The Dog Stays

Though I like to think my animal spirit is a horse - strong, fast, sexy - truth is, I'm more like a snail - ravenous, pesty and sloooooow. I'm simply not good with change, I'm either wildly impulsive or near-stagnant, not much middle ground.

And so, the dreaded move from my beloved Milwaukee Street Cave has begun. (Anyone need a feather boa?) Moving is one of those modern necessary tasks that nobody loves. I was speaking to my mother about it the other day and she moaned, "Oh, I HATE moving!" Mind you, the woman has not moved since the early 1960s. After all these decades, the memory is still fresh in her mind. 

Sifting through life's so-called treasures, one item at a time, presents the black and white question: Keep or throw? Donate or pack? Some good comes of this skin shedding, of course. When I moved from San Francisco to Colorado, I loaded up the guitar my father had bought me at Costco, asking myself, "Why do I have this? I can't play it. Why keep it?" Driving the instrument across the country actually guilted me into taking lessons and for that, I'm grateful.

But this story is about the glass dog.

When I lived in San Francisco, I used to find random cool stuff near the trash can. (A very common scenario in the transient Bay Area, actually.)  One day, I came down and saw this delicate glass dog sitting next to the bin. What to do? I can't walk away from an adorable animal, even a fake one, so I picked him up. I meant to donate him to Pets Unlimited before I left but he ended up getting mistakenly packed away by one of my friends.

When I arrived in Colorado and found myself quite suddenly alone (not the original plan at all), I had the luxury of time to really go through my stuff and donate even more crap to the Salvation Army on Colfax. Every Saturday for several weeks, I'd do a big drop off; the staff even learned my name and would say, "See ya next week!" 

One of these days, I loaded up a bunch of clothes, books and whatnot and put the glass dog in the front seat, finally ready to pass him along. When I arrived, I unloaded all the goods, got my receipt and got back in the truck. Suddenly, I was struck by an intense feeling of loneliness and an overwhelming sadness over my situation. I burst into tears, moaning, "What am I doing here? I have no friends! I'm totally alone! WAH!" If you are a human being, than you know the feeling.

I must have sat there for a full 10 minutes with my head in my hands, dripping tears on the steering wheel, when I finally opened my eyes and saw the glass dog, sitting next to me, staring plaintively. I'd forgotten to unload him and sad as it is to admit, that glass dog was my only friend on earth at that moment. I was beyond grateful.

Laughing through red, swollen eyes and a snot-clogged face, I just shook my head and put the truck in drive: "C'mon, buddy. Let's go home."

A Dragon of Fear Has Been Slain

Last night, for the first time ever, I went to an open mic and performed music on stage. By myself. Willingly. In front of real live humans and everything.

I met up with my pals, Steve and Daniel, at Swallow Hill, probably the best atmosphere in the world for this kind of experiment. (Steve also performed and he was so funny and delightful.) Each performer was not only super talented but they all had their own songs! Good Lord. I'm going to have to find out where crappier musicians play if I think about doing this again.

Anyway, I made it up on stage and the host asked about my gear. "I don't have a guitar or anything. I'll be singing a capella," I said. His eyes got real big.

Since comedy is my one useful skill in the world, I tried to charm the audience with humor. "Yeah, I thought we were going to a comedy open mic (this is actually true) so I'm not really prepared but I already put lipstick on and brushed my hair so I thought I should do something..." 

And that's when I belted out a Beck-inspired version of Hank Williams' "Lonesome Whistle." I did okay. It certainly sounded better in the ladies room a few minutes earlier but still not as good as my empty living room. But hey, nobody died. And they clapped. Best of all, when I got offstage, the host said:

"The only thing scarier to me than performing a song with no musical accompaniment is doing comedy. You, my dear, must have very thick skin." 

Hopefully, it will grow thicker and I can get more performances under my belt. These days, my mantra is: "I don't know what I'm doing but I'm doing it."

Boo to Columbus Day

This is not a formal protest, just the registration of a lifelong annoyance and Man-o-man! This holiday really pisses me off.

I remember as clear as day, sitting on a wooden chair in school (2nd grade? 3rd grade?) and the teacher talking about how in 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue and 'discovered' America. Having already studied Native Americans, this threw me for a loop. I raised my hand asking how can somebody get credit for discovering a land that already had people?

Had Eddie Izzard been my teacher (FANTASY!) he may have responded: "With the cunning use of flags."  And he would have been absolutely correct.

Sadly, Mr. Izzard was not teaching at Mark Twain Elementary in the 1970s so I was undoubtedly given another explanation about how the Spanish explorer 'discovered' a place he thought was Asia (thus providing the nickname 'Indians' to the local residents) and claiming it for Queen Isabella I. In other words, a land is not discovered until hordes of white people arrive and set up 11,000 Starbucks.

It's one of those traditional American school subjects that I could never get my head around. Much like the day we were taught about slavery in the U.S. ("What do you mean 'buy people,' you can't BUY people!" I drove my teachers nuts on this.)

While I realize that CC's trip meant the opening of the land for trade and development to the Western world, it certainly meant the slaughter of so many native tribes and I'm not sure that's worth celebrating.

Seems silly to honor a navigator who got lost. Count me out.

New Horizons

No, I'm not moving to a retirement home, but I am moving into some pretty scary territory: Co-habitation with a member of the opposite sex. 
Now, I realize I'm a bit of an anomaly. Most folks fear snakes, public speaking and/or nudity, jumping out of airplanes - that sort of thing. I'm totally fine with any of those. Spiders too. Swear to Yoda - put a snake in one hand, a spider in the other, make me give a speech, rip off my clothes and shove out an airplane and I'd call it a good day.

It's the double 'M's' that freak me out: Marriage & Mortgage, those time-honored trappings of adulthood. I feel pretty silly about these hang-ups (okay, maybe not the mortgage thing anymore) especially since they are such common milestones in our society.

So I've arrived at a point in my life where the idea of standing still has become scarier than moving forward - no matter how many reservations and fears I may harbor. Good news is, I hyper-ventilate a lot less than I used to while pondering them. Also, the hives no longer appear. Progress, right? I mean, people do it EVERY DAY, right? Sheesh.

My partner in this endeavor is a very, very, very brave and completely insane man whom you may or may not know but for privacy/SEO sake, let's just call him Kirk. He's one of my best friends and steady supporters and I like to think I am the same for him. Kirk has been through a lot in the last few years, processing big changes and looking after the needs of others. The time has come for Kirk to learn how to become a Selfish Motherfucker.

I can teach him this.

Meanwhile, I've been, as my mother might say, "lollygagging" though life with numerous sessions of "fiddlefarting around" and my selfish ways must now cease. Kirk can teach me this.

 Y'see, when a person has lived on their own for so many years, they get used to having their own way about pretty much everything but the problem is ....... Um, actually. There is no problem. Living alone is friggin' awesome.

Oh! Unless you choke and die alone in your apartment and nobody finds your body for weeks. I always forget about that one.

Nevertheless, ClizBiz craves personal growth - ready or not. Truth is, I've been quietly seeking this unique living situation (more on that later) and it has been seeking me. And so here we are. Which is why the boxes are coming out of storage and the daily emotional highs/lows that come with imminent change have commenced.

 Please pray for Kirk.

Final Tally on Smile Train Donations

My generous comedian friends backstage at the Saturday night show.

It's been a month since our Smile Train comedy improv benefit shows and I just now sent off the final check package to New York; the happy delay was caused by the fact that donations continued, despite the shows being over. Ultimately, we raised $2,150.44!

It tops the amount raised last year and is enough to fix 8.5 kids! This makes my heart sing like you cannot believe. Smile Train also has a matching program going on right now (thanks to some wealthy benefactor) so there's a chance it will end up being three times that amount, which would be fantastic.

There's just no way this would have happened without the tireless efforts of Steve Loukas, my comedy husband. (In the photo's center, in the wig braids.) He is the driving force behind so many of the important details and I would never want to do this without him. Steve and I were freshman members of the Rodents of Unusual Size (who also donated their funny bones to the shows) and he's now is the brilliant leader of The Denver Wigs. (They brought down the house the other night, btw, you should absolutely check 'em out.)

I'm also especially grateful to Monkey's Uncle, who donated their considerable comedic talents, and Intentionally Left Blank, another fabulous group (and freakishly good looking I might add) who put on a wonderful show. (Again, Steve made all that happen - I just stood around, being charmed by them.)


Also, thanks to Bess Chachas who skillfully handled all the sound and lights for the Saturday night shows. And, of course, to Dave and Bob, co-owners of the Avenue Theater, who generously donated a huge portion of their sales to the cause. Plus, they are just super sweet guys in general.

Finally, big thanks to all the donors who put money towards such a wonderful cause. (Big thanks to Reid Kirkpatrick who donated $300 and even got his employer to donate $100 more - amazing.) I really appreciate all the hard-earned money you gave up but not as much as the kids do. Thanks to ya'll, they'll be smiling forever.

I'm Not Here Right Now - Please Leave A Message

Photo by Reid Kirkpatrick

Here's me dancing in a disco fog at the incredibly fun Wild Ivories last Friday night. The image from the dueling piano bar aptly explains my mental whereabouts lately. I'm happily reclining on a cloud of serious disconnection. Not sure if it's age or just fatigue with the world and all its problems but I'm skating dangerously close to apathy - not like me at all.

Goodbye to Buffy

My heroes, compliments of TheQuarterBin

Sometime in late 2002, I found myself in the back seat of a San Francisco cab, with a boy I very much wanted to kiss. As the car sped along with the city's twinkling lights whizzing by, he turned to me and whispered somewhat plaintively:

"Please ... please .... PLEASE tell me that you're into 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer."

Because I wanted his lips on mine, I lied outright: "Of course. I love it!"

And we kissed.

In truth, I hadn't seen a single episode and the whole romance tumbled down soon after but the moment always nagged me. What was so important about a stupidly-named television show? How could it possibly be an obstruction to making out? And who was this Buffy chick anyhow? Surely she couldn't be that amazing.

Oh, how wrong I was. In April of 2008, I finally got around to seeing what all the fuss was about. Buffy the Vampire Slayer:Season 1, Episode 1, was put into my DVD player and the journey began. To try and recreate the feverish anticipation of the original viewers when it aired on the WB, and then UPN, back in the day (1997-2003), I viewed one episode at a time, one disc at a time, while alternating on my Netflix queue with films.

Last night, with great sadness, the DVD player spit out the final disc and I groaned aloud. A seven-year show, 144 brilliant episodes, and it was all over for me, seven years after its actual demise but still, I mourn. I cannot begin to describe how much I will miss these characters and even the writers, directors and producers, as I obsessively watched every commentary and extra that was available. Thank god for the mad genius that is Joss Whedon, who has given popular culture such an amazing heroine.

As TV writing goes, it doesn't get any better; there is simply no fat or fluff to be found. I kept waiting for the show to lag, for the characters to become predictable, for the entire premise to fail. Instead, every episode was like a rung on a ladder and you found yourself going deeper and deeper into the world of Sunnydale and all the demon residents of the Hellmouth. The amount of action and comedy packed into one hour (not to mention some real tear-jerkers) was relentless. A typical exchange: 

Buffy: So, what you been up to?
Amy: I've been a rat for three years. 
Buffy: Oh, right. 
Amy: You? 
Buffy: Dead.
Amy: Yeah, I heard. Bummer.

And then there's Spike. Good lord, he's just pure walking sex. Truly. (Angel? Oh, please. No contest.) I get quickly turned on hearing even a few notes from a Billy Idol song based solely on the resemblance, which, as we all know, is a look that Spike had first. Of course, Spike also had a way of delivering truth that could be counted on, and even that was hot. My favorite Spike speech:

"You're not friends. You'll never be friends. You'll be in love till it kills you both. You'll fight, and you'll shag, and you'll hate each other until it makes you quiver, but you'll never be friends. Love isn't brains, children, it's blood -- blood screaming inside you to work its will. I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man enough to admit it." 

--Spike, speaking to Buffy and Angel, in Season 3

Or maybe it was this one, said in exasperation to Willow during Season 4. He was tied to a chair but he'd finally had enough of her white American guilt at the Thanksgiving table:

"You won. All right? You came in, and you killed them and you took their land. That's what conquering nations do. It's what Caesar did, and he's not going around saying, 'I came, I conquered, I felt really bad about it." 

Arrrrgh. I could go on and on about each character but to love Buffy is to understand why Joss made it in the first place. He created Buffy to redeem every helpless female victim that has ever been portrayed in film, television, opera, novel or comic book.  Buffy is the anti-victim and, as a result, the show is the most entertaining version of feminism that has ever snuck past you.

Also, it should be said that it was the first show I can think of that portrayed lesbian love in a normal, non-porny way. Willow's discovery ("I think I'm a little gay.") was just another layer of growth in her ongoing evolution - from pigtails to the most powerful woman in the universe. Best of all, it made perfect sense.

[SPOILER ALERT] In the final moments of the last show, Willow induces magic to bring out the inner slayer in every capable woman in the world. (Turns out the world will need it, since there's a Hellmouth under Cleveland too, Giles casually informs us.)

Watching it again with Joss commenting, I learned that the final scene that was shot - the last shot of the last show of the last season - was a wordless frame showing a battered woman in a dingy trailer, about to be struck by her abusive husband. Now suddenly infused with slayer strength, she stands up to him and the look in her eye says that things are going to be very, very different from now on.

And that, my friends, is what makes Buffy so special. Also, Sarah Michelle Gellar, who played Buffy so perfectly reminded me of my best friend, Lisa, who is also blonde, beautiful and super strong.

And finally, to that boy, wherever he is .... Joe, I finally understand. And you were absolutely right.

Bravo!!!!

Compliments of Manny the Movie Guy

Mr. Magic Thumb

Recently, I found myself in a delightful place called the Belly Up, a tiny bar in Aspen which regularly features high quality (and sometimes, big name) live music. Reid and I were there to check out Asleep At The Wheel, those Grammy-winning Kings (and one Queen) of Texas Swing. I'd seen them before at my fave music fest, Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, but it was a gas to seem them up close.

Naturally, the dance floor was jumping and there was one shy-looking fellow who stood practically on the stage lip, moving around like crazy. So, I tapped him on the shoulder.

"You wanna dance?" I shouted over the music.

For a minute, I thought he might reject me. He looked a little scared, but then quickly smiled. "Okay," he said warily, "but I really don't know what I'm doing...." 

And we were off.

Clearly, the fellow was being modest because he had great control and spun me all over that floor. I'm pretty sure I yelled "WHEEEEEEEE!" a couple of times. However, it wasn't long before I realized that the hand he was using to conduct the spins - his right - felt ... different. It felt extra smooth and, well, it was missing a few fingers.

As in, ALL OF THEM. 

That's right, this shy little man magically spun me - and several other gals - around that floor using ONE BAD ASS THUMB. Reid said we looked amazing and encouraged me to dance with him again. "He looks so happy when he's dancing!" he said.

What a wonderful reminder that it's better to focus on what you have than what you don't. Dancerman, wherever you are - two thumbs up!

Katrina Anniversary

Mary Mahoney's in Biloxi, MS - note the water line marker behind the bar.

With all the big five-year remembrances going on around Hurricane Katrina, I thought I'd throw my hat in the ring. I posted about it almost obsessively back then, even though my blog was just weeks old.

My brother, Robert, had moved his family to the Mississippi Gulf Coast just TWO MONTHS prior and then gone missing during the storm. (I gave a plaintive, weepy radio interview on KABC-AM which I still can't listen to without bursting into tears.) Nothing like having your loved ones at the center of a major natural disaster to keep you interested.

Creative feeding spots were a common site post-Katrina.

Though I don't live in the South, a great number of people and animals that I love reside there and so, a part of my heart does too. The native souls are warm, generous and tougher than you can imagine. They are also creative, resourceful and know how to enjoy the day without too much fret about tomorrow. I'm here to remind ya'll that Mississippians gave us the blues, jazz, rock-n-roll and Barq's Root Beer. The Teddy Bear and William Faulkner. Parker Posey and Jimmy Buffett. Tennessee Williams and Brett Favre. Morgan Freeman and John Grisham.

Oprah and Elvis.

Need I go on? 

Anyway, I was reviewing my post-Katrina flickr page the other day and there are some haunting pics there. Surely, it was a tough time but luckily, the people are tougher.

The Community Garden

It's odd that I had zero interest in gardening until I moved from one of the most fertile states to one of the most arid. The main factor was probably space, something I never really had in California but in Colorado, there's room to stretch out.

About four years ago, I noticed things being dug up and moved around in my backyard rental. I remarked to the building manager that it was a shame since I was planning to grow my own vegetables. To my great delight, the landlord (a super cool lady named Amy) heard about my lament and immediately incorporated a raised bed - just for me! - into the new plans. The garden was such a success that earlier this year, Amy added two more raised beds for my neighbors and voila! The Milwaukee Street Garden was born.

Our garden when first planted, May 22nd.

Growing food together has really intensified the fun factor and enlivened our neighborly bond. We exchange observations about plant behavior and share laments about slow growth. And, like most gardeners, we want more bees!

Naturally, we look after one another's "babies." With all the traveling I do, this has been a blessing. I tell them when I am going out of town so they know to water mine when they water their own plots.

Of course, we also share the bounty. The general rule is: No direct harvesting. If anyone has extra to share, it goes on the picnic table and then it is first-come, first-serve. My nuclear bomb-sized zukes always find a happy home and I scored some yellow cucumbers the other day that I did not have to grow myself.

My plot, sometime in July.

Our collective roster of veggies and herbs include: yellow zukes, regular zukes, Japanese eggplant, cucumber, beets, basil, rosemary, lettuce, spinach, peas, cilantro, sunflower, mint, chives, bell pepper, jalapeno, parsley, thyme, New Mexico peppers, cinnamon basil, onions, squash and several varieties of tomatoes. I have not purchased fresh produce from a store in over a month. (On top of this, we also have Concord Grapes, which ripen in the fall, and an apple tree in the front yard.)

Eliot

Our backyard has now become a friendly meeting place for the entire building. One recent evening, I was out checking my tomatoes and chatting with Graham, who looked up at his sunflowers, wondering when he should harvest. He took a big, yellow head down and explained the process to his adorable five-year-old daughter, Eliot, who squealed in delight. Karin watered her tremendous pumpkins while her son, Ewan, ran around the yard chasing Bodi the cat. My studly neighbor duo, Chris and Tim, cooked up some chicken wings on the grill and we exchanged sports jokes. I doled out bite-sized pear tomatoes, bright yellow, to the kids and they gobbled 'em up with big juicy smiles.

My visiting friend, Kristin, came down the stairs looked upon the scene and said to me, "Wow. You've got a good thing going on here." 

The Exploding Garden, on 8/24/10.

Indeed I do!

Growing your own food and feeding oneself is beyond liberating and it requires very little effort. Turns out, the seeds know exactly what to do. (Must be that whole 'nature' thing I keep hearing about.) For a few gloriously delicious months, I don't pay to eat tasteless, mass-produced produce from from Guam or Mexico. When the season ends and I am forced to once again purchase a cardboard tomato, I feel like crying. 

In the meantime, I celebrate.

Smile Train Shows This Weekend

Yup, it's that time of year again. Thanks to my co-coordinator, Steve Loukas, and the pure naked decency of four - count 'em - FOUR improv groups, we are able to put on three comedy improv shows this weekend - all benefits go to Smile Train.

Nobody knows why but 1 in 700 children is born with a cleft lip and/or palate, like little Shiva here - at left. (See her post-surgery photo below.) For reasons unknown, there seems to be more of these children in poor countries. Perhaps something in the water? Generally, the family reacts with sadness and horror, often abandoning the child by the side of the road and taking it as a curse upon them. Can you imagine? 

When it happens in this country, it's a fairly easy fix. Not so in rural sections of places like Africa, India and China. Smile Train has fixed 618,000 of these kids so far by training the local doctors and putting 100% of all donations toward surgeries. Fixing one child permanently costs $250 and takes 45 minutes.

The average age of the Smile Train patient is 6 six years old - old enough to know something is wrong with them, as many no longer attend school because of the taunts.

As many of you know, I grew up having multiple facial surgeries and it was no picnic. However, thanks to the luck of my Western birth, the steadfast love my family and friends, it seems like a distant memory - like it all happened to someone else. Still, I feel much gratitude - hence, this annual fundraiser.

If you are in Colorado and near the Denver area this weekend, please come to our shows! Tickets are $15 and can be purchased in advance from the links below.

Friday @ 7:30  - featuring The Rodents of Unusual Size and Monkey's Uncle!
Saturday @ 6 - featuring Intentionally Left Blank and The Denver Wigs!
Saturday @ 8- featuring The Denver Wigs!

If you can't make the shows but would still like to donate, please go here. NO AMOUNT TOO SMALL. Even $25 pays for sutures for one surgery. Last year we fixed EIGHT kids and made them whole again. I visited the Smile Train offices in New York recently and was informed that so far, Smile Train has fixed 618,000 children which translates to a lot more smiling going on in this beat-up world. 

 

To watch the trailer for 'Smile Pinki', the Academy Award-winning documentary on one girl's journey on Smile Train, go here.

(All photos borrowed from SmileTrain.)

Gulf Coast Recovery Video: Make It Count

I'm still digesting all the amazing conversations and experiences of BlogHer '10 but a personal highlight was seeing some of my Gulf Coast photos included in the Make It Count video shown at the show's kick-off.  In honor BlogHer's 2010 Voices of the Year Gala and Art Auction (curated by Kirtsy), they asked Katherine Center to make a short movie honoring the auction's intent to help clean up the Gulf Oil spill in the Gulf. 

The entire video is lovely and I love the narrated thoughts that accompany the images, particularly the advice: "Pay attention." My photos begin at :51 and are featured mostly through to the end. 

NEW YORK

I've just returned home after spending the last week in New York for BlogHer '10 and it was a super crunchy Big Apple time had by all. I arrived a couple days early just to soak up the greatest city in the world before all the bloggy madness began. As much as I love the outdoors, this girl needs a dose of NYC every once in awhile; just to marvel in its relentless third-rail energy and take in some big city culture.

My eensy Pod room.

I checked into my favorite NYC hotel, The Pod, (where I always obtain deep sleep in my tiny pod room) with big, big plans for myself - MOMA, Natural History Museum, Statue of Liberty, Museum of the City of New York, International Center for Photography, Museum of Radio & Television - but none of these happened.

Instead, I ended up wandering dreamily every day into Central Park to eat my lunch and indulge in luxuriant reading and people watching. It got to the point where people asked me for directions - "Where is Strawberry Fields?" being the most popular question. Thrilled to be mistaken for a local, I was only too happy to help.

New York city is just one big fucking miracle. Don't even get me started on the elaborate NYC subway system - an engineering feat that my tiny brain can barely grasp.

It's hard to imagine that Europeans bought this island in 1626 for $24 worth of beads from the Lenape tribe, who were living there at the time. That's about $1,000 in modern currency, which might buy you a dirty curb at today's real estate prices, nothing more.

Much as I was drawn to Central Park during the day, Times Square would pull me in at night, like a zombie drug. With a large portion shut down to car traffic, the area is a meeting spot for every kind of human you can think of. One night I sat on the phone for hours with an old friend while a creepy Latino stood nearby, insisting I take his compliments. "You are beautiful. I SAID 'You are beautiful!'" 

A few nights later, I was there with my friend, Beth, and we came upon two guys playing an oud, a pear-shaped instrument that sounds like a sitar. It's used in Middle Eastern music, has no frets and a long white 'pick.' It has a bent back neck and looks like it may have derived from the lute.

We sat and listened for awhile to the beautiful music while some young blonde girl babbled in my ear about wanting to be an actress. She decided that she loved me and I decided she was a druggie loon. Still, it was a lovely encounter with an exotic instrument, and where else would I learn about it other than Times Square? Saved me a trip to Qatar, that's for sure.

And then, of course, there's Broadway.

When I arrived on Tuesday night, I hurriedly checked into The Pod and started sprinting toward the St. James Theater on 44th. My pal, Laurie, had gamely offered to buy us half-price tickets to 'American Idiot' (Green Day's musical) and all I had to do was get my butt there before curtain. But, my feet were too slow and the cabs weren't moving so in the end, I jumped on a pedi-cab and watched my driver go toe-to-bumper with very large tour buses; he would not be intimidated. Also, he spoke little English and had legs made of lightening.

In the end, pedi-boy pulled up to the theater just as the line moved into the building - huzzah! What an entrance! I then sprang for a quick beer for Laurie and a Jameson on the rocks for me, at which time the bartender kindly provided me with a sippy cup for my cocktail so I could enjoy it during the show. I adore how much my alcohol needs are looked after in Gotham. In fact, I brought said sippy cup home so that I may relive my satisfaction again and again.

 The show itself kicked ass, as expected. The cast of about 20 young, energetic talents of all shapes and sizes made 'American Idiot' feel like some leathered up version of 'Glee' but with newer songs and more electric guitar. The set was high and the walls were embedded with televisions, allowing for much commentary on the media.  Kudos to Green Day and the cast for executing one damn fine rock opera.

Also, Beth and I managed to escape the confines of the New York Hilton for a few hours to visit a local comedy club, Ha! The comedians were all men, all funny but a bit lazy - meaning they relied too much on swearing, poop and sex jokes. First up was Kevin Brown, who plays Dot Com on the hit show, '30 Rock.' Kevin was big, he was funny but most of all, he was CUTE. Beth and I developed permanent crushes on the spot.

On our way home, we stumbled across an amazing site: At 3:30 in the morning, a line of people nearly half a block long all waiting for "the best halal in the city", as one fellow informed us. Evidently, they open at 7:30 p.m. and stay open until 4:00 a.m.

The food, mostly lamb, smelled HEAVENLY. Beth and I (she a vegetarian, me - always trying) were both very tempted by the incredible aromas and the enthusiastic eaters. This truck has a loyal local following and consistently shows up as one of the best street food vendors in the city. Located at the corner of 53rd and 6th Ave. - make sure you check it out on your next NYC visit.

Although it was great to come home to Colorado amidst an exciting lightening storm and a flooded kitchen (don't ask), I gotta say, I miss the Big Apple already.

GOD BLESS NEW YORK.

Bon Voyage, Larry!

Ballsy Larry at my 43rd birthday party, with help from Howard the Tongue and Tami Bonos on French-Fry Penis.

It's always hard when cool, funny people leave one's sphere. Such is the case with Larry Epstein. I've known him for years now as a fellow comedian and a key member of one of Denver's funniest comedy improv troupes, Monkey's Uncle.

What with his fancy PhD and all, he's scored an important job in Boston (Harvard, specifically) to help some troubled kids deal with that nasty bitch called Life. Honestly, I can't think of a better guy to have on their side.

The Monkey's had a kick-ass show earlier this week to send Larry on his way. So glad I was there to celebrate. 

You will be missed, Dr. Larry!

Garden of the Gods

After living so close to Garden of the Gods for four years and yet, never actually seeing it, I finally got to investigate for myself. Oh, and it's fuss-worthy, I can assure you. GoG is 3,300 acres of jaw-dropping beauty located within the city of Colorado Springs. The park offers tons of hiking trails, bike lanes and an endless amount of immense orange boulders, ideal for scrambling over - all totally free.

Reid had made arrangements to stay at Glen Eyrie, a genuine American castle (if there is such a thing) built in 1871 by General William Jackson Palmer, the founder of Colorado Springs. Conveniently located next door to GoG, Glen Eyrie is Tudor gem, boasting 67 rooms and 24 fireplaces. It is also - we couldn't help but notice - THE perfect place for a haunting.

Our redonkulously huge room, The Castle Suite.

Now on the National Register of Historic Places, Palmer had Glen Eyrie built to comfort his wife, Mary, who'd been homesick for her native England. Glen Eyrie was purchased in 1953 by The Navigators, a Christian ministry that regularly hosts conferences and seminars on-site. (Nice of them to let heathens stay there too.) The grounds were lush and filled with giggling children and super mellow Bighorn Sheep. We found a herd of 16, with their famous Joan River 'dos, just chillaxing. Incredible.

Glen Eyrie

We spent the weekend 'ooohing' and 'aaaahing' over the castle's majestic grounds and the stunning GoG next door. The whole area is like one big geologic porn palace. Honestly. Not sure why but the landscape consistently reminded me of food. It had nothing to do with cravings or hunger, it just seemed that food was always the best description.

Exhibit A: "Petrified Bacon"

I also had another one: "Spilled Root Beer Float." Once Reid understood where I was coming from, he offered up his own example: "Chocolate cake with melted strawberry ice cream."

Bighorn Sheep at Glen Eyrie: Are they cool or what?

Other than oogling the scenery and shopping/eating/drinking in Old Colorado City, we noted two things. First, there was something very Twilight Zone going on all weekend with regards to signs and directions. It felt similar to being trapped in the Gaelic section of Ireland (true story) with everybody advising you to take mysterious Trail 14, although never meeting anyone who had actually done so themselves. The situation was repeated on car and on foot ("Um, what are we dong in Manitou Springs?") and we began to wonder what mystical GPS-related hex had been put upon us.

Pottery store in Old Colorado City

Second, I had perceived Colorado Springs as a bastion of white conservatism and unyielding Christianity. It is, after all, the home base for the evangelical Christian group, Focus on the Family, whose website currently offers helpful marriage survival tips: "When a spouse struggles with homosexuality." Good Lord, do they think it's like having a migraine or something?

Hiding you from what?

 Colorado Springs is also home to the U.S. Air Force Academy. I only saw it from miles away but that sucker is ha-yuuuuuuuge. We also spotted some serious Sky Cops during our visit, which is just fine by me.

ANYHOO, the fact that we were lodging at a Christian compound only confirmed my perception. But then, something else happened too. First I noticed that in addition to those attending the conference at Glen Eyrie, there were other regular guests, two of them bi-racial couples. Not a big deal but still surprised to see it. (I have to wonder if Reid & I had been a gay couple, how that would have gone down.)

Bighorn Sheep were all over the grounds at Glen Eyrie.

Then, on Saturday evening, Reid and I ventured 'downtown' to the strip of bars and restaurants along Tejon Street. There, we saw all kinds of people, all races - many of them dressed up and partying down.

We made the smartest decision ever by setting up camp at Jack Quinn's Irish Pub, which provided an ideal outdoor spot for people watching, a super friendly waitress who sounded exactly like Paula Poundstone, yummy fish & chips, and one of the best bands I've heard in a long time - Big Paddy. It's just two guys that play there every Saturday night but the place was rollicking. There were even big, hairy dudes in kilts doing traditional Scottish jigs. FUN. Of course, the Jameson on the rocks helped too.

Note the hairy meatballs in the pock marks - hidden by God, of course.

Then there was the couple who made me rethink everything I'd heard about Colorado Springs. One half of the couple was a tall, tough looking cowgirl in full Western get-up. The cowboy hat, vest, jeans and boots didn't appear to be a costume, it looked like what she wore every day. Her girlfriend was much shorter and rounder, with deep black skin, bright pink hair and some crazy outfit straight from a New York runway. Anyone looking at them could see they were in love and honestly? Nobody (except me) looked at them twice. This was not the Colorado Springs I was expecting.

Guess there's room for Goddesses there too. Who knew?

See more photos from my trip here.