December 24, 2007
Home for the holidays, and it sure is nice. The weather has been deliciously rainy and gentle and cool and at times blustery, which is perfect for being inside and looking out. I used up the little bit of remaining battery life on my camera (can't find my charger...time to clean my apartment, I guess...) taking shots of my parents' things. Like Don Quixote, who stands guard over my mom's African violets:
and their cat, Tio:
Hope you all have a cuddly Christmas of your own.
December 23, 2007
Mystery Guest Revealed
Okay. Was the suspense killing you?
"What's your name," I say, pointing at her, and she says "Caitlin." "What's your last name?" I ask, and she pauses so I say "I think I know you." "No," she says immediately, "that's not possible. I just moved here, like, a month ago." "Yeah," I say, "but you were in Costa Rica on a study abroad in spring of 1997 in Golfito." "Yeah..." she says, and somehow doesn't get that I was there too.
We were two of 20. We made up 10 percent of the program, her and I.
So, small world, eh?
My friend Billy, who I know from the same program and have kept in touch with, called last minute telling me he was coming to Denver for work. I was up in the mountains for a few nights skiing, so missed him, but how fun would that have been to show up with Caitlin as a surprise, out of the blue? Would have blown him away.
And then, I get a comment from Dan, who I went to college with and who also now lives in Boulder, guessing, 'Caitlin?' Crazy.
Surprise in Boulder
I just realized that I've been terribly delinquent in posting a little story from way back in ... October. Okay, I've been delinquent in posting stories from way back in July of last year and beyond, but this one in particular I've been wanting to post, mainly for the benefit of one of my sometimes readers. So this will be posted in two parts. For effect.
So there I was. The Friday night before Halloween, party night. My friend Hilary, who I had just started hanging out with, was moving to California the following week, so a small group of us--Kre, Fred, Barbara, Marcus--were going to gather at her house before going out to cut a rug at the Boulder Theater (the Motet, a local band, was playing Jamiroquai covers all night...).
Hilary's housemate, Carolina, also had some friends over.
Although I was already several vodka-tonics into my evening when they came in, one of Carolina's friends looked a little familiar. I figured I knew her from something, maybe just had seen her around. Then, I thought I had it. I pointed straight at her (not that I'm particularly polite anyway, but, you know, the whole vodka-tonic thing too) and said, with urgency, "What's your name." She regarded me with a little bit of skepticism. "***" she said. (Can't reveal her name yet. That's for part two.) "What's your last name?" I asked, and her look was even more skeptical. So I cut to the chase. "I think I know you," I said. "No," she said immediately, "that's not possible. I just moved here, like, a month ago."
But I was sure.
And it wasn't from Boulder.
Suffice to say, it's been a while.
Till next time....
December 12, 2007
Powder. I don't know that I ever really understood the term until today. Powder. Wow. Knee-deep powder, light fluffy melt-in-your-mouth snow that moves out of the way in front of you, that kicks up in tails behind you, that whitewashes you when you fall into it. Poof. And, like a great lead makes me a good dancer, the great snow made me a good skier. I almost, on some slopes, could do no wrong.
Could there ever be a better ski day?
And the goggles my friend Kate gave me didn't fog, so I could see everything.
Moving through the soft, for lack of a better word, powdery, snow. Watching it gather before me, traveling along with me. Feeling its resistance lightly against me. Mostly, it just moved out of the way. Incredible. I get it.
December 6, 2007
I just got back from the Mike Doughty show at Trilogy, a very small venue here in Boulder. I met up with Larry, Mark, and Seth at the RedFish, right next door, for dinner at 6:30. But the show wasn't until 9:30, as it turned out, not 8:30 as Seth and I thought, so we had some time to kill. We drew out our meal and then had a drink in Trilogy waiting for the doors to open to the back, where the show was, and then when we could we headed back and listened to the opener and then, eventually, Mike and Scrap came on. I think all the waiting may have killed some energy for me, or maybe I should have indulged in more drinks, and then Mike just didn't seem into it. He looked tired when he came out, and grumpy with the crowd almost straight off because people were talking rather than giving him full attention. And, he seemed to be going through the motions rather than really being there—and it was a very interactive venue with an interactive set-up, since they have a jar on stage in which audience members have stuffed questions on scraps of paper and between songs Scrap and Mike read and answer them. Thus the name of their tour: “The Question Jar Tour.” Yup. A brilliant idea, and a show I really, really didn't want to miss. But there seemed to be some kind of curtain between them and us, despite the intimacy of the venue—he didn't seem to see us, didn't seem to be looking. Us and them. Really, just them. I guess that's what happens when you're on the road playing all the time, and when you've been doing this for years and years, and when you're famous and so used to attention.
Also, the crowd was a bit annoying. If I ever get famous, I hope my fans aren't like that—drunk and loud. If I ever talk about drugs and get raucous cheers from the audience for the mere mention of a hallucinogen, I think I've gone wrong. Remind me of that.
So. Larry and Mark and Seth and I made up a cluster of tallness right about in the center of the room (Larry 6'5”, Mark 6'4", Seth 6'2”, and me a mere 5'10”) and bobbed our heads to the music and I actually was kind of intimidated by the small venue—by the fact that Mike could see and judge me since I was only about 15 feet from him. I've have no problem with this in many other shows—but usually when I'm dancing and really getting into the music. It was hard to just stand. I felt like I needed to look pleasant and into it, but then not dancing, and feeling scrutinized besides and thus self-conscious... even though there was that imaginary curtain between us. Silly.
After the show, I proved how much of a dork I can be and walked down the alley beside the venue to see if Mike and Scrap were out chatting with layfolk like me, and they were. And I walked by. Because what was I going to say? So I stopped on the far side of the building and thought of something and walked back around and stood and waited while a group of three women who had come in in the meantime chatted and then two young guys walked up and I felt a bit pressured and a little more nervous and yeah. When I'm a little out of sorts like that, I don't gush like an idiot, I just go monotone. Very convenient. A startling display of a lack of personality. That's me. Anything to be memorable. Or not.
All that said, Mike's voice is still amazing and he's still oozing with talent. Seeping out of his pores. Dripping onto his guitar.
December 2, 2007
Finding Lost Lake
Barbara had a hankering to get some folks together to go on a hike this last weekend, so she did. And we did. To Lost Lake, just above Nederland. It was snowy, but not too cold. All in all, it was pretty darn nice.
Some of these shots could use some modification (color and contrast adjustment), but what the hey. I'm not going to get around to doing it right now, so I'll just post them as they are.
[Emma's momma, Christina. Christina and Barbara made a deal that since Christina carried Emma for nine months straight, friends like Barbara would carry Emma post-birth. Plus, Joseffa and Barbara wanted to carry the weight. Because they're weird like that. I was happy--it slowed them down enough that I could keep up.]