Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Lisa's Tree




Lisa put up the tree today.

It is a small artificial tree, maybe 4 feet high, sitting on a table. She strung lights and put on decorations. It looks pretty. Many of the decorations were mine, at one time. There were a few years that I didn't mind Christmas so much. My friend's grandmother hand crocheted a couple of small wreaths and I had a few wooden toys I bought back in the 80's. Lisa also hung ornaments signifying both of her marriages.

While she was decorating, FM 106.9 was playing holiday music. Every year they switch to an all-Christmas-music-until-you-puke format. That radio station always leads in the ratings during the month of December. I could not force myself up the stairs to see her handiwork until she turned off the music. Once she turned it off, I said "now I can come upstairs". I did not realize until that moment why I had locked myself in my bedroom.

She even hung stockings for both of us above the fireplace. And I bought her a couple of stocking stuffers. Trying to get into the spirit. Trying.

Sometimes I wonder if I manufacture my misery this time of year because it is a state of mind I am used to having. But, when I ponder this further, I realize that I just can't muster joy without just cause. The Biblical story does not fill me with peace or happiness.

If you've read this far, my apologies. On Facebook, I've taken to calling myself The Christmas Curmudgeon. But, looking at Lisa's tree again, I smile at the sparkling lights and can appreciate how it brightens up the living room.

Thanks Lisa - despite my crankiness, I appreciate your efforts.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

Another Cloudburst "Hit"



Found one more - my old band doing Christopher Cross' song, "Sailing". I always liked the purity of Bob's vocals. And, I think Ron and I sounded pretty good doing back-up. The band was solid on this one. I think Ron wanted to be a DJ - he always back-announced the tunes. Funny!

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Holiday Blues

I wish I knew what in the hell was wrong with me.

As far back as I can remember, I've gotten horribly depressed around Christmas. My mother usually made us clean house, as soon as the Christmas presents had been opened. Plus, she never really liked the gifts that we gave her. If we knew she wanted a bathrobe and we got her one, she'd say "Oh - I really wanted one with a zipper, instead of a belt" or something like that. There was always something wrong with whatever gift we got her. Mom sent Linda a box a few years ago, filled with all of the gifts Linda had sent her over the years. Unopened boxes. Mother never used Linda's gifts. I gave up giving her anything, years ago.

Despite these same memories, though, both of my sisters still like Christmas. Linda loves sending presents and Lisa loves playing Christmas music and giving cards to her co-workers. Not me. I shut down, become moody and cranky and cry a lot. This year is even worse. I'm off of "the feed". Off of antidepressants, fully, for the first Christmas in about 20 years, I think. My decent into the doldrums seems more dramatic this year.

What I don't understand is why I feel worse, after I've been shown love, caring and kindness.

Tonight, my very good friends, a gay couple named Don and Doug, took me out to a wonderful dinner. Then, they bought us tickets to see a local dance school's annual Holiday production of The Steadfast Tin Soldier. Afterward, we went out for mochas and desert. When I finally got into my car to leave, my battery was dead. Don and Doug made no fuss and just pulled out their jumper cables to get my car started. All of this, in the pouring rain. I felt loved. And then, I had to drive around for a half hour, charging my car back up.

I decided to drive around the North end neighborhoods, looking at lights. There were a lot of decorated homes. My favorite house was fully ablaze, with a giant blue star of David atop a myriad of multi-colored lights covering every square inch of property. I was listening to Gino's Nightwalker album. Good music, nice scenery and a full tank of gas. A pleasant drive. The rain was coming down in sheets but I was safe, warm and dry inside the car.

Once I got back home, though, I started feeling sadder and sadder. Was I blue because my evening was over? Because I was alone (even though the dogs were more than happy to see me return)? Earlier in the evening, I shed a few tears during the ballet performance. Seeing all of those sweet children in their beautiful costumes filled me with a feeling I have never had before. A maternal urge. My heart went out to those kids. I realized how hard they had all worked to make such a wonderful show and wished I had one of my own, to hug, after the performance! After the show, Don, Doug and I walked through the throngs of families looking for their friends. As I was passing the kids, I wanted to tell them all how great they did. But, they were all scanning the crowd for their own families and friends. I said nothing. I didn't want to be the creepy lady paying unwanted attention to strange children.

I remembered being in choirs and plays in high school and looking for my mom when the show was over. She came to all the shows. She even came to all of those ponderous, never-ending choir concerts we were in twice a year. She took photos (with her little pocket Instamatic )during her daughters' solos. She may have sucked at Christmas, but she always showed up for the shows. And, mom would always let us go off with our friends, afterward, to get pizza. She was good that way.

Maybe I'm finally ready to be on the other end of those shows. It has taken me nearly 50 years to get to this point. I'm sick of being alone. I want to share my life with somebody else and have my own family.

Maybe that is why I'm sad tonight.

Wednesday, December 08, 2010

In Da Hood

Some new small businesses have moved into the neighborhood. A wonderful little Mexican grocery store run by a very nice, peace-loving man (whose name I forget!!! Sorry!) and a fantastic Thai restaurant called "Eddie's", owned by a man named Eddie. While I was walking the dogs today, I ran into Eddie, who is looking to buy a house close by, so he has an easier commute to his restaurant. He and his wife currently have to drive over a half-an-hour, most days and they are sick of it, even though they own a nice home on Mercer Island.

After I brought the dogs back home, I stopped into the little grocery store for some half-and-half and had a nice chat with the proprietor. I paid with my Visa debit card and the machine took several tries, before the transaction finally cleared. I wondered aloud if the "Anonymous" anarchists, were toying with the Visa payment system. These anarchists had been clogging the wheels of commerce all day, to protest the arrest of the Wikileaks founder. The grocery store guy shook his head and we talked about the importance of peace, in this world. We both used Rodney King's famous quote "Why can't we all just get along?" He shared a little story about being stuck in traffic today. He was trying to get onto the freeway and a woman driving an SUV refused to let him merge into her lane. Instead of getting pissed off, he instantly forgave her, figuring that her problems must be greater than his, in order for her to be so unkind. I mean, what a guy!

Two weeks ago, I knocked on the window of The Purple Store, opening up a few blocks away. I was surprised to see a store front for this business, as it has only existed online up until now. I knew about it because Adam, the owner, gave me great advice when I was planning a benefit for Art F/X after their Fremont gallery and gift shop went up in flames a couple of years ago. A wonderful reconnection.

I love the multiculturalism of this neighborhood. Sure, Aurora Avenue is not very glamorous. But, in a few short blocks there are great Vietnamese Pho, Thai, and Mexican Torta restaurants. A chocolate shop is next door to the Pho place. 2 martial arts dojos are less than a block away from each other. An Australian pub advertises Soccer games on its big-screen TVs. And, there is a religious place called 'I Am' just north of the PCC natural grocery store.

Small businesses, not corporations, are the real glue of a community. One-to-one connections with people who have a vested interest in the neighborhood are so much more fulfilling than driving to a big-box store miles away, and antiseptically purchasing groceries. It might be a little more expensive to shop locally, but in the end, the experience is much more gratifying.

Sunday, December 05, 2010

Wistful

Must be getting nostalgic and wistful after listening to and posting all of these old band recordings. Makes me want to go out and sing tonight. Hopefully "Rockaraoke" is playing tonight at the Snoqualmie Casino.

Last time I was there, they finally had somebody new doing the lights and sound. It makes a BIG difference having a professional-level person behind the board. Boosts your confidence!

Do I have to change clothes? Nah - just going to wear what I have on - jeans, tank top, denim over shirt and a scarf around my neck. Makeup? Yeah, I guess. I just don't wear much makeup anymore. A little mascara and some lipstick (which also doubles as blush and eye shadow).

Maybe the band's learned some "new" old songs that I'll know. Haven't sung there in a while. At least 6 weeks, I think.

Cloudburst ft. Ron Ricci - Too Hot 1980

Ron does a great job on the vocal here. The band sounds pretty good, too. BK and I used to play around with the backing vocals. Instead of repeating the line, "too hot", we'd sing "whooo haaa"...


Ooooh ooooh Fire

Last one I'm going to share from this era (as I don't have any more). Cloudburst doing The Pointer Sister's song, Fire. Always wondered why I sang with an accent...


Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Since I Fell For You 1980

Since I've talked so much about singing in this blog but have never provided examples, the following 3 posts are the only digital evidence I have from the old days. I have some more recent recordings but they are all on cassette. So, a 19-year-old girl singer will have to suffice, for now.

I have to say I miss singing this song. Would love to do it again, some day.


Monday, November 29, 2010

Cloudburst - This Masquerade 1980

I wish I could re-record the vocals but for age 19, I guess they're not too bad. Not sure where Bob Kissinger recorded this. I think it was at a wedding reception some place.


Singing in 1980

Here I am at age 19, singing with my very first band, "Cloudburst". We did a disco version of "Runaway". I like our arrangement and I'm not cringing too much at my singing. My cowbell playing, on the other hand...



Resonance Frequencies

I really believe that vibration and resonance hold the keys to life and existence on this planet, and maybe throughout the universe.

I came up with a theory, many years ago, called "The 12 Waves of Existence". In my theory, there are 12 basic vibrational waves that humans resonate towards. We are drawn to others who share our resonance frequencies and travel on similar paths.

What is my proof? Nothing. I have absolutely no proof. I've never done any extended reading on the subject and I don't know what kind of research has been done. It is just a feeling that I have.

Today I went to my weekly acupuncture appointment. Usually, I am able to relax and fall into a meditation almost as soon as the needles have been inserted. Not today. This time, I was unusually agitated and realized that my hands were almost gripping the arms of the recliner. I realized that the music playing in the treatment room was very irritating to me. I asked Jordan, the practitioner, to turn the music down, which he did. I also put earplugs in my ears. But, even that didn't help. The Chinese choir kept repeating the same phrase over and over and over. There was something about the chord changes and the notes being sung that grated on my nerves. I tried to breathe into my discomfort, accept and release my irritation. Nothing doing.

I ended my acupuncture session after only an hour. Usually it takes an hour and a half, to two hours to complete treatment. But, I could not take it any longer! After my session, I explained to Jordon the reason for my irritation. And then, I could not stop laughing about how pissed off I got, just because of the music.

I believe that the notes being sung were running counter to my body's own resonance. That is the only theory I can come up with. The recorded voices were in tune, the style of music was somewhat soothing (although very repetitive). There was just something about it that made me anxious.

Have you ever had that experience?

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Stats and Cliches

I've started looking at the statistics for my blog and I am amazed.

I had no idea so many people looked at this thing. I hardly ever post pictures or videos and I only write about my life. I thought maybe my friends and the 8 people who "follow" my blog might check in now and again.

Turns out I have had well over 3000 'hits' and you are from all over the world!!! Most people reading Ansapo's World live in the US, but some of you are from Russia, The Netherlands, Australia and Qatar! Canada is also represented as are China and Brazil. Who knew???

Looks like most people surfed in after looking for adorable photos of puppies. Sometime last year I made a post called "Running Fluffy Puppy" that featured a photo I found on the Internet of a white doggie with its tongue hanging out. But several of you have read my other ramblings.

Ramblings that, as I realize now, are filled with cliched writing. I've never considered myself a brilliant writer. Usually, I just jot down whatever leaves my head. I pray that it is coherent and mildly entertaining. I know that I write prose and definitely not poetry. I'm afraid my Capricorn sensibilities are far too pragmatic, for the most part, to invent intoxicating sentences. But, hopefully I am able to say what I need to say and get my point across.

I started keeping a blog during my senior year at UNCG, in 2005 I had gone back to college full-time in mid-life. A very un-sound financial decision, but one I have never regretted. I was finally able to prove to myself that I am smart (graduated Magna Cum Laude) and I loved attending classes. During my final semester, I took a long-avoided required English Literature class. To my amazement, I loved it. The professor, a man younger than I, selected fabulous novels for us to read by authors such as Jhumpa Lahiri, Michael Chabon and Joyce Carrol Oates. I found that when I read these books, it made me want to write. So, in fits and starts this blog was created. It has been over 5 years now and I am so glad I have a place to deposit my thoughts. The fact that you are reading them fills me with amazement.

Hope you don't mind the cliches.

Monday, November 22, 2010

A Good Night's Sleep

I miss my old bed.

Not the bed I had before my life drastically changed back in August.

I miss the bed I had to leave in Greensboro, North Carolina back in late November of 2005. My Beauty Rest firm, 2-sided, flippable, queen-size mattress. No freakin' pillow-top on that one. The most comfortable bed I ever owned. I slept on it for at least a decade.

When I finally got a job after my grad-school debacle I was able to afford a new bed from the Sleep-Air company. My former boss gave the manufacturer high marks and said I'd get "more bang for my buck". And she was right - for about 2 years. The firm, pillow-topped, one-sided mattress was fantastic for a little while and then, it got strangely lumpy and a spring broke on the side where I normally slept.

When I bought the mattress, it came with a 10-year warranty. Unfortunately, The Spring Air mattress place closed down about a year after I purchased my bed. They'd been in business FOREVER in Seattle! They left town with no forwarding address. If I wanted to complain, I had to call Canada or Texas. So, I came up with a solution. I flipped the mattress over to reveal its very lightly padded side and bought a memory foam cushion to place on top of it. That worked out great for a year.

Did you know that it is nearly impossible these days to buy a mattress that can be flipped? They all had 2 sides made for sleeping up until about 10 years ago, apparently. Then, somebody in the bedding industry got wise and figured out that mattresses would wear out much more quickly if you could only sleep on one side. Prior to that, salesmen advised customers to flip the bed periodically, for better wear and tear. Good old planned obsolescence reared its ugly head.

And why am I writing this? Well, it is 4:15 in the morning. Once again, I have been awakened by aches and pains. Since I moved back in with my sister, I have slept on a futon (became way too lumpy), an air mattress (which deflated after it got a couple of leaks - my patch job was unsuccessful), and now a memory foam pad on the floor (the best solution but far from ideal). I don't want to purchase a used mattress due to all of the recent bed bug scares. Icky.

Times like these I'm glad I'm not skinny. At least I have a little bit of my own padding to soften things a bit.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Art Attack!

I miss being an artist. I suppose I am still one but my creativity has been a bit lacking, recently. I won't beat myself up about it, though, because my life has been kind of wacko for the past several months and my living situation is not completely stable.

Happily, I have just recently started doing very small watercolor pencil works again. I probably got inspired when I picked up the check for a small piece I created about 5 years ago. It had been hanging at Art F/X for a long time. When I felt the creative urge, I went into Daniel Smith's artist supply store. If that place doesn't inspire you, I don't know what will! I think I finally found a solution to my paper problem. The handmade watercolor paper I used to use had been discontinued. See, I use a LOT of water when I make my paintings. I draw, add water, over soak and blot off excess paint and water. Then I start over later, with another layer. Adds dimension to a piece. Perhaps I'll complete a small (5 x 7 inch) painting tomorrow.

On Friday, I attended my second session of paint dancing, held in that cool studio in Wallingford. Matt had the 70's and 80's funk and R&B tunes playing and I was in a blissful state, painting with wild abandon and dancing like a fool. A fellow paint-dancer was mesmerized (or confused) by my movement and asked me why I was dancing like that (not the greatest compliment, I suppose). I answered "THE MUSIC!! It makes me move!" Really, I have to state again that I can't understand how people can NOT be inspired by music. I totally wore myself out that night and I made some colorful abstract pieces that I kinda like. Might try and frame them and put them up at Art F/X.

Saturday, as it turns out, I was called in to work for a few hours at Art F/X and then after a wonderful dinner with friends, I went to an 'open studio' in Ballard. A large building, that houses several artist studios had a monthly opening. I loved it. I got to meet several successful local artists and talk about their creative processes with them. One man, named A.J., distresses his canvasses, like I used to do. I did it with layers of paint and sometimes glue and putty and wax. He uses solvent and scrapes the surface up with Brillo Pads. Then, I found my old Art/Not Terminal colleague, Claude Utley. I've always been intrigued with Claude's work. Some of his work is very naive at times, but wildly colored. Some might call it child-like and abstract and absurd. But make no mistake, he is highly skilled and can work in a very intricate mosaic style, too. We had a very nice chat and I bought a very, very small piece that I quickly put in a frame and hung on my wall.

When I was a little girl, I was always drawing, making paper dolls, coloring, etc. Then, that side fell away, as art teachers demanded precision. It took an experimental drawing and painting class, when I was 31 or 32, to bring out my visual artistic side. I will be forever thankful for my wise left hand, that picked up the telephone receiver and dialed the number to sign up for Peggy Zehring's class. In just a couple of days, I learned to mix colors and experiment and trust my inner-guidance. We painted blindfolded and there was no place to judge ourselves. It was a life-changing experience.

I have painted off and on now, for about 18 years. I can't believe it has been so long! Back when I had my old condo off of Lake City Way, for years I had a clear plastic tarp covering the dining area carpet. Paints and brushes and canvases were strewn all over and there was always a painting in the middle of completion. It looked chaotic but I have many fond memories of waking up and feeling creative at 3am, getting out of bed and throwing paint at a canvas. It was very meditative and therapeutic. A couple of my pieces felt "channeled" Especially the one that looked like the Earth on fire. I don't have that piece now. Last I checked, it was trapped in a storage shed in Hillsboro, NC, behind Ginny Tyler's old rental home. The lock was jammed and we could not open the door when I moved back West. I don't even know if that place still stands (it has been 5 years now). I sure miss those paintings, though and wish I could get them back!

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Woman On Top


Gino Vannelli Woman OnTop

Donja | Myspace Video

Monday, November 08, 2010

Dive Bar Singing with Lance

I showed up at The Tug last week, after listening to some fantastic straight ahead jazz, played by Randy Halberstadt at Tula's. Was so hungry for more music and the only affordable thing at 11:00PM was Karaoke at that West Seattle dive bar.

I signed up to sing a few of my favorites. Had a great time - the sound system in this tiny place is really, really good and I sounded pretty good, again. So happy my voice is returning.

A tall, handsome creole-colored man was sitting next to the karaoke host. He complimented my singing. When the host got up to sing Genesis' "Land of Confusion", the man and I both did the background oohs and aahs together, from either side of the bar. I eventually ran up next to him, we got in front of the mic and we became a background singing duo.

We sat together for the rest of the night. His name is Lance and he has a hell of a bass voice! He is from The Bronx and Queens, NY and then moved to Phoenix and San Francisco.

And, once again, I got to hear the "hard luck story" of a man who had "almost made it" in the music business. Lance was in a band that was going places. He had formed it with a partner. One day, the partner was distraught and after snorting some cocaine, he shot himself in the head right on his front lawn. As you might imagine, this had a devastating effect on everyone who loved that man, especially Lance. He never again tried to rekindle his career. The dream of being a professional musician died for him that day.

Lance later made a name for himself in California as a regional voice-over artist and continued writing songs and playing music for his own enjoyment. He wound up in Seattle after a failed marriage and got a job at Microsoft. He is now working on a screenplay.

I have recently encountered many kindred souls singing Karaoke and Rockaraoke. I can't believe that it has taken me 25 years to find them. While I was never even close to "making it", I worked many long and hard hours in my late teens and 20's as a "journeyman" singer. We played 5 sets of music a night, 6 nights a week in tiny clubs, fire halls, banquet halls, theme parks and slightly swanky places. When I traded in full-time musicianship for weekend warrior life, those one-night private party gigs helped pay a lot of bills. I loved the musicians. Very smart men with whom I shared many laughs. There is something about the musicians' mind. The way it twists and contorts and finds humor. I love it. I think I share it. I just have no talent in my hands (or maybe just never had enough discipline to take up an instrument).

Everybody has a story, you know? Lance's is far from over. After hearing him sing one of his original tunes, I could see his passion coming back. Perhaps at 50 years of age, he is finally ready to return to the stage.

Sunday, November 07, 2010

A Look at Chester



Just came across this photo.

It is from last year, when Lisa's dog, Dudley, met my kitty, Chester, for the first time. Chester looks so puffy and full of fur here. He would not put up with Dudley's shenanigans.

Chester was awfully cute. Missing him tonight.

And, missing having my own apartment. When I look at the photo, I can't tell that my place was filled with "toxic spores". Maybe they hadn't yet arrived.

I try not to over think everything that has happened since that photo was taken. Today, (and I can only speak for today - this moment) I don't feel remorse or regret about anything EXCEPT losing Chester.

I still feel like it all has happened for a reason and that I am being divinely guided - someplace. Just not sure where that is yet.

Perhaps Chester will be waiting for me, when I get there.

Tuesday, November 02, 2010

The culprit.



I get so weak when I watch this. Every damned time. Weak.
Update: AAAAAAAUUUUGGGGGHHHH!!! The guy's You Tube account was deleted, which means I won't ever be able to watch this again. I am so sad. You have no idea.

Saturday, October 30, 2010

Acupuncture Meditations

Seattle is lucky enough to have a low-cost community acupuncture facility called "Communi-Chi". The place is run by a wonderful man named Jordan, who has the patients sit in a large room, filled with recliner chairs. Needles are stuck in the head, arms, legs, hands and feet. Sometimes, I am the only person in the big room during my treatment. More often than not, there are one or two others there with me.

The room has big windows and is kept warm enough so that you don't need a blanket while having your treatment.

I have been having the most wonderful and fulfilling meditations, while I rest and let the needles do their work. One of the best things my mother ever did was to have her daughters learn Transcendental Meditation, when we were teenagers. I believe I was 14 or 15 years old when I got my mantra. My sisters and I learned the technique and we all still practice. While I know I need more discipline (and a quiet place to sit) and should be doing it twice daily, at least I always meditate during acupuncture.

Recently, I felt myself leave my body and hover above it for several minutes. This is only the second time I can remember experiencing that. It is an incredibly freeing feeling. My entire field of vision is expanded - seeing with the mind, instead of the eyes. The only other time I can remember this happening was back in the early 1980's, in the parking lot of an enormous mall called Park City, in Lancaster, PA. My sister and her husband had gone inside for a while and I was meditating in the Volkswagen. I distinctly remember being above the car, and watching them as they strolled from the Mall entrance back to the car. When they opened the door, I had the abrupt sensation of coming back into my body. When I opened my eyes, my field of vision seemed incredibly narrow. The interior of the vehicle and the interior of my own body were blocking part of the world.

I do not remember going back into my body during my acupuncture meditation, however. It must have happened gradually. Last week, for several minutes, however, I had the sensation of being bathed in golden light. I may have been sitting in a vinyl Lazy-Boy surrounded by Asian women, but in my mind, I was alone, surrounded by a golden field and watching a radiant sun. I felt only peace and contentment.

Perhaps the acupuncture needles align my chi and allow these powerful meditations to occur. I feel very safe in that room, during my treatments. Safer than I feel most other times in my life, right now. So many changes recently - my life is stable at the moment, yet very much up-in-the-air.

These meditations are providing me with much-needed nourishment and I am very grateful for Jordan and Communi-chi.

Friday, October 22, 2010

At LAST!!!




Finally.

And so, Gino and I finally met, in person, after his concert in Portland on Wednesday, October 20th. I think we look really good together - don't you?

The concert was held in a sweet little venue, the Alberta Rose Theater, on Alberta Street. Just up the road from the Radio Room, the home of the Art-O-Mat machine. Coincidence? There have been SO MANY coincidences. I doubt it was a coincidence.

The Alberta Rose theater has maybe 300 seats and at least 20 of them were empty. I could not believe people were not climbing the rafters to see Gino Vannelli perform. I mean, it's Gino Vannelli, for God's sake! The man whose music and presense has occupied most of my thoughts for the past 6 months.

Julie and I sat in the 2nd row, just to the right of center stage. It is where I'd always imagined I would sit at his concert. When we sat down, the woman seated next to us said "Are you from Seattle?" - I said "Why? Do we look strange?" And I forget what her response was. I then asked her if she'd been to many of Gino's concerts and she said she'd seen a few but that her friend had followed him "since the beginning of time". Odd, I thought.

The show began right on time, at 8pm. I had to take a couple of Rescue Remedy tablets as I was so nervous to finally see him. Prior to the show, I stiffened my resolve with a gin and grapefruit juice (surprisigly refreshing - you must try it!)

And WHAT A SHOW!!! The band was absolutely amazing. The musicians were so tight and so well rehearsed. And, this is rhythmically complicated music. Rock-funk-jazz fusion. That drummer! That guitarist! And Gino's voice. Too good. Did not even sound human it was so beautiful. I just about fell out of my chair when the second song of the night started. "Stay With Me" - this song has tremendous personal meaning to me for reasons I can't go into in this blog. But, lets just say that my Gino looks so hot on that YouTube video it always brings a flush to my cheeks. I grabbed my heart several times when I felt his voice resonate with my soul, during Living Inside Myself and It Hurts to be In Love. Gino moved like a dream on those very skinny legs of his. I was surprised he kept his jacket buttoned up the whole night. 'Cuz his chest is not so skinny. Man has a very nice torso.

I wanted to stand and dance the entire night, but I was very conscious that others in the crowd were just sitting still. I didn't want to block their view. But I was so compelled to move like a heathen that I wound up gyrating in my seat and waving my hands in the air and playing my air trap set. I'm sure I looked like a wack job.

I kept hoping Gino would catch my eye, since we were seated so close to the stage (maybe 10 or 12 feet away?). It only happened one time - at the very end of I Just Wanna Stop (When I think about those nights in Montreal...)And our eyes locked for only a split second. But it felt like fire, when it happened.

And now, I can say we've met. It was not everything I had hoped it would be. The moment I have been dreaming about for what seems like ages. But, it is a start. I don't know what will happen next.

But, I think we look GREAT together.

Monday, October 18, 2010

Missing Chester

My sweet, departed kitty, Chester, has been on my mind lately.

Of all the things I've lost recently, he is the one I miss the most. I do miss making a regular salary, of course. I miss doing a job that I loved and living in a neighborhood where I felt I belonged. I miss being a contributing member of society (well, maybe that is a stretch). But, I miss those sweet green eyes and puffy paws and long silky fur, most of all.

I miss Chester's sweet tiny meow and the way he'd look into my eyes. I miss his soft purr and the way he stood on his back feet while reaching for his feather toy. I miss the way he scratched on his post and tore up the carpet on the floor. I even miss being meowed awake at 6am in order to put food in his little fish-decorated ceramic bowl.

Mostly, though, I miss cradling him in my arms. I've never had a cat let me just pick him up and hold him like a baby before. Chester and I would cuddle for hours. I'd lay on the couch and he'd climb up on my chest, nestling his head under my chin. He loved having his cheeks rubbed and his upper chest massaged.

Chester, I hope you're out there someplace being loved by someone who cares for you as much as I did. I'm so very, very sorry I had to take you on the road with me. I know you hated it and I don't blame you for running away. I wish I could have found a different solution. I wish we were still together.

Sunday, October 03, 2010

Shunned

I've been processing this in my sleep for several hours. This blog might not be insightful or profound. I think this one is more of a diary entry.

Several months ago, I had my heart severely broken by a "former friend", who was so devastated that I mentioned he was a "deeply closeted gay man" - although I did not say his name - in this blog, that he sent me vicious and hurtful emails and completely cut me out of his life.

At the time I wrote those words, I could not see what I did as harmful. In my world, being gay is a non-issue. I have had numerous wonderful gay friends my entire life. Some people are gay, some people are strait, some people are transgendered. But maybe for someone who fears his life and livelihood would be endangered if he revealed himself, it was the most egregious and vitriolic thing I could have ever done to him.

He has lived a lie for 38 years - well, probably more like 28 years when you take childhood into account. His whole world has been carefully spun, thread-by-thread, into a cocoon of protection, preventing anyone from ever fully penetrating his shell. I thought we were the closest of companions. He was one of the most wonderful friends I have ever, ever had. We would laugh for hours on end when we were together. He held the dearest part of me and made me feel truly cared for and loved. His words and actions were nothing but kind and loving towards me. I know I treated him the same way.

Yet, I knew that there was also something amiss. I watched friendship after friendship melt away from him when someone said or did the "wrong thing". I would chat with him for hours, online, as he processed these sudden betrayals. I tried to understand and be sympathetic but could not comprehend how he could have the tremendous bad luck to find so many people who would want to do him harm. He explained that it was because he is a music promoter and singer and musician of clout (in a niche world), and must deal with people with "artistic personalities" who want to use him to get ahead in their careers.

I started feeling trepidation when he offered me a place to stay a couple of years ago. I kept those broken friendships in the back of my mind and feared that, if we became too close, ours might end on a bitter note, as well. I declined his kind offer, even though it might have been a short-term solution for me during a desperate time. I felt it was more important to preserve the friendship than to live rent-free for a few months.

I'm re-hashing all of this because of what happened tonight. I bought a ticket and was waiting for the doors to open for a concert. The performer was a magnificent singer who I had the pleasure of studying with, briefly, 4 years ago. I knew my former friend would probably be at the same concert, but my desire to hear this music was so strong I felt that a possible confrontation with him was worth the risk. I processed what would probably happen, when we met, over and over. I prepared myself for his coolness.

But, what I did not prepare myself for was being shunned and ignored. Somehow, I did not expect him to stare straight ahead and not even acknowledge my presence as he walked by. He did not even nod to me, as he passed. My thoughts left my mouth at that point "You don't have to be such an asshole - you could at least nod your head at me". I got so angry and wanted to slap him. But I did not. And I wasted $20, because at that moment, I realized I could not attend the concert. To me, it was the worst thing he could have possibly done and all I could think about were the mutual acquaintances who might want to talk to both of us, at the same time. I thought about how, since he has a place of position in this community, I might have to avoid him and would spend more time doing that than listening to the music.

And then I ran outside and cried for about a half hour. And came home and went straight to bed. I feel my heart shutting down again and I don't want that to happen. I hope it won't do it on its own. I felt like dying. I will probably never recover from the loss of this friendship. I suppose I keep hoping he will let bygones be bygones. I have to accept that this will not happen and somehow, go on with my life.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Being and Doing

Living "in the moment" and being present are very, very important things to me. I used to be a whole lot better at pretending and acting. Now, it seems all I can be is my authentic self. It is a relief and a curse.

It is a relief because I feel I can stand by and take credit for everything I say and do, without apologies. I need to live my truth - and it is feels good. It is a curse because I have lost money and jobs and maybe even friends because of it. One day, perhaps I'll get better at living my truth and using tact!

I remember back in the early '90's, in my first meeting with a new therapist. He spoke to me about the differences between "being" and "doing". I could have saved a lot of money if I had stopped seeing him right after that session. That one sentence spoke volumes to me. When you are living in the moment and are not afraid of what others will think of your reactions you are responding as your authentic self. You are BEING. When you react how you think you are expected to react, when you toe the line and do what you think society expects of you, despite your own feelings, then, you are DOING. Let me tell you, after you get the hang of it, BEING is a hell of a lot less stressful than DOING.

I am sure a lot of people in the entertainment industry are experts at DOING and total novices at BEING.

This past week, I attended an event called "Paint Dancing". A wonderful spirit named Matt has opened up his art studio for an event that combines painting and dancing, to celebrate and cultivate the collective Muse. It goes like this: several people stand around a table filled with paper, paints and brushes. Exuberant and inspiring music is played on the stereo. Dancing to the beat, brushes in hand, art happens! It was a total blast. In a humanitarian twist, Matt charges $15 per paint dancing session and donates it to a food bank. A wonderful idea!

I attended a free session of paint dancing ('cuz I'm broke) because it was going to be featured on a TV station's morning news program. Matt needed bodies to fill the studio for the cameras, so he could promote this wonderful happening. 2 dozen dancer/artists filled the space and dance/disco/pop music filled the air. I was immediately transported into a blissful state. I was dancing up a storm and squirting paint everywhere. I was instantly in LOVE! Then the music stopped. And started again. And stopped again, etc. The reporter for KING 5 morning news showed up, with her cameraman to do a live report. Big lights were set up. The "BEING" part of the event had ceased and the "DOING" part had begun.

The music was switched from "Disco Inferno" to Miami Sound Machine's "Conga", because the reporter thought the beat was faster (although, I think if anybody checked, I bet they were very similar)we were not allowed to make any noise while we were dancing, because it would drown out the Reporter's story - believe me, that was HARD! Then, she recorded several "takes" to be played later in the broadcast. The music had to be stopped and started several times and we paint dancers were instructed to move this way or that and NOT step on the cords. Practical advice for television but, again, very hard when you're caught up in the music and the moment and having a blast. And, let me tell you, stopping and starting over and over felt like COITUS INTERRUPTUS! I was getting into the beat - dancing my fool head off and thinking about colors and shapes and then BAM! SCREEEEEECHING HALT! It was so frustrating. I understood why it was happening - I'm not that naive - but still, I was kind of ticked off!

I should be used to this, having worked in "the biz", for years and years. Yet, I find it shocking each time. I'll never get used to having to give up the actual world, for the reflected one. It is important to keep in mind that EVERYTHING we see on TV is a creation - a production. It is not reality. "Reality TV" is most definitely NOT reality. So much footage is shot and then the editors splice it all together to tell a story - a story that they are creating and not the one that may have actually happened.

I still love Project Runway, though. I try to enjoy the creative processes and not get caught up in the drama, etc. I don't know if I'm all that pure, though. Sometimes a little drama is fun.

But I digress.

I can't help but wonder what life was like, when people were living for the moment and not for the reflection and recording of that moment? It seems to only have gotten worse, with the massive rise in popularity of camera cell phones like the iPhone and Blackberry. Everybody is thinking of how they'll post what they're doing on Facebook, instead of actually living in the moment. Cyndi Lauper was recently giving a concert in Seattle. I understand that she got upset with a fan who was recording her on his cell phone for posterity. Cyndi cried out "BE HERE NOW!" to the fan, who apparently didn't even know she was talking to him - he was too busy looking at her reflected image in his phone.

I think we'd all be a whole lot happier if we could "BE HERE NOW" and not worry about how we'll look to somebody else in a little while from now.

And now, I'm going to post a link to this blog on Facebook. Maybe that is hypocritical.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

French Translation

French to English translation(via Google Translate) of "Everything Depends on You" by Niels Lan Doky and Gino Vannelli. Hmmmmmmmmmm


Everything depends on you
My beauty's most intimate
Everything is up to us
Moods illégtimes
My desires, my dreams
My boredom and all my fevers
on my life, you
Actually
The sunshine and rain ...

Everything depends on you
My fears, my secret desires
My love I confess
That sometimes I hate you
To be linked

The least thing I do
We can laugh at ourselves
I do not care
I'm crazy about you ...

Everything depends on you
All my breaths
If everything keeps me in we
Until Dand inspiration
It is a question of balance
Without you I am not free
And even if it is not very modern
(Same theme)
That's how I love you

My desires, my dreams
My boredom and all my fevers
On my life, you
Actually
The sunshine and rain ...

Everything depends on you
True
And even if
Is not very
(Not) modern
As subject
Is how
I love you ...

Monday, September 20, 2010

How Many Times?

I hope this doesn't come off as too macabre.

But, I'm wondering how many times I had to die, before everything could be set in place, "just so", for me to live? Maybe I'm taking myself a bit too seriously but it occurred to me today just how lucky I am, to be alive right now and not knocking on death's door.

As I was walking to and around Greenlake today I reflected on a conversation I had with my former "chatty neighbor", Loren, who reminded me that my return to health has been rather miraculous. After all, it was only August 1st, less than 2 months ago, that I was so weak and panicked that I took the drastic move to drive to the desert to clear the toxins out of my body and save my own life. I could hardly walk 20 feet, let alone up a flight of stairs without gasping for breath. I had giant rings under my eyes. I was coughing up phlegm at an alarming rate and each cough left me weaker and weaker.

Was someone watching over me and correcting events, in the cosmic timeline, so I could live? I mean, had I not lost both jobs and had Gino not entered my life, I would have been a goner. I worked every single day in my apartment. My toxic mold-infested apartment.

The letter I wrote to Coast to Coast, as I explained my situation and frustration to my co-workers just poured out of me like automatic writing. It felt like it had been dictated. Likewise, the letter I first wrote to Gino, after I rediscovered his music felt channeled - I'll never forget the urgent voice inside of my head, telling me to let him know I got his song played on 525 radio stations. The Coast letter got me fired and the Gino letter lead to communication with him and several amazing experiences that gave me a strong desire to live. The raw emotion I felt that day, at Metro Traffic, when I bawled my eyes out and frightened my co-worker just happened. I wasn't planning on it. Just BAM! But, had I not been fired from Metro, I would still have stuck around my old place. I would have had enough money to pay my rent and continue living in the basement of the damned.

And, yes, my unemployment is currently "on hold", but thank God that it was not cut off while I was driving 4000 miles in the desert trying to heal myself. That deprivation did not happen until I was staying with my sister and had a roof over my head.

Maybe bit-by-bit, the pieces had to connect together, just so, in order to keep me alive. If just one of those elements had been out of place, I would not be here today.

As someone who has cheated death twice, now in 2 and a half years, it gives me great pause. I think about the strong voice inside that told me to go see a doctor, instead of visiting my sister Linda in Florida that January morning of 2008. That lead to my open heart surgery and aortic valve replacement.

It is obvious to me my work on Planet Earth is not yet complete. Daily anxieties and insecurities aside, I have returned to a relatively normal existence.

From now on, I am not going to dwell on losing my jobs, home and possessions. I am going to focus on being alive.

Remind me of that tomorrow when I start wondering what the hell happened to me. OK?

I AM a Singer - Just not a Pop Singer

Another Rockaroke revelation last night.

I think I got the need to sing old cover tunes out of my system last night. I really haven't kept up with pop music. Don't listen to the radio anymore, as it has become UNLISTENABLE due to all of the commercials and promos etc.

So, when I sing on Sunday nights, I do songs that I either sang or liked, from the '70's and '80's. Last night, I felt all of the stage fright and anxiousness disappear. A good thing, for sure. I know I had to work through all of that fear, after being away from performing for so long. I decided to sing The Pet Shop Boys' "West End Girls" and it was kind of fun. BUT then I started getting bored - on stage. Doing the song "just like the record" held no interest for me. I remember feeling this way in 1987, during the end of my stint in the Harrisburg, PA Top-40 cover band, Webz.

While there is joy in live performance and in the interaction with musicians - and it IS communication, it is simply not enough for me. I need the communication of constant innovation and the thrill of improvisation in order to fully connect with music. Minds and souls merging and mingling in new and exciting ways keeps the music alive for me. Maybe this is why I have a problem with Western Classical music. Perhaps this is why I have no interest in singing with a choir. I can appreciate it. I can find bliss while listening to it. But I am bored with performing it. Perfecting somebody else's music is not interesting to me.

Jazz is different. There is a structure, a framework from which improvisation takes place. Turns out Indian Classical music works in the same way. There is a basic melodic structure, and then, the individuality of the performers takes over.

To me, performing "in the moment" means being ALIVE. Free improvisational music, while a challenge to hear, is the MOST fun to perform. Psychic musical communication is hard at work - there is a lot of listening and interaction. Like sex, with music. And sometimes a whole lot more satisfying than physical communication.

So, it is OK that I don't wail with the best of them at Rockaroke. I am an improvisational singer and not a pop singer.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Am I Still a Singer?

After getting off the phone with musician friend, Joe, today, I began questioning myself.

Am I still a singer? I keep coughing every time I try to sing. It appears that my lungs have not recovered completely from the mold. I get discouraged when I sing and am very, very judgmental about what comes out of my mouth. Sometimes I think I am the least disciplined person on Earth.

I watched most of the finale of "America's Got Talent" tonight and realized how much work went into every performance on that show. You have to really believe in yourself to work that hard. I've recently had quite the crisis of confidence and don't think I have it in me to "practice, practice, practice".

I want to recapture the joy I had back in April, when I began to open up again. I need some inspiration. Currently, the old inspiration brings me pain. My trusting heart was opened so wide that recovery is difficult.

I hope I find what I am looking for and I hope my voice will return soon.

Restless Readers! Here's the latest.

My goodness.

It has only been 4 days since my last post and I'm already being nagged to post something new! I had no idea people actually cared what I wrote about.

OK

Today's experience:

I'm trying to get my unemployment reinstated. I was told to write a statement, describing my "illness and trip to New Mexico" and give all pertinent dates, etc. I hope I did it right. I then went to the "Work Source" office so they could fax it for free to the unemployment office. The Work Source office was packed. There were 8 people in line ahead of me and all of the computers were filled, as well as all of the tables and most of the chairs. There was a set of identical twins waiting to attend a class on job search options.

Then, since I got my social security card, I went back to the biotech place to try and donate my plasma for $30. After waiting for 2 hours, I was told that a person with a heart-valve transplant can not donate plasma. But I did get to see what it was like to be in that room. For such a white city, Seattle has a disproportionately large black population waiting to donate plasma. When I got there, I was the only white face in the room and one of only 2 women. By the time I left, the demographics had changed. After 3:30, more white people and several women arrived. Many people knew each other. I guess they've been donating their bodily fluids for some time now.

You know, I can't believe a cow-valve would prohibit me from selling my plasma. I'm not infected. I just had a heart check-up. I am fine. MOOOOOOOO MOOOOOOO MOOOOOO (OK, well there is that little affectation I have...)

Then Joe sent me some money so I can buy some gas. This means I can go to Yom Kippor dinner at Julie's on Saturday. And drive to a temp job or interview - and maybe, go back and do Rockarokie on Sunday. Joe, your kindness bought me a life, for the rest of the week. I thank you.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Childhood Pen-Pal

Recently, I came across some very old letters.

When I was in Junior High, my school sponsored a pen-pal program. We put our names on a list and were assigned students from around the world (mostly in Europe, I think) with similar interests, to be our pen-pals.

I was assigned a girl named Kim Wallen, (I don't have the letters with me - I think Kim was her first name - Wallen was definitely her last name). She was from The Netherlands. We both loved popular music.

I was 13 or 14 years old and my musical tastes were still developing. I remember I wrote to her of my love for Barry Manilow's music. She had never heard of him but promised to give him a listen. In a later letter, Kim told me she had found out who Barry was. She also told me that she was a big Pink Floyd fan. This disturbed me, at the time, because the kids in school who liked Pink Floyd did NOT like me. I began to wonder if Kim was a "hood" and did drugs. But, I continued writing. She told me a big hit in her country at the time, was Fats Domino's "Blueberry Hill". This confused me because it was an old song. She explained later that it was a re-release in her country.

After a few more correspondences like this, I got another letter from "Kim". It was written in completely different handwriting - the letters were written in print instead of cursive handwriting. In this letter, she condemned funk and soul music, saying she had no interest in it and hated the way it sounded. This was the last letter I got from her, as I stopped writing. I figured if she did not like soul music, then we had absolutely nothing in common. I was not interested in knowing anything more about Kim. The fun had ended for me.

Recently, I found out that the name given to the Red-Light district in Amsterdam is de Wallen. I found this coincidence to be intriguing. It also makes me wonder if my childhood pen-pal was actually who she said she was.

Monday, September 06, 2010

Suck-a-rokie

Some nights you got it and some nights you don't I did NOT have "it" tonight.

But I took some chances, with the live band that lets YOU be the lead singer, "Rockarokie". I was very happy the club was almost empty at the casino. But, maybe the rows and rows of unoccupied seats were part of the reason for my lackluster performance. There was no crowd to "feed off of". I can feel the energy of the audience and am always inspired by it.

Tried out 3 new songs: Alannah Myles' "Black Velvet", Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger" and Madonna's "Borderline". Also did a favorite, "Brass in Pocket", by the Pretenders. I was happy with my performance on that one. It is in my key. The other 3 songs are NOT! That is the one big problem with Rockarokie. You MUST do the tune in the key of the recording. In Karaoke, there is a way to manipulate the key, I think. Well, sometimes.

There is this guy, named Dave, who gets up and sings the most AMAZING versions of hard rock and metal tunes. I once heard him do Janis Joplin's Piece of My Heart and was blown away. Tonight, just for fun, he did a Marvin Gaye tune and again - he rocked the house. But mostly, Dave is a world-class rock screamer. He also looks like he's done a good bit of living - in his 50's but still a "looker" - sweet blue eyes compliment his gray hair and teenie weenie "soul patch" under his bottom lip.

I went up to Dave, after his first song tonight and asked if he'd mind chatting for a few minutes. I complimented him and asked if he'd tell me his "story". I knew he had to have been a professional vocalist. Turns out his story is like so many others I've heard lately. He was in a band in Los Angeles in the 1980's. They gigged around town a lot. They opened shows for lots of big name acts at the time - Quiet Riot, etc. The really hard rock stuff. But, all the bands who were making it at the time had an "image" - they dressed in a lot of leather and spandex. Dave's band was not into that - they were a "pre-grunge" jeans-and-t-shirt-wearing group. They never got a recording contract and Dave had a wife to support. So, he left LA and moved to Seattle in 1986. A year later, his old band shed the denim for spandex and got signed to a major label. Not sure what their name is. I don't know if it matters.

Luckily, Dave had a trade to fall back on, doing tile installation. But, after the housing bust, that work vanished and after many months, he now works for the DOT, striping highways. And he sings Rockarokie once or twice a week. He's had his ups and downs, broken marriage, long bouts of unemployment, a son to support. He still has kind eyes, though. And I really liked him - he recognized the good in his life and embraced it. Dave still writes songs and plays the guitar and piano. He writes tunes that lean towards country music and stuff they play on The Mountain. I bet he sounds wonderful singing them. I knew I had a lot to learn from Dave. Plus, he gave me encouragement and good tips on my singing. He could tell my confidence was wavering tonight onstage.

Then, I met Johanna. She is a lovely woman, about my age, with a killer figure and long blond tresses. Johanna works as a hairdresser and she is always one of the best singers of the night, when she performs. She sings every week at her church and also performs music at other area houses of worship. Her husband is a bass player and they met and fell in love when they were in the same band together. I swear I only hear about singers marrying the bass players. Not the lead guitarists or keyboard players or drummers. Always the bass players. Wonder why that is? Maybe the bass players have more time to flirt, because they have fewer notes to play... Johanna has a young child and is frustrated with the duties of motherhood - or that's how it seemed to me.

She and I got up onstage together, actually, and sang Madonna's "Borderline". I wish she would have looked at me while singing. When I do a duet, I like to make eye contact. Nerves, probably. We are both hyper-critical of our performances while singing.

Lesson learned tonight:

When I pursue my passion (in this case, singing) I find what I need. Tonight, connecting with other singers and learning about their lives made me feel better about the state I'm in. I miss hanging out with musicians and singers. Our minds are similar. We communicate in a non-linear fashion.

I'm still broke and now have a nearly empty gas tank but I made connections. I am richer for it.

Saturday, September 04, 2010

Gino Vanelli, Evil Eye



I feel like I've been courting the Evil Eye lately. I totally screwed up my unemployment by being in the desert, trying to save my own life. I made the horrible mistake of telling the unemployment people that I was sick - which lead them to send out a bunch of paperwork to an address I no longer have. The mail was forwarded to my sister but I didn't get it until it was too late.

I have to fix this. I have only a dollar to my name - in my wallet. My bank account is overdrawn. I feel like a total fuck-up. My mother didn't help things when she screamed at me yesterday - she was going to send me a few dollars to help out but when I sneezed into the phone she went ballistic and I hung up on her. Typical for her - she's accused me of deliberately doing awful things my entire life.

Go away, Evil Eye!!!!!

Monday, August 30, 2010

ZZ Top-arokie

Had a total blast last night.

Got inspired to go to the Snoqualmie Casino for Sunday night "Rockarokie" (Karaoke with a live band). When I got there, around 6pm, the parking lots were packed! I figured there must be some kind of concert happening. And, judging by all of the 50 and 60-somethings dressed in tight leather, boots and animal prints, I figured it must be some sort of Classic Rawk band.

Yup, right again. I found a parking space in the nether regions, and went to the bus shelter to wait for the casino shuttle. In the shelter I encountered a well-dressed woman enjoying her cigarette and said to her "guess I picked the wrong night to come to the casino - do you know what band is giving a concert tonight?"

"ZZ Top", she said.

'OH! No wonder there's so much black leather in attendance" I said

"Wanna go? I have an extra ticket." she replied. (!!!)

"SURE!", I exclaimed.

Her name was Terry and she explained to me that the friend who was supposed to join her suddenly got sick and that everyone else had commitments. We both, instantly felt that we were supposed to meet and that it was destiny for me to be her "date" for the night.

I had such fun!

I forgot how many ZZ Top hits I knew, from my KISW and KZOK days. I danced myself silly.

Rock concerts for older people are certainly different from days gone by. First of all, the show started ON TIME at 6PM!!! A 6pm Rock Concert!!!! Must be so the aging band and fans could all get to bed at a decent hour. The music, while loud, was not ear-splitting. The sound, in fact was mixed surprisingly well for an outdoor venue. I thought it sounded a little too good, though. Could not help wondering how much of it was live and how much was recorded. I was thrilled that the band played some Hendrix, as well, proving that they knew more than 3 chords and had some technical prowess. All-in-all, a very good show. A little slick for my tastes, but well done.

Then, Terry and I went to the lounge, where Rockarokie was well underway. Solid musicians were playing backup for some really great guest vocalists last night. Some big surprises - especially the rock-star "Dave" who could sing Janis Joplin like nobody's business and did a knock-your-socks-off version of "Bang Your Head". OMFG. This guy was a total rock god. Wonder who he really is and what his story is??

What did I sing? You're not going to believe it. Barry Manilow's "Copacabana". I know. But, something inside of me INSISTED that I sing it. It was totally in the wrong key for me, so I wound up "acting" most of the lyrics and only singing the choruses. Ah, that Latin beat - my underused hips had an on-stage workout. It felt so good to move, after being so sick for what felt like ages - 2 1/2 months maybe? People kept coming up to me and complimenting me on it. LONG after I had sung it! Amazing. I am always surprised when people say nice things. I crave it but I'm still surprised.

My second tune - The Police's "Every Breath You Take". Once again, channeling my crazy-ass inner stalker and making the song a creepy anthem - especially my wailing bridge. "Since You've gone I've been lost - without a trace / I feel it now I can only see your face / I look around and its you I can't replace / I feel so cold and I long for your embrace / I keep crying, baby...baby...PLEASE....." I got really worked up on that part last night, leaving no one in the audience in any doubt about the song's intentions. It felt great to sing it and I think I got a lot of angst out of my system.

Plus, I made a new friend. I really had fun with Terry! She's a total spitfire of a woman, a mother and grandmother of 6!!! She joined the Army at age 32, and was first married at 16!! (she's had the fortitude to walk down that aisle 3 times) Loved talking to her! Hope to see Terry again soon.

Wonderful surprises can still happen and life can still be great.

Who Knew?

Saturday, August 28, 2010

"Beauty" Standards.

Really?

Do you really care that much if I have a little hair on my legs? What does it really matter if my underarms are unshaven? Maybe we should ask why our society considers it normal for women to shave our underarms and legs and for god's sake, groom the hair from our privates??

I think it is for the sake of fashion. If swimming suits covered the areas they were supposed to, we wouldn't need to pay somebody to wax off our pubic hair! It is PAINFUL! Men can use their imaginations to think about our asses. We don't need to moon them with thong bottoms.

Why are women told we must "suffer for beauty"? Who was it who said "beauty is pain", anyway? The phrase existed long before Stanley Tucci uttered it in the film, 'The Devil Wears Prada'. And, somebody please tell me the real reason behind Babe Paley's infamous quote "A woman can never be too rich or too thin". I think it was insecurity. She was already as rich as Solomon and must have been terribly unhappy. So, the only control she could have over others was to starve herself so thin, her clothes would hang over her body like they do on a clothes hanger. No body there - just air.

Did you know that at the turn of the 20th century, the most beautiful woman in America was Sarah Bernhardt? She was a stage actress who was shorter, as all women were, back then. She also weighed in at 200 pounds. Yup - and she was considered the feminine ideal. Men swooned over her and women wanted to be her. Our current standard of beauty is insane. The system of starvation brings billions to the diet industry and keeps mental health professionals busy with self-loathing women seeking professional help. Comedian and social commentary queen, Kathy Griffin says the Hollywood diet is "Red Bull and Cocaine". I bet she's right - Paris Hilton was just arrested again, for cocaine possession.

Smart women who should be using their talents for better reasons are Starving Themselves Stupid.

It is fine if you are naturally thin. It is great to be healthy. But Dear God why do you want your thighs to be the same size as your arms? Why are we being told that this is the height of feminine beauty and the ideal? Because WOMEN WHO ARE STARVING DON'T HAVE THE STRENGTH TO STAND UP AND FIGHT. They want us to sit passively by, and agree to purchase all of the useless products designed to "make us more beautiful". I recently read an article where it was discovered that 100% of all lipstick samples tested by a lab contained LEAD. Read that again - 100% of Lipsticks have POISONOUS LEAD in them. ALL LIPSTICKS CONTAIN POISON. And lipstick gets eaten off, every day.

Do you think lipstick would contain lead if men wore it? Don't think so.

Why aren't men shaving their private parts? Oh wait - they are - "Manscaping". Cruel irony. The waxing industry is having a field day, aren't they? C'mon, I LIKE hairy chests on men. Really, really like them. It is normal and natural. I don't want my man to look like a 12 year old boy. Why do men want women to look like prepubescent girls? Because they fear grown-up women? Because they have to feel domineering, in order to become aroused? I just don't get it.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

It was ALWAYS about the music

While I may never fully understand what has happened in the last few months, now that I am feeling a lot better, one thing is certain.

It was ALWAYS about the MUSIC.

His music opened my heart. His music opened my ears and my head and became my inspiration. I wanted to sing again. I wanted to dance again and live again.

These facts are undeniable.

I realized that I am a musician. I am an artist. I have a creative spark that cannot be denied and must be used.

Music and creativity are based in LOVE, when channeled correctly.

My dearest love has always been music and somehow, Music and I will be one, again.

Monday, August 23, 2010

Was I Played for a Fool?

I made $150 today selling books at Powell's. So, I'm spending my last night on the road in a nice hotel - a $134 a night hotel. It has all kinds of amenities, including "free" dinner at check-in and a big morning breakfast, including a waffle bar. Might as well go out in style. Better than last night's Motel 6 with the ugliest bedspreads I've ever seen.

You know, I've lost pretty much everything: one job I loved, one job I tolerated, my apartment, most of my belongings and my sweet kitty, Chester. I also almost lost my life. But, through divine guidance, I was lead to the desert and to a "mold and environmental toxins specialist" in Taos, NM, who told me I had "toxic spore inhalation" and put me on some supplements to clear my lungs. I also had some acupuncture.

As I look on the positive side, I was lead to a mineral/hot spring resort in Utah (helped clear out some toxins) and then, to a wonderful quirky lady, named Nancy, in Angel Fire, NM who put me up for the night when I had no place else to go. She also treated me to a 2-hour horse ride up a muddy trail . Nancy owns a horse riding business. Hope to pay her back one day. I encountered such kindness on my trip, too. Like the lady who took pity on me in the Angel Fire laundromat and just gave me $10. Then there were the friends who unselfishly wired me money so I could keep going and the great friends who put me up for a week in their beautiful home. Thanks to all of you. I owe you a great debt.

What I don't understand is how somebody or some group of people would have taken such pleasure in playing with my heart. My very untested heart. A heart that has never fully given itself to anyone. As I got closer to my "love", the "friends" suddenly fell away. I was lead to believe that one or more of these Facebook "friends" was Gino, the man whose voice cleared my depression and opened me up to singing again. But, as I got closer and closer to my final destination, suddenly their "friendships" became less concrete and more vague. One of the main ones, "Mary", "unfriended" me a few days ago. Apparently, I was questioning things a little too much and taking their game way too seriously.

Everybody told me I was wrong and was being 'played'. I did not want to believe them. There were far too many coincidences. The blue boots I was drawn to were the same pair he owned, the song of mine, "Maple Leaf" that mysteriously appeared in the middle of one of Gino's songs, the fact that "he" knew the correct spelling of all of my mother's relatives last names (when I had no idea). I don't doubt the fact that we may be related - we have the same facial structure and large hands and forearms plus, the first time I saw him as an older adult, I thought he looked just like my grandmother. Also, the neighborhood in Montreal where he lived just happened to have the same name as the only place in Europe, other than Paris, that I've visited. There were other coincidences that I can't remember at the moment. But, perhaps lawyers are correct when they say "circumstantial evidence".

They say that when you go off of antidepressants, as I did, you can experience some bizarre side effects. Well, I've certainly had those. 20-years of pharmaceuticals shut me down, especially sexually. That part of me came alive again, without a doubt. It has also been said that black mold causes hallucinations and psychotic episodes. Since my old landlord refused to test my apartment for mold, I can only go by what the doctor said "toxic (mold) spore inhalation" - may have been black mold. So, my mind believed what it wanted to believe. Plus, I was being lead down the garden path by some very untrustworthy individuals.

There is no doubt, though, that Gino's music is powerful. This was the music that I lived for, in my 20's, and had forgotten about for well over 2 decades. This was the music that emboldened me, so I could brave the crowd in my black spandex pants and sing my heart out night after night. This was the music I played in cassette deck of my 1976 Toyota Corolla SR5 across miles of highways as I traveled from gig to gig.

The only thing that doesn't make any sense to me is how someone could have latched on to something that was so important to my past, in order to make a fool out of me now. Is it because I was on the radio? Did somebody have a vendetta for Avenging Annie? Did someone think it would be fun to toy with the heart of a lonely middle-aged woman? I can't imagine such cruelty. I could never, ever do that to someone else. It must be the generation, raised on shows like "Punk'd", where celebrities are humiliated by that asshole, Ashton Kucher. Perhaps that's the dick wad behind all of this.

Yet, somewhere in my heart, I still want to believe in fairy tales. I still want to believe that this is all true. I still want to believe that a person like me could have a happy ending. A part of me is truly in love with Gino. Maybe it should only be for his music, and maybe that is OK.

Saturday, August 21, 2010

What Day is This? Where Am I?

And, why did I start this journey?

Oh yes - because I was deathly ill. It is good to get to a place of relative health, so I can question the reasons for leaving on my journey. Today I am still in Reno, NV with Steve and Michelle. I thought I was going to head West today but my body did not agree. That time of the month, you see. And it hit me HARD. So, I was in bed for most of yesterday and today.

Maybe "the curse" is not so much of a curse, after all. The isolation gives one time to reflect and process one's life. Perhaps that is why there were/are "menstrual huts" in some societies. Our interpretation may be incorrect in assuming that women were sent away by their men, because they were considered "unclean" during their periods. These several days could be seen as a time of meditation and cleansing. And the religious laws forbidding sex during menstruation also might be for the comfort and benefit of women. I had not considered that before.

Apparently there is a movie out, right now, based on that book "Eat, Pray, Love". I never got past the first chapter of the book. I'm sure the movie, with Julia Roberts and the ever-yummy Javier Bardem is entertaining and maybe I'll see it one day. But, not right now. Don't need to see a Hollywood version of what I happen to be going through at the moment. Sans the love. I had an opportunity, if I could have figured out how to flirt, to dance with a hot cowboy named Jack, in Angel Fire. But, I just didn't have the energy or self-confidence to go that route. Most of my attempts at casual liaisons in my life have left me with feelings of remorse. I am wearing an engagement ring and it is a convenient excuse, at the moment.

There was Claudio, though, in Montreal in July of 1983. Claudio - I think I found him on Facebook but I will never contact him. An Italian man. I don't know what hit me. I was at one end of a swimming pool, at the Montreal Sheraton, and he was at the other. Somehow, we swam toward each other. Or, maybe I swam toward him. I was wearing my red, un-sexy one-piece suit that I got, used, from my sister Lisa. I don't know what we said to each other. I don't know how it all started. He was incredibly handsome and looked more like an American football linebacker than an Italian furniture salesman. He had wavy brown hair and beautiful soft brown eyes. We went to the hot tub, which was packed with other Italian tourists. I sat there next to him, against my better judgment. Hot tubs used to make me very, very dizzy due to my heart condition. He came to see me sing at L'entre Temps (the hotel nightclub) that night and then....well, cue the fireworks and rockets. I carried his business card in my wallet for YEARS. I never felt bad about that "liaison". I've been thinking about it a lot, recently.

But, I digress. My little blue car is still sitting outside of Steve and Michelle's. Perhaps I will feel better tomorrow and start up her engine and get back on the road. I am so lucky these two kind souls have let me stay here nearly a week. Plus, I finally got to see my old friend, Verna, who is a very successful (but still not financially successful) fitness instructor. She teaches at the community college, has classes in retirement homes and cancer centers and also holds independent classes, workshops and does personal training. But, even with all of that, she still has to work at a Pier 1 store once a week, to make ends meet. She is so busy. I don't know how she does it all!! We got to spend all of Wednesday together. She took me to a cool "ghost town" that has been all tourist-i-fied, Virginia City. And, then we went to Lake Tahoe. Really beautiful. Verna is such a fantastic woman. Independent and strong and funny and REAL. Love her. It has been way too long since we've seen each other. So glad we reconnected. She loves fitness for the sake of fitness and I don't think she's judgmental, even though she asked me how I put on so much weight. Simple - 20 years of anti-depressants! The pharmaceutical industry has drugs that make you pack on the pounds and then has drugs to make you lose the weight or get rid of its side effects. Perfect system for them, for sure!

If I feel better tomorrow, I'll head out on the road. More to see, more to ponder, and more lessons to learn, I guess.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Angel Fire

I've arrived at my destination. Angel Fire, NM. I was lead here - guided by voices and signs along the way. Thought I would meet the future Mr. Anne Silberman around 7pm on Saturday night by the horse stables, as I had been lead to believe.

But, I showed up and he was nowhere to be found. Turns out he's still in Europe - his CD, "A Good Thing", has just been released in France and he had to promote it. I had no idea, having lost my cell phone on I-90 near Spokane, and my Internet connection disabled a week ago. Nearly penniless, I found myself at a horse stable, owned and operated by a hell-on-wheels fierce spirit named Nancy.

When Nancy and I saw each other again, at the bar of the local skiing resort, she wanted to hear why I showed up at her place, at the same time she found herself at the front gate - by chance. After hearing about my amazing journey to the high desert, she invited me to stay the night at her ranch and join in on a breakfast horseback ride the next morning!

I woke up to the beauty of hot air balloons flying over my head. I'd forgotten how much I used to love those! There I was, standing next to a pen of beautiful horses and adorable llamas, with gloriously colored balloons making their way North, right above me. I wept tears of joy into my coffee cup.

I hadn't ridden a horse since I was 13 or 14, and then, only one time, but I was game. I needed extra assistance mounting the beautiful white mare named Blue (just like my cowboy boots), but once I got up, I took to it pretty well. I did fall off, once, though. Blue got a little stuck in some mud and I felt my saddle tilt to the right. Then BOOM! I went crashing to the soft muddy ground. I wasn't injured, thank goodness, and the hawt ranch hand named Jack and another kind fellow rider helped me back up into the stirrups. Stirrups - funny how that word is mostly used in the gynecologist's office instead of on the range, these days... :D

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

The Gift of Scars

I have an 8-inch scar running down the middle of my chest. A keloid scar that is bumpy, not smooth. It is a reminder of my open heart surgery on March 12, 2008 for my aortic valve replacement. I hid that scar for 2 years and one month. And then, I got better and I decided to celebrate it.

I started wearing camisole shirts and shirts with V-neck collars. I was no longer afraid of my scar. I was no longer afraid of people's reactions to my imperfection. I finally came to the realization that my scar stood for everything I'd been through in the first 47 years of my life and celebrated everything that has happened, since.

I was about a week away from death by the time I had my operation. I could not even walk 8 feet, from one end of a hallway to another, without becoming dizzy. As I have said before, I was ready to die and did not have any attachment to the outcome of the operation. As I look back on the months leading up to the surgery, I realize that I tied up loose ends. I got into contact with the one man I had once truly loved and opened myself up to him - and he made the final rejection, choosing instead, his life of duplicity and dishonesty. I put my favorite photos in a small album and organized them. I had almost no possessions, what I owned fit into a studio apartment. I knew that my life would not be too difficult to clean up, should I die. My friends were few. I had close friends but I felt they would recover from my loss. My illness had shut me down, systematically, for years. Little-by-little, due to self-preservation, I let go of my small joys and pleasures. I could not listen to music anymore - it took too much energy and effort. I stopped going for walks, because I could not breathe anymore. My cat, Saturn, had passed away in June of 2007. And, I think that when he did, he took away the strongest part of my heart that I had left. After losing him, there really wasn't any point to keeping that wounded organ alive anymore.

But, I lived. The operation, while difficult, was a success. I made it through the grueling process. I survived the nearly unbearable physical pain. I made it through the financial impossibility - after collecting documents and writing a beautiful letter, the hospital covered all but $5000 of my costs. I even made it through Prednisone, god help me. My sisters made it through Prednisone, too. Evil, evil drug. I survived family dysfunction in the aftermath.

Then, slowly, doors began to open. I was given an amazing chance to learn from the greatest minds of my time, by producing a national talk show. I learned how to glean information about religion, psychology, science, the cosmos and global conspiracies from people I would only meet over the telephone. Due to necessity, I returned, on air, to the radio and found my voice again. I found a beautiful little apartment in a neighborhood by the water and started going for daily walks again. I rediscovered the joy of movement. I rediscovered the tranquility of mist on my face as I moved through rain. I began to see the world as art, instead of drudgery.

The final gift has been the rediscovery of music. Particularly the music of one man, and he knows who he is. Whatever remained of the shackles and walls encasing my heart were blown away by his music. The very sound of his voice resonated with my soul. And, I was reborn. I am not clear why his voice and music have had this effect on me. Some say it might be karmic. Others say we all have a healing resonance vibration and that it was just good luck that I also enjoyed the songs he wrote.

Whatever the case, once that music opened me up, I truly became whole. Every last bit of fear and pain that I clung to fell by the wayside. I became bold. I started speaking my truth. I started feeling the love of an entire planet inside of my body. And, I started showing off my scar. For, if it were not for that scar I might still be afraid of what might happen in my life. I have been through hell and back and I will not back down now from the potential for heaven on earth.

My scar is truly a gift.

Friday, June 18, 2010

An Ode to Madagascar Chocolate Truffles and Hersheypark

One two-dollar Madagascar chocolate truffle from Theo's chocolates, in Fremont, can take you on a priceless nostalgic odyssey.

I think the day I was fired from my producing job, I discovered these delicacies. Went to Theo's right after that fateful phone call, in search of comfort. Theo's Chocolates is an artisan chocolate maker - they buy the best, fair trade beans they can find from around the world and make small batches. They have dark chocolate bars with up to 91% cacao content. They also have smaller chocolate bars with flavors. Chai Tea Latte is my favorite of the milk chocolate variety. When I have no money, I go to the factory store and scarf up samples and hope nobody is paying attention!

Luckily, I live about a mile and a half away from the little plant, housed in the brick building that used to be the original home of the Red Hook Brewery. So, I justify my cocoa purchase by saying I'll "walk off" the calories. However, in my mind, I don't really think the calories produced by Madagascar Chocolate Truffles are harmful in any way at all. My taste buds and brain are so busy dissecting the complex flavor combination, and my endorphins are going wild with all of that theobroma cacao that I think these things provide a life-affirming essence.

Why Anne! You know so much about chocolate! I'm so impressed that you know the word "theobroma cacao"!

Well, there's a reason for that. My mother was born and raised in Hershey, Pennsylvania, the land of chocolate. My younger sister, Linda, was also born in Hershey (Lisa and I were welcomed to the world in Baltimore). My mother was a tour guide at the original Hershey's Chocolate Factory. She would lead groups through the candy-making process and charm them with her perfect smile and easy laugh. One summer, my father worked at the chocolate factory between semesters. He became smitten with my mother but they would not date until years later.

When Lisa and I were 15, we started working summers at Hersheypark, the big theme park located near the chocolate plant. We wore unbelievably ugly German-inspired uniforms with blue sneakers. She was a shop girl in the area known as "Lower Rhineland", near the park entrance, and I manned the registers in "Upper Rhineland", just up the hill. Upper Rhineland had 3 stores: a general merchandise (more trinkets, wooden spears, Spode plates and giant lolly pops than you can imagine), A small jewelry shop that carried Hershey's Kiss earrings and necklaces and a "Plush" shop that sold stuffed animals!

As you might imagine, I LOVED working in the Plush shop. I wasn't allowed to stock the merchandise and open the shop until after I was 16 and "more mature". It was the best! ESPECIALLY when I got to open the shop with my boyfriend, Bruce Ebersole. We got to the store at 10 am and lugged the unwieldy critter-filled boxes into the store. Then for 3 glorious and fun-filled hours, we would laugh and re-stock the shelves with 5 and 15-foot snakes, Cookie Monsters, incredibly soft and snugly walruses and my favorite toy, "Harry the Hound". Since it was just us, occasionally, we would steal a kiss. Anyhow, Harry, I think, was just a brown and white cuddly long-eared puppy. But he was so much fun to hold. When I wasn't working the cash register and was on "shoplift patrol duty", I would stand by the front door and cradle Harry in my arms. I would also cradle a bag of Hershey's kisses inside my dress' left front pocket. I learned how to surreptitiously unwrap them with only my left hand and sneak them into my mouth, without anybody ever finding out.

Every morning, when I walked through the employees gate of Hersheypark, my nostrils were greeted by a barrage of aromas coming from the cocoa mulch landscape covering. Overnight, crews had watered the plants, soaking those bean husks. The smells were renewed by the water and the morning sunshine caused a cocoa mist to permeate the air. The entire park smelled like chocolate.

Walking by Theo's chocolates, I smell the same thing. They also use cocoa mulch as a ground covering. That smell really takes me back.

Takes me on a priceless nostalgic odyssey back to some very good memories. Can I get another Madagascar truffle, please?

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Redneck White Trash Karaoke

During my musical upheaval, I've been experiencing all kinds of performance environments.

Last night was hang-with-the-regular-folk-in-a-dive-bar-karaoke-night. What fun!!

My former radio friend, Julie, is now working at a Home Depot. Previously, she had dedicated many, many years to a thankless corporate radio drug-addict who never appreciated her hard work. Julie programmed the music, scheduled the part-timers, created promos and soothed the fragile egos of the on-air folk, among other tasks. I don't think she ever made more than $27K a year. She RAN that top-5 Seattle Classic Rock station and made everybody else look good. Then, one day, the axe fell. After her unemployment and the chance of gainful employment in the radio biz ran out, Julie took a job in the Big Box Hardware store.

Last night she invited me along to blow off some steam with her co-workers at a total dive bar near Seattle's White Center neighborhood, called Tug.

Tug is the kind of place that has colorful pull-tab banners lining the mirrors behind the bar. The gray carpet is covered with brown beer blotches. Jello shots are a buck a piece. There is a pool room in back, and karaoke every Wednesday and Sunday nights. No stage for karaoke performers. The screens surround the tables and chairs and you get up in the middle of the room with a cordless mic and belt out the tunes. Most of the people could NOT sing, either.

They couldn't sing, but they sure had passion. BEST tune of the night, "Cheater, Cheater" aka "White Trash Ho" - a country tune shouted in a monotone drone by a portly brown-haired diva. Made me want to search out the song and do my own version at karaoke one day! Another favorite performer, Julie's sweet young handsome chocolate co-worker, who had all the rock star poses and none of the vocal abilities while singing his own version of Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'". There was one girl, who could really sing and who had fantastic stage presence. And I kept wishing she would leave the bar, while she was singing her Shania Twain tune. Redneck White Trash Karaoke is not about slick performance. (of course, try and tell that to me, when I beat myself up for screwing up Martha and The Vandella's "Nowhere to Run"!)

The big surprise of the night, for me, was the mechanic (still dressed in his gas-station attire) who melted my heart with Bobby Darin's "Mac the Knife" and "Beyond the Sea". Sure his voice wasn't perfect but that soul singing the songs was liquid gold. SIGH.

Julie's longtime friend, Kara and I did a duet on Joan Jett's "I Hate Myself for Lovin' You" and I became MICK JAGGER!!! Singing? Who cares what I sounded like. I strutted around that bar like a pompous cock-of-the-walk. (Apparently, one and a half jello shots made an impact on a lightweight like myself). Oh my god. So much fun. I hate being ladylike sometimes and just need to let my hair DOWN!


Putting Redneck White Trash Karaoke on the list of things in life I MUST do again!

Wednesday, June 09, 2010

I'm NOT in Control

For sure, I have never, ever been in any kind of situation like this, in my life.

I don't know which way is up, which way is down. I've avoided topsy-turvy romantic emotional upheavals for an entire life. It is probably an act of self-preservation. Why do humans do this to each other?

I am leaping to the wrong conclusions, bashing my head against the wall and crying a lot. I'm also experiencing a kind of elation and joy I've never felt before. What the fuck, people??? Is THIS what all of those songs are about? Is THIS what has inspired artists throughout human history? THIS IS INSANE!

Wait a minute - I'm also tapering off of anti-depressants. Have been taking them off and on since 1990. But, the depression lifted and my heart was finally re-opened two and a half months ago, with the reappearance of music into my life.

Maybe this is all just a chemical reaction or withdrawal symptoms? That is what my dispassionate shrink would say. That man is like a stone, yet he never gives me a straight answer. I don't want to tell him what I've been feeling. I'm afraid he'll tell me I'm bi-polar and put me on lithium.

IS THIS LOVE?????

Why in the hell do people want to get married when they feel like THIS?

Monday, May 31, 2010

Avenging Annie's Hips Don't Lie

Great name of that Shakira album, "Hips Don't Lie". She is a Latin American singer, with a sultry alto voice and a set of hips that never stop moving. Shakira is very well known for her hips. And, her music sets my hips moving, too. Can't help it. Just the way it is.

Last night I sang again with Rockaroke at the casino. Did just one song, "Brass in Pocket" and it went even better than the last time. But my goodness, my hip bones had a workout. Couldn't stop moving and shaking them. The singer / hostess even commented on it. I sang with a lot of passion last night and my version was exceptionally sultry, at least, that is how it felt on stage.

I didn't try and control my movements. I just let them happen, however they wanted. And my goodness - I think I caused a few hot flashes in a few men! (and maybe a few women, too!) Got a great compliment from a local but well known musician/radio guy and had several people from the crowd come up and say nice things!

I think I've always had hips with a mind of their own. I remember when I was in Junior High School and was selected for District Chorus. While there, I was chosen to sing the lead in "Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown" with about 5 other kids. We were backed by 100 other choir members, singing "oohs and ahs and shoobie doobie doos" Problem was, I just couldn't STAND THERE LIKE A ZOMBIE and sing. I kept moving! The choir director had to stop the rehearsal and speak to me. He told me to STOP MOVING! I was mortified. I didn't realize it was that noticeable. He told me about 3 times, during the course of the day, to stand still. And I was trying! I think I made it through the performance with only my right leg and arm twitching a bit. It was hard to contain myself.

As I got older and sang more and more, I remember being so conflicted with my innocent nature and my body's momentum. I was once told that I dressed all wrong on stage. I wore a lot of dresses but one of the guys in one of my bands told me that I was NOT a "dress-wearing kind of singer". I remember feeling so embarrassed and insulted. Having a very morally strict upbringing, I thought he meant that I was easy, or a slut or something. It is very tough being a "good girl" and a "girl singer", at the same time. It must be so much easier to be a man.

While on the radio, for a time, I became popular for being "Avenging Annie". I started doing traffic reports on the hard rock station with Steve Slaton, and he and I could read each others minds and had great chemistry.

Avenging Annie was my id. Stuff would just pour out of my mouth that I didn't even know I was thinking. Annie was very much a woman in control of her own destiny. Sexual innuendo peppered my traffic reports. But, so did societal rants and general cleverness. I once did a series of traffic reports using only titles to Beatles songs, when Paul McCartney was appearing in town. It was a lot of fun. I was so popular that people would pack the restaurants and bars where I was making public appearances (for free!) and one time, a guy even followed me into the ladies room. That freaked me out.

Avenging Annie went away for a while but came back between 1997 and 2000 on KZOK, with Gary Crow and finally with Steve Slaton once again. It wasn't quite as much fun because radio had lost a lot of its spark and I had to run down the hall ever 15 minutes to be "Annie", the sweet traffic reporter on the country music station, KMPS. Tony, who was my DJ on that station said it was pretty cool how I switched personalities from sweet and gentle to devilish, in a matter of minutes. It felt a bit insane to me, but also rather normal.

My freakiest moment of Avenging Annie's recognition came in 2000, when my sister, Linda, and I took her VW bus to the Gorge to see Steely Dan's concert. I love Steely Dan. We "camped" in the enormous parking lot, with about 1000 other people. Not camping - more like parking. I mentioned on-air that I would be attending this show with my sister in her VW bus. I didn't think anybody would care. Well, after the show, Linda and I were sitting in lawn chairs shooting the breeze when a sweet boy in his 20's came up to us and said "I'm looking for Avenging Annie" !!!!!! I went pale and couldn't speak. Linda, ever the extrovert, copped to being me. He told her that he had wandered that parking lot for hours, going up to every Volkswagen camper and asking for me. I was floored by that! The two of them had a nice conversation and then I could feel myself getting a bit jealous. Hey! I WAS AVENGING ANNIE, after all. I finally said, "um, actually, you've been talking to my sister, Linda. I'm Annie". I felt like I disappointed him. I am not as dynamic a personality as Linda, who can fill an entire room with her presence.

But, it was a memorable moment. A brief brush with fame.

Being back on the radio, after 8 years, has been a very interesting experience. And now, I'm also singing again, too. Last Wednesday when I sat in with some amazing rock musicians at a club, I was billed as "Avenging Annie", when I went up to sing Moondance. It was so weird. My singing-self and my radio-self have never merged before. I've always kept them separate. Perhaps because I gave up singing, to go on the radio. I had a couple of people come up to me and tell me how much they used to love my traffic reports. How strange. Had my photo taken with one of them.

And, the musicians, who all knew who Avenging Annie was, complimented my performance - and liked my dancing.

How much do you want to bet my hips were moving to the beat?