so two brief things that i hope to have time to elaborate on later – but right now i just need to get this up before i forget, as i promised a friend i would add a new post to The Rambles AKA My Crappy Blog section of my website by last night, which didn’t happen. so i made an executive decision to retroactively modify my use of the word  ”tonight” and give it a more figurative, less literal, meaning; so that when i said “i’ll make a new post tonight” what i really meant was “i’ll make a new post whenever, but probably sometime this weekend, or before monday, or something.”

i can do shit like that; it was my pledge/promise. i feel totally Justified.

but two things!

so there are some bars to which i am deeply indebted, for a number of reasons. for instance, some bars have five-dollar maker’s mark; some bars let you smoke (hardly any now, though, and i suppose that’s why they’re precious, since i wouldn’t want all bars to allow people to smoke, anyway); some bars are reliably not packed & annoying even on fridays & saturdays, but still somehow manage to stay in business; some bars have outdoor patios which are lovely.

and some bars let humans do cool events there for free.

so i had two experiences this weekend with Bars To Which I Am Indebted & Of Which I Am Enamored for that particular reason:

1. Ding Dong Lounge hosted a brilliant event yesterday/saturday called May Day, an all-day-into-night small press/zine expo that also had a line up of readers/performers. i was fortunate enough to be included in that line up. but the day overall was wonderful, and i thoroughly enjoyed hearing people’s work, handling people’s very exciting publications (that sounded dirty &/or creepy, although i didn’t mean it that way), and meeting good peoples. the organizers run their own presses, including Fractious Press and Kaboom! Press.

and here’s a link about the event: http://maydaydingdong.blogspot.com/

the folks who work at Ding Dong are also some of my favorite peoples. i’m just saying.

2. Botanica Bar hosted an event of my friends’ & my devising, laboriously entitled “3people + Laundry Party Public = People Doing Stuff at Botanica Bar.”

okay, so the formula/equation part of it was added pretty much at the event itself, but i think it still counts. i think we were billing it as “people doing stuff at botanica bar” and then explaining that it was 3people & LP public. but these are just details…i don’t think anyone cares but me, about the actual math. but i care. and my caring will somehow, somewhere, have an impact. or something.

3people consisted of theater artist Julia May Jonas, poet & editor Jocelyn Burrell, and me. we all did new stuffs, so it was totally Fresh and Raw and Dynamic and Innovative and Groundbreaking and all those adjectives that make art sound fundable. the bar was blissfully empty except for people there for the event and the bartender (not because the bar’s unpopular, but because people generally don’t start arriving until 9pm, when karaoke starts at botanica. the karaoke DJ at botanica, by the way, is in my opinion top notch). Botanica let us use their elegant & sumptuous backroom (uh, sumptuous by cool dive bar standards, natch), so we all felt very cozy & cared for & authentically nyc-dive-barry. okay, no one said that, or expressed anything like that at all, but i feel like putting words & thoughts in other people’s mouths, without any justification or basis at all. because i’m in a rush, which causes me to make sloppy summations of events (like, you know, capturing a mood for the evening,which should never be done in a sloppy fashion, but i’m doing it anyway. i Fail.).

and then we moved into Laundry Party Public portion of night, after an invigorating intermission, and poet & fiction writer Bushra Rehman read, and Derek Chung presented his Volunteer Crew presentation, and writer Nina Sharma read, followed by Warren Tong, and Torrey Townsend, and Quincy Scott Jones.

and it was a lovely night, although i sadly couldn’t stay for the karaoke starting up, but i think i can (this time) quite safely & accurately say that people overall were Inspired & shit.

cheers to all the cool bars.

If my calculations are correct (and my use of the word “calculations” is perhaps overreaching since I’m talking about basic arithmetic, here; but in the age of newfangled technological devices like “calculators”, I’m fairly impressed with myself when I can count to ten without assistance), there are nine days remaining of 2009. Which means there will never again in my lifetime be double-aughts following the first digit of the year.

(or in anyone else’s lifetime, lessen someone figures out that whole immortality thing in the next 900 years without humanity extinguishing itself first, which I suppose someone very well may; a thousand years isn’t all that long, after all.)

For some reason, my brief encounter with double-aughts after the first digit of the year, and the end of this brief encounter, mean something to me.

It occurred to me a little too late to really consider exactly what it is that the double-aughts means to me, or why I might miss it, but I’ll speculate here, briefly, and then move on to discuss exactly what it is that had me wide awake four hours after drifting off, when I could have actually slept in today and gotten a full night’s sleep (whatever that means), had my body only permitted me to indulge.

So, a brief speculation on the Significance of the Double Aughts.

Hrm, well, from a purely aesthetic standpoint, there is a lovely symmetry in the two zeros between the first and fourth/final digits of the year; not only a symmetry, but a space, a breath, between the chaos of the years…

(okay, I’m enjoying totally overanalyzing this: I live for this shit!)

So, the two zeros in a sense hold the center, provide an anchor of serenity and space in an otherwise tumultuous world of concrete value and cold calculations -

The Double Aughts represent a sort of breathing space, the eye of the storm, an opportunity to write a stabilizing force, a  counterbalancing neutrality, into each day.

Now, we will no longer have that reassuring serenity and breathing space written into the code of each day.

Now, I suppose, we are fucked.

(I don’t really think we’re fucked, not any more than we usually are, at any rate, but it seemed like a nice, snappy way to end my Speculation on the Significance of the Double Aughts.)

And now I believe I had told myself I was going to arrive at the thoughts that had me awake earlier than I intended this morning (nothing particularly exciting or revelatory, so please don’t get your hopes up) -

Well, since I spent so long on an unanticipated bloggery detour (the speculation on the significance of the Double Aughts), I will make this next bit very brief:

I have been thinking of late of two themes, possibly titles, for a series of work — could be two series of work, or they could combine into a single series. And by “series” I mean a series of scenes, or short pieces, or maybe just a single play. I really don’t know, only that I’ve been mulling over it for quite a while now, and found myself thinking about it of late.

The two themes are: 1. catalog of Failure; and, 2. the excavation series.

I use “failure” not in a pessimistic way, but I find instances of failure so much more interesting than instances of success; I find I generally learn more from failing than from succeeding (using the words “failure” and “success” in the fairly traditional, obvious sense; not the “oh I thought this thing was a failure, but in reality it was a success because x,y and z happened as a result”), and failure also makes for some funny shit. Also, Failure tends to make a Human that much more relatable. Not that I’m anti-success: go success, it’s awesome. But I’m talking, here, about ideas for something I’m working on. This is nothing new, I’m just thinking about it – perhaps I’m drawn a bit too much to silver linings, here, I don’t know. We’ll see.

The Excavation Series is something that could be entirely different or could be, as I said, part of the same thing. In any case, these are two ideas I’m tossing around, as the final days of 2009 continue apace.

And I suppose, before the year is out, I will do some end-of-year accounting, & take stock, & express bewilderment, and gratitude, and pissed-offedness, and all sorts of things, to properly review the last year from my own, Totally Self Absorbed Perspective (TSAP).

what i just sent out to list:

i am sipping whiskey out of an opaque blue water bottle–a parting gift from a friend–which has two smiley faces and the words “happiness is a choice” printed on it (twice; in case you’re trying to escape the message, the message cannot be escaped. and your dignity cannot be saved, should you be the owner of said water bottle [no really, friend-who-gave-me-the-bottle, i totally love it, and am not ashamed to carry a bottle with kind of patronizing life lessons blaring from its surface. and water bottles are hella useful. but don't be offended if i eventually decide to sticker over the message part...i still love you. you're not even reading this - why am i offering a long bracketed-within-parenthetical note to you when you never read my rambles section? sigh]).

i am engaged in said activity in the lobby of a very plush lobby of a Sheraton hotel in downtown Denver, where DC Sita and i are spending our third night of The Great Journey East. DC has hooked us up with what is to me a very swank room (in the Preferred Guests floor of the hotel, no less!), but they still charge for wifi in the rooms, even in the rooms of Preferred Guests, so i have settled into the lobby here, where the wifi is free, and it’s BYOW.

we left salt lake city late this morning, and drove through utah, wyoming, and colorado on a very sunny day. that’s right – two state lines crossed. um, just like our first day of driving. but we feel very accomplished, and are very much enjoying our Glimpses of America.

so it felt fitting, amid the big sky, the red rocks, the crazy rock formations, the sweeping vistas (and even an official Point Of Interest, at one point, somewhere in Wyoming), of America, to plug in sita’s ipod and listen to an episode of This American Life. which we did. this episode about reunions. the final chapter of this episode was a piece by Sarah Vowell, which led to a discussion of how there are a number of prominent, famous, & highly talented/skilled women who have a decidedly baby-like way of speaking. i am not hating on Sarah Vowell, or Sarah Silverman, or–augh, who’s that standup comic who has a very cutesy way of speaking? can’t remember. fuck. i am losing all credibility as someone who claims to be involved in standup comedy; eh, i never had much credibility to begin with–i am not hating on them, and DC sita was not hating on them, not in particular. more, remarking on the fact that it is perhaps no coincidence that a number of women whose voices convey a somewhat childlike sensibility (no disrespect, sarah vowell! you are a highly-respected, mature, skilled writer!) have risen to fame; these women, perhaps, are perceived by The Powers That Be (i really don’t know who these powers are, and i don’t think there’s any sort of conscious conspiracy in place, okay; and clearly this is all anecdotal & observational stuffs, anyway, i’m just saying) to be non threatening, which is why it’s okay to highly laud them and have them all over the place. because they seem very sweet and, uh, non-threatening (damn, already said that. so what, i’m saying it again). and therefore, totally okay to put up there on the stage/camera/airwaves/etc. because they aren’t angry-sounded pissed-offed women whose voices convey hostility and (um) strength. not that anger=strength. i’m not saying that! stop putting words in my mouth!

RBI: who are you talking to?

long time since i’ve seen you around.

RBI: yeah. i missed you too.

it’s been so long that no one will even know what RBI stands for.

RBI: that’s okay; fuck ‘em.

come on; that’s not cool. we’re not trying to alienate people, here. don’t we do that enough? like, on a daily basis?

RBI: no. you just wish you alienated people, because that would make you kind of cool. in truth, you’re actually a very normal, approachable, non-threatening person.

no, that’s a good thing. see, you’re totally misreading me. you always do that.

RBI: are you gonna finish this post? people have shit to do. not that anyone’s reading this, anyway.

you’re totally insulting the one person who IS reading this.

RBI: so? your blog, not mine.

okay, i’ll finish the post: so, denver. we got a nice no-cover jazz show, walked along a well-lit promenade with lots of bars and closed stores and a place called Tokyo Joe’s, which was also closed. although we caught a glimpse of a slick looking one-slab-of-marble fountain with chinese characters on it. i TOTALLY wanna go back there.*

anyway. enjoying denver; people walk around here! after 10pm! they sit on park benches engaged in what appears to be earnest conversation! people play instruments, badly, on the street outside of establishments that have closed for the night! there’s a 7-eleven! and other things! oooh, all excitement for denver. but we are leaving tomorrow morning, for Kansas City, and supposedly awesome barbeque, so for now, we must part ways with Denver.

first though, sleep. at some point in the not so distant future.

*i’m totally kidding.

i’m not very aware of All Things Shopping (i’m really not aware of many things, actually; my oceans of ignorance are vast and uncharted, but let’s leave the mapping of my kingdoms of ignorance for another ramble, shall we?), but i really never knew that shopping the day after thanksgiving was A Thing that people in this country did; my family never spoke of it anyway (and the ocean of subject matter of which my family never spoke is also vast & uncharted, but again we’ll save that for another time).

so when i first heard of this shopping-the-day-after-thanksgiving thing a few years ago–seeing front page photographs of people camped out at 4 in the morning in front of a wal-mart, waiting for the doors to open; the images of frenzied shoppers mobbing the gates, clawing at the hot new item (elmo? the newest version of playstation? i dunno), the remains of their shared humanity abandoned & forgotten in the parking lot–i did experience a level of shock. what the fuck? shopping season? people camp out over night in parking lots to get a discount on a doll? how many dolls do you have to buy to possibly make that experience worth it? and why do you want to buy the doll that every other kid in the country apparently is going to have, anyway? doesn’t originality count for anything anymore?

but then i rebuked myself for criticizing, upon realizing that (1) i’m not only a dick who rarely buys gifts for my closest friends and dear sisters, but (2) i’m a dick with no family to speak of outside of parents and sisters and grandparents, and i don’t have to purchase hella obligatory gifts for lots of little ones. so i guess a 40% discount is kind of important if you’ve got many crying little ones to consider.

but then, after thoroughly self-rebuking for judging the behavior of those who find themselves in situations starkly different from mine , i returned to my initial reaction of, “what the fuck?”

christ, someone get these kids a deck of playing cards or a set of colored pens or a cardboard box (the acute sense of disappointment experienced upon receiving such a christmas gift will build hella character), and let TMX elmo find his way into some soulless home elsewhere.

and there’s something profoundly disturbing about considering the value of TMX elmo when the “shoppers mob malls for holiday discounts” headline shares the front page of the NYT with headlines announcing that this month has been the bloodiest in Iraq since 2003. and today, it’s finally clear to more and more americans (as it’s been to most of the rest of the world for some time now) that all the violence in Iraq is actually part of what’s generally called a civil war.

RANDOM BLOG INTRUDER: oh shit, no she didn’t; she just had to go there. and we were all having such a good time hating on American shoppers and laughing at the absurdity of TMX elmo. what a downer.

ME: i wasn’t trying to be an upper, Random Blog Intruder. i apologize for nothing.

RANDOM BLOG INTRUDER: well you should; this site’s supposed to be about comedy, asshole. you’ve just gone and ruined it.

ME: well some of the most hilarious comedy comes from some of the most agonizing bits of reality; deal with it.

RANDOM BLOG INTRUDER: whatever. i’m gonna go start my OWN website somewhere else, where i’ll blog about DICK JOKES and CHICKS, putting my THINLY-VEILED MISOGYNY & HOMOPHOBIA to good use.

ME: fine, you go do that.

RANDOM BLOG INTRUDER: do you really want to leave it on this note?

ME: of course not. how about we leave it on the second, less commonly known, definition of the word “paraphernalia”?

RANDOM BLOG INTRUDER: “paraphernalia”? you mean, the noun which means equipment, apparatus, or furnishing used in or necessary for a particular activity, as in the example a skier’s paraphernalia?

quite. the second definition is a married woman’s personal property exclusive of her dowry, according to common law. or, put another way, the personal articles, apart from dower, reserved by law to a married woman.

RANDOM BLOG INTRUDER: really? they let women own personal property outside of her dowry?

apparently.

RANDOM BLOG INTRUDER: weird.

isn’t it?