this one hurts

News this weekend that our beloved Re-Bar won't be re-opening at its current location downtown.

We've known for awhile that Re-Bar was in jeopardy, a comforting dance oasis in a forest of condos and office towers.

Re-Bar was where you went on Sunday nights for Flammable, the longest-running house night in the country.
Re-Bar was where for many years my pals and I bought tickets for Dina Martina's Christmas and Easter shows, lining up an hour or more in advance of the door, sharing a joint and then rushing in to try and find good seats--close but not too close.

Re-Bar is where I found myself again after a deadening marriage, and where I met my current beau.

It was grimy and no-nonsense and you never knew who you'd see in the bathroom or the photo booth, but it was a safe space and I'll miss it forever.

everybody

On such a horrific news day--what to feel? 50 lives lost. 50 people out having fun at an Orlando dance club, their lives cut short and for what?
I feel so much anger, sadness, despair, weariness, loss.
And defiance. Yes, defiance. We will continue to hope, to love, to dance.

noos news nooze

So much news, where to start.
After a handful of rejections, my story "Balls, Daddy" got a very enthusiastic yes.
I'm super excited about this one being published.
The journal editor is a visionary and a personality. And, it's a paid gig.
*
For passover last Sunday, I enjoyed matzoh, hummus and wine. L'chaim.
Enjoyed a friends' album release show at Chop Suey last weekend--good people and swell beats. Left around 12:30, and missed a nearby shooting by only a couple of blocks.
Then there was Vito's after work one night. Always a good decision. The swank gloom of the bar, stiff happy hour drinks, the suave pianist crooning the standards.
Now and upcoming--writing. Chopping. Trip planning. Reunions far and farther.
*
Today's music: The Coup

walk loud

As a dedicated eavesdropper, I almost never wear ear buds when I'm out and about. (Also I got mugged once so I like to keep whatever wits I've got about me.) But: you only hear the good stuff if you're unplugged. One-sided arguments, dinner plans in the making, dude-fests (duuude--I know dude right?--dooooood).
A side note: people wearing ear buds walk loud. Almost 100% guaranteed, if the person coming up behind you is scuffing their feet, they're plugged in. Their world is small, entirely between their ears.
Also almost 100% guaranteed, if I'm on the bus and dozing, or even appear to be, people won't sit down beside me. I guess I'm a scary sleeper. Perhaps it's the buzzsaw snores.
*
Good shows coming up: cool kids Odesza (sold out!), always-a-crazy-dance-night Eldridge Gravy, and later on People Under the Stairs.

glama-vid

Video goofs with the glamazons last weekend checking out Georgetown--director's credit to Jilzilla.
(Best viewed in Chrome as Firefox is being a p00p.)

photobooth

A seductive shot from Chop Suey the other night.

Beaver Teeth 4 Ever

In looking at pictures from last year, I was struck how little I smiled.
I'm not much of a smiler in any case, but back in February 2010 life felt tres grim.
No way I'll claim 100% happiness now either, but I am doing the things I want to do, with the people I want to do them with. Damn, that feels good.
Just looking at this picture makes me feel good too: me + a true sweetheart and partner-in-crime, out on the Hill last weekend getting ready to go to church (and rocking Fever Teeth's custom lids).

Commit

I've been taking a hip hop dance class the past few months.
A lot of people find this pretty funny. It is funny, I guess, because I'm pretty terrible. I wasn't allowed to dance as a kid and now I want to know how to work it out to my beloved hip hop beats.

I was terrified at first, standing in my sneakers and workout clothes in front of a wall of mirrors, trying to learn to count and copy the reverse image moves of the charming b-boy instructor and not mortify myself in front of a dozen college-aged dancers.
But then I realized that no one's looking at me, they're concentrating on themselves, and now it's okay, funny even, hilarious, because no matter how much I/we screw up, cheerful Rex says, Good job, you guys are doing great. And sometimes he jibes us--what's with the jazz hands?--and we all laugh.

Commit, guys, Rex adds. If you act like the moves are weird, they'll feel weird. Throw yourself into it. At least if you screw up, you'll screw up trying.
Word.