He Said/She Said

I'm going to Back Fence PDX tonight. I went to the holiday special last winter and it was highly enjoyable; there is not enough story-telling in the world. The conceit of this particular evening is that two people will be telling the same story from their own perspective. It should be good.

My co-worker and I were talking about it and she was particularly excited about the brother/sister combo. Which got me thinking about my relationship with my brother. We get along great. Now. There was a time, a really brief amount of time (about 10 years) that we hated each other's guts. There is a particular moment that I recall as the crowning moment of our hatred, and perhaps even, the catharsis that we needed to resolve our differences.

I was in the living room, the television was on, and there was something I really wanted to watch, probably Murder She Wrote. I asked Laurence to change the channel. He wouldn't. He exhibited shocking defiance and disdain for my obvious superiority as the older sister. I then told him that he could at least pick up all his stuff that was scattered about the living room. I picked up his shoes and prepared to do something with them (probably put them away, but possibly throw them into the garbage can). I looked up to see this look, this horrible shadow of rage pass over his face and I knew I was totally screwed. I abandoned the shoes and sprinted down the stairs, my brother in hot pursuit. My plan was to escape to the bathroom and lock the door until he resumed normal form, but like some cheap horror movie, he caught me right as the door was closing and burst through. What happened then could be described as a fist fight, though it should be noted that he never actually punched me because I am a girl. We shoved each other around, knocked the shower door off its hinges, bled a little bit, etc. He ended up with a blue eye (not quite a shiner) and a long scratch down his forehead (I don't know how that happened, I'm not a scratcher). And then it was over. I immediately felt better, lighter, amused even. He glowered. I apologized. I drove us to a friend's house to meet our parents for a BBQ. The story was relayed and my parents shook their heads (no doubt deeply embarrassed), and then they took a photo of his face. His sullen, bruised-up, scratched face. And we slowly became friends again.

I would like him to post his version of the story (to be continued . . .), but you may have to settle for asking him yourself. I'm sure he'll be willing to defend his side of the matter.

Pony

Yesterday afternoon you would have found me sitting on the 834 porch with all my friends sipping white wine in the midst of an R. Kelly Remix to Ignition sing-along. It was like an advertisement. I'm not sure what we were selling, but I'm pretty sure you all would want to buy it.

In a similar vein, we were discussing Ginuwine's Pony and the blog that exists solely to document all the people out there on Youtube that like to put on the aforementioned song, prop up their digital camera, and film the shit out of their dance moves. Look.

Tipping Point

My shoe buying moratorium is over! These are rushing to my doorstep right now. I have been dreaming of them* for months and in a matter of days I will be able to stomp around in these things and intimidate people with my incredible height like Godzilla or Yao Ming or some other freakish creature. They are the shoe fantasy of Morticia Adams and Elton John's dutch love child. Be prepared to be terrified.

P.S. I sent a link of these to Kyle Arthur a while ago and asked him what he thought. He said they looked like Chinese footbinding shoes (in other words, hideous). I told him to judge me if I suddenly showed up wearing them because I was on a no-shoe buying responsibility kick and was in need of some moral reinforcement.

P.P.S. Kyle Arthur. I know I said I wouldn't buy them, but this was before I elected not to have surgery. Prior request has been nullified.

* They are Jeffrey Cambell's 99. Sold out everywhere. Based on the far more pricey Acne wedge. Got them off Ebay.

Do-Over

So, I went to this dance party down at Produce Row (super random, but they've remodeled and have a sweet patio now) and it was really fun. Surprisingly fun. Apparently these things happen in LA all the time and while I'm not prone to enjoy things that come out of LA, this provided excellent music, amazing people watching, summer evening dancing, and quality time with some of my favorites.

The people watching was really choice. Definitely a younger crowd, lots of good fashion choices, lots of bad fashion choices, blatant pot smoking, awkward dancing, sangria swilling, etc. Which leads me to identify some classic dance party archetypes that were out in full-force last night. Thank you for being you.

Sweaty Dancing Guy: There's always that one guy that shows up early and leaves late, he's right up front, super stoked for every song, and gets all worked up for the big transitions, with lots of hand waving, jumping and double fist pumping (DFP). Exemplified last night by purple shirt beard guy.

Totally Awesome Cool People Power Couple: Is this a good song? Well, that awesome couple is nodding to the beat so it must be. There was this couple last night, she had an afro, he never smiled, and they looked amazing.

Almost Naked Girl: I don't know how her shirt stayed on, but she was dancing all night and I never actually saw nipple, so she did something right. Maybe tape was involved.

Awkward Couple: Ugh. They always end up on the dance floor, in your way, just like, wrapped up on each other, dropping drinks, and making out. Why can't they do that in the corner? There were two of these at the party and they were constantly up in my business. I was like honey to the flies. The mating flies.

I Can't Dance: There was one girl that just kind of jumped up and down all night, regardless of the beat. It was pretty awesome.

Incongruous People: It's nice when people are fashionable but it's refreshing when people don't give a shit. This one guy had a large glass sherlock that he kept pulling out and he was wearing New Balance trail runners. Huy and I were created some dialogue for him: I just went hiking in the Gorge. It was super difficult. You wouldn't be able to do it in your shoes. There was also an athlete in track and field gear. She was dancing exuberantly and we think she was a javelin thrower (is there a term for this? Javelinist? Javeliner?).

Anyway, this event is happening again on August 22. It was fun. Check it out.

Reading with Faulkner (Or Some Other Drunkard)

So, this is more of a question than anything. What is with all these people that read in bars? I keep seeing people (mostly men, but sometimes ladies) posting up alone at some table in some noisy bar and they're sitting there, sipping an IPA and reading a book. And what I'm wondering here, is whether or not this is actually a passive-aggressive pick-up technique. I mean, I know that when I am reading, I don't want to talk to people. That's why I'm reading. Because I feel like reading and not like talking. But there's the bar thing. Bars are noisy and socially lubricated. They are not conducive to concentration. People sitting by themselves are fair game for some random leering sot who feels like conversation and a little thing like a book is not going to save you. If you want to read in peace you can read in a park or your home, or any number of places. You may argue that one can't buy beer in a park. This is true. But you can buy beer in a store and take it to a park. So, what I'm thinking is that these people are just sitting there, with their book, hoping that someone will talk to them. Is the book just a pick-up accessory, like a puppy or intense cleavage? Does anyone have insight on this?