And now the melody haunts my reverie...

It has been a whole week since the Stardust ball, which, as far as I am concerned, is the pinnacle social event of the year here in the sleepy seaside town I live in. I apologize for the lateness of this recap; instead of filling me with the usual glee, the Stardust Ball this year just helped spur the usual bout of blues that besets me each fall, only deeper, darker, and faster than ever before.

Here's the stuff that happened: My favorite boys in a band did not come back. Luckily I got the chance to see them this year when the carpet monkeys and I adventured in Seattle. I missed them anyway. La Fab and Miss E. and Mistress M. all came to town, and there was the sense that everything was just right again, although there was also the sense that something was missing. We got tarted up in our lipsticked best. La Fab wore my clothes and told everyone she was me. My costume was held on with strategically placed safety pins, a piece of gold tulle, and hope. The sum difference between the congratulatory kisses I received this year and the ones I received last year was five for birthdays and uncountable for playing. (That means many, many less this year than last year.) The band, while talented, was difficult to dance to, and I had either a drink too many or two drinks too few, as I reached a state of intoxication characterized by a bad attitude and a slight headache, rather than pleasant warmth or euphoria. Also, I broke my camera.

Perhaps my expectations run a bit high for this event. Perhaps it is just that I am finally coming to realize that the people I love the best really don't live here anymore; we have to fit a whole year's worth of each other into four surreal days. Perhaps I, too, am outgrowing this town. Perhaps it would be easier to not have them around if I weren't here, either. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps, right? I am so skillful at second-guessing. Between the bittersweet experience of Stardust and the just plain perfect experience of New Orleans, I am having a hard time adjusting to the idea that I must resign myself the nonevent that is my day-to-day existence. I will drown my sorrows in rock and roll movies. It's what got me through the last two winters. If you have suggestions for good ones, leave them in the comments.

Come and gone...

Once again the Stardust Ball has come and gone. The Rockabilly Circus was what one might term a success, if one were possessed of the habit of rating every experience meticulously. I would be lying if I said I was not one of those people. The truth is, I am cursed with the desire to relive and debrief every moment endlessly, much to the exhaustion of my friends. In any case, while I feel we could have amped the energy just a notch, we did respectably, and I got some heartwarming praise from a few people whose opinions I treasure. So there you are.

As everyone knows, it was also my birthday, and that made for an interesting evening. I got cake and kisses, as well as some marvelous presents. Princess Japonski went out of her way to make this a birthday worth something, and she outdid herself. First and foremost, flying cross country for three nights of debauched tomfoolery with her favorite rockstars, and some imported rockstars, was above and beyond the call of duty. Then she provided champagne and cake, style advice and many soothing words of encouragement, and a Johnny Cash DVD. Clearly, they broke the mold when they made her.

I have thanks to offer everyone who worked so hard to make these few days so astounding, including my mom and my ex (may he never get another mention in these pages) who made sure Miss Thing and Cap'n Jack were fed and clothed and kept out of traffic. Also every fan who turned up after the relentless barrage of promotion I subjected you all to. And the person who donated the coach for the stage, complete with skelly driver. And to my friends, who always know just what I want and how to bring it. And to the Dusty 45's, for being talented and handsome and accommodating, even if I may not let Billy stand on my bass again. And of course to my band, without whom the magic just could not happen.



Now I get to do it all again, without the bourbon, because it's Bea's birthday. There will be more pink things, if only marginally, and fewer people in costume, f only marginally, but I expect it will have the same general flavor of mayhem, because, after all, she is my very own.