I didn't manage to finish the videos until Christmas time 2012, but I wanted to back-date a post with the videos from the ridiculously amazing trip to Placencia, Belize for the wedding of Helena Lamb and Annie Weber!
Such beauty, such love, and such an amazing group of people! Making a Facebook group for us to socialize in prior to departure really made making new friends easier and facilitated the adventure. This was a just a superlative group of people and we all got along like a house on fire. Helena commented at the reception: "Y'all keep acting surprised at how awesome all our friends are. Why? We wouldn't be friends with assholes."
And she was right. And certainly no losers would say, "Sure! Let's go party in Belize, in the tropics, at the end of May..."
The Flickr set from the adventure is here. And here is the music video Christmas card I made for Helena and Annie:
And this is the longer video of the weekend, capturing more of the story for my new friends to share.
just a little blog absenteeism while I was in Nashville for a week for Steeplechase, then back for less than a week before gone again for an amazing wedding week in Placencia, Belize. I have three days to wrangle a whole new website for work so days are full, and Out with ACT tonight, a weekend away up in Healdsburg for "Southerners Only," only to leave again Wednesday morning to return to Nashville for more Mom Time and the Swan Ball.
So much going on, which means no time to write. Short observations and photo links to follow soon.
We've finally hit that three-days-on/three-days-off cycle of sunshine and warm weather versus cold and fog. When it coincides with a weekend, it makes for a wonderful day to go out and play, regardless of the frigid fog hovering at the Golden Gate and hunkering down along the western avenues, just waiting to pounce.
We recently got to visit with Kiwi Lance's father and brother who were over here from NZ for a bike ride across the west, and to visit the new grand baby. As much as I am not into kids, particular ones not related to me, Baby Sophie is ridiculous cute and such a sweet baby. But alas, not as sweet as Max, who has been using his free days to adore and care for Sophie while Dad works and Pop starts at his new job.
Max has the best title ever. They call him their Au Bear.
I was looking through my notes and I remembered this. Someone posted a photo of "hippie hill" taken on April 20 across from me in Golden gate Park. Yeah, lookit that smoke. It was 4:20 p.m. on 4/20. The Haight was full of thousands of teen/early 20s stoners. So much so that my 15 minute commute from work took over an hour as the throngs would not get out of the streets. I was [this close] to yelling at all those no good kids to get out of my yard.
Life is such that I am not writing nearly as much as I used to. And my January "off" seems to have been extended to Summer 2012. I am focusing more on work and just sort of dealing with myself. Once I slowed down, I realized how hard I had been running the past couple of years. Even without the run, I still feel fast paced, and I am happily taking the downtime when I can. That being said, my newly and relatively slow life is a full one. The Derby is on in about 45 minutes and while I opted not to go through the mania of hosting a party this year, I have poured myself a mint julep to sip while I write this and start in on a batch of bereavement thank-you notes.
A couple of weekends ago was The Weekend of Good Shows and Bad News. Friday night Coco and I made the trip across the bridge to Oakland for a show. 77 El Deora, our favorite local band, was opening for Wayne The Train Hancock at the Uptown. Al always the set was amazing, if unfortunately cut short. I had never been to the Uptown but it is a great bar with lots of space, friendly staff, a great stage with room for dancing, and an almost secret balcony. Coco and I had a great time hanging with Mike, Mau and J9 before and after the show, and I got some great pics of the band on stage.
On the way to the venue, we circled for a while looking for parking and decided the easiest and safest thing (this is downtown Oakland after all) would be to pay to park in a brightly lit lot on the main drag just a couple of blocks away from the show clubs. As we approached the lot to leave, we were alarmed to see half a dozen police cars with flashing lights and even a video camera guys surrounding the lot. We just assumed it was a mugging or terrible attack of some sort and I reflexively stood up straighter and broader trying to look as large and imposing as possible. When we stepped into the lot, a stressed out girl and her boyfriend looked up at us and asked, “Did you park in this lot?”
Whoever it was ransacked the lot and smashed the front windows of every car in the lot, taking whatever was handy and ripping out stereos where they could as well. I later learned they torched the empty attendant’s booth as well. Shattered glass lay everywhere, two trucks were appearing, four or five police officers were taking reports, and at least one police camera guy was documenting the scene with video equipment and lights. I felt my heart sank and I immediately went into crisis resolution mode, making a mental list of what had to be done and how to go about it. First, make the report. Get the paperwork. Find something to sweep the glass off the seats. Get the jacket and a hat out of the trunk and a blanket for Coco as the drive home was going to be freezing with the window open. Stop for plastic wrap to cover it up before going to bed as the storms were expected to continue. E-mail the glass company asap as I know from experience you can’t get shit replaced on Sunday. Dealing with insurance, dashboard repair, and a new stereo was going to be an ordeal, and I did not want to go though it again. I feared for my insurance rates.
Of the forty or so cars in the lot, I was exceedingly relieved to find that mine was the only one without smashed windows. After the last break in and theft, I got a stereo with a removable faceplate, which I remembered to lock in the glove box. We had removed our bags, hats and coats and locked those in the trunk before walking away. I can only assume that they did not smash my windows as there was nothing inside to steal. But that didn’t seem to spare the cars to either side of me. Still, unbelievable relief.
Coco and I agreed that we were never keen on crossing the bridge in the fist place that this settled it. We will never feel the need to go to Oakland again.
Months earlier, I noticed an ad for a Zac Brown Band concert at the Shoreline Amphitheater in the South Bay on Saturday. I wasn’t so much interest in the ZBB as I was in their manager. Will and I grew up together and were great friends. While I am still friends with his mother and little sister, we grew apart and never really saw each other once he moved away to boarding school for high school. I haven’t seen him in ages but we stay in touch pretty actively through Facebook. He often travels with the band when he is not being Super Hollywood Agent Man. If the Zac Brown Band was coming to the Bay Area, maybe Will would have time to get together for a drink or dinner. It turns out Will wasn’t going to make this trip, but he offered us tickets to the show (with a donation to Zac’s charity instead). While I like the ZBB I am not a huge fan, and after the wretchedness that was the Rascal Flatts concert a few years back, I was soured on either Big Shows or Big Country Shows. But it would be fun and an adventure and I gratefully accepted the offer.
Then I never heard anything else about it. The day of the show came and no word from Will. I certainly didn’t want to pester him about the tickets—I was already a little worried that he thought I reached out to him about the visit as fishing for freebies rather than quality catch-up time—and after the night’s events in Oakland I wasn’t all excited about getting back in the drive 45 minutes to Mountain View and deal with the hubbub. Then Will texted telling me to have a good time. It turns out his people were supposed to follow up and there were a pair of tickets for me under Will Call (no relation). I had to find a concert companion and quick, and here in the City it’s not like there is a hoard of ZBB fans on hand. I do have my rodeo and Sundance friends who might be interested, but there were already rodeo and country events scheduled in the City that night and everyone already had plans. Mr. Adorkable who lives near the venue anyway as he’s in law school at Stanford is a crazy ZBB fan and it might have been a perfect first date, had he not put off writing his major paper for six months and it was due in the morning. Temptation, thy name is, at times, Wilson.
Then the psychic thing happened. Aaron is a friend from Sundance who is a really easy going, spontaneous, fun person to be around but we never hang out with each other, as I say, “on purpose.” We dance together and drink together and see each other out and about, but not since I asked him on a date years and years ago do we ever call or text each other to do things. But since the New Year’s Day party I have been thinking about all these wonderful people I know but never see and I have started keeping lists of people I want to see more of “on purpose” and make plans.
I texted Aaron about the show. Remember, Aaron and I do not have a call each other/IM each other relationship. I see him when I see him. About 20 minutes later, I get an anonymous text about two other country shows coming to the Bay Area and the good music and possibility of super hot country boys at said shows. I have no idea who the text is from and an unrecognized number. And I can’t reverse find out who it is. I finally own up and reply with an “Who is this?” “How many West Texas cowboys do you know?” Seriously? I’m a member of the rodeo, a country-western dance association, and am “on the list” of three honky tonk bands in the Bay Area. I actually had to count how many West Texas cowboys I knew. “Seven.” The messenger continued being coy with clues until I guessed it was Aaron. But I couldn’t figure out why he would talk about the ZBB offer. He had his phone stolen last year and had a new number, so it wasn’t in my address book, and the number I was texting earlier was still unassigned. So the first time I ever texted Aaron about seeing a country show, was twenty minutes before he spontaneously thought to text me about seeing a country show.
And he had been eager to get ZBB tickets but they had been sold out for months. He was so excited to go that he was texting me on one phone and calling in a shift replacement with the other.
The psychic link continued as I have gotten so large I don’t fit in most of my western war anymore, and was texting Aaron photos of me in different shirts and needed opinion on hats. But ATT&T continues it’s epic suckage in my neighborhood and all of my messages were delivery failures. When connectivity resumed, I had several pics from Aaron asking me if I was wearing a hat, and to comment on his hat options.
Aaron was the best concert buddy. The place was packed, and so inefficient it took us over an hour just to get inside from the foreign zip code where we parked. The crowd was boot-deep people watching. I had no idea there were this many country folk in the Bay Area. How are there no country dance bars in the Bay and why can’t SF keep a country radio station? And OMFG. Girls: if your denim shorts are so short the crotch is a single thread, the shorts are too short.
But my WORD: This was an amazing show. Dear God the ZBB is talented. Every one of them a master at their craft, and the show itself was superbly produced. The lighting and LED screens enhanced the show rather than overwhelmed it (again, I am nauseated when I think of the Rascal Flatt’s self-indulgent ego fest and multi-media seizure). I really can’t saw enough about how awesome this show was.
The music and the performers just hit it out of the park, and they gave and gave and the crowd was eager for it. This show restored my faith in the Big Concert as a event to enjoy music. Although I will still stay faithful to my fist love of good live music in small venues. Also, it’s easier to get a drink and half the price. And you can take muni or a cab.
Added bonus to the show were there couple behind us. Will, as expected, gave us amazing seats. Our proper seats were about six in form the aisle, but the crowd expanded and we could not get that far in. The two on the end were empty so we happily just took the aisle seats. The couple behind us, Ashley and Alex, had done something similar. Wet met when Aaron and I were taking selfies and she offered to take one of us and asked to take their photo in return.
When Aaron went for bathroom break and another beer, Ashley asked me, “Are y’all together?” “Us? No.” I knew what she was really asking. But she was going to have to work for it a little harder than that. “Y’all aren’t together?” She sounded almost plaintive. “No, we’re just friends.” She looked so disappointed. I gave in. “Oh, we’re gay, we’re just not together.” Then I got all of the “why not?”s Sort of in the same way I image people used to introduce the only two black people they knew to each other and assumed they’d become a couple.
Across the aisle from us there was a big guy who would ogle and flirt with every girl that walked up the stairs. Every girl. Well, every pretty one. And all out of his league (But as XYZ used to demonstrate, it can be just a numbers game). Once Ashley pointed him out to us, it became another show. The AAs were much fun to party with at the concert. And at one point she decided to play with the dolt and started flirting with him aggressively, with the intent of ultimately proposing that he join she AND Alex, and perhaps he could “be in the middle.” We could not hear the dialog over the concert, but this was a pretty hilarious pantomime. It was obvious by his expression when she made the offer, and pretty hilarious to watch. First: jaw dropping shock. Then looking at her tight, young body: consideration.
Aaron and I decided to close out the night by hitting the Saddle Rack in Fremont after the show. The Double-As were supposed to join us but never showed. But we were late getting there as the interstate exchanges down there are like something out of an Escher print.
The Saddle Rack purports to be a country bar, and it retained it’s mechanical bull and slight western theme from the move from San Jose a decade ago, but it is really more of a cruisy dance club, and may be the only one around by the looks of things I was shocked at two things: (1) there’s a $20 cover. WTF? $20?; and (2) it was PACKED. And with $20 a head and cocktails at $9 prince point, that place is a cash cow. And ultimately, worth it. We had a ball closing the place down. Unfortunately, no dancing though. The cover band was great, but it was more like a night at Badlands than Sundance. Even the line dance floor was one lanky old time who would “lead” line dances once in a while while girls tried to mimic around the people standing around and blocking the floor.
The mechanical bull was a spectator sport and we couldn’t get enough. I love my sister-in-law, but I am learned from her experience how much I love my spine intact and successfully refused both the urge and peer pressure to try the bull. I pointed out to Aaron that the real sport of it was working the controls. Riders were completely at his mercy, and you could tell who he would like to succeed and who not. The tinier the shorts (OMG, I have larger bandanas), and the bigger the breasts, the more gentle the ride. More gentle, but not less motion. The operator had some serious skills to make breasts bounce. Or make the entire ride nothing but a dry humping sex act. You did not need an imagination to imagine how these girls ride their cowboys. One particularly top heavy and inebriated contestant was manipulated so that she just say there but her boobs bounced up and down to their maximum elasticity.
There were also plenty of hotties for the ladies, and us, to look at. This also became a spectator sport for Aaron and me. From the rough ranch hands to the muscle posers, and all of them on the prowl, people watching was more of a spectacle than the fuck-me-like-the-mechanical-bull.
One beefy and waxed muscle guy on the dance floor had his shirt ripped open, repeatedly, to the point that at one time he had it tied together under his chest like Daisy Duke.
That place was as trashed as its guests, and it was fun to close it down.
Sunday morning was the always awesome Country Brunch at the Hotel Utah, and this time I was joined by the Co-Captains of Team Wilson and we had a great day of music, mirth, and complete giggle fits.
Here’s to the burly butch Irish bartender who both makes carefully crafted bloody marys and makes me smile a whole bunch. And here’s to the powerbottomless mimosas!
Unfortunately, the Sunday afternoon highs were brought low with two sets of bad news lighting up my phone. First, there was a terrible accident during a yacht race to the Farallons where all but three of the crew were crushed on the rocks or were lost at sea. The captain of the ship was one of the survivors pulled from the drink by a rescue helicopter, and was my childhood friend from Nashville and also one time San Franciscan Jay Bradford. The story around the incident is just tragic in every way (HuffPo story). The trauma for the survivors, both crew and families, is heart wrenching.
Also bad news for the day, my friend Wilma (which at times makes me “the Other Wilma,” was trapped unconscious in her apartment when her building burned around 2:30 in the morning. The initial news report was brief and merely said that a “woman was rescued unconscious from the fire and taken to the hospital with smoke inhalation.” That sounds not so bad, but is in fact much much worse. Thank goodness for social media or I wouldn’t get any news. Wilma’s close companion has been giving us status updates from the ICU, and created a Facebook page for Wilma’s Road to Recovery. As of this writing, Wilma is finally out of the coma and her lungs and kidneys are beginning to function more and more. All good news, but not close to out of the woods yet. Social media has also allowed us to rally around Wilma, and Najet has kept us all up to date (no visitors or gifts allowed yet), and friends have even set up a donation site to aid in the medical and recovery expenses.
Most recent update: “Fantastic news, everyone!! Wilma is OUT OF THE ICU. She was transferred to her new room today. Visitors aren't allowed still, as she is still very weak. However, she is talking and joking. As I'm typing this, she asked what I was doing and I said I was updating everyone on Facebook. She rolled her eyes and said "Jesus, just wait till I get home to do that!" Mmmmmmm yeah, she's definitely back! “ Go Wilma!
And now, off to the races, and then a session with the new personal trainer (ow), and then an afternoon of finally writing condolence thank-you notes (and entirely different kind of ow).
I am certainly doing less these days, but in many ways, the less has been more.
