away in our hearts we got our free tickets and got the hell out of there. Welcome to Vegas.

 

Dreaming Drums

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Every so often a good drum solo will save me, keep me from going insane. Last month it was some guy with a bunch of buckets at a Celtics game. This guy was Drum-amazing! A few weeks ago it was some high school kid with a cute smile at my run. Damn if I can’t remember the band’s name, but I made A take a stealth pic from behind a tree…! Last week it was my kisa kicking it with Rock Band on some song from Wolf Mother or Mother Wolf (errrr, I think). He rocked it proper. I almost made him do it twice. Last night it was the thought of seeing Mickey (Melt My) Hart at the Calvin. We got 6th row! Love, love, love the Vulcan. Everyday I hear my drums in songs like Please Let Me Be and I Don’t Trust Myself or in a Max Roach youtube video. Everyday I hear something else I want to run to. Since I don’t have an all-access pass to my favorite drummers (although BubbleGum promises it will be as if I was really there- as if!), I’ll definitely take what I can get. My husband is the ultimate drummer boy IfYouKnowWhatIMean, but when it comes to drums, you know what I need. I need the guy with the profoundly professional sticks every once in awhile. Set my soul straight. The medicine for what ails me – coming up – maybe Andrew Barr accompanied by an orchestra??? A girl can wish… 8)

The Slip

Run Not Done

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I could kiss my kisa for being so so so there. I was driving us home and without warning I blurted out how hurt my heart was. Broken, I said. He was patient, logical…comforting…as best as he could be. He offered advice I couldn’t take. “Call” he said simply. No. NoWayNoHow I countered. I can’t. I want to disappear. Really truly. Remove myself as if I never happened. Ever. I’m doing that slowly, carefully, despite Kisa’s “don’t do that.” I can’t help it. Can’t. Help. Despite being angry I am caught. Confused. Embarrassed.
So, I ran. For the first time this week. I know, I know. It’s Thursday. When you have two jobs and a need to catch up it’s hard to catch the run. It becomes less important. Sadly. So, tonight while dinner was cooking, I got on the tread…as an abbreviated 20 minute run – intervals. 12 minute mile (slow end) 6 minute mile (faster side). I found myself sobbing during the pounding parts. Everything hurt. Rob Thomas tells me there’s no getting back to good. Great. My “cool down” was 10 minute mile and it felt ridiculously slow despite not being able to breathe. This run is simply not done.

Dear You: I heard your music and could only think of swamps and being stuck. Damn him and his mind change! Hang in there.

17 days until Darfur.

Mr. Dillon

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Getting The Shot

I don’t remember the commercial. It may be just in my head because I can’t even remember the product. All I remember is someone (in a really annoying voice) telling Mr Dillon to “loosen up” because he was on a cruise. I have that voice in my head, right now. Telling me to loosen up. Laugh a little. Let Go a little. Live a little more. But, this picture is the epitome of exciting for me.

Last night kisa was glued to the computer, a funny little smirk on his face as he enthusiastically typed away. “Listen to this,” he throws back over his shoulder to me, “we could take a five hour white water rafting trip followed by lunch in the canyon…only $350 per person.” “Oh.” His face fell. “A seven hour bus trip back…” No thanks. “Ooh!” He was at it again. His face all lit up. “Here’s one: a helicopter ride, followed by four-wheeling safari jeep ride, hike for lunch in the canyon.. (I guess lunch in the canyon is mandatory). Lemme guess. Next, we bungy down to a wild boar farm where we rope an emu for the ride home. Why doesn’t any of these adventure thingies sound exciting to me? Maybe it’s because I picture clumsy moi coming home in a body bag? Maybe it’s because I fear my husband will learn just how afraid of man-made heights I really am? “Uh-huh.” I grunted back, head buried in a book. I only looked like I was reading. Instead, I was trying not to picture a helicopter careening off canyon walls, an open jeep doing somersaults down a ravine. Our bodies looking like rag dolls being flung about. I’ve seen pictures of the Grand Canyon. It’s a long way down. Our screams will last forever and echo for eternity.
So, this is where I need to suck it up. I’m only scared because I’m silly with imagination. If I’ve never done something before I can’t think straight and I think the worst. But. But, But~! If I think about it long enough maybe flying in a bubble sounds like fun. Right? Riiight. I may not be Mr. Dillon and I may not be going on a cruise, but I do need to loosen up!

You Didn’t Ask Me

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I know this picture is huge. I wanted it big for a reason. The reason is this: to make the message loud and clear. Some time ago I told a friend this postcard (shamelessly swiped from PostSecret) reminded me of them (grammar be damned, I want to protect the not-so-innocent from scrutiny). Yes, I thought they had something to do with a could-of, should-of relationship. Then, the other other other day someone else admitted to me, “I married the wrong person.” Yikes. What, tell me, what exactly, clued you into the right or wrong of a marriage partner? How do you know that now, and more importantly, did you know that going into the whole “death do you part” deal?
Freak me out. It would kill me to regret any part of the vows I exchanged (and now share) with kisa. I could sigh and say someone else could have been more my speed, more my temperament, more my Me. But, that’s just the way life is…and isn’t. I’m not going to regret something because ultimately, that means regretting someone and that’s not fair. So, I ask again. Did you know you married the wrong person from the very start? If so, why did you do it, let it happen, whatever?
I admit! I play the “what if?” game in my head. That doesn’t mean I’m unhappy with my here and now. I think of old boyfriends and what could have been. I don’t think there’s a person out there who hasn’t done something similar, if not the exact same thing. A kind of WhereAreTheyNow? for ordinary people. I’m sure someone is Googling you right now. If I question my future with my past’s someones here’s what I come up with: a bored housewife with alcoholic tendencies, a military maiden with issues with authority, an atheist marooned at marathon mass every Sunday, a tripped out druggie wondering which sex my husband is having, gay or straight, without me, a overworked mother of three who has to wait through “just nine more holes – just nine more.” None of these are my idea of me.  But, I said yes at the time. Did I know I would be marrying the wrong person? Did I know all these past passings would be considered mistakes? Certainly not. Life just works in a weird, weird way.

Coming Home

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Dear kisa,

You are stranded on a plane somewhere in PA. Engine trouble…something about a starter. I didn’t worry about failure during flying, but more about how tired you’ll be when you finally touch down for sleep. I know how much you hate to be tired.
I had a break through at work today. My BigBossMan reminded me I’m Miss Mucky Muck. If I don’t like something I can make it change…or go away. Imagine that! I’m been counting to ten when all I need to know is three strikes you’re out. Load off my mind and onto my plate.
We’re out of milk. My chai tasted like dirt. The kitchen has been cold without you to cook for. I’m glad you’re coming back tomorrow. Wish it was tonight. I’ll try to kiss you more than the Chipotle.
Anyway, I am ready for bed. Ready to get a new Serious. Speaking of the orange orb, I heard something funny the other day, “That closed sign means nothing to me. That rope across the driveway isn’t going to keep me out.” I had to laugh. Isn’t that how you get your pumpkins? Boys will be boys.

Kisa, I’m tired of negotiating with the cat for bed space. She’s a hog in disguise! Come home soon.
love,
me

Dream Sean Away Rowe Lodge

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Every once in a while it’s great to break of out the crate and do something a little different. Kisa, Aimless and I wandered off to Becket last night. Not Ball player Beckett or the Waiting for Godot kind… but the place that hides the Dream Away Lodge.
I could spend a whole blog on where we went, but I’d rather talk about why we went – Sean Rowe. I do have to say a few words about DAL, though. From the very beginning it was a kind of kismet experience. Aimless was talking about going somewhere because her friend worked with someone who happened to be the girlfriend of someone performing. Kisa and I were going to that same place simply because of that someone performing. Unplanned plans. We decided to carpool. We both forgot the directions. DAL is advertised as the place impossible to forget, impossible to find. That’s nearly accurate because the place is out there – in the middle of nowhere out there. Once you’re there, you’re there and you know it. It’s a farmhouse, a restaurant, a bar, a hippie hangout, a family experience, a speakeasy and maybe once a brothel. From every corner of the room, covering every wall, art and artifacts stare back at you (I swear I saw Gehring). Dogs roam freely among diners, cats wait for behind the ear scratches. Fresh flowers on every table, mismatched plates at your elbows. Wander from room to room with your coffee, maybe kick off your shoes in front of the fire. Listen to the music as long as you respect the tip jar.

Like I said, we were there for Sean and *that* voice. I was too shy to reintroduce myself from the night with Soul Session so I lurked on the fringe of requests and compliments and just smiled. “Remember me?” just seemed too lame an utterance, especially when the answer would have been “no.”
‘Alone’ is one of my favorite songs. I could have asked him to sing that one three or four times…in a row. Might have annoyed some members of the audience, but I wouldn’t have minded! I’m always amazed that one guy with one guitar comes out with so much sound. I love the illusion of hearing trains and drums and heatbeats, all phantoms to reality. Sean has a new song…I don’t know the name of it – but it’s about crashing a car. It’s intense, mesmerizing and dangerous. I could have stayed all night. Surrounded by homemade pillows and a crackling fireplace, I let the music invade my ears, tangle with my brain and thrill my heart only to escape in the cool night air, uncaptured and unconfined for another time.

I want to go back to DAL – eat dinner with the dogs at my knee, sit by the fire with a glass of Merlot and feel at home, lost in Becket.

Ophelia Revisited

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NatalieI go through phases. Musically obsessed, I will listen to one artist over and over again until something takes me off course. I am not exactly sure what dictates this audio gorging, but I’ve always been this way. Ask my mother and she’ll tell you about an ABBA cassette I wore out in the 7th grade. Get me hooked on something and I don’t give it up. Won’t give it up. Ever since kisa was able to get bootlegs of BubbleGum I have been in his audience for months now. Sometimes I’m the back, absently humming along. Other times I’m right up in the front row, screaming my heart out. Daily doses of BubbleGum. Two nights ago I watched Any Given Thursday back to back with a New York show from earlier this year, trying to reconcile 2002 with 2007. I still can’t believe it’s the same guy! Just last night kisa found a secret show, something recorded at 1am. Intriguing.
Recently though, thanks again to kisa, I’m back to my Natalie obsession. Almost like coming full circle. It started in 1998 and most recently came around again when my knight put a gigantic, humungous pair of headphones on my head and said something about Noise Blocking Technology. The latest. I couldn’t hear him. Not one word. “Your lips move but I can’t hear what you’re saying.” His mistake was pushing play and letting the cd spin. I couldn’t hear him, didn’t want to hear him… for Natalie had begun to sing.
I admit it. I have missed this voice. I have missed the anger, the passion that always bubbles up from somewhere secret when her lyrics hit me. Tonight I relived Live in Concert (1999). Natalie has always conquered the tough subjects in her songs. I could sense the rage simmering as Natalie sang, “there’s a world outside this room and when you meet it promise me you won’t meet it with your gun taking aim” (Gun Shy, 1987). She was talking to her baby brother about joining the military but all I could think about was Cho Seung-Hui. What made him meet his world with a gun taking aim – just days before the anniversary of Columbine? Would this tragedy get to Natalie as much as 4/20/1999 did? Would she write about Seung-Hui as she had about Harris and Klebold? Tell me. What makes someone’s hatred so untouchable, his alienation so absolute? When does taking aim become the only answer to desperation? I’m hoping Natalie explores the unexplicable because it’s time to hear her voice again, to hear her ask the tough questions.