Theme Song 2k8

I thought for a few hours that I had pinkeye. I don't. Turned out to be a reaction to the mascara that ran into my eye after a challenging night at Club 2me. It is a tradition here in Sacramento, especially among Catholic school alums home from Chico/Cal Poly/LMU/Santa Clara for the holidays, to spend Thanksgiving Eve at Club 2me, a notorious East Sacramento dive bar. For reasons best explained by my facebook wall post (see left), I have declined to attend/tried to avoid/boycotted this event for the last 5 years. Feeling new boldness brought on, undoubtedly, by recent practice at this sort of thing, I decided to attend. You see, in the last two months, my social life has evolved (or devolved, depending on perspective) in a direction probably very typical of most people my age finding themselves back in their home town: on Friday and Saturday night I put on eye makeup and something too short or tight (quite a diversion from my usual), go out to bourgie bars to push through a sea of blue buttoned-down and Axe body-sprayed individuals towards a Vodka soda (or a shot of something that could be radioactive), then attempt to drink it quickly yet demurely whilst chatting with about 5 people from high school that were not my friends at the time but who are now staples, all the while wondering how the evening will play out in terms of flirtations, levels of inebriation, sleeping arrangements, and just what, exactly, will show up on the internet the next day to remind me of my fun if the headache and puzzling text messages fail to do so. To recap:

What I've Been Up To Lately:

• losing my identity in a shallow pool of alcohol
• attending a sort of weekly high school reunion
  

Mostly I'm just thrilled to be making intermittent eye contact with humans. It's been fun experimenting with a lifestyle that I never really tried in college. I do, however, find myself hankering after something more, or maybe something else. The casual levels of interaction made available through the bar scene, and the sort of defensiveness necessary to maintain that casualness is dissatisfying. This, and the desire for something (someone?) to add meaning is described perfectly by Roxy Music in "Mother of Pearl." I think of it as my theme for 2008. Skip the first 1:37 mins, unless you're like me and want to drink in Bryan Ferry for longer.


The search for perfection, your own predilection goes on and on and on and on...

What's your personal theme song for 2008?

Origins: My Name

One of my favorite talking points with my childhood best friend was that we were both named from The Thorn Birds, her after the main female character, Megan, and me after the actress who played her in the successful 1983 television miniseries, Rachel Ward. Our television origins (and zealous, competitive collecting of Garfield memorabilia) formed the crux of our inextricable best friend bond.

Best friend has since disappeared and I've since read the book several times, and am currently watching the miniseries as it's airing on Lifetime Movie Network.

I don't want to expose too much just in case you are poised there with your remote trying to OnDemand or TiVo this "event," but allow me to acquaint you briefly with the plot: Inordinately good-looking priest is banished to the Australian outback for breaking vows of obedience, takes forgotten daughter of large farm family under his wing out of pity, watches her blossom into beautiful, desirous woman before his very eyes. So there he is, graying attractively at the temples, wondering "Do I break some more vows or follow my all-too-earthly ambitions towards moving up the Catholic hierarchical ladder and into a handsome red cardinal's robe?" as Meggie/Rachel Ward shakes her sin-scented hair within inches of sniffing distance. If you are enticed at all by the soap-operatic, this book/miniseries is for you. Come on folks--forbidden sex! Getting gored by wild pigs! Barbara Stanwyk as cruel benefactress!

I'm always left with questions after the completion of this story. Namely, "Mom...Dad, what were you thinking, exactly, when naming me after this?" and "At what point did you equate 'taboo temptress' with 'our new baby girl?'"

Also, Megan, where are you? Not on the facebook, apparently. Do you still have your Garfield collection?

New Ways to Forget: Old School and R&B

Pharmaceutical-grade herbal mood stabilizers doing nothing? Up each night trying to silence that gnawing inner monologue with no success? Adopt the lyrics to "Boogie Nights" as your personal credo: "got to keep on dancin', keep on dancin'"--ignore your seasonal depression through incessant DANCE! Swap the word "dancin'" for "drinkin'" if you need to-- just make it your own! Use the following Dream Old School and R&B Playlist as your new guide to happy times!

1. Boogie Nights-Heatwave

2. I Like It- Debarge
3. Get Down on It- Kool & The Gang
4. Mary Jane- Rick James

5. Wishing On A Star- Rose Royce

6. I Wonder If I Take You Home- Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam
7. I Wanna Be Your Lover- Prince
8. Love Come Down- Evelyn Champagne King
9. Tell Me Something Good- Chaka Khan

10. Rock Steady- The Whispers
11. You Dropped A Bomb on Me- The Gap Band
12. No Parking on The Dance Floor- Midnight Star

13. Push It- Salt n Peppa

14. Special Lady- Ray, Goodman & Brown
15. Glamorous Life- Sheila E.
16. Tonight Is The Night- Betty Wright

Subliminal Loneliness, other ad mistakes

There is an ad for a laser skin treatment center that runs daily in my local paper. It has a picture of an attractive, smiling girl and says, in bold, "Reclaim Your Confidence." I consistently misread it as "Reclaim Your Co-Dependence." Yeah...

Also, I word on today's google ad: I'm not sure what about the content of my blog allowed Google to generate a "Yes on 8" ad, but this does not reflect my own sentiments. I am staunchly against Prop 8. Staunch, I tell you!

Where Seclusion and Gaudiness Meet

"The Blue Room" often plays on my internal AM Radio. The algebra of secluded hideaway+ secret life with cherished loved one+garish monochromatic decorating+Rogers & Hart jazz standard= stuck in my head since 1998. I like the concepts. I like the tune. Had I but known that the blue room, blue rooms, even, existed I would have taken my sentimental ass to the Madonna Inn long ago. Trip slated for winter 2k9. How excited am I?




all pictures by Phyllis Madonna, from the Madonna Inn site.

High School Rehashbrowns

I'm going to go see High School Music 3. I haven't even seen the first two, but I think Zac Efron must be emitting yet unheard-of tele-pheromones, against which I'm powerless. Tie me to the mast so that I cannot heed his siren song! Incidentally, that siren song is about winning at basketball.

Picture Provided By: TeenIdols4You.com
High school has been on my mind lately, probably because:
1. People I know from high school have been hanging out with me, and it's been nice/sometimes I hang out with people who might be in high school, and it's been... I'm old.
2. The tentative flirtations exchanged with my math teacher during that time continue to eclipse the emotional intensity experienced in any of my actual romances.
3. My interactions with friends have been colored by an uncharacteristic unwillingness to be forthcoming, and my communication has taken the least-forward form modernity has to offer-- texting. Hey, I'm just fearing rejection(s) and savoring that high school flavor! (Tastes weirdly like caffeinated mints).

Dyspeptic Daughters of the Golden Fried West

I looked into joining the fraternal organization The Native Sons and Daughters of the Golden West, because I'm a 7th generation Californian. I took a peek at the group picture of my local chapter, only to find about 20 overweight, middle-aged, dyspeptic-looking women in voluminous hairdos looking like they should belong to a club called Hometown Buffet and Applebees Enthusiasts of The Golden West. I'm not sure what I was expecting to find-- either something younger and hipper or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, women in prairie dresses and blue bonnets, having freshly escaped from some kind of Mormon sect. I don't need to join--the spirit of the pioneers manifests itself in my restlessness and wanderlust. I hear the El Camino Real bell ringing in my ears! The trains rattle my house at night and I feel I must go! Sometimes my grandpa gets up from the dinner table and inexplicably says, "Last of the frontier" as his parting remark!

Additionally, I just broke my cassette player listening to The Sons of the Pioneers tape. Outdated technology... last of the frontier...

Recession Romance 2k8

I'm pretty sure the number of eggs I consumed today exceeded six. The weather's changing, so that means the same Danish clogs, but with the diabetes socks (bunching, as they do, at the ankles), and scarves over 2006's most threadbare shirts. Despite the cooling temperature, I seem to be developing what could only be called a sweating problem with accompanying smell problem (like pine-scented solvent meets carne asada).

And yet, I've never been more on top of my game. I'm just gonna kick back in my pajamas that double as evening wear with a Garfield anthology and a mug with my astrological sign on it and let the popularity roll on in.