The Queen is dead. Long live the Queen.

My Grandmama has passed away. Her body finally just quit. She was 96 years and 2 weeks old.

I hope for a lot of things in this life. I hope that my children grow up to be good people. I hope that I acheive some sort of lasting success on this earth. I hope for the continued good health of my family. And I hope that someday I can acheive the elegance and grace that my Grandmama had, even if I only manage it for a single night.

She was a nurse, an artist, a mother. She saw war and death; she knew joy and plenty. She was tempermental, difficult to please, exacting, and demanding. She was beautiful.

I haven't cried for her, and I doubt that I will. Not because I don't miss her - I do - but because it would have driven her absolutely nuts. "Good heavens, are you crying? What on EARTH would you do a thing like that for? You'll make your eyemakeup smear and your nose red. Go to the ladies' room, for God's sake."

The next time you drink a bloody mary, spend a moment thinking of the fantastic women who made them a staple of Sunday brunch, like my Grandmama. The world is a less splendid place without her.

I'm Back!

That doesn't mean so much yet, as of course I don't have any photos or videos or other interesting bits of ephemera to excite you on this machine yet. But I will say that I will try to keep you up to date about goings-on more faithfully now.

For those of you who don't know, the Sugar Shakers had a great first run, although the sound was all messed up. Did I mention all of this already? Oh well. We know now that one of our goals is to get our own equipment, or at least borrow from people who give a crap about what we sound like. And of course we loooked fabulous, altho our marvelous keyboard player Dolce Anita stole the show with leather pants, bouffed out hair and a jean jacket. And lipstick, which she professed dislike for until wearing. I vowed never to wear cowboy boots onstage again with women who were wearing 3 inch heels, because I looked a little stumpy - pardon my insecurity. And Shotsie Glass, also known as the delightful Ms. Budd, has promised to seriously step up the eye makeup. All that aside, we were by far the best thing to hit the Monthly Grind stage since Sox Therapy had its very limited run in the spring of 2002. We're only getting better! Soon to come, a double bill with the Glorious Youth Parade on Memorial Dy Weekend, and the Homeskillet Festival, which we will be playing fresh from our New York adventure. Add to this the possibility of the Princess Japonski Tribute Fest while she's here on her world tour, and we've got a really rockin' summer lined up.

Shotsie is out of town this week, tho, so maybe that means I'll get some sewing done rather than messing about playing music. I want to make a bag to cart all my shit around in, cables and tuners and so forth. Stay tuned! maybe i'll have pictures soon.

Sorry for the lapse, again

Just a quick post to say that my computer access is limited of late, and so this will be a quiet blog until I sort things out, since I hate blogging at the library. The Sugar Shakers had their first, triumphant performance, and we are now contemplating a second, much extended show. Pics and video will be available soon.

Loves to you all!

It was like a dream...

I just spent a surreal weekend in Seattle. It was by turns a typical break there for me - getting rained on, going to Everyday Records in Capitol Hill - and perfectly not the ordinary, by far. Of course I managed to check off everything on my list, a feat which I rarely if ever achieve, but my list was four items long:

1) Eat Indian food. Check and check. I always eat at the same place, half a block down from Nordstrom rack where there is an atomic orange-colored mango lassi and a terrific and authentic all-you-can-eat buffet.

2) Buy a longer bass cable. Accomplished, although I did have to wait until noon until the bass shop opened. Figures. Musicians. I was suffering the effects of too much #3...

3) See live music. Preferably, rockabilly. Preferably, the Dusty 45's. Why? C'mon, you remember the slight obsession I was working on in the fall. Why do you think? Flaming trumpet. That's all. When we first arrived at the place the Vinyl Avengers (one of the many, many incarnations of the members of the aforementioned 45's) were playing, S. and M. nearly pulled me out of there bodily. The band was doing swanky jazz standards to match the late 50's steakhouse vibe the place rocks, and frankly they were a smidge ... Let's say disappointing. I made the girls stay, and by the last set they were impatient and I think rather bored. I'm sorry, ladies. It was so fun to be dancing and tipsy and to be greeted by the boys as if I were a good friend. Next time I swear I will either go by myself or forego the pleasure in a fit of martyrdom. I could go on and on, but I will leave it at the fact that I had a sufficiently good time to be grumpy while awaiting the bass store opening, and to be peaved when the guy behind the counter was in my opinion patronizing. S. said I was paranoid. I was hungover.

4) Try something new. This time was the Pink Door, the location of which I feel both reluctant to reveal so it won't be overrun, and also hyperexcited to spread, because if you are reading this, you are the type of person to love this type of place. Relaxed atmosphere, INCREDIBLE food - S.'s gnocchi were outstanding - a trapeze act, a burlesque act, pink tulle everywhere, and the cutest skinny, messy, vintage clad bartender with a perfect hand for a cosmo, which I hardly even drink anymore.

I could go on and on, but if you want deets, I guess you'll have to email me or something because I really don't know how to describe all the best parts - eyeliner powder the color of poison, being remembered by the boys in the band, going to Red Light Vintage and finding that there was vintage that was too large for me...

Anyhow, I have an irredeemable crush in a huge way on the city of Seattle in general, and in a certain trumpet player and a certain hostess in a red velveteen dolly dress in particular, and I had to come back to freezing temperatures, sleet, and a power outage at the airport. It's already fading away from me, even tho 24 hours ago, I was dressed to kill with M.A.C. Viva Glam I and my new ShadyLady poison colored eyeliner, eating handmade pappardelle, flirting the hostess and the bartender in equal parts, and feeling invicible. And tomorrow, instead of a cafe with back issues of Vogue Italia, I have to trudge to the corner to buy some coffee to make - myself.

La Reine et Moi

Oh, Sofia.

I knew. I knew, and yet I was hoping against hope that the movie that you made was somehow the movie I really, really wanted to see about Her Majesty, the last Queen of France. I wanted someone to show the heartbreaking truth of what it is like to be in a gilded cage, how it feels to have not the slightest decision to be your own, what real grace in the face of death may look like. Instead, what you gave all the world was a lovely, lovely, empty painting of a lost teenager being indulged in the fulfillment of insubstantial wishes. It is the same movie you have made before, and I am a little sad about it.

We have already talked, you and I, about my own attraction to the doomed Queen, and I thought perhaps I understood a little about your motivation. But I was wrong, wasn't I? You never lamented to woman she was forced to become, or regretted the woman she never was, but instead you identified with the child of privilege and wealth who wielded her power carelessly and frivolously. Don't misunderstand me - your movie was stunning. It was a crystal chandelier of a movie, though, a layer cake, and the Marie Antoinette who grew in my mind while making this costume was a whole meal, and the candles behind the reflections. She was a woman who I imagine loved her children and her country and feared death and perhaps welcomed it, at the end. She was a woman who was asked to be a woman before she was grown, after never really having been allowed to be a child herself. She was a pawn, and she was a player. She craved simplicity and loved luxury. She was a bundle of contradictions, just like you or me or anyone, and she was made an example of because of it. Didn't that break your heart? Where was that in this gilded plate of petit fours? Where was the woman who dared to have herself painted astride like the King himself, who dared to be seen sans corset? That is the portrait I was awaiting.

Antonia, you were there somewhere. The candyfloss and fairydust they spin around you, the curses and the punchlines that still accompany your name down through the annals of history, they are the stories we always weave around the women we don't or can't understand. You are there in the heart of the tales, and perhaps someday, we'll see your face instead of your reflection.

It's out on Tuesday!

If you haven't been obsessively waiting for Marie Antoinette to come out on DVD, like I have, then you may not know. But it's coming out on Tuesday! It's the perfect way for me to spend my Valentine's Day...

I am going to make a t-shirt for the occasion. Anybody want to come watch this with me?

I have lapsed, I know it.

I always mean to add a little smidgen of something to this blog, because I don't want to leave my readers wanting (ha!), and I know I also promised to keep all of you up to date on the status of the band.

Well, I don't mind telling you that the band is going SWIMMINGLY, thanks very much. As a matter of fact, that is a good part of the reason why I haven't been blogging - all the time I usually spend typing mindlessly on the computer is spent practicing my bass instead. I fell like I'm really getting somewhere with it.

And remember when I was whining about wanting that pretty purple acoustic? Well, I went ahead and took the plunge, and I've been playing it. I like it a lot, even tho it's harder to play by a long shot than my tiny Daisy Rock, because it's manufactured for grown ups and not 13 year old girls, which apparently I am. The acoustic is still too small for the Fender flatwound strings I accidentally bought in a long. This is distressing because the strings were a little on the pricey side, and I was very interested in hearing the difference in sound. Apparently, the flatwounds give you a warmer, more "upright" sound when they're on an electric bass. Since we're playing straight-up rockabilly and punkabilly type stuff, I thought the upright sound would be most apropos. Eventually, I would like to play an actual stand-up bass, but I will bide my time as far as that is concerned.

If anyone happens to be here in town on April 21st, come to the Monthly Grind. It'll be our premiere performance, and I think we're gonna rock the house. Otherwise, we know we're in this for the long haul, and there will be other performances, but the real question is when. I think that I would love to lean toward a more dance-y sound, and H. wants us to go a little more hard-core, so there's bound to be something good that comes of this.

And at some point, I am going to work up the nerve to finish both the Rosalind Russell-y wool dress I have (in fuschia wool flannel) and the black western shirt with leopard accents. I'll post pix when I get around to it.