Ardor and Melancholy

The life and times of Katy Shea. Be interested.

Monday, October 31, 2005

The Lost Weekend

So now it is actually the night of Halloween and I am too tired to go to any parties. This past Friday evening I went to S and B's excellent Halloween Masquerade Fiesta, complete with oompa Loompa, Depp era Willie Wonka, the fabulous and unforgettable "Head of the Harbor" (hand painted by the great pal M), an intriguing Friar, a few scary Jason masks, Elvis from the nose up, Caesar's daughter and a bevy of other great costumes that had just the right spirit and style to make you feel like people weren't so jaded after all. There were a few people dressed as "hipsters who are too cool to wear a costume" and I found that inspiring too ; )

I ran into some old regulars from the bar, that was fun, especially because I seem to always think I know people - as if from some other life I led - and normally I am wrong and they end up filing mental restraining orders against my insistence. But this time I said nothing and, naturally, turned out to be right : ) Gosh, neat! Bonding ensued.

As the party wore on, only a handful of people stayed and we ended up playing some music on the guitar and singing and listening, which was a nice surprise. Although S wasn't feeling Purple Rain, which was maybe the only real disappointment of the night, it was otherwise exceptional on all fronts. There was a point when I decided to roll around on the floor as a not terribly well thought out homage to Stevie wonder, but otherwise no major injuries were sustained AND I caught a cab right outside and was driven home very directly, which was a great cap to a solid evening.

Saturday I rose as early as possible (did not get into bed until after 3am, not surprisingly) and ventured out to Haverill for a grown up party at C and A's sweet new suburban palace (complete with 2 cats). Listened to John Coltrane's Black Pearls (for cred points only), briefly considered becoming a Software Documentation writer, drank really excellent bourbon and ended up staying up late and talking with A which was a major highlight. Got rides both ways (I do lead a charmed life) and the ride home was like a foliage tour of New England, except rather than discussing the history of the deciduous forests of Andover, C and I spent the ride waxing nostalgic about old friends and times, discussing psychological pathology and expounding upon the perils of house hunting in the modern age (C).

Spent Sunday night eating take out from the box, IMing with Miss K, talking to my mom and watching Cool Hand Luke. I am so tired, I can't get it together to go out tonight at all. Albeit a blast, this weekend had its tithe. Sleep was lost, mistakes were made, smokes were smoked, drinks were drank, silly things were said, hopes were dashed... but all that said, the Lost weekend was entirely worth it... and really not well named when you consider the grave tribulations of the real Lost Weekend.

In conclusion, although I am essentially a light weight (especially relatively), this weekend reminded me that such careless neglect indeed has its consequences. Thusly, I am resolved, after all of this indulgence, to make myself into the super yoga attending non-smoking non-drinking healthy eating glowing beautiful earth mama I know I can be from now on - or at least this week. I'm committing in baby steps, because it's what I can do today that matters. It is. I read it in a magazine.





Monday, October 17, 2005

Hey Jenny Slater, Hey Jenny Slater, Hey Jenny Slater...

Not that I was looking for validation or anything, um... because I totally wasn't. It's just gravely unfortunate that my fan base is all in Austin, Texas. Especially because if I go on tour I might not be able to play their prom. But maybe if, I don't know, I find someone's diary it would move me just enough and I could invite them to listen to me recording a single and give a kiss that will inspire a generation to interrupt a previously rigorous routing of facial hygiene. Maybe.

I'm feeling nostalgic, thinking about sitting in the bar of the Stephen F. Austin Hotel a million years ago, drinking $7 cokes with Bob and Matt and Peter after our Improv class and talking about how maybe we could start a troupe ourselves or maybe do anything we wanted to if we just wanted to enough. It was so exciting to think about. Whatever, it's still exciting to think about. I just miss that community of Improvisors and people who were so amped up to make stuff happen. Yet, I shall not despair. I still have Steve and no girl is truly creatively alone if she has a huge improvising salt lick in her apartment. Word.

Nothing's Shocking

So is anything really cool enough to put in your blog? I mean, it's pretty easy to criticize a blog, any blog, my blog, whatever. Self indulgent, insipid, isolating, lame, pretentious, etc. - one could hurl such epithets. One does, in fact. Everything is up for grabs in this same way. I mean: blogs, books, love letters, songs, spoken words - everything we put out for the world to consume can be turned against us to mock, hurt, impale, destroy... but that's what makes it interesting, right?

I think that's what makes it interesting. It's like playing your favorite song for a new love... everything changes once you try to share it with another person. The worst part of that is the (metaphorically) staring at them and waiting for them to feel the way we want them too, the way you feel. It's like explaining lyrics or a poem or comedy... once it leaves your hands then and becomes something else beyond your control. That's what's cool about it.

And yet, I still can't get together a semi-decent 3 minutes for the Hong Kong. Sigh...


Next Post: Journey into the overuse of the elipse...

Sunday, October 16, 2005

Rainy North End Loud Neighbor Sock Hop Blues

I was sick all weekend, it rained and was "hey, it's Winter, put away your flip flops you kook" cold for the first time and I watched On the Waterfront. I now have a fairly serious crush on Marlon Brando, although my friend M says that it is completely understandable because they really don't make them like that anymore. I appreciate friends who can say things like that to you. It makes you feel like your 90 years old and you can now rightfully substitute wistful condescension for the sentimental nostalgia you feel for everything belonging to your own era or just the feeling you are being left out or left behind.

I am especially fond of egg salad. Especially with chopped onions and maybe a tomato slice. I'm not pretending that is meaningful to anyone but me, but I am going to stop writing now and make an egg salad sandwich.