Winter in Harlem: Woodshed with Guitars!

Woodshed: To lock oneself away with a musical instrument and practice, either a particular piece or in general, until the player has improved greatly or can perfectly play the piece he has been practicing. 

Today's blizzard hit hard in the wee hours of the morning and won't let up until later this evening.  What with all the delicious leftover eats from yesterday's SuperBowl and the drinking bonanza that went with it, it's the perfect time to call in sick and work from home if you've got it like that. Folks must have been thinking ahead this time around.  The streets aren't as busy as they usually are.

I've got cable tv, Netflix, Klondike bars and bacon. I've got Winsor Pilates DVDs and Greens Plus. I've got a retooled acoustic baby Taylor, a five string banjo on permanent loan, some pretty cool electric guitars and a Pignose amp. I've got a humidifier that's on blast -- and thankfully, so is the heat. I've got a gigantic pot of the most delicious lamb stew that I made last night, while MPB was yelling at the tv during the game. I stocked MPB's bar with absolutely every varietal of Trader Joe's three buck chuck and then some. I even have lamb riblets that I'm going to pan sear for dinner tonight.

I also have a voiceover audition today -- from home, thanks to GarageBand. 

What I don't have is a good reason to go outside.  When the snow day is this severe, it's time to stay home and woodshed.  I'll start by digging into Rocksmith, which I totally love a lot because its hard and fun. I haven't touched it in forever.  I have no idea why.

Another snowstorm of epic proportions is expected on Wednesday. Lucky me. 

Before I disappear, here's something for all you guitar players: a 1964 performance of the song Hey! from "The Originator" Bo Diddley that includes his right hand lady Ms. Norma-Jean Wofford, otherwise known as The Dutchess -- playing rhythm and lead guitar and keeping in step with the back up vocalists, and in a gown and heels no less. 

Although she played guitar and gigged here and there later in life, her career came to a screeching halt when she left the band in 1966, got married and moved to Florida to raise a family. 

Here's a photo of Bo Diddley, The Dutchess and percussionist Jerome Green. 

I think she's stunning, a bonafide trailblazer (why don't any guitar magazines or guitar lists ever mention her?) and most definitely an inspiration for me as a nascent guitarist.

Alive in the Dead of Winter

 

"Pride of race is the antidote to prejudice." -- Arthur Schomburg

Happy Black History Month -- for whatever its worth.  There's almost always a ton of activities, exhibits, workshops, family outings, concerts and goings-on in any African-American community to celebrate who we are. On second thought, I don't know any black folk who don't do this every day in every way, on their own terms.  Every day is Black History Month in my world.  No blurbs in the media, though.  I'm not so sure Black History Month is for us, nowadays. Perspective is a funny thing. But that's a whole other conversation.

There's a great deal of beauty and safety in all this snow and cold.  It's a great time for unbridled productivity and quiet reflection and solace. What with all these layers I'm wearing, I can hide in plain sight, get things done, finish up old business, work on fresh ideas and let something new take root, and oversleep when the mood overtakes me.  The good news at the moment is, my (years-long!) makeover  has almost reached some sort of glorious end.  (Yes, that's right -- years long. Extensive dental work takes time, folks.  And it ain't cheap.) I'm losing weight, my hair is growing like crazy and I'm getting my teeth fixed.  The more progress I see, the more patience I have.  The banjo isn't getting any easier but thankfully, fingerpicking is.  One thing is glaringly obvious -- It's time for me to get on my grind, while it's still the dead of winter.

Now that I'm starting to see the light at the end of at least one of the tunnels I'll have to run through to get to where I'm going, it's time. It's time to start working out like a straight beast. It's time to release my Black Americana album.  It's time to get more gigs, book a European tour, do a residency and yes, another showcase.  It's time to edit my closets and declutter this apartment and do a severe amount of spring cleaning.  It's time to learn my intervals. 

Joan Crawford was right. Life is discipline.

When it's time to do anything, you have to do your homework.  I really like this infographic, in part because when you're working on a corporate plantation, every interview question has a well-curated answer if you dig carefully enough.  Then again, I suppose that's any question.  

Here's to a year of straight answers.

The Sixth Day of Kwanzaa: Kuumba

today's principle: to do always as much as we can, in the way that we can, in order to leave our community more beautiful and beneficial than we inherited it.

making our world a better place doesn't necessarily require gobs of cash or anything that money can buy.  sometimes its the little things that matter the most.

i'm a creative thinker and i believe that creativity is an important force in the universe, so this is usually the day that i give Kwanzaa presents. i got caught out there early on, making greens for our extra-special watch night eve dinner but thankfully i managed to pull it off anyway.

i make the best pound cake in the world.  don't believe me? just ask anyone that's ever had a slice. some folks call it scratch cake because you make it from scratch and it's so basic and simple -- eggs, cream, salt, etc -- but it's really remarkably light and delicious.  the recipe is a family secret that has been a part of us for years and is passed down to each female child that is a direct descendant, which kind of makes sense. your daughter in law may not know how to cook but the girl child you raise definitely will.

if you are black, if you know what pound cake is and why it matters and what its supposed to taste like -- and yes, if you are from the south (because we maintain black folk traditions that other regions don't know of or discard for the sake of "progress") -- a slice of this cake instantly transports you to your grandmother's kitchen, your mother's dinner table, your neighbor's house for thanksgiving.  and everyone's pound cake is different. it's like a signature. they are all the same, with those same basic ingredients and somehow, they are radically different, and who knows what that's about.

this is a snapshot of jimmy carbone of jimmy's no. 43 on e. 7th street in new york city and myself, with his kwanzaa present. he's the dopest chef ever. he brought all that ridiculously delicious food to the jazz age lawn party last summer but he's been holding it down in the lower east side since, like, forever.  i became an instant fan when he had a little place called mugsy's chow chow. but that was a long time ago. that was the 90s. (!!!)

i think jimmy likes his kwanzaa present...!

i always feel bad about making scratch cake for kwanzaa because once you eat it its gone.  i wanted to make things that would last. i wanted to knit sweaters. a scarf! something that you could hold onto later. cake doesn't work that way. when i told that to jimmy, he laughed and said, it's not gone yet!

and then he said something interesting.

jimmy said that it's the memory of the cake that's lasting. the memory and how that memory is created. that's what really matters: the conversation, the coming together of so many different folks that you wouldn't think had anything in common, the socializing, the connectedness. it's the moments that happen around the cake, not necessarily the cake itself. and yet, yes -- it's the cake. 

then he waxed poetic for a moment, about how as a kid in massachusetts, his italian parents would bundle him and his siblings up during the holiday season and they'd go visit family and friends and bring lots of food, and what a bonding experience that was, how important that was for all of them.

and then he very sweetly offered a slice of cake to everyone at the bar -- the happy couple next to me, on their way to a phish concert; the guy reading a book and eating alone; the beautiful skinny bespectacled bartender who inhaled hers in one bite and, laughing, dove in for another. and then he gave some to other customers. and we all had that beautiful moment. 

of course, i had to tell jimmy about watch night and freedom eve. he'd never heard of it. not surprisingly, he hadn't heard of the traditional meal that happens afterwards, either.

the next time i see jimmy, i'll bring him some gullah rice. (he's never heard of that, too.)

Winter Bucket List 2013 -- The Harlem Edition (Kwanzaa, Kwanzaa, Kwanzaa!)

Comedy Central

None of the winter bucket lists I see online ever resemble mine. Not that I wouldn't want to go on a carriage ride or make gingerbread houses. That sounds cute but I'm way more likely to be found staying up all night making Kwanzaa presents or sipping my specialty Mexican hot chocolate at a black folk pot luck.

There's no getting away from Christmas once it explodes sometime in the fall (!!!) but the truth is, Kwanzaa has nothing to do with Christmas, it's not religious and it's not an anti-white people holiday alternative. Like a lot of things black folks do, Kwanzaa is something that we do for our selves -- to unite us, to honor our past as African-Americans, our collective history and our ancestors, and to reconnect with our purpose, as individuals and as a community. If white people are down with that and want to participate, hooray. There's always plenty of culture to go around. If not, oh well. It's really not about them.

Kwanzaa is much more fun than Christmas -- and for me, it's very personal. You have to make the gifts you give -- something that stymies a lot of people I know, until they realize that the gift doesn't have to be tangible.  The day you give the gift can infuse it with even more significance. If you're not craftsy, educational gifts are encouraged.  The Kwanzaa gifts I have given are pretty out there, I suppose.  You give what you have. You give who you are. I have been a pretty good wingman, agony aunt and third wheel in times past. I've given a voice lesson and a performance clinic here and there.  Once I even taught a friend how to smother a chicken.  And my pound cakes -- as well as my tomato pies -- are kind of legendary.

There are hard and fast rules but I don't live and die by them. I make them my own. Will you light Kwanzaa beeswax candles? Maybe.  Truth is, my libation ceremony will probably be cocktails with a few sisters at a speakeasy.

Lemmie put it to you this way. Christmas means running around in malls and bouncing around online and buying presents -- and if you run out of ideas or time or patience, Christmas means sending gift cards or cash money. You must send something. Kwanzaa means giving someone something very personal, something that you make with your own hands, something from you that will hopefully resonate with them in some way. You must give of yourself.

Here's a winter bucket list that may look a lot like yours.

1. Get a wreath for your door -- or better yet (in the spirit of Kwanzaa),  make two and give one to a friend. 
2. If you haven't already, it's probably a good idea to start assembling your Kwanzaa presents. (Un)fortunately, (most of) the things I make are edible. This year, I'm getting especially craftsy for a select few. (Finally!)  Otherwise, I'm locked in my kitchen for beef stew (Evan), smothered pork chops (Jane), several quarts of Mexican hot chocolate (you know who you are) and -- of course -- pound cake.
3. Wait until that (Southern) ATL visit and go sit on Black Santa's lap at Greenbriar Mall. You know that's my story.  Black Santa, baby. (More on that here.)
4. You wanna watch a holiday movie? Forget Elf. Watch Bad Santa with a bunch of black folk -- unedited, of course.  You'll laugh so hard, you'll scream.
5. Go to The Apollo Theater's Kwanzaa Celebration: Regeneration Night on Friday, December 27th.
6. Go to American Museum of Natural History's Kwanzaa 2013: 35th Anniversary Celebration on Saturday, December 28th.
7. The dance company Batoto Yetu will celebrate the seven principles of Kwanzaa with movement and festivities at Aaron Davis Hall on Saturday, December 28th.
8. From December 26 - 28, The African Burial Ground has a pretty spectacular Kwanzaa celebration -- the 10th Anniversary Observance of the Rites of Ancestral Return -- that includes short film, visual art, live music and performances that run the gamut from spoken word to The Black Nutcracker. And yes -- all of it is free and open to the public but reservations are required.
9. The Studio Museum in Harlem has Hands On Kwanzaa Celebration -- art making activities and an interactive performance program for kids -- on Target Free Sunday, December 29th.
10. Skip the Bridge and Tunnel crowd, the tourists and the rest of the amateurs and celebrate New Year's Eve Eve instead of New Year's Eve.  (That way, you can enjoy First Night and still have fun with revelers. More on that here.) You can catch me and my jazz quintet The Hot Five at The Player's Club in Grammercy Park on Monday, December 30th for The Salon's annual fete and December 31st for The Player's Club and their New Year's Eve gala.

sea change

something in me is so exhausted. i can feel it all the way down into my bones. it's probably jet lag but wow. i feel sluggish most of the time, like a bear stumbling around in a cave. or a caveman stumbling around in a bear. it's the strangest thing. i'm conking out around 9pm every night on mpb's shoulder, like clockwork. he coaxes me into bed around 10pm or so. when he told me this the other day -- i could feel myself drifting off but i assumed it was at a much later time -- i balked. who is that girl? i wondered. i used to tip into bed at 2am every night, happily buzzing with ideas. i knew that when he kissed me goodnight around 11pm, i had a full evening of chatting, fingerpicking, channel surfing, snacking, netflix movie watching and whatnot ahead of me. now i'm straining to stay awake after dinner.  and dinner isn't the happytime grubfest it used to be. i seem to be incapable of eating more than half of whatever is on my plate.

believe it or not, snacks are a thing of the past.  i can't believe i'm saying this but i think i've lost my innate desire for junk food.  how do i know this, you may ask?  i passed by a gigantic bag of salt and pepper potato chips at trader joes today. it cried out to me like an old friend. i heard it loud and clear. and i remember thinking, if i buy that, i'll just eat it. so i didn't. i didn't get those fat-free cheese curls, either. i got the seaweed.

yeah, it's probably jet lag. once i start boxing again, i'll feel exhausted, yet energized. 

still and all, i can't help but wonder if this is the result of several seasonal bouts with the eat clean program last year and my insisting on incorporating certain habits into my everyday life as a result. i stopped eating starches, wheat gluten, peanuts and soy products on a regular basis, and all the bloat and puffiness left my midsection. that, combined with touring in europe so often -- i don't physically exhaust myself every day when i'm there but the food is cleaner and i tend not to eat or drink junk -- may be the things that have forced this change on me.

or maybe i'm just depressed.

wait, what happened to me in 2012?

i can't remember the last time i made a new year's resolution. it's probably because i list my goals constantly -- dated, well organized, layered -- and i make every effort to prioritize them. that bright, shining end of the year moment is kind of lost on me because i'm resolving to do things every day -- and then i do them, by any means necessary.

every year is more and more of a blur, so instead of dwelling on what i didn't do last year, i decided to make a list of exactly what i did do.

let's see now...2012 was the year that i

sang harmonies with joseph arthur on the david letterman show

was featured as a jazz dancer -- doing the black bottom, of all things -- on boardwalk empire. (that's my second time on that show, folks.  jazz dancing is a fun gig, but i won't quit until i'm a gangster's moll...)

had two stellar sold out performances at the apollo theater's music cafe of the billie holiday project, a show i performed in and wrote.

opened for and sang with the legendary jazz vocalist jon hendricks at the 35th annual harlem stage gala

got accepted to the nyu/tisch school of the arts mfa program

wrote a bunch of rock and roll songs with my bennett guitar

got a banjo (on permanent loan, sort of -- thanks michael!) and started learning how to play it (fingerpicking is hell on earth.)

started to get really good at boxing -- and LOVE it
(hitting men strategically, with power and velocity, and outmaneuvering them, is sublime.)

was selected as a semi-finalist in the performance category of the unsigned only music competition 

won a blue ribbon at the jazz age lawn party's pie contest -- twice!  (fyi: the first one in june, best savory, was a tomato pie and the second one in august, most unusual, was a vinegar pie. dee-lish!)

threw myself a birthday party with plenty of cool friends and low country fare

danced again (something i was always told i was lousy at, by the way) for a new idea i'm growing with the francesca harper project at the first annual harlem arts festival in marcus garvey park -- on my birthday!

toured europe singing in guitarist james "blood" ulmer's black rock experience that included g. calvin weston on drums and mark petersen on bass

accompanied myself on guitar (for the very first time ever!) and premiered a few of my original country tunes at a sold out gig deep in the heart of brooklyn

recorded ruler of my heart, an allen toussaint song made famous by irma thomas, for a tribute album dedicated to him -- with the little big band swingadelic

sat in with the hot sardines and sang sweet sue at the vintage subway swing party/train ride

got a beautiful soprano martin ukulele as a christmas present from mpb

performed with my quintet the hot five in the salon's fifth annual new year's eve eve fete

sang in the new year at the astor room

yeesh. i guess 2012 was kinda dope... 

The Next Gig: The Salon's New Year's Eve Eve

frankly, i prefer hanging out on new year's eve eve -- there's less hassle in general, things aren't too crowded or touristy and if you find the right situation, you can lounge and have fun in a high octane enviornment with a minimal amount of fuss.  new year's eve has turned into a real amateur hour in this town. there are all these things that you're supposed to do -- like going to times square to watch the ball drop, for example -- that aren't really that much fun at all.

you want fun? here it is: the salon's new year's eve eve.

this happy gathering of well-heeled swing scene stalwarts is an annual, elegant, non-stop party of epic proportions: over 40 performers -- jazz musicians, banjo pickers, burlesque dancers, djs spinning 78s on vitrolas and the like -- take over 3 floors of the dl, a beautiful newly restored hotspot in the lower east side.

each floor will have a different band, a different vibe. the first floor will be dedicated to the 1920s -- a lot of hot jazz from red hook ramblers, a lot of crooning from gelber and manning and of course lovely tunes to dance to from dj michael "the barber" haar of the ragged phonograph program.

he's not the only dj, either. each floor will have one.

the second floor -- the red room, lined with red walls, laced with red chandeliers and studded with red furniture -- will be filled with blues from ron sunshine and his band.

the third floor -- where i'll be, for an early set -- has a beautiful water fountain, huge tropical trees and a retractable rooftop that's kind of breathtaking because you can feel the clear expanse of sky hanging just above your head. i'll be with my quintet the hot five, playing an extra special first set crammed with billie holiday's rare sides and well known tunes. i'm out by 10pm and then george gee and his orchestra takes the stage for the rest of the evening.

the hot five:

todd londagin: trombone, vocals

hilliard greene: bass

warren smith: drums

al street: guitar

patience higgins: tenor sax

now, doesn't this sound like a fun night out?

if you can't lindy, don't sweat it -- just show up early for a complimentary dance lesson.  there's hand crafted cocktails for your drinking pleasure, of course.  and yes, lots of burlesque all over the place.

i'm looking forward to dressing up like its 1935, seeing a lot of familiar faces from the swing scene, sitting in with ron for at least one song and going home early, like a sensible little bird. after all, i'll be chirping on new year's eve, at the astor room.

doors open at 7pm. they'll be ripping it up until 2am, easily. get your tickets in advance here for $25. (vip tickets are available, too.) the cover at the door is $30 but here's a tip: if you say "yehoodi" at the door, they'll give you $5 off.  huzzah!

see you there!

right now

right now/at this moment/currently, i'm

1. probably curled up on the sofa and having an after dinner/before bed hot toddy
2. reading the devil in the white city
3. heading to spa castle this week
4. wondering what i'll wear for this year's new year's eve eve bash. (if i can get back into what i've got, i won't have to buy anything else...)
5. totally in love with my fitbit one
6. eating clean for the rest of the month with mpb
7. doing a wintertime kccm castor oil challenge
8. rewriting my musical the billie holiday project
9. submitting said musical to nyc theaters next week as a christmas present to myself
10. taking guitar lessons from this guy

i've come a long way, baby

just when i think new york city has wrung the very life essence from the marrow of my bones, just when i think i'm done with this place because i simply can't afford to make art here, just when the fantasies of leaving overwhelm the dream of staying and staying alive creatively, something wonderful happens. i turn a corner and even though its pissing down rain and misery as far as my eye can see, the sun shines inside me -- relentless, insistent, defiant -- and everything shifts forward, everything changes and changes for the best. everything makes sense.



when someone tells me that i've wasted my time at any point in my life, all i can think is, why am i wasting my time listening to you tell me that? the truth is, there is no such thing as wasted time. not in the grand scheme of things. where ever i was, i was right where i needed to be, to change and become the person that God wants me to be. where ever i was, i was where God wanted me to be, to learn that lesson. where ever i was is a far cry from where i am now. everything is streamlined. minimized.



i am draped in bar chords. i wear them every day. there are bits of lyrics and phrases floating just above my head, just waiting for me to look up and scribble them down. pretty melodies are a luminous day-glo halo that never comes off, never goes away. and somewhere inbetween piano lessons and boxing sessions, i am gliding through the city in a shroud of humility and gratefulness. i feel a great deal of joy and sweet relief. i feel safe. i feel divinely protected. i feel loved.

God bless us, everyone.

The 2011 Emerging Artists Winter Residency Performances at The Kitchen, 3/21

This is a showcase for an idea I've been carrying around in the pit of me for way too long -- a one person show about reparations called The Big Payback. Actually, I was actively developing it off and on awhile back but other things rushed in as is often the case in New York City and the project got derailed. The winter residency with The Field was an ideal way to grow this concept all over again.

I shall always be forever grateful for those many rehearsal hours that eagerly awaited me, deep in the heart of West Chelsea. I trudged through the filthy snow in the dark, pushed and shoved along by the wind and sometimes the black ice. Armed with a laptop, a pair of indestructible snowpants and a vivid imagination, I made my way to the safety of a warm incubatory space. Unbelievable, how much of this piece I fleshed out in that room.

I should spend every winter hibernating creatively. It would be worth it, if I could always have results like this.

I always meant to have a live music component but this has evolved to include multimedia, too -- images, video, some interviews maybe -- which really excites me for some strange reason. I really want to be inclusive on this subject and not just go on about 40 acres and a mule because clearly, reparations is a global issue.

Now that I have a wonderful director in Mr. Ken Roberson to steer this project, a rough draft -- and with this performance, a videotaped segment -- this train has finally left the station.

For tickets and more information, please click here.

The Field Art Grows Here Serving Performing Artists Since 1986

Emerging Artist Residency Showcase Presented by The Field Monday, March 21st 7:30pm at The Kitchen 512 West 19th Street between 10th and 11th Avenues TICKETS: $15 In Advance with Visa or Mastercard or Cash at the door Join us for an evening of works-in-progress as the Winter 2011 Emerging Artist Residents harvest their creative crop... Artists include: Queen Esther Maija Garcia Sara Zimmerman Josselyn Levinson Yanghee Lee Marie Christine Katz Becky Radway Dance Projects Workshops facilitated by Susan Oetgen

a break in the ice

yeah, so...

once i got the winter 2011 emerging artist residency through the field in december, i thought that would be more than enough until the end of the season. there's a lot of work involved. we have weekly meetings, i have weekly rehearsals, and there are consultations and talks to consider, along with a final performance at the kitchen on march 21. january found me trudging through chelsea's west side in the snow and freezing cold to the warmth of an open studio space and fresh ideas, to flesh out whatever was inside me. i spent my days buried in rewrites and running lines aloud in our harlem apt to bounce them around and make them come alive somehow, leaving the house for twice daily boxing sessions, church and occasionally groceries. my self-imposed lockdown was complete.

nevermind the fact that i have to finish recording and mixing my black country rock album, that i've got the "billy meets billie" project in february at the university of the streets to rehearse for or the salon's anniversary bash at the edison ballroom in early march. i'll get to those tidbits later.

the thing is, i had every intention to stay in lockdown until my father's birthday in march. but inspiration is a funny thing. it can't be partitioned off or legistated or controlled. once something triggers it, it simply flows. in the best of circumstances -- that is, if i get out of the way and don't undo things -- it keeps flowing. once the ideas started to run over me from one project, they started to spill onto everything else.

i'm not afraid to fall through the ice and drown. thanks to my time in nyc as an outsider, i know how to swim very well. there may be an undertow, but that's to be expected when the pull is this strong.

if you've been reading this blog, you already know this -- so for the uninitiated and/or uninformed, here's something you should know about me as an artist.

i'm not a replicator. i'm an originator. that means most of the work i do comes from what i create. everyone that calls themselves an artist doesn't do these things. as a matter of fact, most of the creative folk i know patiently wait by the phone for it to ring so they can make a living. for most of them, developing and executing their own ideas is unthinkable -- for lots of reasons, not the least of which is that they don't have any ideas in the first place. needless to say, fear of so many things -- one's own potential, for example -- can sometimes play a stronger part than anyone would care to imagine. but i digress.

i'll tell you what i'm working on later. for now, all i can say is that i'm working. hard.

yep

at the moment, i'm listening to murder ballads, making lists and having a naked protein shake, and messing with garageband. (i'm definitely taking a mac workshop to figure this out. if i do it on my own, it'll take forever.) my boyfriend, a really old danelectro guitar, is within easy reach. it's time for the rpm challenge -- i'm going to write an album in a month. to tell the truth and shame the devil, i've already got the songs. they're in bits and pieces all over the place, in various books i scribble lyrics and stuff into at random. it'll probably be the next americana album -- but there's some other stuff i have in mind, too. i'll put it up, but God knows if i want anyone to actually hear it.

i'm still pissed that i overslept and missed my first boxing session. the next one is at 6:45pm. someone is getting pummeled tonight. and it's not going to be me.

it's going to be a busy month -- with babies! -- so i'm going to blog every day of it. this month's theme on nablopomo is CHARACTER, whatever that means. of course, i'm working on a script or two, so there's plenty of characters there. and there's the fiber of one's being to consider, i suppose. we'll see where all of it takes me.

it's the dead of winter. what a beautiful time to make art.

the flow of things

this is the trajectory.

i get out of the house as soon as i can, preferrably before 9am. it's frightfully cold. i zip to 18th street, drop off some goat soup to vito, hit up the container store for these under the counter baskets for my bathroom sink and my kitchen, then go to the apple store on the upper west side to take care of business, which doesn't take as long as i thought it would.

i run all the way back to harlem, to an at-home rehearsal with jon diaz for a solo show idea i'm growing in my winter residency about reparations called the big payback. a part of the reason why jon is so fantastic is because nothing i throw at him is ever out of bounds. i've got beef marinating for stew. as we rehearse, i cook it down while jon polishes off the last of that goat soup, which is shockingly good. he's never had goat before, but he says he'll try anything once. good man, that jon.

by the time i leave the house again, the stew is on a low boil on the back of the stove. over the course of the rest of my day, i will think about it periodically and wonder if i haven't burned down our apartment.

i actually make it to a boxing class -- on time. i push myself hard. my teacher, who is a total eastern european junk yard dog, is suitably pleased. afterwards, i stand under the shower and exfoliate my skin into oblivion. then i sit in the steam room until every ache in my backside disintegrates into nothingness. this is probably the best part of my day. maybe because when things are physical, i can see and feel the progress i make. although it's pretty obvious that i'm way better than i was when i first picked it up, and jon is so encouraging, i don't feel as though i'm making progress on guitar. i'm sure that i am because i'm playing. boxing is different. my body is reacting more and falling into position with less effort -- and my thinking while i fight is less deliberate. there's a flow to things. my stamina is increasing. i can last longer.

no wonder boxing makes me so happy.

i get home by 11pm. my permanent boyfriend had dinner with one of his best pals -- a guy i openly refer to as his girlfriend -- and he's sitting on the couch, having a glass of wine and watching the daily show. the place smells amazing. i tuck myself under his arm, against his chest and suddenly, i'm exhausted. but i can't go to sleep. instead of wine, i opt for coffee. after he goes to bed, i sit up and work on rewrites for an hour or more. clearly, i've got work to do.

...and that's my day.

the shortest day

tomorrow is winter solstice, the shortest day of the year. basically, it's the unofficial beginning of winter in the northern hemisphere. because of the earth's tilt on its axis away from the sun, we're basically getting less sunlight than our brethren in australia, for example. winter will happen for them in june.

here's the thing. a full moon and a full and total lunar eclipse are expected -- very unusual news. a full moon has happened before on winter solstice, in 1999 and 1980, respectively. the last lunar eclipse during the first day of winter, on the other hand, was in 1378 -- 632 years ago. there won't be another one on the night of winter solstice for 84 years.

and as if all of that weren't enough, there's also an ursids meteor shower in the offing. normally, it would be difficult to see but the eclipse should allow most viewers who are able to enjoy quite a show. and mercury is in retrograde!

i hate to sound like a complete hippie but i'm going to ask a rhetorical question, anyway. winter solstice, a full moon, a total eclipse: what does the occurrence of this rare trifecta mean?

when i think of winter solstice, i imagine filthy malnourished peasants looking somewhat glazed over and comatose, living in a darkened, iced over, snow covered europe and scandanavia, sitting around a blazing fire with a huge black cauldron resting upon it, boiling meat or offal of some sort, as some weary looking woman sits in a corner, shivering involuntarily and perhaps breast feeding a screaming infant. while that's not necessarily the whole truth, it's not far from it. winter solstice was dreaded by many because the nights were so long and dark and there wasn't much food. the smart move was to do as little activity as possible, sleep in and stay warm. it would probably have meant more births in the spring and summer months -- and that would mean the babies would be more likely to survive.

depression, i imagine, was everywhere. today we call it seasonal affective disorder or sad, a very real affliction that affects millions. back then, sven's only real option would have been to eat more mutton and get over it. nowadays, he should simply turn all the lights on.

because of the waning sunlight and its inevitable return, the concept of birth and death/rebirth became associated with the winter solstice, so there's a lot of feasting and celebrating in pagan cultures and many religions -- and needless to say, it's also a time of deep inner reflection and hibernation.

when i see an image of the full moon, i hear a coyote howling in the distance -- and of course, that means a werewolf is nearby. or a lunatic. there are lots of lunar myths out there, steeped in european folklore and traditions, and astrology augments some of this. because the media plays on these notions so freely, its a part of our pop lexicon -- so when crazy stuff happens on a full moon, everybody seems to know why. while it's interesting to note that none of that stuff has ever been scientifically proven, folks have been using the gravitational pull of the moon and working within its phases to do everything from grow plants and cut hair to sell stocks.

my great-grandmother, who worked the soil on a daily basis and read her farmer's almanac religiously, taught me about the moon. i understood the difference between waxing and waning, the importance of a full moon and what to do in each case at a very early age. one of my earliest memories of her is when we would clip plants, put the cuttings in water, sit them in on the kitchen windowsill and watch them grow roots literally overnight. the moon pulled them out, she explained. i knew the moon was pulling everything else, too.

she was the one who taught me that the moon was strongest when it was full. if it's true that the moon represents female energy, it's interesting that there will be a total lunar eclipse -- with a partial solar eclipse expected on january 4. (apparently, these things come in pairs.) anyone on the right side of the earth can see it. the lunar eclipse turns the full moon into a new moon, for a little while.

everyone knows what an eclipse is and watching it happen is nothing short of breathtaking but what's revealing is what it symbolizes.

i suppose there's a grand argument that can be made as to whether the planets spinning around us have any real effect on our lives. i don't know if there's any magic in the air or not. but i'm certainly standing on the verge of something. events like this one give me reason to pause and wonder what it is.

Don't Eat The Yellow Snow

more old kudzu from a few years ago that i'm rethinking/reconfiguring. enjoy.

Just when I thought we were in the clear, I woke up to a near blizzard a few days ago. It was the worst storm the city had ever seen since white folks started keeping records of such things. I stared out my kitchen window, transfixed. Even though I was watching it happen, it was still hard to believe. Fluffy stuff was billowing through the air in millions of tiny delicate specks that eventually landed gently somewhere below me, with no end in sight. The day before, it was a filthy cityscape. Now everything was covered with sugar. It was ethereal. The white sheen of the snow against the pale sky made it all gleam and resonate with a purity that was supposed to be everything that the city was not. And yet, somehow whenever it snowed hard enough to bury everything in a blinding whiteness, I felt that I had discovered the essence of this place.

I had to go outside to be a part of it.

Of course, it's always a bad idea to go outside and play in the snow when you're unemployed because you could catch a horrible cold or the flu or something that's just as insidious. I have health coverage, though, so I didn't care. Still, being sick can be pricey. I decided to walk up the block to Broadway to see what was going on and then come straight back to my place. It was only a block but it was a long walk because no one had shoveled the sidewalks. I had to struggle past snowdrifts that were once parked cars and bags of garbage. When I got there I couldn't believe what I saw: nothing. I mean, nothing. There was no action anywhere. No traffic. No crackheads wandering around, like lost children. Not one bodega doing business. Even the mailman didn't make his rounds--and according to his company's little slogan, that's not an option. It wasn’t even that cold.

You know what made it really bizarre? It was deathly quiet.

I stood out there for awhile, all by myself, taking it all in. I knew it wouldn't last. In a few days, there would be an unholy stench from the curb because of the garbage. The fluffiness in the street that resembled huge mounds of marshmallow crème would turn into brown slush because of the cars and the exhaust and the foot traffic. There would be patches of yellow snow everywhere. And then everything would look filthier than it did before the blizzard. But for the moment everything is pure and clean and bright and real. For the moment I imagine that this is what it feels like to be trapped inside an Elsworth Kelly. For the moment all the flowing bits slow down around me, like a Peckinpaw killing spree. For the moment, I'm not in New York City. I’m not anywhere at all.