I Wasn’t Looking for Love… January 30, 2009

This time last year, I was trying my damnedest not to be a Valentine’s Day Grinch, when along came the Girls!Girls!Girls! Valentine’s Day Edition to spare me the trouble. It was difficult for anyone (single, coupled, lonely, jaded) to not feel loved that evening as the whole night turned out to be a giant, singing, dancing (yes dancing) valentine from me and the girls to everyone in the audience.

We were unsure a year ago how many people would want to spend their Valentine’s Day at The Thirsty Ear (notably lively and energetic, but maybe not the first place to come to mind when seeking romance). But out of the cold and into the warm, candle-lit club they came in droves. So, this year it’s on again. For anyone who’s never attended a Girls! show, the quartet is made up of three ladies from other musical groups and myself. Our own projects run the gamut from rock to bluegrass, but we come together a few times a year to revive old standards (and a few not-so-old) in three- and four-part harmony.

So Columbians… or Columbusites… or those of you living in Columbus: If your plans for the 14th are looking a little, well, vague, allow me to clarify. No matter what you do earlier in the day or evening, arrive alone or with your date at The Thirsty Ear at 9pm and we’ll take care of the rest. We’ve never played a show that didn’t get a little out of hand (in the best sense of the phrase) at some point or another, so a good time is guaranteed.

See you there!

~a

Obamicons – Hells Yes We Can. January 30, 2009

Now that the “Yes We Can” Man is officially President Obama, what to do with our campaign sticker fever? I mean they were good.

Damn good.

Never fear, my friends! Obamicon.me. brings us the ability to create endless twists on the symbol of hope we’ve come to know and love. Whether you use the template to venerate or villainize, the tool is easy to use and thus far has produced some clever off-shoots.

Check it out, and don’t be shy and self-conscious and keep these to yourself. (Like when Evil Twin takes a ton of stuff into the dressing rooms when we’re shopping and comes back out ten minutes later having shown me nary an item, claiming none of it “worked.” Psh.) Leave your fine (or funny, or bizarre, or twisted or whatever) works of art in my comments.

Also, soon to come: J and I won a free salsa dancing lesson tonight at the Capitol Theater. This could be hot. Like habanero sauce drizzled on smoldering coals hot. Like surface of the sun hot. Like Hillary Swank hot (tee hee – The Office, anyone?).

Or, you know, goofy, clumsy and ultimately disastrous.

Either way, I’ll be sure to report back, hopefully with both ankles intact.

~a

They Call Me Whiskers, Cuz I’m Curious… January 26, 2009

Thought it might be kind to post a Sophie Status Update. You might recall this stray kitten who let herself into J’s house on a night when she surely would’ve otherwise frozen to death, was taken in “just for the night,” was still with us the next morning and the one after that and the one after that, was mistaken for a boy for a good two or three days and was finally (and with feigned reluctance) named and allowed to remain indefinitely.

Well, not only has Sophie remained, but she’s stealthily stalked her way into all of hearts (even J’s roommate, who makes a good show of detesting her, was discovered studying with Sophie curled in his lap – at which point he tried to cover by pretending to strangle her – see Exhibit A below). Indeed, Sophie turned out to be painfully lovable. This girl has spunk, energy, imagination and the proverbial curiosity. I try not to think about what would’ve become of this amazing, little creature had she been left out in the cold that night (but I still do think about it, and it gets me all foggy-eyed).

One thing is for sure, though, she is definitely ours now. Or we’re hers, I’m not sure which. And soon she must meet Gabe, and THAT will be entertaining (mostly because Gabe is also curious, and Sophie still has her claws). But – that’s for another post.

~a

Photospelunking January 25, 2009

Quite the adventure yesterday (for which I am likely now paying the price – my head is killing me). My photographer friend, K, took us out to what was once a bustling military school just outside of downtown. The campus is still used in part as a vocational school, but the rest is made up of numerous hulking shells of withered elegance.

The temperatures were just reaching into the twenties, and although the sun provided some added warmth, the minute we set foot on the creaking floor boards of one of the houses, the chill really set in. The downstairs rooms were largely whole, but the paint on the walls was badly chipped, creating a crackled finish throughout the home. Evidence of the rich colors once splashed on the walls indicated this place was once lively and bright.

Climbing up the narrow, rickety staircase (in four-inch heals, no less), a draft followed us onto the second floor. Here the rooms were in even worse shape. What had once been a feminine, pink bathroom was now strewn with shattered mirror shards and caked in a layer of dirt. The kitchen cupboards were all flung open as if someone had recently searched (fruitlessly) for a midnight snack. On the other side of the house, windows had been blown out completely, and the wind gusted about freely here. The whole shoot felt a little post-war, come to think of it.

When our numb fingers and red noses could take no more, we fled to Franklin Park Conservatory to shoot a completely different type of portrait. But the Fort Hayes images are my favorites – dark and borderline surreal, mysterious and lovely. They capture exquisitly the way that house felt. Looking forward to shooting here with Kevin again in March, when he’ll be bringing in a couple other photographers and models for an afternoon of photospelunking.

(To see more of K’s work, visit http://www.myspace.com/pasquale_photo )

~a

Grandview Fire Update January 22, 2009

Just caught wind of an event to help The Candle Lab start picking up the pieces. I’m hoping to find out more about events that aid all the businesses that were lost in the recent fire, but this one’s a great start. I’m all about getting my wine on for a good cause. If you’re a local reader, I hope to see you there. If not, I suppose I understand you not making the trip to Columbus and will forgive your absence this time

~a

“I’m Bringing the Camera…” January 21, 2009

“Never know when you’ll need it,” J said, slipping his little point-and-shoot into its soft, grey case.

“Indeed,” I replied, and we headed out into the frigid morning to run some errands and check up on Gabe. My plan was to stop at home first, then head over a couple blocks to Grandview Avenue to drop off some packages at the Post Office and maybe pick up a few things at the G-Eagle.

Mias non. It was not to be.

As I drove up Third, desperately trying to warm my fingers in front of the weezing heat vents, something caught my eye: an abnormally large and burgeoning cloud of thick, black smoke rising up from precisely the location I was headed.

My first thought? “Holy shite, we’ve finally burned down our house.”

Granted, there are quite a few houses in the area, and for me to think it was mine was a little silly. And, as I drove on, I came to my street and the source of the smoke was still further west. It had to be something on Grandview Avenue. Something big.

I jaunted over a couple blocks, because I could see that Third was blocked off ahead. I was able to take little Ida Ave. all the way in, parked next to the bank, and, from there, could’ve sworn it was the large church, St. Christopher’s, that had smoke pouring out of the roof. Jumping out of the car and moving along Grandview, though, I soon saw this was not the case.

As I came to the corner, where others were starting to gather, four ladder trucks came into view, all their ladders extended high into the air, hoses directed straight down into an inferno that had engulfed the entire second story of nearly a whole block of storefronts. Obscured by firetrucks and roped off from view was Z Cucina, the restaurant where I worked over the summer. I was sure it had to be gone as well, or at least in the process of being swallowed whole by smoke and flames.

J whipped out the camera (such strange prophecy that line turned out to be…), and fired off as many shots as he could before his fingers went painfully numb. (The temperature read 14 degrees when we got back to the car). The juxtaposition of fire and ice was both devastating and stunning to watch.

I’ve spoken with one of the owners of The Candle Lab (the fire is said to have started with an explosion on the second floor right over her shop). She says her stock is in pretty good shape, but the location itself was ruined due to smoke and water damage. She hopes to remain in Grandview, but may have to wait the year it takes to knock the entire block down and rebuild.

The singular bright moment in all this: J and I went back later in the evening, and were able to walk down the entire street, as I walked past the back of a firetruck, my heart jumped – Z was still standing, and, in fact, looked untouched and as if it could open for dinner service if it wanted to. There’s a hallway in between the restaurant and the rest of the stores on the block, and it seems this acted as a barrier to the fire. I’m so down for some duck legs when they’re ready to reopen!

Sadly, the avenue, which had been such a beautiful little stretch of dining and shopping so close to home, will have to sustain this gap for some time. I just hope all those who lost businesses and offices in the fire are able to bounce back soon. I’ll be keeping an eye out for you guys. Hang in there.

~a

The GHP Part III January 19, 2009

…. We met up with J’s Dad and sister at a little restaurant by the lake. It was late in the evening, and we were starving, and I looked like hell (still on the mend from my illness with a nasty, lingering cough that was oh-so-ladylike…), but I was excited to finally see in person at least two of the until-now fictitious characters in J’s stories. We arrived first, and ordered drinks, and as the two of them walked in, I felt this bizarre sense similar to what you might feel upon seeing Jude Law or Jennifer Aniston (or whoever) in your grocery store buying milk or kumquats (or whatever). I had seen them in so many pictures, and had such a crisp idea of them in my mind, and now, here they were, real-life people. And not at all scary. And, in fact, very much like myself and my family.

We had a great dinner, then headed home to pass out for a long night of much-needed sleep. It would be the last of its kind until we arrived back in Columbus.

There was much touring of the area, and the weather was unseasonably warm, so I fit in a run and we walked into town and around the local college campus. (It seems my campus-phobia is on the mend, and I may soon even be able to return to school, should I perhaps desire such things…) J’s older brother and mom flew in on New Year’s Eve, and his Dad decided we should all try this renowned soul food restaurant in Charlotte called LeWon’s. It was in a tiny little strip mall on a questionable side of town, and shared a parking lot with a gas station. The interior wasn’t much to talk about, but MY GOD. When they put that food down on our table, the smell was almost overwhelming, and everything we tried was phenomenal. We left stuffed and schooled. Never judge collard greens, mashed potatoes and candied yams by their cover.

From there, J’s parents took off for New Year’s in Charleston, SC, and the rest of us headed home to prepare for the festivities. The party began relatively early and wound down in the wee hours on New Year’s Day (actually, it even continued after that when, a few hours after some had finally gone to bed, others returned to make breakfast for everyone). What happened in between is hard to summarize, but the key moments were these:

-Evil Twin and In-Law return to join in the party.

-Massive, four-table beer pong tournament is organized

-At midnight, the hands-down biggest guy at the party pops the cork on a bottle of champagne, sends spray flying, splashes a bit on this weird, little guy that no one invited. Weird, little guy gets booted (by force) from the party. Peaceful merriment resumes.

-An hour later, flashlights are seen in the back and front yards. The local cops caught Weird, Little Guy who was underage and had an illegal blood-alcohol measurement. He sings like a canary and tells them where to find the party. They try to enter the house without a warrant, and we immediately usher the few underage guests (J’s little sister is only 18.) up to a little room upstairs. (Or, as one of the guest astutely put it, “We had to pull some Anne Frank sh#t on those underaged kids.”

-Cops try to search the house, but J reminds them that they have no right to do such things without a warrant, and appeases them, instead, by have all of us bring our I.D.’s to the cops. After ruining the mood for a good hour, cops let us off the hook, tell us to keep it down and finally get lost. Merriment resumes.

-We get a roaring bonfire going (by which I mean, Evil Twin and I use our pyromaniac tendencies to stoke the fire with empty beer boxes, random trash items and the occasional alcohol). Sparklers ensue.

Admittedly, I crashed early, but only because I knew very well that another night of partying would follow, and as my body is unaccustomed as of late to such hardcore debauchery, I knew I should rest up. The next night proved to be much of the same, with the addition of marshmallow-roasting and hot-tubbing. And this, my friends, is the origin of the newly-minted terms “brominizer” and “brominization.” Apparently the process of adding bromine to water is called brominization, but this also seemed the perfect descriptor for the excessive man-love that occurred as a natural effect of the joyous reunion of a large group of male friends and relatives. See below for examples.

And so it went, and there was plenty more I’m leaving out, I’m sure. But that’s a fairly accurate summation of how I went rogue for 11 days.

Thank you to all involved. We must do it again sometime.

~a

The GHP Part II January 19, 2009

….And so, after surviving an evening of teetering on the brink of embarrassment, I made it home by midnight – just in time to get a a decent night’s sleep before work the next day. J, however, was not so lucky; having procrastinated (a man after my own heart) he needed to be up by 4 a.m. to go home, pack and make the drive to North Carolina where he’d then be catching a red-eye to London, where his parents live. He looked like misery personified as he tucked the covers back over me and said, “good-bye.” It would be a week until I met him back in North Carolina. We are admittedly pathetic.

Myself, I had a few more days of work left before I could embark on my 11 days of vacation. But when Wednesday afternoon rolled around, the boss wrote us an e-mail saying, “Let’s all get out of here early and get to our families,” we rapidly obliged, and madness ensued.

First there was the annual Christmas Eve gathering at my grandmother’s house about an hour out of the city. Evil Twin was already there when my brother and I pulled in. Two years ago, Evil Twin drank a bit much at this little soiree. (Pomegranate martinis were the drink of the evening, I believe. I drank my first, and my Aunt refilled the glass. For the rest of the night, unbeknownst to anyone, Evil Twin downed both my refills and hers.) She ended up belligerently swearing at everyone in the car on the drive home, and we had to lock her in the garage with the dog until she was ready to pass out finally. So she expects to hear about it every year, and we never let her down. (Turns out that year was a fluke – no incidents since, but we still like to give her a hard time about it).

Christmas itself was a beautiful thing as always. No snow, sadly, but we awoke as usual, climbed the stairs, waited for Dad to come out and tell us (as he has every year since we were tiny), “Well, kids, I’m afraid it looks like Santa didn’t make it this year…” At this point everyone groans at this lame attempt, gives him a punch or two in the kidney, pushes past him to get to kitchen for some coffee and begins the unwrapping process. (What? This isn’t what happens in every American household on Christmas morning??)

This leg of the vacation went by quickly, and soon it was time for me to chuck my bags into Evil Twin’s car, which was so overloaded with their suitcases, gifts and dog that I had to cram myself into one-fourth of the back seat and insist that it was really fine and I was comfortable and ready to hit the road. She and her husband had offered to drive me back down to North Carolina to meet up with J at his family home there. It was a good deal; I couldn’t really complain.

But it was a long, claustrophobic haul down to North Carolina, with a few stops along the way (but if you ever have to stop for food in Charleston, WV, I have two words for you: Bluegrass Kitchen. Do it.). There was traffic and carsickness and FINALLY, at 8:00 p.m., at a little gas station outside of Winston-Salem, there was J.

I parted ways with Evil Twin and the In-Law, thanked them for the ride and invited them to come back to J’s for the New Year’s Eve party. Then it was time to get back on the road – we had 45 minutes of driving left, and a 9 o’clock reservation for dinner with J’s dad and sister. Time to meet the family…

(TBC)

~a

The Great Holiday Post (At Last!) PART I January 13, 2009

I know, I know. I thought I’d had enough of the red and green, the twinkling lights, the tinsel, the mistletoe, the Santa hats and the radio station that plays Christmas music 24 hours a day (right – actually I HAVE had enough of that station), when suddenly in through my e-mail box came a deluge of photographic reminders of how exactly I had spent the past month.

Which is good, because they’re probably the only way I could’ve remembered all this. Between the delirium of illness (through which I partied hardy nonetheless) and the ever-flowing seasonal cocktails, piecing together the events of the last 30 days might’ve been much like recreating the birth of the universe.

But never fear!

J and others have come through with a wealth of evidence which I will use to regale you with tales of Christmas past.

Part 1: In Which Everyone Says, “I Told You So.”

We begin with a frigid evening early in December, which I believe I have already mentioned. As part of J’s Christmas present, I wanted to take him to see Wildlights, the Columbus Zoo’s annual light display. A friend to all things sparkly, J was bound to be captivated. I would give him the gift of lifelong memories! An unforgettable evening of whimsy and splendor!! (That, and I remembered they have phenomenal hot chocolate, for which I had a killer craving). So off we went, gallivanting through the icy park, laughing in the face of the great winter sky as he spat an icy mix.

And the next day I awoke with a sore throat.

And the following day I had to call in sick because I couldn’t remove my now 45-pound head off the pillow.

And so it began… Not the best season to be sick. With so much on the calendar, I decided I’d rest for a few days, then power through the holidays, cold or no. Sophie proved to be an amazing caregiver. Not only did she stay by my side as I slept, but in an effort to keep my spirits high, she would perform little shows for me using wrapping paper and bows for costumes. I swear. She performed the entire libretto of Sweeney Todd one afternoon. It was terrifyingly good.

That Friday was the office holiday party. I had spent hours going back and forth with the event planner, making sure everything would be amazing that evening, and now here it was. And I was still looking a peculiar shade of pistachio and having trouble staying conscious. It seemed I was doomed to miss out, but at the last minute – I rallied. I jumped in the shower, and it’s stunning how when you get cleaned up you can fool yourself into thinking that because you look pretty damn good, you must feel equally splendid.

This line of thinking got me to BoMA (the Bar of Modern Art) fashionably late, and the party was underway. There was the standard white elephant thing, in which, for a brief moment, I held in my hands a signed headshot of none other than MICHAEL BOLTON. With two (count ‘em, TWO) subway gift cards taped around his face. The heavens opened up, light poured into the room, the ethereal voices of angels rained down (or maybe the was Michael, himself! Who knows?). Then, with a violent wrenching sound, like the crashing of thunder… Michael was taken from me, and I ended up with a How-To picture book instead. And no Subway to ease the pain.

But the party went on and the open bar remained – well, open. And things progressed as they do in these situations. When people started to venture onto the dance floor, I knew it was time to make a clean getaway. I was feeling light and euphoric, but had completely lost my voice and was starting to be at odds with my four-inch heels.

And the next day I awoke sounding like a frog. And feeling as I’d imagine a frog might.

And I had a show the next day.

I was supposed to join my roommate and another fellow musician to perform some holiday tunes Andrews’ Sisters-style at a local benefit for the homeless. And I was to sing the high parts. And I was currently capable of spot-on impression of Carol Channing.  But, as they say, the show must go on. And it did. There might’ve been a gallon of tea and some questionable doses of Nyquil involved, but I was there and I sang, damnit! (And I even smiled a lot, for which Vick’s gets my unwavering devotions).

Disaster averted. Parties attended. Free drinks unwasted. Homeless families aided.

And this was just the beginning….

~a

The Incredible Disappearing Girl January 8, 2009

But I can explain! I can.  There was this insane, almost two-week vacation (see preview above) I was granted during the holidays (from which I am still recovering but the busy week at work is preventing such things). But I will materialize in full force, New and Improved Girl, before you know it, and in the following mediums:

1) I have what may be my final show this weekend. At least for a while. It’s difficult to pound the pavement and sing frequently gut-wrenching songs that you wrote when you were a completely miserable, pessimistic Debby Downer once you’ve found serenity, hope and barf-worthy happiness in love. That, and I’ve been putting all these other projects on the back burner that I now think deserve their moment in the sun. Which brings me to….

2) A new blog. Never fear, Curiouser will remain as my personal blog. But, as I become increasingly enamored with my hometown, I wanted to find a way to express Columbus’ understated magic. While I don’t have the means to launch a publication (and besides there are too many of them – done poorly I might add, and the print format is losing steam in the current economy), I do have the ability to take what I’ve learned here and apply it to a new blog with a tighter focus. So… introducing “Keen on Columbus.” You can find it in its preliminary stages at http://www.keencolumbus.com, but content won’t really roll out for the next couple of weeks. And finally,

3) Curiouser will get its just deserts! The great Holiday 2009 post is on its way and can be expected this weekend. It is a bit of a massive undertaking, and is taking longer than normal due to the many breaks I have to take to avoid headaches as my mind strains to recall what the hell I was up to two weeks ago. It’s not the drugs, I swear

So, now I leave you with an xkcd that has only served to validate my paranoia and give it a new outlet.

All the best,

~a