native foreigner

Yelp me get my feet back on the ground.

2010-07-27T12:24:00.000-07:00

I know everyone's been wondering where I've been these last few months. [Said with sarcasm and the notion that I've been wondering the same thing, perhaps?]

Well, I will tell you. For the first little bit of summer I was spending all my internet efforts on Yelp.com, writing reviews for the Jacksonville area as a hired Yelp Scout [to help build up Jax's market some]. Pretty sweet gig, if I do say so myself! I got paid to go out, have fun, and tell everyone about it.

After a while I started to moan to myself about how I wished I could just go somewhere NORMAL and somewhere USUAL. Like European Street, my comfort blanket of restaurants. Just down the street, serves tasty and inexpensive foods, and has a fantastic selection of beers and wines. Or Bistro Aix for a fancy meal. My standards. You get it.

Still, this gig called upon my general curious nature and let me explore this great city a little further. Lovely. And with a handful of new places opening up in Jacksonville every week, I definitely had my share of local adventures.

Check out Yelp if you haven't already familiarized yourself with it! A great place to learn about whatever city you happen to be in. You can search by type, by area, and by cost all at once! Hello. Perfection. It's a pretty creative solution to finding something to do. It also functions as a social network, as well, so you can make Yelp friends and send each other sweet little messages about how great someone's review was. I also have 3 fans. Pretty amazing, really.

Now that this short stint of Yelpness has passed I will be back on the blog a bit more frequently. [And still on Yelp. I am a believer.] Lots to see and do and share!

XO

I thought that there was the sealing wax stamp.

2010-05-17T12:38:00.000-07:00

What started out like this:

[Look at that grin. I know what awaits me in my near future.]

Ended like this:

[Slack tongue.]

With a little bit of this in between:

[Mike is not having none of that.]

A happy go lucky sampling of all of Cigar City's home brews, and their guest brews as well. Cigar City is one of Tampa's local microbreweries and my good friends Sarah and Chris took me to the tasting room, along with their friend Mike, where tasted I did.

[I quite literally did think that obvious cigar on the label was the sealing wax stamp.

Kind of like how it took me until the age of 15 to realize Toys R' Us was not

some strange Japanese phrase that I didn't understand.]

I originally asked for just the samples of their original brews. They took my request and raised me three more guest brews, bringing my total sampling up to eight brews... and I eventually folded my hand when all eight brews had been consumed.

Not really. It wasn't all THAT. I did not end up passed out on the table over a variety of empty glasses [wouldn't have been the first time...], but it was a lot of fun. If you are in the Tampa area, you should check this place out!

This entire post makes me look really intelligent. Don't worry. I'm not smart as I seem.

When David Bowie met Anastasia met Sia... in my mind.

2010-04-30T13:09:00.000-07:00

I have a bizarre and somewhat contestable habit of finding similarities in things that are not... well, similar. But in my mind, they blend seamlessly into some kind of emotional expression! Aka, they remind me of each other.

That happened today when I was listening to my friend's 8tracks playlist that started out with Sia's "Soon We'll Be Found". It is an amazing, somewhat heart breakingly painful song that mixes minors with majors to create a dark, but melodic masterpiece. [Yes, I said masterpiece. I really like it!]

As I listened to it for maybe the 13th time in a row [why do we do that, people?] I started to remember this similar sensation from my childhood... from a song I couldn't really remember, not the words, nor the actual melody, or even the film it came from exactly. But I remembered the feeling. And it was the same feeling as this new song from Sia.

After some digging [both inside the caverns of my mind and on google] I found the other song - "Once Upon A December" by Liz Callaway. I first heard the song as a child in the animated film "Anastasia" [some high quality old school animation, before PIXAR came in and took over the genre]. However, I found an awesome video of the song featuring DAVID BOWIE and Jennifer Connolly in Labyrinth, another film I haven't thought about in ages. Whoa. [It's kind of an elaborate version of the actual song, with some enhanced choral backings, but its an awesome reminder of Bowie's creepy awesomeness, so it's the one I am using.]

Here they are, side by side, above and below, for your own comparisons and enjoyment.

[Sia, "Soon We'll Be Found"]

[Liz Calloway, "Once Upon A December" circa "Labyrinth"]

Is it 5 P[osh]M yet?

2010-04-25T17:27:00.000-07:00

Went to Matthew's recently for their happy hour after receiving an enticing email about their offerings. Three delectable French Fry innovations for the amazing price of just $4 and I was sold. The $6 dirty martini didn't hurt either.

My two girlfriend's and I tucked ourselves into the back of the lounge on the dusty mint green velvet sofas and the soft cream leather chairs situated on either side of a curved glass table, topped with a single red poppy.

The light poured in through the large windows and danced off the bouquet of large white feathers, white bar, and white walls. It was a little senza persona, which made our voices echo through the small front room of the elite eatery, but I let myself believe it gave the somewhat stark atmosphere character.

[Front to back: Salt + Vinegar, Blue Cheese, Truffle + Parmesan]

The bartender was pleasant enough to talk the chef into giving us a trio di fritta so we could try all three of the delicious fries. Collectively, we decided the Truffle Fries with Parmesan Cheese won the fry of the night competition, but they were all pretty amazing.

And the martinis were dirty and delicious. And blue cheese stuffed.

Definitely worth an [affordable] try.

MIApril

2010-04-21T19:24:00.000-07:00

[I should warn you now... went a little CAPS LOCK crazy.]

So, been taking a little break from blogging/social networking/plugging into the virtual world for the past month. Sometimes it happens. Typically post awesome vacation where I go and LIVE my life, don't think at all about how I can "report" my life to the mysterious masses that may or may not care. I remember all over again what it used to be like before there were cell phones and internet and when the words FACE and BOOK never went back to back EVER. Unless someone was threatening to hit your face with a book out of anger... and had really bad grammar/English skills? In which case, why were they holding a book? And maybe they should have been reading it?

However, enough time [weeks, multiples of weeks] have passed since returning from our amazing vacation in Californian Wine Country/Oakland/San Francisco. [That post will probably come later.] [Or, on second thought, I might just keep that little gem for myself.] [Or maybe in a few MORE weeks I won't care anymore as the numbness of the internet should have fully set back in.] [I am really not this jaded. I swear.]
Been spending time bonding with my cats. Bonding with my friends. Bonding with my family. Enjoying what this city has to offer [aka new bar THE LOFT -went to their grand opening, and aside from the creepy guy serving us drinks with a bad sense of humor... an AWESOME place. He really wasn't THAT creepy.]

Also, VERY excited to do THIS this weekend... WINGS & ROCK Festival, put on by my new favorite alternative rock radio station, X102.9. [Yes I listen to alternative rock and yes I listen to radio and no I am not a jaded hipster completely. Or even really mostly. Just very slightly.]

Wings and beer and southern rock and being outside on a Saturday in Florida in April? Yes, please, to all of the above. Not done LIVING. Just done keeping it to myself. Almost.

Finally, in honor of this post, I will post a severely overplayed but still awesome [although never as awesome as the first time you heard it, or even the first 500 times you heard it] song.

Orchid Style

2010-04-01T06:58:00.000-07:00

Recently, I went to the Orchid Show at The Garden Club with my madre. We are both kind of new to the orchid scene. It's a little bit cultish. But, understandably. They are not your average flower. There's a lot going on there. Beauty, grace, intelligence [beauty pageant requirements met]. Although I have yet to join the Orchid Society. Not that fanatical... yet.

My interest began by accident. My mom gifted me an orchid for a Spanish Dinner Party I was hosting [with my friend Katherine who had recently returned from living in Bar[th]elona]. My friend Cielo came over, met my orchid, and explained that she had multiple pet orchids, herself.

I didn't even know you could "keep" them that way. Like, the flower dies, out to the trash it goes [my mom's somewhat ruthless stratgey]. Cielo versed me in the easiest-flower-to-keep-on-the-planet ways [water once or twice a month, leave in the same spot all the time, check the leaves], and voila... now I have three. [Not counting the one that died. A tragedy.]

[Our bounty.]

Orchids are really fascinating. Fickle, delicate, mind blowingly beautiful, but yet aloof, loners, and extremely easy going [unless you move them, in which case they get extremely morose]. I think we could all take a little cue from an orchid. In any given situation just ask yourself, what would your orchid do?

Stand there looking pretty, fascinating people and making them slightly uncomfortable. A complex creature. There is more to you than meets the eye, but you simply can't be bothered. Orchid style.

The Last Cold Night of Winter

2010-03-26T11:05:00.000-07:00

This winter has been intense. It has shoved us Floridians into our dwellings, lock and key, heater blasted, huddled together or huddled alone to try and keep warm. We can't handle cold weather, especially not for months on end.

[Hogan St.]

So, this March when the monthly Art Walk rolled around, everyone's resounding cries to get out of the house and explore the cavernous regions of our local downtown was short lived. By dusk, it was but again a whisper, huddled inside, barely heard by any.

[229 N. Hogan - Off the Grid Galleries]

Except for Justin and I. We powered on. Along with a few other freaks of nature who bundled up in heavy coats and scarves and rosy, cold whipped cheeks as we stuffed ourselves into the galleries, looking for art and an escape from the cold.

[229 N. Hogan]

[Monroe St.]

[Monroe St. caverns. Justin shot an indie film in this lot.]

It is very rare these days that Justin and I end up on some kind of social outing sans friends or family. We wondered through the dimly lit streets [not many of them], navigated maze like hallways and staircases, stared at the local art and embraced the energized atmosphere of MOCA [Marylin exhibit and some insane cassette tape monster] hand in hand. In love and in love with the chance to be alone, together.

[MOCA + Main Library]

[The lonely state of too much music trivia.]

[Hello beauty.]

Thank you harsh winter, for scaring everyone else away and reminding us what it's like to once again explore the place we live, the place we love. Adventurers once again.

Denim is the New Denim is the New Denim

2010-03-20T14:14:00.000-07:00

Denim will never go out of style. It is not a little known fact. From cowboys in the wild wild west to the upper east side... denim is a staple of any iconic wardrobe. I love denim. I would swim in denim if I could. Stitch it to my being. Wear it every single day. Maybe sleep in it. It's comfortable, comforting, goes with everything, can be dressed up, dressed down, and can be identified with any and every kind of look out there.

[Associated Press. Rampage Denim. See article here.]

This morning before heading outside to try and enjoy some of this amazing weather [Finalmente Florida. Geez.] I was perusing through the Florida Times Union over coffee and a scone when I came across this great article about this season's approach to denim. [Yes! I took fashion advice from the Florida Times Union. Or rather New York where they swiped the article from.]

I fell in love with one of the looks displayed on the inky, thin paper and decided to replicate. This is occasionally how I dress myself. Imitation. Most times I stand in my closet and at random grab things that appeal to me until something works out.

[My five minute version.] [Okay I lied. More like my 30 minute version.]

I am clearly no model. At five-six and with a little more to love than your average model, I was worried the super fold of the jeans would make my legs look stumpy. But I think it worked out. I even tried to mimic her facial expression [which kind of came off like a dead fish... but still].

Point being, inspiration is everywhere. Even the Florida Times Union.

You['re] Right To Feel Your Pain

2010-03-14T10:09:00.000-07:00

I went to my friend's lakehouse recently. It had been years since I had been there.

Going back there was like travelling back in time to a dream. Or a distant memory. It didn't quite take on the restorative nature that it used to. It didn't swallow me up and let me simmer in it's healing properties of nature and ease and simplicity, only to release me as a rejuvenated version of myself.

Instead, it reminded me, ever so clearly, that I have changed. I am a little older. I have a great job, a great family, great friends, a house that I gladly keep. Somehow, the old worries that I used to release so readily by spending some time at the lakehouse are no longer with me. And the worries I do have, I just don't really want to release them. I want peace, don't get me wrong. I want to feel at ease inside my own life. But I just don't feel the need to let some of these things go anymore to feel restored.

The house is getting older and the wood is cracking around the edges, giving under the weight of our bodies and creaking at our lightly placed steps. It cocooned me and took me back in time. I felt like I was tearing at the edges of the pages of my memory, easing the pages back just so slightly, peering at the life I used to call my own. The freedom of the 19 year old. It's a place I will always hold in my heart. It's that deep place of clarity of who you truly want to become, without any real knowledge of how you will get there. It is the constant conflict in self, in nature, in truth. You are and you are not. At 19, you can be anything you want and the world is opening itself to you. But at 19, you are still nothing of the self you will become.

Savoring that freedom... I do. I do long for that carefree quality of life. But when I look at all the amazing things I care about now, I would never wish to be free of them.

There was a pain in the house. It whispered it's wish for repairs, for some grooming, for some much needed tender loving care. But that house holds onto its cares, as well. And sometimes, keeping your cares doesn't mean feeling full of vitality. You are also keeping your fears. Your pain. Your scars. But it's worth it.

Perhaps this old lakehouse and I are not so different after all. Haven't moved so very far apart, as it appeared. We are holding onto our cares. And somehow that is so much more freeing than caring not at all.

“People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that's bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they're afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they're wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It's all in how you carry it. That's what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you're letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.”

-Jim Morrison

magnolia sunsets

2010-03-08T18:59:00.000-08:00

celebrate we will because life is short, but sweet for certain. yes, i do know that is a dave matthew's lyric, but it's so apropos i couldn't help myself.

every year, for the past 13 years, my friend donald has put on one of the best ~~parties~~ holidays of the year. the celebration of life. a feast to commemorate the wonders and joys of being alive. some of the festivities include:

eating from the tables feet deep of pot lucked deliciousness [so appropriate to commemorate what each person chooses to bring to celebrate their enjoyment of food... if you catch my drift]

standing around the ever expanding, ever burning, ever smoldering, ever heat producing fire with strangers, best friends, old friends, family members, old family members, old people, young people, really young people ~~babies~~, and cousins you didn't even know you had and met AT the celebration of life [true story]

perusing the massive gardens illuminated by fancily colored christmas lights and luminaries, carefully avoiding the rabid fox, dodging the heavy thud of motorcycle parts in the shop, and finding creative uses for everyday tools

and drinking plenty of healthy concoctions [the possibilities are endless] amidst comforting conversations that somehow manage to expand your mind, while simultaneously easing you into that mental place of peace you never want to leave.

this year, we said goodbye to sugar bear. we miss her. we missed her slapping up of overrun beer from the keg, or the turkey jus in the pan beside the smoker, chasing her around the fire, watching her pass out from bliss at our feet... generally being the happiest dog you've ever met.

but we enjoyed being thankful for the time we have. taking notice of that time while we have it. giving lots of hugs. lots of smiles. lots and lots of cheers and saluts. life is short, but it is sweet. that is for certain.

Onions + Olives

2010-03-04T14:07:00.000-08:00

Our dear friends Cait + Paul recently had the best idea for a Friday night: homemade pizza. They provided the dough, sauce and cheese, guests bring the toppings. Justin and I, of course, brought onions and green olives [my favorite!!]. We also enjoyed some Italian sausage, green peppers, more onion, and I think some pepperoni might have slipped in there somewhere. [Or maybe I dreamt that because I love pepperoni so much.]

Pizza numero uno.

Fantastico! Bravissimo!

The girls grabbed some beers and sat around the table chatting. Kirk perused Paul's GRE vocabulary book, occasionnally quizzing us on various entries, nearly none of which we knew. I doodled on a notepad, reinvigorating my short lived passion for visual arts. And the boys hustled down over the stove like it was their own little pizzeria. Dough might have been tossed. Cowboy boots were worn. Great conversation commenced. And voila! Pizza Pizza!

Peace in the Mid-East Side of Jacksonville. More like the center really.

Pizza numero due.

We only made two pizzas. Seriously, how much can one group eat? [Don't answer that.] So, next time there might be some ham and pineapple thrown in there. Or artichoke hearts. Or spinach and garlic. Or some egg and sopressata... the possibilities are endless.

Activitations.

Thumbs and beers up!

Kitten approved. Hello big yellow eyes.

The resemblance is uncanny.

Everyone left happy and full. Justin and I have often times made pizza at our own casa, but it's easy to forget how much fun cooking as a group can be. It's something we always did when camping, or holing away at the lake house, or in college when we were all way too poor to afford a dinner out. But group cooking is more than just the tasty morsels put into one's mouth. You connect to the food. You connect to the moment. You connect to each other.

Salut! Buon appetito.

I Spy With My Magic Eye...

2010-03-01T11:20:00.000-08:00

It was while perusing the various discount, specialty, seasonal, best selling tables at the Barnes & Nobles looking for a birthday present that I came across a little gem from my past. I was looking for a gift for a graphic designer... not exactly the easiest task in the book if you are looking to be even somewhat impressive.

I had my hand wrapped around a Salvador Dali coffee table book [the kind with fold out envelope pouches filled with replica's of real life tid-bits from Dali's past] when out of the corner of my eye I caught the shiny blue shimmer of one of the most fascinating pieces of bound art ever created. The Magic Eye book.

3D Hidden Treasures.

Growing up, I spent hours on my knees, crushing the lime green shag carpeting of the den in my family's mountain house in North Carolina, criss crossing my visual way into the magical land of the Magic Eye books. Even today, when I return to the house, shag carpeting now replaced with a respectable beige rug over wooden floors, I still find myself drawn to their charm. Their secrets whispered to you over a two dimensional surface suddenly transformed into a tangible escape. Tangible until you try to look away, or grab hold of it, or show someone else. It's all in the magic of your mind.

Directions on the back.

My friend's birthday party was an eclectic mix of old friends, new friends, young friends, blue friends. No no... no blue friends. There were a few cousins and strangers from the bar who had meandered over for what must have obviously looked like a great time. Not everyone knew each other. After I begged my friend to go retrieve his Magic Eye book from his car, it ended up being a fun way for everyone to mingle, testing their magic eye skills, and breaking the ice. Strangers gathered shoulder to shoulder, laughing over the odd images popping up off of the flat pieces of paper. Explanations were thrown out for how Magic Eye is created and why it works. And one man already owned the book himself.

Olympian Magic Eyer.

Unfocused focus.

The beauty is in the blurry.

I knew almost immediately after seeing this vintage treasure [circa 1993] that it would be the perfect gift for my friend. It's graphic. It's art. It's complicated. It's fun. It's kid friendly. It requires skill. It is basically something everyone can enjoy, except for those who can't figure out how to do the magic. Which then basically enfuriates them.

It turned out that my friend was one of those unlucky few. He told tales of spending time after time staring into these 2D/3D wonders to no avail, but after a few rounds of birthday mango gatorades and a little help from his trusty friends, it was easy peasy lemon squeezy.

Don't got it... Don't got it...

Got it!

I am seriously considering getting a Magic Eye book for my own personal collection now. It's the gift that keeps on giving. It's the trick that never gets old. It's the fun that can always be had.

Jury's still out on whether or not my friend shares my enthusiasm on the gift. For now I will just assume yes and be done with it.

I like [love] Indian [Pakistani] food.

2010-02-25T19:21:00.000-08:00

Justin and I are huge [HUGE] fans of Indian food. If I could, I might eat it every single day. Well, technically, I could. There is nothing really stopping me. But being that its fairly difficult to make [requiring lots of food processor usage] and there aren't any good Indian restaurants near our dwelling, I do not eat it every day.

Hello Apna & Apna Bazaar. Pakistani deliciousness and grocer. Pakistani and Indian are essentially one and the same. Just don't tell them I said so. Located on Beach Blvd. just before 9A, it is an unassuming establishment in the 1924874th strip mall of this great city.

However, the food is anything but unassuming. Poignant flavors, tender meats, garlicky naan and crispy somosas, and the. best. yogurt. sauce. we have ever tasted, created one of the best ~~Indian~~ Pakistani meals we have encountered in Jacksonville.

And best of all? It is CHEAP.

The meal.

Bone in Biryani.

Frontier Chicken. Basically one of the best things I have ever tasted in my life.

Sweet? Sour? Spicy? Salty? All of the above?

Best combo ever?

Yes.

After dinner we headed to the Bazaar to pick up some crucial ingredients we had run out of. Most especially the garlic paste we have grown to crave in almost any dish, far beyond just our occasional home cooked Indian fare.

Spicy.

We also picked up a generous bag of extra hot red pepper spice for $2.49 that, after a test run, holds more flavor and more delayed heat than any red pepper you will pick up at Publix.

Soda pop.

The owners are welcoming. The food is not as spicy as Justin and I would prefer, but the seasonings are so spot on that it doesn't really matter. If you like Indian food like we do, you should be sure to check this place out. And go next door and buy some Mixed Pickle when you're done.

Yum.

View of a Short Commute: The New Courthouse

2010-02-23T13:43:00.000-08:00

My brain is going extremely fast + slow right now. Work is in hyper drive warp speed, which means the other part of my mind partitioned off for leisurely activities has basically gone to sleep. Only one more week! Then a break. Phew. Zzzzzz..... [That looks a bit like a mama duck leading her ducklings.]

Every morning on my way to this work I speak of I drive by this:

Right now the city of Jacksonville is constructing it's new Courthouse.

For the first year that I worked at my job this was a barren, empty lot strewn with trash, covered in tumble weeds, and surrounded by broken down metal chain linked fences peeled back at their corners to reveal an undesirable, deserted space.

About a year after that, or a year ago from today [roughly speaking], they finally started construction. Little by little I saw the trucks show up. The land was cleared and prepped. The initial wooden frame went up for the base of the structure. The concrete was poured. The metal beams were placed and walls began to fill the gaps between the gaps. One day the ginormous cranes arrived, with a counter weight [I don't claim to understand the science or terminology of all this] dangling, hovering, loitering over our heads in the air as we [we, the collective commuters] drove on down Broad St. every morning. Every morning for the first month of the cranes I would literally speed past the cranes as fast as I could in fear that one of the counter weights would fall onto my car and crush me. Eventually I forgot about them.

Now, the structure is, while not nearly complete, it is... nearly complete. It's getting there. I can see what it will become. I can envision the building that will very soon become a huge center for Jacksonville's downtown. And it amazes me, day in and day out, to think that I will have seen the birth of such an important part of the history of this city.

Granted it will be crawling with popos and criminals and lawyers. But still. Amazing none the less.

Ai Bang Mai Fa Kin Ni

2010-02-17T11:12:00.000-08:00

I am healed! Not entirely, but I am on the road to recovery. The ol' cane is gathering dust in the back seat of my car. I am getting plenty of massages courtesy of my physical therapist and the "prescription" I received from her to get even more massages from Justin. And I have resumed an active social calendar. So active [I think I may have slightly over extended myself in the excitement of being mo betta] that I was tempted to [and will thusly do] post this picture below:

Thas' me folks. Right there in the awesome gold jacket

[possibly from the Star Trek Wardrobe Trailer] with

the fiery head [not to be mistaken with my standard

fire-ish-esque red hair].

I also found this awesome tool for learning the Chinese language. I am always an advocate for learning foreign languages, so here you go.

No more Lei Ying Lo for me.

Happy healing! XO

Me + Cane = True Love Story

2010-02-10T11:42:00.000-08:00

Okay... not really. Not really love at all. No love story there. No sirree. However, you wouldn't know it with the way we have been attached at the hip lately. Or knee.

[Arghhh.]

Haven't been able to get out or do much of anything since the sudden development of my relationship with this walking apparatus. It is better than the crutches. Doesn't give bruises. And, I can carry things when I am walking, open doors, and generally function on a near human level. Almost like having opposable thumbs!

Been spending a lot of time on the sofa, which doesn't make for a very interesting read. I do get dragged out every now and again, but I am usually fairly medicated at that point and forget to take photos. Here are just a few pieces of evidence to show that I am still out there, hobbling around.

[I'm so happy to be stuck with you.]

[Thanks to Meg who has been a great assistant in my

maneuvering efforts these last few weeks.]

With luck and patience, I should be back to normal in no time!

XO Hilary

M[edit]ations.

2010-02-02T17:40:00.000-08:00

I can thank Bob Butler for agonizing me into an almost fearful submission that I just. could. not. write. Only to realize, after months of mediation, that I really didn't care if I could write and started writing again anyway.

His class was painful. I literally had physical pain from his harsh words thrust upon each and every one of us - his pawns, his minions, his followers, his toys. But, at the end of the day, as I embarked on my very first novel, his words whispered into my ear throughout the entire process. The man who almost scarred me away from writing entirely really taught me how to do it. He made me focus on the things that matter.

1) He told us that yearning is of the utmost importance. Without it, your character has nothing.

2) He taught me that I yearn to write. And that yearning, regardless of anything else, is more important than anything else. Without it, the writer has nothing.

Who knows what this work will come to. Hopefully something. But Bob Butler, a man who has won a Pulitzer Prize for his astounding and outstanding abilities with language, claims to have written one million words before ever getting published.

I think his hope was that we, as his students, could learn from him and hopefully jump ahead on the word count. What I see is a man who never cared if he was published or not. Sure, would be great. But really, it's about the journey. It's about the writing. It's about the passion.

Those who know him and know his technique will understand these little postcards strewn all over my rather small dining room table. I, against good order, but a discovery I have happily made along the way, took this step after writing nearly seventy thousand words. But his strategy is simply... Genius.

I can look at my words, my vision, my heart, my story, like a puzzle. Laid out before me, waiting to be put together for the very first time. I thought the editing was going to be tedious. Truthfully, it is freeing.

So thank you Bob for scaring me. Thank you for scarring me. Thank you for molding me. Thank you for teaching me.

[Also, special thanks to Meg, Molly, and Thom especially for the time spent musing over my words.]

Walk this way [on your Steven Tyler crutches].

2010-01-31T10:50:00.000-08:00

There is almost nothing less fashionable than crutches. So, when my doc told me that I would be forced to wear them for an indeterminable amount of time for my bum leg, I was quickly filled with fashion dread. Sigh. Not only do you have every single person you pass looking at you with wonder and pity [for really, just a brief second, but still], but your entire appearance is centered around two metallic maneuvering apparati.

[keruch.]

So, clearly, they had to be specialized and stylized. I spent a good 45 minutes propped on the sofa with various beads, scarves and yarns figuring out how to make these things work for me.

And voila. Steven Tyler's crutches. Two people in a matter of ten minutes made that reference. I write this as I wear Justin's vintage Aerosmith tee, resting injuredly on the sofa. Rock and roll baby. As I hobble along.

[why hello there, flamingo.]

[yes yes, even bedazzlement cannot make these cool.]

On another note, while reposing against the mosaic wall on the deck of Birdy's in Five Points, I became fascinated by the intricate details of the wall art. So elaborate, so creative, so... themed. I was impressed beyond the belief that it was just the beer talking. How long did that take? And can you come to my house?

[love.]

[so many pretty things.]

[the wind sings... I'm in charge of things in my world.]

Walking that straight line, straight ahead.

2010-01-27T20:08:00.000-08:00

Break it down. Girl's Night. Girly night?

First, I ran over a protruding nail with my underfoot.

[injury.]

Then, I paused in my pain to snap a photo of Caitlin and Cielo crocheting in the bathroom.

[Cielo's first ever crocheting adventure: a blanket.]

Then I wore a babushka.

[dramatic woe.]

While Caitlin stomped the rebellious nail back into the ground.

[cowboy boots are ruthless.]

Caitlin curled Cielo's hair.

[this could definitely be an ad for hair products. and yes, in this
photo Cielo is curling her own hair.]

Then Cielo straightened mine.

[look ma, straight hair.]

The end. Well not really. Cielo and I then turned on some American Idol Wii and got a head start practicing for her annual birthday karaoke extravaganza.

I love getting my hair straightened. It is such a different look, a different vibe, and such a rarity. I feel very retro. But I also feel very... Julianne Moore. Cielo loaned me the straightener, so expect to see more of this from me.

Adventures don't come calling like unexpected cousins visiting from out of town.

2010-01-25T16:23:00.000-08:00

It was excessively chilly. On a side note, right there I almost wrote "kind of excessively chilly". Some time ago I read that men make much more declarative statements than women do. For instance, kind of wanting to say it was "kind of" excessively chilly. I find that pretty fascinating and note that I, myself, tend to do that very thing. Maybe women are just wishy washy. Or maybe men are just too... confident.

It was Saturday and chilly and grey and what one might consider blistery for a north eastern Florida winter day. The temperature meandered near 66, which was the high, but all the weather forecasts proclaimed it was in the 50's.

Megan, Caitlin and I packed up day bags and headed to Memorial Park. In mine: a white sheet, a journal, a pen, a camera, a deck of cards, the Jimmy Buffet novel "A Salty Piece of Land", two bottles of Cook's champagne, one curry chicken burrito, some 55 SPF sunscreen, a turquoise and purple Moroccan print scarf, and a hair tie.

There was a children's bike party happening over by the fountain. Little kids were doing circles around us, chasing the perimeter. My favorites were the two boys with afros on the scooters and the cherry cheeked toddler on his playmate trike. His poor feet couldn't even reach the peddles, but give up he did not.

[Ladder golf.]

[Come on and take a free ride.]

[Brown bag special.]

I ran into an old friend from yoga class. I drank some champagne kept cool by the brisk breeze. I read the first six pages of my new book. Caitlin recited passages from the latest Men's Health Magzine. Megan laid back and closed her eyes, hands shoved in her pockets to try and keep warm.

[A salty piece of land.]

[Photo by Caitlin.]

It is moments like this when I absolutely love Florida in January.

But I believe in the aboriginal line of thinking that life's adventures are the verses and choruses of your unique song, and when it is over, you are dead. So far, I am still singing, but I would point out that adventures don't come calling like unexpected cousins visiting from out of town. You have to go looking for them...

- Jimmy Buffet, "A Salty Piece of Land"

It wasn't a grand adventure. There is a time and a place for those, as well. But it's all the little adventures inside the grand ones that really make it worth the while.

Clothes are life and life is me, or something.

2010-01-21T14:45:00.000-08:00

Did I say that I need you?

Did I say that I want you?

I wore this outfit on a day trip with my mom. It was chilly and crisp outside.
We went shopping for hours, had lunch over salads and margaritas, talked
life and enjoyed the outdoors. Simple pleasures.]

Today is rainy and dark and somewhat chilly and perfectly appropriate for pondersome thoughts. Spent the morning at the NPR studios in the Electro Lounge office listening to amazing recordings of Elvis singing "Fever" and watching Broadway performers give interesting interviews. Life is good.

But, there is always more. Always something more important. My people. I love you. Thank goodness we can all have people. It makes it all worth while.

Recently, I have been considering a venture into some "fashion blogging". Not sure how I feel about this. I love to read fashion blogs, and have gotten an itch to display my own tastes and let it represent me from the outside in. I struggle with its frivolity, but its fun and life is fun and clothes are life and life is me. Or something.

[Maroon ankle boots from a day trip into the mission in San Fransisco.
Brown tights and chunky rhinestone bracelet various Christmas presents from Mom.
Denim high-waisted shorts ordered directly from London.
Cream blouse FOR Ireland honeymoon with Justin.
Mustard tie-dyed cardigan from one of my many random online splurges.
Sunglasses a recommendation from the lady at the counter in the

local vintage shop, Clothing Warehouse.]

Seems more consequential to describe what these items mean to me. Clothes do describe the person, whether we want them to or not. And I love the stories that each of my pieces tell me. Maybe only I will be the only person to know the stories as I put each outfit together, but they make me.

Today I have been enjoying the latest song from Pearl Jam, Just Breathe. A significant ballad about what really matters in life. You know, love.

Did I say that I need you?

Did I say that I want you?

Oh, if I didn't I'm a fool you see...

No one knows this more than me,

As I come clean.

-Pearl Jam, Just Breathe.

Say you love me Sugar Mama, I'll never let you go.

2010-01-20T11:08:00.000-08:00

Rest In Peace, Sugs. We will miss you little one.

"Sugar Magnolia has left this world at 1:20 on 1/20/2010."

Who would you rather be, the Beatles or the Rolling Stones?

2010-01-18T18:19:00.000-08:00

The age old question. I choose Beatles [hands down]. Justin chooses the Rolling Stones [double hands down]. I think, over the years, we have swayed each other a bit towards the middle.

[Peace on Earth.]

After our trip down memory back alley way at Vinyl Fever during our latest trip to Tallahassee, Justin and I drove over to Railroad Sqaure, a place so cool most cities could never even envision something so amazing. A tiny little artsville. A place that really can't possibly exist, full of art filled warehouses, creatives wandering the tiny roads, colors splashed across the eyelids, and a complete rejection of life as we know it written all over it's entire being.

We were looking for the vinyl store. What we found was a dusty, whole in the wall [purposeful typo] place with records lining the walls, vintage stereos stacked against each other, and one single man making sure it all came together roughly.

[Art on another level.]

[Goal in life. Have a room like this. - Justin]

[Come on baby, play me something.]

Heaven.

What is old is new is old is new.

I can feel it in my bones
Gimme sympathy
After all of this is gone
Who'd you rather be?
The Beatles or the Rolling Stones?
Oh, seriously
You're gonna make mistakes, you're young
Come on, baby, play me something
Like, "Here Comes the Sun"
Come on, baby, play me something
Like, "Here Comes the Sun"

-Metric, "Gimme Sympathy"

"I'm Ginger and proud OF IT!"

2010-01-18T11:11:00.000-08:00

I just saw this video on Dlisted. I love Michael K. That man is hilarious and also has a deep affinity for gingers. This video kills me. Gingers do have souls!!

I will say that growing up a ginger was not easy. There needs to be a clause in the discrimination act making it illegal to pick on the gingers. I even got made fun of for being a ginger at the employment rights law firm where I worked in California [hello ironic].We do have souls guys. We do.

Thank you Captain Ginge.

The day the music died.

2010-01-14T15:21:00.000-08:00

There is really no place where I feel more like a native foreigner than in Tallahassee. My second home. My old home. My home-in-law. I am not a native, but I married one. I am not a foreigner, but I visit just rarely enough to feel that way.

In my days of Tallahassee living, there was this one bright, shining, gritty moment in time where I was 19, wearing bell bottomed jeans and cords and flowing tops and washing my hair twice a week if I was lucky, spending a lot of time reading really good literature and listening to a lot of classic rock, and working at an independent record store.

[Goodbye yellow brick road.]

I can't really explain how I got the job to begin with. I'd never had a "real" job before. Of course, I had been holed away in my room at my dad's house working in "data management" [aka mail girl]. But, I think it was a combo of filling my application with the multitude of various instruments I had learned to play over the years [piano, violin, clarinet, drums, guitar, recorder - thank you very much] and Vinyl Fever needing someone for the holidays.

So, I got the call a month after dropping off my application. I had my interview. I said my one biggest weakness would be my laid back style. Ha. I took the music trivia quiz and bombed it. But I got the job. The manager's girlfriend was a red head and I think he had a thing for them. It must have worked in my favor.

Long story short... the manager told me I needed to brush up on my trivia skills. I told him I just didn't see music that way. [Wrong answer.] I made them listen to Shania Twain's Greatest Hits while sweeping the floors after closing. [Wrong idea. They could not appreciate the novel humor of it.] I had a boyfriend who was signed to Atlantic Records. [Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Definitely not fringe society enough.]

The manager yelled at me almost every other day for no apparent reason. He gave me one day off for the holidays. He made me work 68 hours in 8 days and claimed it didn't violate any labor laws [please]. He made me clean out the dust-filled cavernous regions underneath the counters, on my hands and knees, for days on end. And he changed the schedule without telling me.

Nor did he tell me that a "Spring Schedule" was different from a "Holiday Schedule". So, when I didn't show up for work when I didn't know I had to work, called in to discuss the schedule [because people who are skipping out on work do that kind of thing], and then asked if I could not come in when I realized I was supposed to be working because my boyfriend was leaving town in two days for six months and we were having dinner at his grandmother's and he had no phone so I had no way of reaching him to tell him I couldn't make it, and the boss said yes, which really meant no, he hired someone the next day to replace me without even telling me [again with the not telling]...

And I lost said bright, shiny, gritty, and painful job.

And now the store is closing.

[Nothing held back. Not even your dignity.]

["This is when you know you have an Emo problem." - Justin, holding

Joy Division - Martin Hannett's Personal Mixes]

[Aerosmith - Done With Mirrors]

[Hiding.]

We purchased five records on vinyl from the discount bin [even in closing, they are overpriced]. I hid my camera in the turned on position inside my purse, taking each photo with stealth caution. I eyed the guys behind the counter and the nostalgia swarmed around me. In seven years, I had only been back in the store one time since showing up to talk the schedule over with my boss, only to be told I was "let go" and the new guy was already being trained, which then erupted into one of the most voracious arguments I have ever had in my life, resulting in being offered my job back, only to tell the worst boss on the planet that I would "never work for someone like him again in my entire life."

It was an experience that scarred me for years, but also molded me. It gave me strength. And the indefinable novelty of a now antiquated experience. I am not unhappy to see the store go by the wayside, in a unfortunate, vengeful sense. But it is a big loss to the community of Tallahassee. To all of Florida, really, and to the entire world for what it represents.

Those days are done. What next, music industry? Where are you taking us?

Ana[mal]tonic.

2010-01-13T11:56:00.000-08:00

Animals are, by nature, so hilarious.

Evidence #1:
The Girls Next Door - "Dogatonic"

Ellis Dee | MySpace Video

Evidence #2:

That is all.

Hop to it, ol' kin!

2010-01-13T11:16:00.000-08:00

Every. Single. Time. That Justin and I are in Tallahassee I make him take me to Hopkin's Eatery. It's a Tallahassee "landmark" of sorts, in the Sandwich Genre of landmarks. The food is always delicious and they serve Sprite Zero on tap. Something about creative sandwich creations sets my little heart a flutter. [Hence my other sandy love, European Street.]

[New Building. Same tasty delights.]

We ordered the Meatloaf Sandwich Special of the Day and the Cuban, mostly because I wanted something warm to fend off the frigid temperatures. The food was good. Sub par really. But, still unique and interesting and still Hopkins, which is all I really cared about. I don't know why, but even on a mediocre day, that place still gets me going. It's like a blankie and a four year old. Even shredded to pieces, still a treasure.

[Introspective Sandwich Moment #364]

[Introspective Receipt Moment #122938572396]

[Touche'. That Cuban was slightly odd.]

[Sandwich Side-eye.]

[Checking the Thermostat. Really.]

[Notice the hipsters.]

[Post Sandwich Consumption Seat Sink.]

Thank you Hopkins. See you soon.

Baby it's Florida. Why is it so ridiculously cold outside?

2010-01-12T19:22:00.000-08:00

At first, the below freezing temperatures were fun. Novel. Exciting. A chance to try my ways with bundling. A reason to have a fire every night [until Justin decided that the easy light logs were not economical]. An opportunity to expand the purposes of my wardrobe. A way to feel invigorated and sober after even a few glasses of wine. A real look at winter.

After almost a month of freezing temperatures, I've got to say, I'm over it.

[Leaving the madre-in-law's house Monday morning.]

[Passenger Airbag: Will not keep you warm.]

[Each one a unique, frozen tundra of a design.]

[Froze.]

Florida winter, feel free to return anytime you like. Today was better than yesterday and I think the worst may be over. Back in November I kept telling Justin that I suspected it would be a cold winter. Something about the way it came on slowly but steadily. Once arriving, not backing off. Holding its cool grip firmly around our once sun kissed limbs.

Tonight's low is 32 degrees Fahrenheit. But by Thursday we should be back to the 60's. I should be back to knowing how to dress. Back to wearing light jackets with cute blouses and scarves and no longer craving to go out in public in my robe and slippers because the thought of changing is painful. The grass should be once again soft and willowy instead of frozen and shardish. Justin should no longer have need to run outside at 2am to make sure the pipes are dripping. And I should be able to stop thinking so much about the weather.

The Hype Machine: Something to Study About

2010-01-05T16:43:00.000-08:00

My friend Cielo recently turned me onto the website/blog/awesomeness/extraordinaire/musicblogforloversofblogsandmusic The Hype Machine.

This blog is where one can go to find out what music bloggers [ahem, awesome] are posting on their blogs, which bands are most blogged about as of late, which songs are being linked to the most frequently, and all kinds of other groovy information. It is easy to spend hours perusing its various alleyways of wonder, or to just simply click on one of the "Most Blogged Artists", located in the upper right hand corner, and play their songs for hours on end without ever having to touch your computer again. It will do that. It will just play play play and open your world to new great tunes.

As if that weren't enough to make me love them [and Cielo], I get this email today from them with a "Special Music Update".

ciaohilary, welcome to a special music update!

Our annual Music Blog Zeitgeist 2009 runs today through Friday. We're showcasing the best artists/albums/songs of 2009 by releasing 10 each day.

Top 50 Artists: We invited 50 visual artists to create an original piece showcasing the band. The results are stunning!

Top 50 Albums: After tabulating 500+ bloggers' personal Top 10 lists, the results are in. Listen to every album powered by Grooveshark!

Top Songs Show: A special edition Radio Show featuring the most popular songs of the year. Stream now or download the MP3.

—Taylor

I have really only ventured into the "TOP 50 ALBUMS" section so far, and once there, really only yesterday's listing. There is almost too much for my ADD, somewhat lazy brain to take. My two picks for today are:

“A throwback to 80's music like Depeche Mode and

Duran Duran but fits perfectly in 2009.” — Art Nouveau Magazine

Justin and I fell in love with this weird, androgonous, Tilda Swinton look-alike and her group's music [not a solo gig, despite appearances] while honeymooning in Ireland. Her looks freak me out in that I-cannot-stop-staring-at-you-because-you-might-be-a-he/she kind of way. Their music is innovative, dancy, and still somewhat emotional. I dig it.

-&-

“Getting all these egos together could have been a disaster, but as it turned out,

Monsters of Folk is an effort worth the wait, and the time.” — Each Note Secure

I know little about this band. I've listened to a few of their songs and I really like them. It is some sort of hipster super-group, if you would, consisting of Jim James from My Morning Jacket, Conor Oberst and Mike Mogis from Bright Eyes and M. Ward. I am really looking forward to hitting the "Play Entire Album" button on the HypeM website and venturing into some newness.

Considering these are numbers #42, and #41 respectively, it can only get better from here. I will be making a valiant effort to enjoy them all. I have been needing a new music education lately. Getting stuck inside trying to write more, trying to read more [sigh], trying to keep a house and a husband and two cats, working tutto il tempo, and generally live some kind of social life has kept me from expanding my musical horizons. [You would think with a musician husband this would be a snap, but no. He is worse than me.] I'm kind of overloaded already. Ha. Did I mention the short attention span?

Anyway, enjoy.

P.S. Stumbled into listening to #50 Mumford and Sons... some delicious folk rock for you, with a little Irish twinge to it. They do love them some American Country over there.

What this crystal ball has shown me.

2010-01-04T18:39:00.000-08:00

To spend more time noticing the small things. About the tiny things around me. The fibers of my sweater. The strands of my hair. The way the pillow crinkles under the weight of my leg when I sit on the sofa. The way the grating looks on the fireplace. The way the wood floors feel under my toes. The way that one ornament dangles precariously over the edge of the tree. And allowing those things to show me the simple things about myself. The way I sigh after accidentally holding my breath. The way I trace my lips with my finger when I am thinking. The way I don't tighten the Sigg bottle cap too tightly, heading the careful advice of my older sister.

To value friendship. To value real friendship. Real love. To put effort into the relationships that matter. To enjoy the moments we have together. To laugh as much as possible. To laugh off as much as possible. And to let go of the things that seem big, but are really small, to make room for the things that seem small, but are really big.

To notice the simple things in others. The way Justin wipes a tear from the corner of his eye so casually when he has seen a sappy commercial. The way my sister licks her lips three times while eating something she enjoys. The way my mother rubs my hand for no reason at all, just for a moment, to show me she loves me. The way Alicia straightens her clothes so precariously to ensure that they are perfectly aligned, regardless of the fact that with one single motion, all that effort will be for naught.

To take life less seriously. But to take the serious things.

To never be afraid to embarrass myself, for the sake of fun. [Not that I ever was that much before. But a good reminder.] If you get it, then you get me.

To be grateful.

[And to Allie D. To notice the crazy coffee mugs. ]

We will all bowl together when we bowl...

2010-01-03T19:47:00.000-08:00

This past month has been a mere marathon of celebration. I am shocked Justin and I survived it all alive, kicking, and still interested in consuming anything into our bodies without going into an overindulgence shock first.

Pinelope Grace Spruceford. Our one under-indulgence [in tree size.]

There were the typicals... the pot lucks, the fancy dinners, the in-town guests, the nights on the town, the jumping from one side of the city to the next five times in one day, five days in a row, the complete absence of an entire event because we couldn't pull away from another, the over-consumption of wine/beer/baileys[thank you jana and chris]/red bull vodkas[for the many occasions we needed extra sustenance to keep on going]/champagne[six weeks worth of celebrating], and the ever expanding waistline[hello new years resolution, old chap].

But there are always some highlights. Like the Pajcic Family Christmas Party. After a delicious meal hosted by my lovely aunt, a few Christmas carols sung around the piano, prayers read, and stories told, the entire family heads over the the local Bowl America for one of our ever incessant competitions.

Let the games begin.

Vicious competitors? Or fancy dancers?

My approach to the sport.

We are divided into three categories. A players [essentially all the men in the family], B players [the ladies of the bunch who strive to be A players], and C players [me, my cousin Katy, and the little children].

Deep inside, these are a winner's feet.

This year, I did a little team hopping after getting traded. Good for me [my first game I was hitting 22 points on the sixth frame, and made a whopping 84 points with my second crew], but unfortunately, also good for my first team as well. They ended up winning. Lame.

Team 1 - Post my departure. Look at those smiles.

Braggarts.

Selecting their winner's bounty?

Love.

Shaara pumping up with Team 2.

He carried us the entire game.

No hard feelings.

In the end, even as a third rate participant, I love our familial match-ups [this being one of many]. It's jovial, slightly aggressive, good natured, always done with a smile and a hug, and provides the winning members bragging rights for the next 365 days. Salut.

V is for Valiant Effort

2009-12-28T16:11:00.000-08:00

I am officially a Jags fan. I think three actual visits to actual games makes that so. Thanks in large part to my Jags-fan-compatriot, Mary, and her incessant encouragement to attend and enjoy.

All of Jacksonville was "abuzz" with anticipation for the Jaguars vs. Colts game. Touchdown Jacksonville had reassembled to get the city back behind our faintly beloved team [they are beloved, but you wouldn't know it by the looks of things... God willing, we won't lose the team because that would set the city's growth back a severe notch or one thousand five hundred and seventy three].

Megan, Caitlin, Mary and I piled into the ol' SUV, parked a good mile and a quarter away, and hiked our way over to the big turquoise + animal print stadium.

Lalalaladies.

Trekkin.

The Jags lost, and with it their chance of going to the playoffs. Not that I, or anyone else with half a brain, thought they would win, with the Colts being undefeated. But the Jags, ahhh our sweet sweet Jaguars, they held their own. I love this team. I love having a team. [Yes, yes, I have technically "had" this team for roughly fifteen years - I take a while to come around.]

Typical WTF conversation.

Yes, we were three rows from the very top.

Pom pom smash.

Instructions in how to roar.

Fandom.

So they aren't the best team on the planet. So they are struggling a little to find their niche, their juju, their je ne sais quoi. Football is fun. Especially when your team almost kicks the crap out of an undefeated team like the Colts. Go Jaguars!

Felice + Nuovo

2009-12-26T15:17:00.000-08:00

I am a rock, I am a climber.

2009-12-23T13:59:00.000-08:00

For some time I have been meaning to hit up the South Metro YMCA for some rockclimbing. It seemed like a fun, non-mind-numbing-elliptical-boredom way to get some excercise. When my friend Allison and I made our way over there last night, we had no idea what we were in for.

The Walls.

[Far right where the two ladies are was where we trained. Just pretend it's us.]

First, they give you a near 30 minute lesson [which they swore would be "quick" - was not - perhaps because Allie has "knot issues"] to teach you how to belay each other while you climb the near 30 foot walls that go in, out, crooked, sideways, and upsidedown. Wesley, our instructor, taught us how to make figure 8 knots by "making an alien, then choking and poking the alien". This sounded a little pervy to me, but in the name of safety, I was down for it. He taught us how to tie ourselves in so we wouldn't crash to our doom, and how to hold on to the rope from the ground so that we wouldn't be the cause of our friend crashing to their doom.

I really had no inkling in my mind that Allie and I would almost immediately be skilled enough to put each others lives in our hands. But, we did. Squeamish and slightly terrified, we set out on our climb.

[I swear we went up higher than this. We just couldn't belay each other and also take pictures.

Would have clearly been defying our carefully explained safety rules.]

Traversing.

ANTM What.

Climb on, Allie D.

Hello little Spider Monkey. No, your butt does not look wide.

Before we knew it, we had spent almost two hours go in, out, crooked, and sideways, but never upsidedown. Allie even made it to the top. [My attempt was interrupted by me looking down, shaking my head "no, no further", to which Allie responded "Just don't look down." Too late.]

Definitely considering becoming a climber.

Tree: The Battle Between Big and Small

2009-12-18T19:02:00.000-08:00

Every year Justin and I get a Christmas tree to decorate with hilarious ornaments [pickles, olives, guitars, dragons], pile a slightly disturbing amount of capitalistically glorifying gifts under, to sit around with cups of hot coco [in our dreams], and for the kits to gaze at from afar and from very very close.

The big ones.

The babes.

Every year I try to convince him to get a big tree. You know, the kind that barely fit in the house and it takes a ladder and two people to string lights around. Big, fluffy, joyfully bearing gifts... just like Santa.

Making a valiant effort to prove the awesomeness of the mid-sized beauts.

Fail.

Every year he falls in love with the baby trees. Such a bleeding heart he has. And I always agree. [This is somewhat due to the rahdik price tags at those independent tree lots - go to Lowe's people.]

Mind made up.

Welcome Pinelope Grace Spruceford, of the Needleburrough Sprucefords.

Photos of tree in casa to come.

Happy Holidays! XO

Is that tinsel in your pocket or are you just happy it's Christmas?

2009-12-16T14:05:00.000-08:00

In honor of the holidays, I've made a little video collection of some of my all time favorite Christmas songs. So I love the holidays. So what? So I get little glimmers of tinsel in my eyes whenever this time of year rolls around. So I clothe myself in tape and wrapping paper and tissue paper and ribbon for almost a month straight. So I am a little excessive with the gift giving [even to myself]. So I make Justin light a "fire" [log] even when it's 80 degrees outside [and swore this year if it was warm on Christmas day I was SWIMMING - flo-da style], I can just crank up the AC. So what? So I make my coworkers listen to Christmas Pandora a few days a week.

Don't hate. [Appreciate.]

Some Christmas cheer for all...

["Christmas Vacation" - National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation]

In honor of my own Christmas Vacation starting in 5 days!
Also in honor of Jana.

["Happy Christmas" - John Lennon]

["All I Want For Christmas Is You" - Mariah Carey]

["The Christmas Song" - The Chipmunks]

["Christmas Eve-Sarajevo-12/24" - Transiberian Orchestra]

["Little Saint Nick" - The Beach Boys]

Merry Christmas lovers.

XOHilary

If Kittehs Created the Universe.

2009-12-15T10:23:00.000-08:00

[Thank you Megan and your endless supply of Kitteh Madness.]

There actually exists a thing called the LOL Cat Bible. It's mad, it's strange, it's... hilarious. It needs to be seen. Below I have posted "Genesis 1" of the LOL Cat Bible, the story of the creation of the Erfs by Ceiling Cat.

[LOL Cat Bible. On Sale 01/2010 or available for Pre-order on Amazon .]

Boreded Ceiling Cat makinkgz Urf n stuffs

1 Oh hai. In teh beginnin Ceiling Cat maded teh skiez An da Urfs, but he did not eated dem.

2 Da Urfs no had shapez An haded dark face, An Ceiling Cat rode invisible bike over teh waterz.

3 At start, no has lyte. An Ceiling Cat sayz, i can haz lite? An lite wuz.4 An Ceiling Cat sawed teh lite, to seez stuffs, An splitted teh lite from dark but taht wuz ok cuz kittehs can see in teh dark An not tripz over nethin.5 An Ceiling Cat sayed light Day An dark no Day. It were FURST!!!1

6 An Ceiling Cat sayed, im in ur waterz makin a ceiling. But he no yet make a ur. An he maded a hole in teh Ceiling.7 An Ceiling Cat doed teh skiez with waterz down An waterz up. It happen.8 An Ceiling Cat sayed, i can has teh firmmint wich iz funny bibel naim 4 ceiling, so wuz teh twoth day.

9 An Ceiling Cat gotted all teh waterz in ur base, An Ceiling Cat hadz dry placez cuz kittehs DO NOT WANT get wet.10 An Ceiling Cat called no waterz urth and waters oshun. Iz good.

[Keep reading after the break to see what kind of Kitteh Ceiling Cat is not... not the kind to watch you make bebehs, kthx.]

11 An Ceiling Cat sayed, DO WANT grass! so tehr wuz seedz An stufs, An fruitzors An vegbatels. An a Corm. It happen.12 An Ceiling Cat sawed that weedz ish good, so, letz there be weedz.13 An so teh threeth day jazzhands.
14 An Ceiling Cat sayed, i can has lightz in the skiez for splittin day An no day.15 It happen, lights everwear, like christmass, srsly.16 An Ceiling Cat doeth two grate lightz, teh most big for day, teh other for no day.17An Ceiling Cat screw tehm on skiez, with big nails An stuff, to lite teh Urfs.18 An tehy rulez day An night. Ceiling Cat sawed. Iz good.19 An so teh furth day w00t.

20 An Ceiling Cat sayed, waterz bring me phishes, An burds, so kittehs can eat dem. But Ceiling Cat no eated dem.21 An Ceiling Cat maed big fishies An see monstrs, which wuz like big cows, except they no mood, An other stuffs dat mooves, An Ceiling Cat sawed iz good.22 An Ceiling Cat sed O hai, make bebehs kthx. An dont worry i wont watch u secksy, i not that kynd uf kitteh.23 An so teh...fith day. Ceiling Cat taek a wile 2 cawnt.

24 An Ceiling Cat sayed, i can has MOAR living stuff, mooes, An creepie tings, An otehr aminals. It happen so tehre.25 An Ceiling Cat doed moar living stuff, mooes, An creepies, An otehr animuls, An did not eated tehm.

26 An Ceiling Cat sayed, letz us do peeps like uz, becuz we ish teh qte, An let min p0wnz0r becuz tehy has can openers.

27 So Ceiling Cat createded teh peeps taht waz like him, can has can openers he maed tehm, min An womin wuz maeded, but he did not eated tehm.

28 An Ceiling Cat sed them O hai maek bebehs kthx, An p0wn teh waterz, no waterz An teh firmmint, An evry stufs.

29 An Ceiling Cat sayed, Beholdt, the Urfs, I has it, An I has not eated it.30 For evry createded stufs tehre are the fuudz, to the burdies, teh creepiez, An teh mooes, so tehre. It happen. Iz good.

31 An Ceiling Cat sayed, Beholdt, teh good enouf for releaze as version 0.8a. kthxbai.

What/Why: 5am

2009-12-11T15:27:00.000-08:00

What I desperately need:

[Fuel.]

Why I so desperately need it:

STOMPers getting ready to stomp all over Good Morning Jax.

STOMP: v. to tread or trample heavily or violently on;

n. a dance involving a rhythmical, heavy step;

v. movement used to wake one's tired ass up!

[Stomp/Squish.]

Preparing to Stomp all over The Morning Show.

Reason 2.0 that I desperately need said beverage:

[Gin's an American! Certificate and all.]

My gorgy Italian ex-teach/now-friend Ginevra and her BFF Brigette are coming for visitations. Let the festa begin!

Photographic Memory: Brunswick Kitten Rescue

2009-12-09T12:59:00.000-08:00

So, we didn't exactly rescue the kittens. They were doing pretty fine on their own, with a huge, wild backyard to romp around, a mother kit to lick them, and plenty of oddly painted rooms to explore [you don't really want to know what one can do with some black and gold paint, a sponge, and the floor]. But Meg and I were on a mission to capture ourselves some kittays to keep our other baby kits company.

Somehow, finding some in Jacksonville was not on our agenda, but finding some in Brunswick was just what the vet had ordered.

The day started with a visit with the fluff balls, watching them scatter across the back porch and out the very miniature kitten door [about the size of 4x6 photo, perfect for the babies], back inside to their meowing mother, where we would scoop them up to investigate our bounty.

Meg and Gypsy.

We took a momentary detour to the waterfront, to get some lunch and tasty adult bevs over a card game of Aquarius [if you don't know, poor you], get blown over by the mighty winds of the Atlantic, to get some ice cream, and then climb up to the top of the [haunted?] lighthouse for an amazing view.

Windblown.

Ian rescuing me from the sand whale.

[Light.]

My battle with heights.

When we got back to the house, the kittens were a little tired out from all their romping and we happily cuddled with them for another hour before bidding adieu.

Bowl o' Kits.

Marco's favorite pose.

Passed out fluffs.

They were still too young to take home [bummer, and would require another trip to Brunswick only weeks later], but our hearts were set, and our minds made up. The little kittays would be ours. Argh.

[Photos courtesy Meg Armstrong.]

In-Fusion-ed

2009-12-07T12:12:00.000-08:00

Thanks to the good advice and recommendation of my new friend Molly, when it came time to celebrate the completion [in loose terms] of my first ever novel [!!], I dragged my friend Cielo out to a fancy dinner at Bistro Aix [with our respective partners] and then for some fancy fusions at the new Champagne/Wine/Beer/Art/Jazz bar Fusion, located in the lovely neighborhood of Springfield.

The bar was relatively quiet when we arrived at 10pm for our first glass of bubbly. We made our way to the back bar and took a seat on their slick, simple, and kind of tiny stools. We slid around for a while, but after a few glasses of Champagne Fusions [their specialty], we had settled in quite comfortably.

Preparing to be infused.

inFUSIONS

LA HORA CERO Champagne/Espresso/Port wine [on the Left]

HAVANA Champagne/Pineapple juice/S.Pellegrino [on the Right]

My delicious BLACK VELVET fusion - Champagne/Guiness

The atmosphere was edgy, classy, hip, and sophisticated, with an eclectic mix of patrons, art, and music. The decor was a mix of rich leathers, shiny metals, concrete, stark walls, and bold, colorful accents [like the random red umbrella's hung from the ceiling]. I felt cooler just by walking through their door. Fusion's has a cultural awareness that is so effortless, one that most of Jacksonville hasn't tapped into yet.

Their approach to the crystal chandelier.

Umbrella ceiling.

Cielo with her HAVANA Fusion.

Once again, I am somewhat shocked by the level of big-city-esque funky elegance that I keep finding these days, and it largely seems to be happening in Springfield. I have known this neighborhood was "up and coming" for years, but now i can finally feel the effects of all that movement. Springfield has found it's niche. And Fusion's is just another prime example of where you can find it, too.

Cat Fight.

2009-12-03T13:18:00.000-08:00

My two wonderful creature kits, Marco and Bella, have been fantastically in love since the day we brought Marco's weird little kitten self into our home. Bella was about 6 months old and Marco was about 3 months old. Bella hadn't quite hit puberty yet, so when Marco tried to suckle her bosom like she was his mama, she would get this glazed look of serene understanding, coupled with some slight discomfort and confusion.

In Lurve.

We are glad those days are over, but their sweet little affair has been a real joyful addition to the household. They cuddle together constantly. They bat their toys to and fro. They chase each other like monsters across the wooden floors. They lick each others ears. They send out whimpering meows through the casa when they cannot locate the other's whereabouts.

And then they fight. They fight as hard as they love. And really, it is mostly Marco fighting with Bella. He gets angry with her for going outside.

We don't know why. We aren't sure if some tragic event occurred the last time she went outside, when he was out there too, but that is when it started. He came in first. About twenty minutes later she meandered through the front door and Marco lost his shiz. He puffed up. He howled. He growled. He hissed. And then he attacked. So ferociously that Bella peed her fur pants. It was so bad he could not even be near her for an entire week without hissing, causing Bella to run off and hide.

And now it has happened again. Bella snuck out yesterday for a quick little neighborhood romp and when she returned Marco once again lost his mind.

Marco giving Bella the evil eye glare.

Bella taking nervous refuge on the couch by Justin.

"I've got you now, Kit!" [Bella has squished herself under the cabinet.]

"What's your fluff, man?"

These fights can last for days. And we have no earthly idea why one kit would care so much that the other kit went for a little adventure. It has caused major raucous in our abode.

Scrabble Discovery: Frank Chimero

2009-12-01T14:52:00.000-08:00

So, I am full on, unabashedly, helplessly, and hopelessly addicted to Scrabble. I play online with a few friends, pretty obsessively, on a daily basis. One of my favorite pastimes with Scrabble is trying to discover new crazy words... For example, "Vav" is a word I recently discovered through Scrabble that means:

A family of proteins involved in cell signalling. They act as guanine nucleotide exchange factors (GEFs) for small G proteins of the Rho family. GEF activity is mediated via module of tandem DH-PH domains. Vav proteins also appear to exhibit GEF-independent functions.

Another recent awesome Scrabble discovery was the graphic Designer and Illustrator, Frank Chimero. [I was trying to find a new word and Chimero arranged itself on my tray, which I confused momentarily with Chimayo, a wonderful, tiny town in New Mexico where I had a spiritual awakening of sorts.]

"State/California" by Frank Chimero

I love the simplistic, creative, and colorful approach of his designs. Especially this one about California, a state with which I have a real love/hate relationship. And a deep-rooted, possibly past-life longing for, but just can't go back to. Kind of like me and cigarettes. Delicious, but kind of evil.

He has some awesome band posters under his creative belt, as well. Check out his awesomeness!

67,288

2009-11-29T15:09:00.000-08:00

This past Friday, as all of my family was away celebrating Thanksgiving, and my husband was killing it on Black Friday raking in the dough, I was burroughed on my sofa typing up the last few breaths of my first novel. 112 pages. 67,288 words. One very impressed girl. [I impressed myself. Not an easy task.]

[Congratulatory kiss.]

[Ginger celebrating on my belly with the computer and novel behind.]

[The spaced out look of accomplishment.]

I still have a long way to go with it. There is loads of editing to be done. And then the daunting and somewhat ridiculous task of trying to get published. But, honestly, it isn't even about getting published. The sensation of having written a book, be it published or not, but having accomplished the act of writing a novel, is like none I have ever experienced. As a person, I am feeling slightly realized. Like I have actually done something with my life. Something I always wanted to do. Something I never really was sure I would do. And something that I intend to keep on doing until I am old and gray, have lost my vision, ability to speak [I could tell my stories to a transcriber!], or have simply lost my mind. But even then the stories would at least probably be interesting, sans mind and all.

Deliciously Authentic Thanksgiving With The In-Laws

2009-11-26T19:58:00.000-08:00

My first Thanksgiving as a married person consisted of:

a slightly hungover crawling out of bed earlier than I would get up for work,

[evidence of the night before.]

crawling into the shower, then into the car,
driving two and a half hours [Egg McMuffin in hand] to Tallahassee,
eating a deliciously authentic southern Thanksgiving dinner [courtesy of the Mother-In-Law] with my newly acquired family,

[mom hug.]

watching the baby cousins roll around the yard, soccer balls and footballs carelessly careening dangerously close to noses,

[matt, justin, and jarrett]

[brothers.]

[husband, wife, and pop's camellia bushes.]

[kyle, kyson, and baron's blue van.]

[kyle & kyson, matt & zachary]

[jennifer, baron, darryl's hog, and the kindle.]

[kyson]

[justin and zachary]

coming in from the cold to talk the intricacies of existence, the bravery of soldiers from WWII, the manufacturing of Twinkies, and the infallibility of the car repair industry,
hugs and kisses goodbye after a mere 6 hours of visitations,
two and half more hours on the now pitch black interstate, the consumption of two large NOS's [the bobo Red Bull], an ill-conceived dinner of Snyder's Hot Buffalo Wings Pretzel Pieces,

an emergency visit to Walmart for shoe inserts,
and cleaning up the upchucking of an overstuffed puppy [likely from eating the cat food all day while we were away].

All in all, a great success.

Lessons In How To Wear A Gigantic Bird Mask

2009-11-23T19:31:00.001-08:00

Thanks to the amazing artistry of my friend Stephen Foster, some pointers and how-to's for a gigantic bird mask. It is clearly a multifaceted device.

Triple Layered Threat

2009-11-22T19:32:00.000-08:00

Last weekend Justin and I met up with some friends at Three Layers A Coffeehouse, the new hotspot coffee shop/wine bar/delicious eatery in the heart of Springfield.

I was skeptical of the location after having looked it up on Google Maps. It was located on Walnut Street, east of Main St. and nestled back into the neighborhoods of former glory and current "renovation". But Springfield is an amazing neighborhood. I remember spending many days and nights there at the ripe age of 19 when my friend Rachel lived at the corner of 9th and Main. I frequented Henrietta's and TSI [now the Pearl]. And probably even ate some of the Kentucky Fried Chicken within walking distance of my friend's front door.

Three Layers seems straight out of San Francisco's Mission, or a bustling neighborhood of Brooklyn, or the culture of Seattle, as the coffeehouse proclaims. It's smart. It's unique. It's artistic. It's inviting. It's warm. It's eclectic. It's the kind of hip, authentic place, with real attitude and real wherewithal, that you expect to find in a city. And not that Jacksonville isn't a real city, but it's a little bit of a sleeper town. And it's places like Three Layers that are shaking it awake.

Zen Garden at Three Layers.

The wine selection was expansive and surprising. The beer selection was rustic and bold, and even had a number of our very own Bold City brews on tap. Justin and I sampled the hummus platter and the chicken salad platter. Both were delicious, yet delicate in their approach. And I hear they offer some delectable sweets.

All around, the entire experience was delicious, yet delicate. The decor was comfortable with an old world touch, but surrounded by contemporary modern art, many from Jacksonville's local artists [like Overstreet Ducasse, whose vibrant, urban, thought provoking pieces have been showcased all across the city and turning him into a local staple]. The music of Billy Buchanan and his guitar filled the main room with talented tunes [and many covers], but was not overpowering. He created a kind of elite background noise. Listen if you want [and you probably would want to], or don't. And the food and beverages, again, were great.

Billy Buchanan.

Three Layers is the kind of place where I would love to become a regular. Cozying into one of the overstuffed leather chairs with my book of the month, or enjoying dusk in the zen garden with a couple friends, or having an engaging conversation in the dimly lit bar.

Three times the reward for coming to Three Layers. You won't be disappointed.

Lazerlicious

2009-11-21T09:35:00.000-08:00

Lazerstar performing at Conmoto. You're the best around. Nothings ever gunna bring you down.

Usciamo a Conmoto!

2009-11-20T15:54:00.000-08:00

This is where I will be TONIGHT. It's going on all weekend!

Conmoto Art & Music Festival - Jacksonville Florida - Complete Film from JonBosworth on Vimeo.

When Driving Doesn't Suck

2009-11-18T15:00:00.000-08:00

I do not profess to be a lover of driving. After a few minor car accidents, one very bad accident, one day where Justin and I were both in fairly bad accidents within 30 minutes of each other, and a handful of occasions where mechanical failures have left me in embarrassing and binding situations... I just do not love cars.

I think they are dangerous. I think people are careless in them. I think I am careless in them [clearly displayed in the images below], even when I try not to be and make an effort to be exceptionally careful. And, it's boring. Traffic sucks. It takes a long time and I am not an incredibly patient person. I would so much rather the morph and teleporting method to driving any day, granted we re-molecularize properly and in one cohesive piece.

There are, though, a few wonderful things about driving that do not seem able to occur in any other setting. Like today for example. Once I broke through the disgusting maze of metal on wheels that is Beach Blvd. [coming home from a radio interview with Angela Robinson of The Color Purple on v101.5], I broke into one of those almost spiritual moments I sometimes have in cars.

The traffic faded. The sun was setting, nearly blinding me, but creating an opalescent sky that could take my breath away. And "Spirit in the Sky" by Norman Greenbaum was wafting out of speakers and into my mind.

Florida and its sunsets.

Blinded. [Safe? I think not.] And taking photos. [Doubly unsafe.]

Oh set me up with the spirit in the sky
That's where I'm gonna go when I die
When I die and they lay me to rest
I'm gonna go to the place that's the best

- "Spirit in the Sky" by Norman Greenbaum

**Loving all the Jesus imagery in the video.

Photographic Memory: How to Hail a Shopping Cart

2009-11-16T17:49:00.000-08:00

The year was 2006. It was the night of Aliea's art show in the city. Aliea, Justin, Mike, Cynthia and I all put on our fanciest duds, piled onto the BART, and headed into San Francisco one chilly November night to witness one of the most fascinating displays of contemporary art I've ever witnessed first hand.

The art was bold. It was colorful and shocking and extremely tangible. It left you feeling slightly unhinged, savoring the lasting remnants of the free cheap booze, holding onto your comprehensible brain cells with earnestness while you gazed into the destroyed concepts of the modern world, all the while maintaining a sense of cooky absurdism.

Aliea's art of distant photographic memories, that savored the nostalgic and hinged on the spiritual, fit right in.

At the end of the night I could barely feel my toes. Typically the end result of a night in the uncomfortable, yet fashion forward stilettos. Something made especially impractical when living in the city, but simultaneously especially more necessary.

So we hailed us a shopping cart. And they pushed me all the way home.

Been to Bento?

2009-11-15T08:48:00.000-08:00

Lately I have been hitting the jackpot of new delicious restaurants and bars. All hits, no misses. No exception was the delectable Pan Asian and Sushi lunch I recently enjoyed with my mother and sister and sister friend at Bento Cafe.

Bento Cafe - Pan Asian and Sushi Cuisine has recently opened in the St. John's Town Center. Actually, just off the Town Center in one of the expanded centers that is, as far as I can tell, only distinguished by the name of it's "street" - Big Island Drive.

I ordered the High Tide Sushi Roll special of the day. It was a tasty mix of avocado, scallop, crab, maybe some cream cheese, and probably some other things [so shoot me, I forgot the ingredients] topped with eel sauce and some spicy mayo. It was delicious and fresh.

Mom got the Garlic and Broccoli Chicken Noodle Bowl [not to be confused with the Noodle Soup Bowl - finally some Noodle Soup!]. Chelsea got the Korean Beef Bento Box that was piled high with spicy strips of beef and vegetables, most notably the onion that even Chelsea enjoyed, a classic non-onion eater. And Katie got the Sweet and Sour Chicken Bento Box. The Bento Boxes were a nice platter of your chosen dish, flash fried green beans, salad, rice, and chow mein noodles.

I think I've said delicious too many times in this blog [some other adjectives were changed to attempt to avoid this situation - tasty, delectable... delicious always came first], but that was the sensation Bento left us with. None of us could decide which meal we liked most, each naming off every item on the table when trying to determine the culinary winner.

Some serious side eye.

I did run into a friend there at the same time who ordered the Pad Thai and was left disappointed. Her Pad Thai was "orange" and not "peanuty enough". So, maybe don't get the Pad Thai. Or try it for yourself.

One more thing - they don't serve alcohol. Yet.

Royal Fingernail Treatment

2009-11-13T12:04:00.000-08:00

I almost never get a manicure when I visit the nail salon. They undoubtedly will chip immediately upon exiting the building, sometimes before. And while I do think the occasional upkeep of the cuticals is a good idea, mine are not especially troublesome, as far as cuticals go. A manicure just doesn't really seem worth the time or the money.

However, this past Veteran's Day, my mom took my sister and I to get our nails done at Royal Essence Spa and Nails. They boast:

At Royal Essence Spa & Nails, we have %100 satisfaction guaranteed. We have a full complimentary bar with choices of wine, soda, water, and smoothies. At our spa, on weekend we have your favorite sports channel on so you can enjoy your service with full entertainment and relaxation.

Royal Essence Spa and Nails.

Vino.

Bathrooms. [Didn't actually see these, but they were

proud enough to put this photo on their website.]

The wine was nice. I had two glasses. I chose to get their Royal Super Deluxe Stone Pedicure, providing my lower extremities with 21 various treatments to make them fresh and girly again. The paraffin wax treatment and lengthy stone massage did wonders to my limbs and toes, but I am not sure it was entirely worth the $55 price tag.

However, what WAS amazing, royal, super, and deluxe was the $8 paint change on my fingernails I opted in for. My mom had explained that my chipping black nail polish looked a little like bats on my fingertips and encouraged me to free them from their caged lifestyle with a grin that only a mother can give. So I swapped it out for a vibrant red ["a dramatic color for a dramatic person" according to my mother, to which I explained that I was not "dramatic" but rather "bold"].

Solid like a rock. And yes, shameless self promotion of

The Color Purple going on in the background.

An entire 48 hours later and the paint is still on my fingers, chip free! I keep staring down at them every few minutes in amazement. I am not exactly the daintiest of ladies, and this is a feat I have never accomplished in probably my entire life. Well done Royal Essence. Well done.

Thus inspired to listen to Bob Seger's all time southern, Chevy truck-driving, mud-slinging classic, "Like A Rock". Although not quite the mental image of fingernail maintenance.

Soon to be veterans...

2009-11-11T06:30:00.000-08:00

But still a big bunch of rookies.

I am talking about the Jacksonville Jaguars, whom I have recently become a little more cognizant of as part of my I-was-raised-on-football-and-will-now-start-paying-attention-to-it plan. [Ed. Note... this blog is slightly convoluted.]

Football has been practically a foundation of my upbringing, with my Uncle Gary playing for Florida State Football in the late 1960's and helping to start the ever so intense rivalry between FSU and Florida on that long grassy field. Football was never not around, in one form or another.

Uncle Gary.

I then happened to marry a man who comes from another seriously ingrained family of Florida State Athletics, perhaps even more so than my Cash-Pajcic connection, that of the Long's. Mike Long, Justin's grandfather, was the first coach FSU ever had after the school switched from an all girls university to co-ed. He coached every single sport they had, but eventually went on to focus solely on track. [At one point, Mike Long tried to recruit my uncle, the quarterback of the football team, to join the track team, but to no avail.] The track at Florida State University is now named Mike Long Track.

Our families are both so involved in Florida State sports that I once ran into Justin's father and uncle at the FSU Athletics Hall of Fame induction ceremony for my uncle [amongst some other greats]. Because you know, that's the kind of place you go to see people and be seen.

Mike Long Track.

Point being... although Justin and I are not football fanatics, or exceptionally athletic in any way [hello yoga!], we come from a long line of it. And we both respect it. So we decided this year to make a true valiant effort to watch football. So far, we have been pretty successful regardless of the fact that our two teams, FSU and the Jaguars, are doing less than stellar. We are fans!

This blog is about the Jaguars, though. [Hello convolution. I warned you.]

Rooaaaarrrr.

On Sunday, my buddy Wanda and I got invited to the game by my great friend Mary and the organization she works for, Best Buddies International. We sat with the Honor Row students [they were awesome/adorable/excited/fun] and had a pretty good view of the field from way up in the sky.

Wanda pulled out an impressive handful of candy she had
stashed in her pocket when I asked if she was hungry.

She was covered.

The Jags played pretty well, but some complained of them not blowing it out of the park against some measly team. I was just happy they were winning the entire time.

While we watched the game Mary scoured every inch of the program, becoming very well read in the height, weight, age, college, and years in the NFL of each player, which was then matched to a photo, which we then discussed in depth their smiles, width of necks, hairdo's, etc. The kind of things two ladies who love sports but are not exactly aficionados might do at a football game.

Will, Mary's boyfriend, explained to us how many of the players on the team were new. They were Rookies. Almost 22 of them, if I remember correctly. It's a young team, with a bunch of young players. And it shows. But one day, if the city of Jacksonville can give them the support they need to stick around, they will be veterans. It would be nice for Jacksonville to have a little bit of their own tradition. Their own "My uncle has owned these seats for thirty years" kind of thing. Their own deeply rooted connection to this city and the people in it.

And to top it off, as today is Veteran's Day, a huge mass of young men and women were inducted into the United States Armed Forces during half time. We cheered from way up high, and even sang along a few verses of one of the best songs of all time, "God Bless the USA".

Induction Ceremony.

So, it was a day of Rookies... just waiting and working towards the day that they can be Veterans. They want to serve us well.

Go team!

4:45am

2009-11-10T04:28:00.000-08:00

It's a great time to start the work day, no?

It is only 7:28am and I feel like it's lunch time. Ayiyi. Taking a moment to work from home, considering no one will be in the office for a good hour.

Breakfast of extremely tired champions.

Not for the Ghouls and Goblins.

2009-11-08T15:09:00.001-08:00

All his life, Justin has had the great misfortune of sharing his birthday with the ghouls and goblins that come to visit us for one day each year. It is especially unfortunate because he hates to dress up, and is yet forced to, year after year, on the day that is supposed to be all about him.

Birthdays are important to me. They represent the person's existence. Why I can see them, talk to them, look them in the eyes, hug them, laugh with them, cry with them. It is why I get to love them. Because they were born.

I've always struggled with Justin's birthday. I want him to know how important this day is because it gave us all him. But I also love Halloween. And so does almost everyone else, as it's one of the greatest days of the year. It's a battle, and Justin is usually the loser, thrust into some party wearing some costume I concocted [usually inspired by his tastes, but a costume none-the-less].

This year, thanks to some wise thinking by our good friend Cielo, the joint travel efforts of our close friends, Ali and Donald, and my sister and bro-in-law, Jana and Chris, and some other wonderful schemers, we put together an amazing birthday surprise.

Everyone dressed up like a version of Justin.

There was Justin-in-the-womb [Chels], FSU Track Runner Justin [Katie], Mountain Justin [Jana], Chris-as-Justin-as-Chris Justin [Chris], Cowboy Justin [Cielo], Drunk Justin [Madre], Fisherman Justin [Ali], Guitar Center Justin [Donald], and Rocker Justin [Me]. There were also clown noses for everyone. To make it just a little bit scary [and still birthday inspired].

And then, of course, Justin was Old-Man Justin. It was fairly believable, too, considering that as soon as he put on the gray wig he became extremely crotchety. And the cane we provided seemed well received, as he walked around the house leaning into it, complaining of feet pains from standing all day.

We had a feast of his favorites... mini-meatloaf sandwiches, indy green bean casseroles, fried chicken, zucchini fries, watermelon, cake, and some lethal vodka lemonades. And of course, Miller High Life. The champagne of beers.

Justin fishing for compliments and gifts in his birthday hat, thank you Donald.

Everyone got their Halloween. We got our costumes and our party. And Justin got to know just how much his birth really means to us.

Happy Birthday, love.

Saturdaze.

2009-11-07T10:51:00.000-08:00

Lazing around with my two fluffs all day long.

These days are not often, but when they happen, they are magic.

Spookay

2009-11-04T20:28:00.000-08:00

I haven't been to Spooktacular in years. But when my friends were coming into town and told me they wanted to get into the Halloween spirit, it was the first thing that came to mind. Dark, winding, earthly smelling pathways, cleverly gorged out pumpkins, the incessant twinkling of candlelight that is only really appropriate this time of year, and cheerfully costumed people handing out candy at every quarter mile. What, I ask, could be more Halloweeny... or better?

So, I fervently dragged both friends and family, unfed with dinner but armed with a canister of snuck in wine, to the Jacksonville Zoo's 2009 Spooktacular.

It helps that Best Buddies, my good friend Mary's so-to-speak lovechild [she didn't envision it, but she has envisioned amazing things for the Jacksonville chapter... including the pairing of my buddy Wanda and I!], had me out at the Zoo carving away at a few of those "thousands" of pumpkins creating the spooktacularistic ambiance.

It was exciting to find my pumpkins as we wandered through the cavernous pathways.

Cielo's craftily carved pumpkin.

One of mine. Peace in the Mid East.

We thoroughly enjoyed the awkward anteater, the baby [baby? or small?] cheetahs and their playful abuse of the underprivileged pumpkins, and the giraffes who never tired of the relentless leaves being thrust their way.

I convinced, easily, my sister Jana and great friend Donald to ride the carousel with me. It was a trek my sister and I have taken on a number of occasions and, as we exited the ride red faced and laughing, she hugged my neck and whispered into my ear, "I will always ride the carousel with you, babe."

And at the end of the night, wine drunk and thermos thrust back into my purse, candy eaten, and feet incredibly sore, we visited my uncle's fountain. We silently walked the perimeters and thought of his big smile, his big heart, and how perfect a place this was to honor his legend. Outdoors, yet family friendly, fun and light, yet serious and beneficial. Real. True. Fun.

We'll always remember how we remained...

2009-11-02T15:22:00.001-08:00

Tonight was the first early night of the fall. Walking through the parking lot to my car has once again become a little more fearful, and the crisp air mingles with the faded light to create an ambiance of closure, the fading and chilling reality of the end of another year.

Not to delve completely into melodrama, I also happen to have suffered from a not so mild case of the Mondays. Life behind the computer, as great and as much as I love my job, is not entirely satisfying and is nowhere near the dream of the office overlooking the mountains with the over-sized leather chair, over-sized sweater, a fire behind me and a novel before me, one that I am writing.

But as I was driving home tonight, "Emma Discovery", one of the anthem songs off of The Anniversary's "Designing A Nervous Breakdown", started playing off my iPod. It was a different time for me, when this song was a symbol of a life filled with possibilities, ignoring the logistics of bills and wages and the effervescent battle between the two. I was prepared to conquer the world with my pen, rocker boyfriend in tow, and live a life filled with passion and romance and intrigue.

The Anniversary.

Now, with my life mapping its way out before me, involving little of the seat of my red and faded bell-bottom corduroy pants that I used to fly by on so precariously, I am aware of all the things I thought I had time to discover, how quickly that time is flying by, and... so poetically... how all of this is great for the makings of a nervous breakdown.

Why can't life be like the dreams of the 19 year old?

19 and free.

Don't get me wrong. I do love my life. I love my husband [who still happens to be the rocker that I fell in love with so many years ago]. I love my job [that so graciously does not keep me trapped behind a computer all that often, and when it does I am usually writing or communicating with artistic people, not so shabby]. I love my friends and my family and Jacksonville and the great things it gives me. But I miss being 19 and fearless. I hate to think that that is all behind me now. That all my Monday's will pile up into one long stream that takes me to a place I never intended to go.

Sat on your roof young in eighty-two
How you remember is how it remains
Turn down the light so now I can die
We'll always remember how we remained

-Emma Discovery, The Anniversary

Just look where adventuring gets you.

2009-10-31T09:32:00.000-07:00

Bella was investigating the clown balloons for Justin's surprise. Just look where adventuring gets you.

Silver Foxy

2009-10-29T19:30:00.000-07:00

So, every year my office has a Halloween party that is centered around one of our upcoming Broadway shows. Last year was Wicked, and I came as Dorothy [image below].

Conveniently dressed in Red, White & Blue for early voting in the Presidential elections.
photo courtesy rachel best henley

Well, this year, we are going with the theme of Grease! starring Taylor Hicks. I, wisely, will be going as the one and only Silver Fox.

Can't believe I could fit all that hair under this tiny, amazing grayness.

Which pumpkin are you?

2009-10-28T21:08:00.000-07:00

We walked through the rows of big orange bulbous pumpkins. It was my lunch break and I had scooped Justin up and dragged him to the pumpkin patch.

For the past two years we have gone to the Southside United Methodist Pumpkin Patch. Last year, all the pumpkins were covered in strange spots, and they told us to look for one without them. Spots meant the pumpkins were spoiling. It had been a hot fall, and just like the rest of us, the pumpkins were not fairing well. Within days, our pumpkin had turned into a pile of mush. A weird, sort of sunken, oozing pile of mush.

Anyway, last years failure did not dissuade us from this years hopefulness. We had considered going someplace else, even actually scoped out some new patches, but the Southside United Methodist Patch was our patch. Our neighborhood. Our people [theoretically]. Our patch.

This year, the patch was thriving. I walked and weaved through the rows, looking for the perfect one. I, of course, wanted the largest one I could find, lifting up the large twenty pound balls of potentially edible vegetable to showcase my find.

Justin, however, loves the littler ones. Not the babies [although he does love those], but the ones you might pass over. The ones that don't look big and promising, or ominous, or daunting. He wants the middle guy. The almost little guy.

[here he is actually holding my "large" one, and I am showcasing his lovely selections]

And since this is his time of year, Justin forced to share his day of birth with a holiday that thrives on pretending to be something you are not, and on the end of life instead of its beginning, I give in. Although, I might would actually give in regardless of Justin's birthday [just ask Firman Barksworth III, our last Christmas tree - pictured below]. There is something sweet and honest about not going for the "greatest", but finding the one that's just right for you.

This year we bought four pumpkins. One each for he and I, and two babykins for Marco and Bella. So far, mine is the only one that hasn't survived the once again warm fall.

Just kick your feet up.

2009-10-27T17:07:00.000-07:00

Marco has the right idea. Reclined, leg propped up, watching the world unfold before his very comfortably resting eyes.

He may be the coolest cat I have ever known (besides Rumager, the most regal creature to roam the planet, God rest his soul). Or the laziest.

Although, I am pretty sure he could still wrangle this horrifying creature that has taken up its homestead above the entrance to my washer and dryer. Thanks to him, no laundry has been done all week. Maybe it's time to give Marco another go at The Great Outdoors.

Walter Jones Historical Park

2009-10-25T17:44:00.000-07:00

It was the first blustery day since summer. The temperature had actually dropped below 65 degrees, the trees whistled the subtle tune of Florida in the Fall. The sky was clear, the air was crisp, the ground was crunchy. I was recovering from a bout of bronchitis, ready to leave the confines of my couch [as comforting and helpful as it had been]. So we took a Sunday drive.

Walter Jones Historical Park is just down San Jose Boulevard, in a place that seems relatively close to me now, here in San Marco, but for some it borders the edge of the city. We took a right, and smack dab in the middle of schools, gas stations, houses, and the Italian American Society [Cha-ching! Checking that out again.] we found the park. It's entrance is unassuming. The parking lot is small and it seems impossible that a park could even fit in there.

However, after taking a few chilly steps down the concrete path towards the St. John's River, it's as if the land transforms. We were catapulted back in time, as their signage suggested we envision, to the late 1800's and the way this land used to be.

We walked along the banks of the river on their splintery wooden boardwalk. We briefly paparazzied the lady conspicuously posing for a few amateur photographers, never able to identify what they could possibly be taking the pictures for. We strolled underneath the slanted Spanish moss, blowing above our heads like little fanfare for what used to be. A long dock stretched out into the river, bringing about bursts of casual reminiscence of ships carrying oranges, strawberries, and other tropical gems to the big city of Jacksonville, a long journey at the time. I swung in a black iron swing while Justin explored the old and rusty property.

It was nice to remember that Jacksonville was not always a land of too many roads, endless sprawl, and the gazillionth strip mall. That, at one point, not even all that long ago, it was a place of natural Floridian beauty that lived off the land and for the land. And that, if you look hard enough, or really not that hard at all, it still is.

The Deadly Donkey

2009-10-23T10:25:00.000-07:00

So, its been a really long time since I have posted anything on this blog. I had kind of given up on the adventures of blogging as something mundane and trivial. Somehow the rest of the virtual world had not been lost on me, just blogging.

However, thanks to some extremely well written blogs, many of them local, I am kind of re-inspired. And actually see the usefulness of the structure. Telling little tidbits of the day without any limit to 140 characters or making such hugely plastered statements as on facebook. Just here, in case the world happens to stumble upon it.

A very close person in my life passed away recently. It's been extremely difficult to understand, swallow, deal with, handle. You name it, I basically am not doing it that well, right now.

Today my husband made me some coffee. Usually my morning ritual, but I was feeling the blues and he took the lead.

He gave me my coffee in my "Deadly Donkey" mug. I had gotten it years ago in London, while on my college spring break with a couple friends. Ahh the life of a college student.

The mug reads:

Beware the Deadly Donkey falling slowly from the sky
You can CHOOSE the way you LIVE, my friend
But not the way you DIE

Today, I am back to choosing. I think it's easy to slip into life like an old pair of jeans and get comfortable. I wish I had chosen to be a little more active in my friend's life before he passed on. But as his oh so wise sister said, let's just leave our regrets there.

So here's to choosing. Not letting life slip by you like it's floating down the Ichetucknee. And look, even the Donkey is smiling.

never

2008-07-31T06:24:00.000-07:00

image via: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/travel/picturegalleries/2478687/Sign-Language-week-nine.html

in response to walking

2008-07-17T12:34:00.000-07:00

in response to an earlier post of mine, i have just discovered this new site: http://www.walkscore.com/thanks to digg.com.

basically, it informed me that i moved from the numero uno walking city in the country to the fortieth. however, i lived in oakland, not san francisco, and walking around oakland sort of made me fear for my life. also, even though jax comes in at number 40, i am so impressed we made the list at all! no other city in florida did. and why have we? because of great areas like san marco. voila!

and there you have it.

California (awesome)

2008-07-01T14:16:00.000-07:00

via http://graphjam.files.wordpress.com/2008/06/funny-graphs-californians.gif

folio fails to respect

2008-06-18T16:38:00.001-07:00

i have to say i was extremely disappointed with folio's most recent cover story "ten things i hear about you". i couldn't decide if i was more upset with the author, who splits his time between his hometown of chicago and "florida's first coast", for encouraging a terrible attitude and outlook on the city in which he resides, disrespecting all the things we jacksonvillians love, tossing them, and us, aside as ignorant, backwards, and overzealous over seemingly small qualities.

or, perhaps i was more upset with folio for publishing it. i am pretty sure it was meant to be humorous, but as a person who has lived in a place that views the south in a BACKWARDS and IGNORANT way, i found it offensive. i battled those rediculous stereotypes the entire time i lived in california. i never understood. people in the south don't sit around bashing the rest of the country. maybe that's why the rest of the country does. if we [the south] can't be bothered, then we must be stupid.

what's wrong with us being proud? and if you hate it so much, [insert author's name], then why don't you just leave instead of trying to bring us all down with you? perhaps they [author and magazine] thought by speaking to jacksonvillians, it made it okay to bash us. that way it's not insulting because, i don't know, we are "in the room", instead of talking about us behind our backs. it's not like he published it in chicago, after all, because that would be in poor humor.

i am not opposed to speaking your mind, even if it's negative. or especially if it's negative. but when it's pointless [the article made no real point beyond "jacksonville sucks"] and serves only to make everyone around you look stupid, then you're just an ignorant bully. go back to middle school, or go back to chicago. either way.

my hands are full!

2008-06-02T12:25:00.000-07:00

Okay, this post essentially has nothing to do with Jacksonville.

I am not ashamed to say that I am tawdrily, tastelessly, self-loathingly addicted to celebrity gossip. Hey, it's a pastime. I find Perez outrageously offensive to my exact liking. I adore Michael K's homo-centric wit and charm. And X17's blatant refusal to feel ashamed for spending their days chasing and stalking makes me smile on a regular basis.

Perhaps I find it ironic or something. That might make it all better, if I did. But I doubt that's even true.

So here is what I am saying... has anyone ever noticed how celebrities are always carrying like twenty things at once? They carry these ridiculously large bags and then hold all the contents in their hands!

I have a few theories. Perhaps they hold these things as distractions. Like, "I can't see you paps because I am too focused on the huge water bottle wedged between my cellphone and keys and the ginormous scarf!" Or perhaps its like walking advertisement, as seen in Lohan's incessant display of Ariva. Or maybe they just like to snuggle with teeny tiny dogs.

This post is almost embarrassing. No, I am pretty sure it is embarrassing, but it baffles me. Why do celebrities have so much more shit to hold?

2008-04-27T16:11:00.000-07:00

Celebrating the Rabid Fox

2008-03-03T18:56:00.001-08:00

IMG_6979.JPG
Originally uploaded by hilarydarling

Every year, on the last Saturday in February, my friend pulls the world together for the latest and greatest holiday, the Celebration of Life.

Food abounds. Kegs pour endlessly. Music wafts through the air. Christmas lights lead the way through the enchanting garden all the way to the abandoned train tracks that lead your mind down the overgrown trail... We contemplate where we've been, we look at where we might be going, but we always know that back down at the party we are going to celebrate the good things.

The rest of the world hasn't caught on just yet, but this year all that changed with the Rabid Fox Attack.

It all started with a whiz. One celebrater wandered into the woods, following the lights and flowers, when out of nowhere a "dog" bit him on the ankle. He soon realized, however, that no dog had a tale so bushy. Walking toward the party to warn the masses, he was bit again, and again and again.

The fox then attacked another celebrater, this time a clever guy trying to document the moment on digifilm. This time the fox was wildly slung like a wet rag attached to his foot, ripping his jeans into shreds before getting trapped under the wheelbarrow.

There it stayed, scratching at the sides, for hours. The children were playing "Run Away From the Fox". The women were all sort of forlorn, with long, worried looks on their face that the fox might be scared. And the men stood around discussing ways the fox might die.

Animal Control eventually showed up and took the fox away in a net. But it made front page news in the Tallahassee Democrat's Sunday Paper.

Now, we are all worried about our friend who might have rabies. He has to get a lot of shots.

But we will celebrate forever the year of the Rabid Fox.

First Beach Day of Winter

2008-03-03T18:35:00.001-08:00

IMG_6864.JPG
Originally uploaded by hilarydarling

When I lived in California, winter didn't end until mid-June, when Spring/Fall rolled around, literally rolling through the streets with the fog. And even then a day at the beach meant sweaters and blankets.

It was only February, 16th as I laid on the beach in a bikini. The air was a bit breezy. I did occasionally pull my towel over my shoulders to sheild the cold air. But it was still February and I was on the beach. Only in Florida.

There were five footballs around us, most being thrown obnoxiously close to our heads and towels. Two girls in alternating swim suits (pink bottoms, black tops, black bottoms, pink tops... you get the picture) threw their football with exceptional lack of skill as they flung their hair side to side. A few tourists in sweatshirts fed the seagulls, much to our chagrin, and we laughed as the birds flocked the surrounding area. A guy on a unicycle motioned to one of the mix-matched bikini girls for the football, which proceeded to knock him off the unicycle with a weary "Ohh!!!" and thud.

The beach was packed. It was the day of the Breast Cancer Awareness National Marathon. There were pink flags everywhere. Some dude had created a three-story bicycle (use your imagination, it probably comes close) and was wheeling it down the sidewalks. Walkers made their way across the soft, cool sand. The board shorts were out. The surfers cozied up against the peer. The folding chairs were beginning to make their indentations into the edge of the continent.

And Floridians were welcoming the warmth of eternal summer. Just another day at the beach... in February.

Shangrlatida

2008-03-03T18:16:00.001-08:00

IMG_6848.JPG
Originally uploaded by hilarydarling

I love music. Especially good music. So, when a good friend told me I had to check out the Shangrala CD Release party at Jack Rabbits on February 15th, I headed her advice. Particularly because she doesn't usually recommend things of this nature, so when she does, I pay attention.

There is something even better than just good music, in general. It's good music that comes out of your home town. It just feels better. For some reason it has this connectedness. Not that I have any claim to this goodness, but it makes me feel a little cooler that I get to experience it before others, perhaps. (Although not that many others, as I have just discovered it.) Or that years down the road, pending possible great success, I can say I knew them when. Or whatever it is. Its just a great thing.

Shangrala is really good. And they're from Jacksonville. Even betta.

Bumper Pool

2008-03-03T18:02:00.001-08:00

IMG_6773.JPG
Originally uploaded by hilarydarling

I always thought Bumper Pool was an Irish Game. I so associate it with my time in Oakland, my time at McNally's, the best Irish Pub possibly in the whole world. Even the building is green.

There was where I learned to play bumper pool, and there was where I thought I had left it. It was one of those sweet somethings of that yesteryear of California.

And then I found one at Petes Bar in Atlantic Beach. And Petes kind of contains so many of the things McNally's meant to me. Just people being people. A great Jukebox. Cigarette smoke (that I hate, actually, but still). Good, cheap beer. A certain ease. Oh - and let's not forget - Erotic Photo Hunt. Thank you.

i am jacksonville

2008-02-17T18:42:00.000-08:00

So there is one thing I love about this town. No, it’s not the great bars that it took moving all the way (not just half way) across the country to discover I missed. And no, its not my family and friends that have given me a solidity that I haven’t had in years... possibly ever. It’s that it feels new.

I was just having a conversation with one of my friends who recently moved to Tampa. In case you haven’t realized yet, I come from a group of constant movers. It’s like I purposefully surround myself with people who can’t settle, who thrive for the new, who live on this edge of comfort and crazy. Which do we want? We can’t decide and we won’t decide. And that’s how we like it.

I always told myself growing up I would never be with a person who traveled. My dad traveled… and it caused a lot of animosity in my life. Missing people sucks. But later it became so much of who I am, because the one thing it really taught me was that there is just so much to see.

Now here is the cincher. I had not seen Jacksonville. I grew up here. I spent my life here. I know here. But I don’t know Jacksonville, I just know me.

I think that’s something people here forget. There is so much more than the little square miles we live in. and it is something I feel very fortunate to have learned. Granted, my daily grind consists of much of what I did before I left, or while I left, or who knows when I made that disconnect? But, suddenly, I am a part of this thing that I have based every other experience on.

Like, I love TSI. I love it. I love the alley. I love the over-dressed, over-tuded, over-interpreted people that go there. I love that they only serve wine and beer. I love their shows. I love the life they give me, and yes, I identify. Maybe that makes me something… but at least I am something.

But, I also love the Square (Square One), it’s right down the street. I can walk there. It’s nice on the inside. It has velvet. It has a disco ball. They serve liquor. They make me feel adult.

The thing that I love the most is that I can be complex here. In California, as odd as I know this sounds, complex was completely normal. And somehow, it was boring. Everyone was so different, so absurd, it was a play. How can you take “aggressive yoga” seriously? Or the microbiotic raw vegan diet? I mean… lets get real.

And the nightlife sucked. There just wasn’t a community. And therefore, there just wasn’t much to discover. We had a few bars we loved – McNally’s, Merchants – but it lacked the community that I so identify with the places I love.

I thought by moving back I would be moving back in time. Going back to a place and a person I thought I had left behind. But in truth, I moved forward. I moved into me, into a person that has been budding inside my veins and my being from day one. And now, after trying to escape a life that made me who I am, I can see that this place is who I am.

And it’s not just because I’m from here. It’s because it’s fresh. It’s artistic. It’s alive. It’s ready for growth and for change and for art and for life. And I am ready too. I’m there. I’m with it. I’m with Jacksonville.

Bring on the art walks. Bring on the museums. Bring on the midnight bike gang, and even the mid-evening bike gang (the lesser known, lesser intimidating bike gang). Bring on the family dinners. Bring on the ocean. Bring on the hottest August you could possibly imagine.

That’s me. I am Jacksonville.

It's Super

2008-02-15T10:44:00.000-08:00

(the only pic of me at a game i could find)

It really is pretty super. Big screens. Hot wings. Cheap beer. Sweaty men in tight pants. And it is pretty bowl-ish in nature, as well. My chips are in a bowl. Beer can be served in a bowl. The helmets look remarkably bowl shaped. And I wouldn’t be hard pressed to imagine a few bowl cuts underneath those helmets, either. But it was the bowl shaped stadiums that hosted college football match-ups is what gave The Big One its official name: the Super Bowl.

It’s practically a national holiday. (It’s got me talking about sports, which lets face, is hard to do.) People all over the country huddle together in front of their screens, or if you are rich or extremely insane, in the actual stadium itself, to watch these muscle men in stockings trying to kill each other, politely. All across this great land, rich or poor, famous or lame, young or old, happy or sad, this night is the most watched night on TV for this great country. And we all sigh and gasp and cheer and cry together as teams we never cared about before this day (I say in remorse as our wonderful team, the Jagtastics, just barely missed the parade) pummel each other, politely.

Let’s be honest though. Florida is a remarkably football frenzied state. Its one of those live, breathe, die, love, sweat, blood, and tears kind of jazz. We grew up on football. A huge factor in college selection often times comes down to team affiliation. I’ve known people to practically disown a person for choosing one school over another because of football. Tom Petty and Mike Campbell, (the Heartbreakers lead guitarist and also graduate of Ribault High School!!) even helped us celebrate our favorite American past time.

Watching the Giants tear up the Patriots, who have not lost one game all season, looking up player stats and seriously analyzing the anatomy of the last great play just comes naturally. And also goes wildly against the rest of my personality, which could just mean I am multi-dimensional. Lets hope.

Californians love football, too, especially if it can be intellectualized. And New York City is clearly a fan of the cherished American tradition. They love it in Louiseville, in South Dakota (I am sure… although have no vivid memory of such a thing being true… does anyone have a vivid memory about South Dakota at all?) and Texans are especially fond of the sport.

While the rest of the world plays football in a world wide celebration of sweaty boys that actually use their feet in the game, we turned it into a sport where only one player actually kicks the ball- the kicker. And while the rest of the world unites over their terminological tradition, we only unite with ourselves. Not even David Beckham could change that.

That is just so American of us, isn’t it? Ignoring the ways of the rest of the world, selfishly changing the rules to benefit our own wishes, and always making sure the uniform is tight and revealing.

Both teams' colors were even red, white and blue. Go team America! Everyone is in on it. Even the commercials are better.

Tourist or Towny?

2008-02-06T19:11:00.000-08:00

It is largely presumed that one of the major benefits of moving to a big city is all the nightlife and entertainment that will be readily available at ones fingertips. This likely stems from trips and vacations where people hit the theater, pay expensive rates for concert tickets, or seek out any and every cool thing to do in town.

The only person I have ever known to do these things while actually living in a big city is my sister, and that might just be a character flaw. No no. I jest. It’s awesome because any time I have ever visited her we are always having the best time. She knows all the best places to go or all the cool things available to do.

But, shockingly (I say with a tinge of irony), people in these big cities – New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco – don’t really do all that much. Sure, they might go to the theater a few times a year if they are into that kind of thing. But how many New Yorkers do you think have gone up the Statue of Liberty? How many San Frannies do you think walk across the Golden Gate bridge when they could just as easily drive over it? How many LA-ians stare in wonder at the Hollywood sign? They see these things every day. And lets face it… they have lives.

These are the kinds of things people only really do on vacation. You’ve been saving your money and you’re only there once (at least), so now’s the time right? It’s part of the fun. You don’t go all that way to sit in your hotel room!

But for some reason, so many people do go all that way [home] to just sit in their room. Why, I ask you? Why?

Well, for me in California it was largely a financial constraint. After spending most your time working to pay to live out there we were exhausted and also broke. Buying a $60 ticket to go see a show was out of the question. Just going to dinner and renting a movie cost about $100. (How I don’t know!! But it’s true.) Show tickets, plus cost of parking, plus dinner before hand, plus costs of adult beverage could quickly come to equal about half my monthly paycheck.

Even going to a PARK cost money. I am serious. We had to pay to go to the parks. The Muir Woods State Park cost $11 dollars a person just to walk around and look at trees.

We did go to the Golden Gate Bridge, but that was usually when we had guests from out of town. And right before we moved we went up the Coit Tower that overlooks the city. And I would say we did more than the average person.

Maybe its because it isn’t special if its your own hometown. I mean, here in Jacksonville we have a gaggle of great things we could all do for a good time, or to know our great city better. Maybe we could stop by Maxwell House to get an idea of why the city always smells of burnt coffee? I know for a fact we can tour the Anheiser Busch factory. The Jags games I know to be a great time every time (even when they lose) and those people really want (and need) our support! No more blackouts! And I hardly ever go to the beach, even though its one of Jacksonville’s huge claims to fame!

I will say this though: at least I can afford to actually do some of these things now. We in Florida have it made when it comes to standard of living. Good weather, cheap rent, and long sandy beaches. (There it is! I really should go more…)

I do get my fair share in these days though. I just saw Cirque Dreams at the Times-Union Center. I go to shows on a regular basis, something I did not do in California, mostly because the shows either sucked or cost too much money. I try to enjoy the sights. But I think we could all learn a lesson from those tourists we mock. They are enjoying what a place has to offer. Why don’t we go enjoy what our place has waiting just at the tips of our fingers.

Lazerstarred?

2008-01-26T15:19:00.000-08:00

There were no lazers and no stars needed the night Lazerstar, the one man local band consisting solely of Chase Capo, stole the night away from Nicky Click, America’s version of a slightly crass hipster feminist. He did it like the flip of the switch. He turned on the fun. She, it seemed, turned it off.

I have heard a lot about Lazerstar. I heard about the desire for sparkly things and the energetic, while slightly kitschy approach to the music. What I had not heard was actually any of Lazerstar’s music. So when Capo proceeded to take off his clothes, stripped down to nothing but metallic neon biker shorts and a yellow T-shirt, I was sure that all the rumors were true.

It was awesome. Not that I expected otherwise. It was sort of like a great book all your friends told you to read until you felt like you know it already, so you aren’t that excited about it. But then you finally read it and it really is one of the best books you’ve ever read. That is how I felt about Lazerstar. His energy was tangible and electric. The songs were light and energetic, but full of depth and connectivity. He played a guitar with a duct tape guitar strap. There was a guy, who we assumed to be either Capo’s biggest fan or very close friend, who was simultaneously both the most amazing dancer I had ever seen and also wildly out of control. And Capo made those neon blue biker shorts look almost fashionable.

However, my friend and I were really there for the Nicky Click show. I knew nothing about her, just that she had toured with a few bands I really enjoy and so I figured, by association, she would be good. Wrong. I listened to her songs on MySpace and I was less than impressed. Still, we showed up, ready to give it a shot.

When we arrived, there were Nicky Click music videos playing on the TV screens. The videos were ironic, I suppose, while hipster to the power of a gazillion. We found them extremely amusing.

Then we saw Nicky herself standing right behind me ordering some kind of adult beverage. I pointed at her and mouthed, “It’s her!” to my friend who had actually pointed her out to me, instead. When she came around a second time, looking for an ashtray, we decided to give her a matchbook with a cleverly written phrase scrawled on the inside flap. It read “Karaoke > Karate”.

We thought it was hysterical. That was until we found the matchbook discarded carelessly next to the abandoned ashtray. Uh-oh, had she found it offensive? Did she not understand that all the matchbooks had ridiculous fortunes written all over them? (I, in fact, took one home that read: if you are rendering matchbooks all night—you need to get laid.) Had she taken it personally, as in, “We think your music is glamorized karaoke”? Crap.

So later, after Lazerstar had put stars in our eyes, Nicky Click took to the stage, now donning a wig and an extremely short, ill-fitting French maid dress. After the excitement of Lazerstar, the energy and hilarity of the music that made us move, Nicky’s audience stood still. She reminded me of a cheap knock off version of the sexually expressive Peaches mixed into the larger than life Beth Ditto from The Gossip, both of which I love, but it just didn’t work. I felt bad for her. No one was dancing. In fact, people were leaving.

I am a fan of hers. She is very creative (we did love her music videos) and has a great persona. But it somehow did not translate into musical genius. Her music felt uninspired. Later, after sneaking away from the stage while Nicky wasn’t looking, my friend and I encountered Capo outside. After striking up a conversation we discovered that a) he loved both karaoke and karate b) needed to buy more neon metallic spandex and c) lived in a New York City Buddhist monestary for nearly three months. In fact, some of his music was written in reflection of his time there.

So there it is. Nicky Click is all attitude. She is so far into hipsterville that you can’t see the person inside the persona. And Lazerstar is all person that turns into a persona. And in the end you can’t be real good if you don’t got the real.

let's go for a walk

2008-01-19T14:24:00.001-08:00

They say the south is not conducive for walking. I don’t exactly know who says this, or what evidence that have to prove it, but I can basically account for its validity. Everyone in the south drives a car. I don’t care if its two houses down the street, we are going to drive there. It’s just how our brains have been wired. We’ve also been wired to fry everything from olives to okra so it really isn’t surprising no one wants to go for a walk.

The other day I was shopping down in Five Points at this great boutique Anomaly. I had a thank you card I needed to mail, but I absolutely hate trying to find a post office or mailbox. I asked the store worker if she knew where I could find a mailbox in the area. She told me there was one down on Park St. Well, considering the store was on Park St. I asked her if I could walk to it. Park is pretty long, so the question was valid. She explained to me where it was exactly. Around to the right and down a street. But she told me she wasn’t sure if I would want to walk there because I might get tired.

I thought I’d take my chances. It turned out to actually be just around the right at the next street, which was about a quarter mile away. I laughed out loud. Who in their right minds could possibly think that this would be a suitable distance to deem unwalkable!?

But it’s the south. We walk nowhere. And not to knock the girl from the store. She’s just been trained. And granted, most people would have driven. It’s kind of the same drive that makes us circle a parking lot for ten minutes waiting for the closest spot when we could have already been in and out if we had just parked in the back. But basically, we are just lazy.

Well, living in California kind of altered my perception of the whole walking issue. People walk everywhere there. It’s one of those cities. There is a mass transit system, a much utilized bus system, and there is a lot within walking distance. So I guess it just seems natural. Plus, parking there is an absolute terror. As in, there is no parking unless you want to pay thirty bucks for an hour or find a spot on the street two miles away in which case walking from where you started would have been closer anyway.

Californians are also, ironically, considered some of the healthiest people in the country, a fact they will never let you forget although if you leave the metropolises and enter the valley you will find some of the country’s most morbidly obese people around. In fact, on the newest survey that just came out of the country’s most obese cities, California had at least four or five cities in the top twenty.

Regardless, I lived in the city and got used to walking. It was great. It was brisk. (Usually because it was generally freezing there. And when I say freezing I mean chilly.) I felt more in shape. I liked being outdoors and really getting a sense of where I was, not just a butt impression on my car seat. And now with the invention of the iPod there is even a portable soundtrack for walking.

When I moved back to Florida I made sure to move to a place where I could maintain some of this walkable culture. So, I moved to San Marco. And, I live within walking distance of a thousand great things. Restaurants, bars, shops, cafés, parks. You name it, I can probably walk to it.

As my ex-patriot friend (she currently resides in Barcelona) and I strolled through the streets of San Marco back to my house from lunch at La Napolera she sort of twirled around in the wide open street and said, “You know, you can decide to make your life a walking life. Even in Jacksonville.” Then we got to my house, hopped in my car and I drove her home. Come on. She lives a good three miles away. But you get

The Black Kids

2008-01-19T14:12:00.000-08:00

The Black Kids, of which only two of the band members actually make this namesake a truth (which I love), are hitting the scene, doing a great job, about to become famous. They are your run of the mill indie band in a lot of ways, but they have a shocking name, some really great songs, and an eclectic mix of characters that makes them intriguing on a world wide fame kind of level.

They’ve received national recognition. The New York Times has supposedly taken notice, Billboard has their eye on them, and Rolling Stone has even marked them as one of the ten best new bands for 2008. So wow! Another great thing coming out of great ol’ Jacksonville.

I vaguely kind of have met these guys on a few random occasions. We run in similar circles. I am a semi-regular at TSI, their local headquarters where a few of the members DJed for a while. When I went to my first Black Kids show, I was excited. It’s cool to see someone close to you do so well. (As we are clearly, like, best friends forever.) I think this must be a trend amongst people wanting to take some claim of the fame for themselves. And I knew who they were and I knew they were getting a lot of attention. When I heard they were coming to TSI (but of course), I had to see what all the fuzz was about.

The show was great. I mean, they made me want to dance and move around and there was a lot of clapping and shouting (by band members) and things of that nature. I can’t remember any of the songs, but that could have been the beer or the dancing or the way I couldn’t really see through the over-packed throng of fans.

After the show I went up to one of the band members and asked them how it felt to be experiencing so much success. His basic response to me was: It’s about f—king time.

I must have looked shocked (as I stood there motionless) because he followed it by explaining how hard he had worked for so long and blah blah blah.

Well well well! Divaness unite! Actually, there is this syndrome that I have been unlucky enough to experience first hand a number of times. It’s called LSD. It makes you hallucinate, think you’re God, see things that aren’t really there. It is Lead Singer Disorder. It happens to the best of them. I think it’s a sure fire sign that a band has reached some kind of mild success.

So, perhaps this band won’t be that band. Although I have never seen a band it didn’t affect. The Shins seem to suffer from this. (This one time in Atlanta, after driving hours to see them live, we ended up staying at their hotel. The lead singer was walking past us and we said good show. Yet, he somehow found it impossible to even turn his eyes our way. LSD I tell you!) It’s a pretty rampant disorder that producers and A&R guys and band members will all back up.

So the next time I go to see them I set my expectations at par. Big egos, good music, lots of people, dancing. Pretty average.

I pass that same band member leaning against the bar with a few of his friends. None of them are talking. Just staring into the great abyss that is his success. I ask if I can get his picture.

He immediately starts to giggle.

“You want to take my picture?” he asks me, still giggling while his silent friends move to the sides like the red sea parting for Moses.

“No no no!” I keep telling them. I just wanted a normal picture. “Get back together. I wanted you as you were.”

The friends seemed surprised, and so did mister LSD. But he complied. And I got a nice, “normal” picture of a guy and his friends.

There was also a crew at this show filming a documentary. They didn’t tell you who they were with exactly, but they only asked questions about The Black Kids.

“Do you own any of their music?” they would ask.

“No,” I responded. I didn’t even know you could own their music yet.

“What do you think about their new success?”

“I’m waiting to see if they will develop major diva behavior.” I said in all seriousness.

“Why do think that will happen?” he asks, laughing through bit cheeks.

“Because it happens to every band that experiences some level of success.”

“And you don’t think The Black Kids are different?” This guy was about to crack up.

“No.”

illuminated by luminaries

2008-01-19T14:06:00.000-08:00

Every year Avondale does their annual luminaries celebration. For years, I have heard about this event, about the hayrides that occur and the crowds of people. I had a general understanding that it was a fun time, but not a fun time that I had ever participated in. It seemed like some exclusive, for the neighbors’ type of thing. And also, we had our own dang luminaries that I could drive around and see. What is all that exciting or different from one lit up [possibly enflamed] paper bag?

Well, this year, I finally got an official invitation to partake in Avondale’s luminary extravaganza. Actually, I got two official invitations. And somehow, being that my grandmother recently moved to the area, I felt completely compelled to participate.

We parked at my grandma’s house around 5:45 and, armed in hand with wine and cookies, made our way to party numero uno. We walked through the park, whose winding trails were lined with luminaries. The air was a crisp negative twenty degrees, so it really felt like the holidays, and the walk warmed our veins. The luminaries really were beautiful. Somehow tea candles and paper bags can turn a street into a serene, angelic sort of place. The appropriate oohs and ahhs were distributed amongst us.

When we reached the strip of stores and restaurants on St. Johns Ave. a small trickle of people had already started to form. Horse drawn sleds [carriages] were beginning to roam the streets, looking for warm bodies to fill their seats. There were large black stallions of horses, and sweet, little white ponies. We passed the restaurants, the shops, the people on the street waiting for tables, and even a luminary in a wild, smothering flame.

We finally arrived at party number one: the street. A beautiful house on the edge of the strip, covered in sparkling white lights and red, velvety ribbons. Adults filtered in and out of the house, between the chili and the cookies and the soups and the cakes. Tables adorned the front yard, while kids played in the street shouting at the slow trickle of people-filled trailers making their way down St. Johns. What I had assumed to be a sort of neighborly affair was shaping up to be quite the event.

We sat at the table, watching as more and more floats began to pass by. Extravagantly lit, decorated with Santa’s, blow up Frosty Snowmen, filled with chatty children chucking hard candies as our bodies became targets for the sweet projectile bullets, the floats started to fill the street little by little.

Eventually, we moved on to party number two: the float. I dashed inside, grabbed a quick chicken finger and miniature quiche, poured some hot cider and put on my Santa’s hat. We climbed inside the trailer and laid blankets over the hay and then over our legs before making our way down St. John’s Ave. At first, we were far away from the action. But as we drove, the cold winter air blasting our cheeks, we passed hordes of cars and trucks and trailers who screamed “Merry Christmas” at us with smiles and waves. Occasionally, a peppermint would fly through the air and [hopefully] land gently in the hay by our feet, avoiding our heads and extremities. The closer we got, the more people and trailers and Christmas lights we saw.

One trailer blasted Christmas Karaoke loudly into the street. Another had rocking chairs and benches filling its space. Some were decked out with lights strung high into the sky. And yet another had taken the seat out of a car and strapped themselves into that.

We laughed as the air chilled our faces and hands. We collected candies that had bounced off our heads and popped them into our mouths. We waved and laughed with the people around us. How had I not done this before? I had known about it for years, but this time, illuminated by the luminaries, I realized that this is something we should all partake in. Just come and stand in the streets, or drive a trailer from the beaches, or hop on board a horse drawn carriage. However you do it, don’t let this very merry Jacksonville experience float on by.