Don't say I never gave you anything...

i'm eating clean so of course i'm craving all kinds of things i can't have. a slice of this cornbread is definitely one of them. it'll probably be awhile before i eat corn or wheat gluten or dairy again.  my body really likes to eat clean so some of these changes will have to be permanent.  i'll be making this a lot for my friends, so i thought i'd share this fairly simple, delicious recipe with you -- if you aren't on the clean program, that is.

this recipe is foolproof, it's a crowd-pleaser and it's really delicious.  once you get into the habit of making it, you'll be coming up with all kinds of excuses to make it. ideally, it'll be one of those things to throw in the oven when you're having a few guests over for dinner or if you happen to be the dinner guest and pot luck is on the menu. enjoy!

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three layer cornbread!

ingredients:

1 cup cornmeal (coarse)
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup unbleached flour
1/4 cup wheat bran or germ
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
1/4 to 1/2 cup of honey
1/4 cup of oil or melted butter
3 cups milk or buttermilk

directions:

combine dry ingredients in one bowl.
combine wet ingredients in another bowl.
mix them together thoroughly.
pour into a well oiled 9x9 inch pan.

bake at 350F (or 176C) for 50 minutes.

prayer of the day

Vintage Kudzu: "The Sights and The Sounds"

here's a snapshot -- taken from my old kudzu entries -- of what my moment-to-moment harlem life was like 10 years ago. enjoy!

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The Sights and The Sounds

Wake up to the sounds of Johnny Cash singing The Beast In Me on your Zumbidor.  Get up and drink a quart of water because you know you don’t drink enough of it.  Check The Weather Channel.  Jump into your gas station attendant clothing, grab your headphones and go to the gym.  You don’t want to go but you know that if you don’t do it now, you won’t do it at all.  As you leave your apartment, greet the children across the hall with their mother, the super who’s mopping the halls and stairwells and the grandma in the window of the ground floor apartment --- in Spanish, of course. Make a right and head for Riverside Drive.  Pass a crackhead or two and be sure to say “Buenas.” You know they will. They’re always so polite to you. 

It’s about a 10 minute walk to the gym inside Riverbank State Park.  It’s sunny and it feels like San Francisco outside.  You don’t like that chilly breeze.  Something has to get you going.  You crank The Circle Jerks, Fugazi, The Sex Pistols/God Save The Queen, The Buzzcocks/What Do I Get? And then you remember that Rancid is coming to CBGB’s soon, that Reverend Horton Heat is coming even sooner than that.  You love those bands.  You must get tickets. 

You get to the gym.  You’re listening to Manu Chao.  It’s relatively empty.  Lots of older Latino men, a few black girls here and there.  The Dominican guy at the front who monitors the room touches his heart and points at you and then he sticks out  his tongue at you and makes a face.  You do the exact same thing to him.  He loves it. You love it too and you don’t know why.

You make it through your weightlifting routine with Manu Negra and then you pull out Fatboy Slim to get you through an intense 30 minutes on that treadmill.  When you’re done, you’re dripping with sweat.  On your way out, shove your Dominican monitor buddy off of his chair as he’s talking to someone else.  He almost falls off and shakes his fist at you, pretending to be mad.

The Replacements/A Little Mascara gets you out the building and up the street because you like it so much, you play it three times.   Chris Whitley/Automatic Love is what gets you into your apartment. With any luck, it’s only around 9am.

You don’t eat anything until after 12 noon. You pop early Everything But The Girl into your jambox, and jump in the shower.  You exfoliate with your favorite scrub cream, that sudsy stuff from Aveda. Of course the phone rings several times while you’re in there.  Good thing you put the cordless on the toilet.

Once you’re out and smelling “fresher than thou”, you jump on the internet and do business---returning e-mails, synching your Palm, making phone calls, confirming audition appointments and “go-sees” and checking in with your manager.   You call your parents.  They’re not home.  Your manager has sides for you: two movies, a musical and an industrial.  All of that Everything But The Girl reminds you of when you scooped ice cream for a living in Austin back in the day, so you play XTC/Skylarking for old time’s sake.  You make yourself a protein shake to go and head up Riverside Drive by bus to your manager’s place.  You forgot to charge your cellphone.  You plug it in as you head out the door.  As you leave, you are listening to Derek and the Dominoes/Layla, the deluxe reissue.  You have three auditions this afternoon.  Mentally you are packing your rolling zipfront suitcase while you are on the bus.  While you’re out, you run errands.  You listen to the soundtrack of I am Sam and wonder why Paul Westerberg can’t get it together.  You’re genuinely surprised at how much you love Rufus Wainwright’s voice.  Enough Beatles.  You start start thinking about Rancid again, so you switch to The Cramps/You Got Good Taste.  Some hip-looking black guy stops you at the bank and asks you what you’re listening to, because “it looks like you’re really enjoying it.”  You think about making something up, but you don’t.  When you tell him, he makes a weird face.  You don’t give him a chance to ask why, so he leaves you alone.  A word floats above his head as he walks away: YUTZ. 

When you get back, you warm up your voice, sip green tea, run lines and make more phone calls, pack your bag, pack your purse, put on a slight amount of make-up, dress up and get out.  While you’re running around, you’re listening to Soundgarden, Rage Against The Machine, AC/DC to keep yourself going.  You don’t get back until around 7pm.  When you do, you’re absolutely ravenous.  Your cool neighbors Paul & Chad made lasagna and bring some over for you.  You toss yourself a salad, throw the lasagna in the oven and listen to Charlie Christian’s box set while you read the paper and answer/make phone calls.  

 Here are your options:  Do you a. go to some open bar industry party, filled with bony models, chatty stylists/promoters and people who call themselves actors; b. go to see a cool band all the way in the lower east side, virtually a million miles from where you are now; c. eat dinner in your underwear and bunny slippers with your feet up and then take a nice long hot bath? 

covering the basics, part 1: rethinking food

i've done the clean program several times before this but for some strange reason, my latest foray into the wide, wide world of eating clean is causing too many profound changes in my life.  i can't stop decluttering and cleaning my apartment, for instance. i'm having a lot of epiphanies about my life that are exploding like firecrackers all over the place.  my hair and my nails are growing like crazy.  all good things.

i know that i've reached a fork in the road.  no longer can i eat with abandon, the way i used to when i was a kid. i can no longer eat anything that i want and i can no longer eat without thinking. my stomach has changed.  what i could eat then, i can't handle anymore.  the startling thought is that maybe i never could -- and i ignored the signs that told me so for the sake of food, glorious food. if i want a healthy, lean strong body, i have to eat consciously and carefully from now on. i'm not going to be vegan obsessive about it -- just aware, whatever that means.  this process is me figuring out what that means.  right now it means rethinking how i think about food.

i'm kind of pissed off that food is no longer fun, that i can't eat whatever i want whenever i want and that all of this feels like so much work and sacrifice and discipline. but then again, i'm tired of working against my body. and i'm especially tired of carrying around this extra weight that's keeping me from wearing everything in my closet.  i'm committed to my all around great health. so that's that.

here's the newest revelation: dairy is out. a random piece of cheese here or there is one thing but chugging milk or making an elaborate cheese plate for dinner is totally off my radar. yeesh! the things you find out when you do a little research...!

Source: 25.media.tumblr.com via Dennis on Pinterest

What I Do For A Living, Part 3: "You didn't write that...did you?"

i have always loved to read and write.

i can't remember when expressing myself on paper with words was anything other than effortless.  i'm sure this has something to do with my stay-at-home mother who taught me how to read at such an early age. when i was three, there were letters and then there were small words and then there were dr. seuss books. by the time i hit kindergarten, i could read with the comprehension of a kid twice my age. 

i zipped through one advanced placement english class after another with relative ease, churning out essays and whatnot at will. when i was 12, an english teacher insisted that i turn in a journal as a weekly assignment and i've kept one ever since. when i was in college at ut austin as a freelance writer for a student newspaper, i thought it was kind of kitschy to get paid to write, but that was it. it wasn't until i came to new york city that writing mattered professionally.

what happened?

strange but true: when i came to new york city, i thought talent actually mattered. that's right: i honestly believed that if i did a great audition for a show, i'd get it because i was the best one for the part.  i didn't realize that there were all these other factors at work. like my height. or someone else's height in relation to mine. or if my size 4 body fit into the size 16 costume, or headpiece, or whatever costume i had to wear. or whether or not someone behind a desk thought that i was pretty enough.  or my blackness. yeah -- i know, right? believe it or not, i honestly thought: "this is theater. everyone has the willing suspension of disbelief so it doesn't matter that i'm black. i'll audition for every female role in my age range and my talent will get me the work." it never dawned on me that i could be the best one for the part and not get it because i couldn't fit into the costume or somebody thought that i was ugly or i was the wrong kind of black girl for that part, because the negro doing the casting was colorstruck.  none of that ever entered my mind.

when it finally did, i was profoundly depressed. i didn't believe that i was pretty enough to do film and tv -- and even if i were, i wouldn't really get to act.  theater and musical theater was my home base. with this realization, it was gone.

and then for some reason, i went to see john leguizamo in mambo mouth at the american place theater, and that's when all the lights came on. i had never seen a solo show.  i didn't know that such a thing existed. as i watched him work, all i could think was, i can do that. i went home that night and wrote a monologue, almost as a reflex. it just fell right out of me. the next thing i knew, i was performing it at ps 122. two one person shows and a ton of showcases, workshops and festivals later, i've got a sold out run at joe's pub for my newest idea, queen esther: unemployed superstar.

all of a sudden, a whole world of options opened up to me. i was no longer at the mercy of a casting agent.  i didn't have to wait for the phone to ring.  if it did ring, that was terrific but if it didn't, i could employ myself. i came up with ideas, i developed them, i performed them. boom-POW, just like that. ideas oozed out of me all the time.  keeping that journal since childhood shook a lot of them loose without my fully understanding what was happening. eventually, i shifted gears, started writing lyrics and songs -- and that meant more work.

last april, several performers and i -- francesca harper, charles wallace and keith thomas, respectively -- performed the billie holiday project, a show that i'm still developing, at the apollo theater's music cafe.  how strange was it to chat with people in the audience afterwards, so genuinely surprised that i wrote it.  for those who don't know me at all, getting accepted to nyu's tisch school of the arts mfa program was an astonishing feat. the real coup will be finding a way to pay for it.

what happened? all at once, i realized that i'm an originator, not a replicator.  there have been rough moments, sure -- but i haven't looked back. i can't change who i am.

(to paraphrase paul harvey: "...and now you know the rest of the story.")

spring cleaning

i'm doing a lot of deep cleaning at home so shifting gears and doing the clean program seems like a natural progression.  today is day 2 of 21 days of eating clean.

the truth is, i've been pretty sedentary lately.  i do my five miles a day, thanks to my fitbit but apparently that's not enough to keep my body from turning into a chunk of solid lard. unbelievable but true: i can't remember the last time i even tried to hit a speed bag. and thanks to all that cheese i ate when i was on the road, my cholesterol is through the roof. 

i've done the clean program several times, without the shakes and pills. the first time was extremely difficult but now, not so much -- probably because i've incorporated a lot of its principles into my diet.  don't get me wrong. i fall off from time to time but the foundation is strong and thankfully its getting stronger all the time.  it's nice to pause, turn around and realize that i've grown and changed and i'm still changing for the better.

if we eat and live like our grandparents and great-grandparents -- fresh fruits and vegetables, lean meats/game, plenty of water, fresh air and exercise with no fast foods, processed foods, junk foods or sodas whatsoever -- we'll be just fine. 

What I Do For A Living, Part 2: "Didn't I see you on TV?"

when i was a kid, singing was something that i did in church.  eventually, it was something that i studied formally, in a performing arts high school.  the singing that was respected there meant having range and power and lots and lots of melisma, for the most part. everyone could sing way better than i could. singing that way meant sounding exactly like stephanie mills. or miki howard. it definitely meant sounding exactly like somebody.  i didn't sound like anybody, except myself. clearly, i wasn't doing it right.  undaunted, i moved on to other things.

i never imagined that i would ever sing professionally.  i thought that singing was the kind of thing that would come in handy if i ever did a musical or a play with music, or perhaps some light opera. i certainly didn't want to be an actress. that sounded like someone that wasn't to be taken seriously.   i didn't want to be a movie star because i didn't think i was pretty enough to be on camera.  television looked like fun -- especially the commercials  -- but i wasn't really gunning for that, either.  i wanted to be a theater actor.  i knew that i had that undefinable something that compels someone to look at someone else and i knew that this something had absolutely nothing to do with what i looked like and i knew that this something was absolutely necessary if i wanted to do anything onstage. other people were tall. other people were handsome or beautiful. other people dyed their hair blonde. other people would say or do things to "pull focus" and draw attention to themselves. i didn't do any of those things.  when i was onstage, people were compelled to look at me.  otherwise, i was roundly ignored.

you can work on your skill set until the cows come home but contrary to popular belief, that indefinable something called stage presence can't be taught.  your talent, your excellent comic timing and no, not even how attractive you are can make people want to look at you onstage.  their eye will inevitably wander to that seemingly insignificant someone the director has conveniently located in the back, on the side -- the one who is perched at the edge of the scene who is simply standing there. who are they? what are they doing?  all that nothing is really something, isn't it.

i persisted with theater and musical theater and solo performance because i was determined to do all i could with the talent that God gave me.  i didn't want to sin against my talent. i didn't want to squander it.  i'm transitioning to film and tv because a. most theater productions in new york city don't pay a living wage; b. i'm priced out of nyc, for the most part; c. the pay is cray-cray. 

here i am in a prego commercial, getting paid.



a tv producer. a screenwriter. a song doctor. a concert pianist. a filmmaker. who knows where i'll end up in this business or what i'll be doing. what i know for sure is the theater is where i started. i stepped onstage when i was a kid, curious and unafraid, i looked out into that dark sea of people and i knew and i knew and i knew and i knew and i knew. 

next up? what i do for a living, part 3: "you didn't write that -- did you?"

Pithy Thought Of The Day

What I Do For A Living, Part 1: "Aren't you a jazz singer?"

when people ask me what i do for a living, it's pretty easy to say that i'm an artist.  things tend to get dicey when i am asked to get specific.  aren't you a jazz singer?

just for the record: i'm classically trained (mezzo soprano), i've got a four octave range (my highest note is e flat above high c) and i can safely say that i've sung just about everything to pay my rent. girl group stuff. light opera. musicals. blues. soul. gospel. rhythm and blues -- old school (the real stuff) and contemporary (which is really black pop music). and yes, pop music. i've sung lead. i've sung -- and yes, arranged -- back-ups.  why not?  a gig is a gig, as far as i'm concerned.  i find that people usually get snotty about what style of music they will or won't do when they are incapable of actually playing or singing it. but that's a whole other conversation.

my next album (yep, it's almost finished!) is going to be country rock. (for more details, please check out my discography.)

asking if i'm a jazz singer is a fair question. if you see me at a gig with a swing band, for example, it's a fairly easy assumption to make. but saying that i sing jazz is like saying that i eat food. jazz is a kind of technicolor behemoth, alive with pleasure and filled to the brim with various and sundry subgenres that change and shift with any given decade, musician, trend or feel that's copped along the way. jazz is a road that never, ever really ends. it's just that complicated and it's just that simple.

things get more layered and intense when you're creating the music and/or the work opportunities that let you perform the music. somewhere along the way, i fell so far down the rabbit hole as a vocalist that originated music and work situations that i found myself singing with michael arenella and his dreamland orchestra (1920s), james "blood" ulmer (harmelodics), the billie holiday project (1930s) and my own trio/quartet/quintet (originals and standards) amongst other set-ups, can you sit in tonight situations, wedding gigs, organ trios, swing big bands, back up singer situations and what not -- all at the same time.



here i am, singing back ups with singer/songwriter joseph arthur on the david letterman show -- with mary worm, maya azucena and martha redbone.

one thing is for sure: i have to look the part when i show up, whatever that is. i can pull of the 1930s effortlessly and yes, the bombshell look is not a problem. the 1920s, on the other hand, is especially unforgiving because i'm not androgynous enough to pull of the essence of the look and i'm not committed enough to wear a corset that flattens my d cup chest. of course, all of this requires a great deal of research. i find myself reading books and sifting through photographs to figure out how to wear a brooch correctly, how to roll down my stockings, how to style my natural hair or my wig just so. and because stylistically, things change so drastically in a fast-paced decade like the 20s, i have to be very specific when i'm digging through information about that decade. needless to say, finding that just right dress is a must. i don't mind the search. i'm a vintage girl.

it's not that i enjoy playing dress up and prancing around in vintage attire. well, yes -- i do enjoy it but that's not it. not exactly. the truth is, i'm a theater actor. i do my homework. i research every role. i cover all my bases.  when i decided to take acting seriously, i realized that i was a changeling, of sorts.  i had a becoming thing with everything i did, and singing was no exception. that's a part of the reason why presentation is so important to me.  the other part of the equation is that the scene itself requires it. with most of the gigs i do -- especially the 1920s gigs -- a bigger part of the work is showing up dressed, as they say, to the nines.

 this is me, inbetween sets at michael arenella's sweetheart soiree last month. (photo credit: mpb!)

and yes -- that's just the jazz. nevermind the other stuff. (please see paragraph 2.)

next up: what i do for a living, part 2: didn't i see you on tv?

"The NRA doesn't speak for me..."

i never hear enough from gun owners like this -- probably because what he's saying is a little too close to the truth. every registered gun owner should rise up against the nra. but that's another conversation...

Flash Fiction: "Chicken Lips"

  

This month's NaBloPoMo theme is RISK. I've been revisiting some flash fiction that I'd written some time ago and I found this one that seems to have a bit of risk in it somewhere, so here you go.
 

Chicken Lips

 

It was their first date and it was a blind one, rabid with good intentions and interesting talk.  A mutual friend had set them up and Dana figured, why not, it'll be fun.  They both put on a mock game face when they met--for Marion's sake, they laughed--but there was a mutual attraction that neither of them could deny.   After awhile, they were chatting as though they'd known each other for years.

Unfortunately, something was killing her buzz. 

Every time Jason smiled at her, what little was there in the way of a mouth disappeared into the rest of his face, revealing two rows of gleaming whiteness. Dana smiled at him warmly and tried not to think about it but as the night wore on, it was all that she could think about.  The words glowed as they hovered around his head, in neon: chicken lips. After she watched him talk through the main course, she was ready to politely excuse herself and go home.  But to tell the truth, she was having a good time.  And besides--she never skipped dessert.

A question loomed over her thoughts like a cloud: Would he kiss her?  No sooner did this query appear than another floated along behind it, listlessly: If he did kiss her, what in God's name would it feel like?

That she was unlike anything that he had even remotely expected was enough to knock the wind out of Jason's Nantucket sails.  The details she gave him about herself and her life made him sputter with a mixture of bewilderment, confusion and pleasure.  He had driven his car past quite a few, locking the doors carefully as his vehicle came to a complete stop at the red light.  Perhaps there were one or two in his classes at his alma mater that he hadn't really paid any attention to.  This was certainly true at work.  And he'd certainly seen plenty in the movies, on television and those videos--music, sports, porn and otherwise.  But to have an intelligent insightful conversation with one--and a beautiful one, at that--this had never happened.

Jason, on the other hand, was exactly what Dana had expected. 

Jason was wonderful in a New England white guy kind of way.  The kind that can trace his family tree all the way back to Old England.  The kind that likes to go rock climbing on the weekends. The kind that walked through this life with the patented swagger of privelege and entitlement.  Jason had no need to stand up and demand whatever he wanted out of life. He understood from a very early age that clearly, it was already his.  An all-American birthright, if you will.  Somewhere down the line, whether they had any money or not, didn't they all come off like that to some degree?  Doing whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, with society condoning them all the way?

If my brother behaved like that, Dana thought, the cops would shoot him in the back 41 times.

As he excused himself and disappeared to the men's room, she sighed and wondered what she'd say to Marion the next day. Dana could visualize the look of disappointment on her face so easily.  How could she get out of explaining this one?  She'd have to think of something.  She always did.  Only someone who'd been in a situation with someone like this would truly empathize. As Dana nibbled on her dessert, she began to count the days leading up to the next night in with the girls and thought about how she'd describe this encounter.

Suddenly, she felt a slight pressure on the embankment next to her.  It was Jason, sliding towards her in the booth.  Here it comes, Dana thought and for a moment she closed her eyes to clear her thoughts.  When she opened them, he was very close to her.  Too close.

"Have you ever seen that movie Annie Hall?"

"Yes."

"You know that part about how they kiss each other at the beginning of the date to get the kiss overwith?  Because if they don't, Woody Allen will be thinking about it for the whole date and then the evening will be ruined?"

"I remember that scene."

"That's how I feel."

Dana looked into his face.  She could see the freckles that speckled his eyelids so delicately, so faintly, she had to resist the urge to touch them.  She wanted to tell him that they were beautiful but nothing would come out of her mouth.  She waited for the words to say and as she did, she held his gaze.

"I feel like if I don't kiss you now, I never will."

As he spoke, he came closer gradually, lowering his eyes to look at her mouth, stained with berries from her half-eaten dessert.  She held his gaze and readjusted, smiling faintly. All at once, she knew. That's why he noticed her.  That's why he harassed Marion into a blind date set-up. That's why he persued her all this time, polite and unassuming and direct.  He wanted a kiss, a real one, from big soft lips like hers that would taste like everything he'd ever wanted.  He got everything he ever wanted, didn't he?   Isn't that why this should be the one thing he doesn't get?

In that moment, Dana felt like the most powerful woman in the whole wide world.  And for a moment that seemed to last an eternity, she was. 

happy chinese new year!

Gong Hey Fat Choy!

this is the year of the snake. in china, snakes are also known as little dragons, so it seems more than appropriate that 2012 was the year of the dragon -- the yin to this year's yang. this is the year of the black water snake to be exact, according to the chinese five element astrology calendar -- more specifically, the black water snake of the wetlands. the literal translation is, the year of the snake in the grass. because calling it the year of the snake doesn't sound nearly as menacing or morose as it should, now does it.

actually, it's a little deeper than that.

chinese astronomy has a 60 year cycle that contains five 12 year cycles, with a different animal assigned to each year and a 5 element astrology calendar that seamlessly dovetails with each animal. these are two separate cycles that interact with each other. that's why you'll see every animal once every 12 years -- but you won't see that specific combination of animal and element for 60 years. not since 1953 have water and snake combined.

in china, black is the color of water (and heaven!), the element that corresponds this year with the snake, which contains mostly fire.  (hm. sounds volatile. should be an interesting year.)  in western culture, snakes are considered to be fairly malevolent and to some they are the epitome of evil. not surprisingly, in many asian nations, snakes are considered to be good luck.  luck is a funny thing, culturally. for example, the number 13 is lucky in china, too. the digit 1 when positioned in tens sounds like the word definite (shi) in mandarin and dialects like cantonese, while the digit 3 sounds like life or giving birth. so the number 13 can mean definitely living or vibrant, or assured growth.

see? it's all a mattter of context, now isn't it.

As everyone weighs in on what kind of a year this will be -- the annual feng shui index is remarkably accurate, they say --  and everyone else overeats their way into oblivion (hi, jane!), here's a handy visual aide for the rest of us.

            
          

                What Will The Year Of The Water Snake Mean For You? infographic

(Source!)             

            
            
            
        

student loans and debt slavery: is it worth it?

if you're anything like me, you need more than a flow chart to get through this mess called the student loan industry.  you need a financial aid expert, a compass, a seeing eye dog. whatever it takes. and yes, it is an industry. hard to believe -- astonishing, actually -- that education is free in much of europe and the rest of the world. it would be easy to have a beautiful life if you didn't have to live through most of it as a debt slave.

frankly, taking out a student loan sounds like modern day sharecropping to me. the real question: is the degree i'll earn worth the debt i may find myself in when i graduate?

yes, i do

i was at jeniette day spa the other day, getting my hands and feet done, when this song gently oozed it's way onto the airwaves. i'd heard it before but this time, i actually listened to it -- probably because my mind was set adrift, with no distractions. 

i just lost someone. in thinking of him, i thought of someone else i lost. and then i thought of other someones. and all of a sudden, i was surrounded by so much love and sadness.  there i was, lazily soaking my feet and crying and happy, a shroud of melancholy embracing me like a sweet old friend.

did i really lose anyone? i'm not so sure.

no one told me that the grief never stops, the love never stops, the longing never stops. no one told me that i wouldn't ever stop missing that loved one, that -- like a place setting at the dinner table -- they would always hold their a place in my life, in my world. love would soothe it but nothing else could ever hope to fill it. not space. not time. not someone else. nothing, nothing at all.

happy, yet sad. there's got to be a german word for that. the only word i can think of to describe those feelings in english is bittersweet.

Do You Realize - that you have the most beautiful face
Do You Realize - we're floating in space -
Do You Realize - that happiness makes you cry
Do You Realize - that everyone you know someday will die

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes - let them know
You realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

Do You Realize - Oh - Oh - Oh
Do You Realize - that everyone you know
Someday will die -

And instead of saying all of your goodbyes - let them know
You realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round

Do You Realize - that you have the most beautiful face
Do You Realize

maintenance and upkeep, all the time

there are no ugly women, only lazy ones. -- helena rubenstein

the hard work of maintenance and upkeep is renewed daily, with prayer, hard physical exercise and the ritual of scrub creams, lotions and oils, and concoctions that i make for my skin, hair and nails.  i know it sounds like diva nonsense, but ultimately it's a serious commitment to great health and a quality of life that will hopefully sustain me as i grow older, allowing me to be my best self at any age as i continue to explore and create and live, really really live, in style.

 
Poor health is not caused by something you don't have; it's caused by disturbing something that you already have. Healthy is not something that you need to get, it's something you have already if you don't disturb it. ~Dean Ornish

what's really overwhelming to consider is that most chronic diseases -- diabetes, stroke, heart disease, arthritis, cancer, obesity and more -- are lifestyle related and preventable.  i'm probably genetically predisposed to a lot of this. i have watched many relatives succumb to these illnesses, including my daddy. although he had a garden variety of chronic diseases, he fought the good fight and lived to see the ripe old age of 92 comfortably -- hard at work in his home, with his wife of more than 50 years.

“First, do no harm.” (“Primum non nocere.”)  - Anonymous

the thing is, healthcare in america isn't healthcare at all. healthcare would mean that the medical industry is concentrating on preventing diseases, finding cures for chronic illnesses and actively encouraging a lifestyle that would keep most people from having to see a doctor on a regular basis in the first place. what we have in this country is actually disease management. whatever is wrong with you isn't actually fixed but painstakingly regulated with a ton of medication.  doctors aren't doctors at all, at that point. they're drug dealers.  needless to say, pharmaceutical companies are behind this. and why not? there are billions of dollars at stake.

or as chris rock explained recemtly, they just want to patch you up until you make it to the next stop. why? because they want your money.



i want a healthy, lean, strong body with thick, strong, natural hair and i'm willing to fight for it by eating clean, living clean and staying out of the sun. this is why i take my good health and my daily rituals seriously.

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.

Five Myths About Crime in Black America

...because a little perspective -- and a lot of reality -- can be a good thing.
 

this is black history month? really?

yes, i'm one of those black people that forgot all about black history month -- probably because i'm black every month of the year and i'm all about my blackness every single day. black-black-blackity-black! i suppose if the world at large weren't constantly coming up with colorful and interesting ways to make me aware of the fact that yes, i'm a negress, my blackness probably wouldn't float to the surface of my conscious mind every other waking moment. oh, well.

i suppose i could post some especially black stuff in the next few weeks but don't i do that anyway? i'm starting to research my history as a black female performer, so here's a few things for you to revel in:

1. my beautiful black women pinterest page.  gathering those images and video clips are just one way that i get inspiration, ideas and remind myself that, yep, we're stunning, too.
2. a snippet of this little doc -- valaida snow, jazz trumpet star. her story is a fascinating one. she was quite the showstopper.
3. take a glimpse at joyce bryant: the lost diva documentary. she was described as "the black marilyn monroe" -- but why was she forgotten?

A Sick American in Dresden

I’m not a sickly person. I don’t get seasonal illnesses. I’m not overweight, I don’t do drugs recreationally, I don’t smoke pot or cigarettes, I’m not a drinker, I workout regularly and I eat clean. I’m not perfect by any means – I love baked Cheetos as much as anyone else does – but once I began to take myself seriously as a performer, I worked hard to develop and maintain this lifestyle.  Eventually, I realized that staying healthy, lean and strong would have to be a full time job. Ultimately, I would have to fight for the body and the quality of life that I wanted, and that fight would never really end. Every day, I fight for my life with all the salt and sugar I don’t eat, with every mile I run, with every  2 minute sparring round I crawl through, with every shot of wheatgrass.  I believe that those preventative measures add up.

Someone said to me recently – I think it was Charles Burnham – that the ailments that visit you in your 30s and 40s come back to stay with you in your old age. I haven’t had any visitors –  and I’m not keeping the porch light on for houseguests, either. This little story is a strong example of what it means to stay vigilant and fight for your good health.

Because I’m fairly in tune with my body, I’m acutely aware when something is wrong. While on tour in Dresden, Germany, I was quite suddenly in so much pain with what I thought was an earache that I asked to see a doctor.  It felt as though a needle was pushing its way directly into my ear canal, causing a shooting pain that ran down my neck. My voice remained unaffected – but how long would that last?  I didn’t want to wait to find out.

I had never had emergency medical care by a general practitioner in Europe. What would this experience be like in comparison to what I usually get in America when I’m uninsured?

Eva (our Austrian tour manager) got a few phone numbers from the hotel and made an appointment to see a doctor on a Friday after 8am, when their offices opened.  When I saw her at breakfast, she said I was in line to be seen as soon as possible.  Thanks to a childhood that included way too much art house cinema, this remark filled my head with images of starving desperate filthy eastern Europeans in endlessly long breadlines, shrouded by snow and grey skies wrapped gently within an overall sheen of desolation and despair.  Our leisurely sun drenched10 minute walk to the doctor’s office was quite the contrast. We even marveled at the beautiful architecture as we went along.

There was a line, as it turns out – but it wasn’t what I expected. It felt as though we were waiting to check out a book from the library. We stood in a clean, well-lit vestibule with a few others for awhile and then suddenly we were at a desk explaining ourselves to a sweet faced girl in white who took my information and led us to a waiting room. In no time at all – something like 15 minutes, maybe? -- I was sitting in the doctor’s office. He was a little on the young side, a boyish looking 40-something perhaps, smiling and open and friendly, and was dressed in jeans and a dark, striped, button down shirt. I sat in a chair next to his desk, which was expansive and well-organized, and he leaned back in this huge ergonomically correct chair and listened to me attentively as I pointed at my neck and gesticulated. Needless to say, his English was perfect. The whole thing felt like a job interview. Or a really terrific blind date. We should have been having coffee and pastry as we chatted. Sitting there, looking at him in his black crocs, I couldn’t help but wonder: Where were his many, many degrees from expensive inaccessible universities? Shouldn’t they have been hanging on the wall behind him, constantly reinforcing his authority and expertise? Where was his equipment? Wasn’t he supposed to be wearing a stethoscope or something? How about some id tags? And where was his white jacket?

When I asked him this last question, he laughed. “Yes, that’s right,” he said casually. “I wore a white jacket in Canada…”   Equipment? He nodded toward the bookshelf behind me, where a stethoscope sat on a shelf, glistening in the phosphorescent light like an overfed garden snake.  As I regaled him with stories of American doctors and hospitals and how this might work if I were stateside, he examined my neck and throat and listened with interest. He seemed bemused.

Then came the diagnosis. My ear was fine. My voice was fine. The tube that runs from my ear to my throat -- the Eustachian tube -- was infected. How did this happen?

“Have you had a cold?”  he asked.

“No,” I replied. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a cold. I even made sure that I got my annual flu shot before I left home.

“Was your nose clogged, was your head congested at all?”  he asked.

That’s when it hit me. I had been crying constantly for days. This is all Jef’s fault.

The doctor wrote a prescription for nose drops and a cream that is to be inhaled with steam. And with that, our visit was over as abrubtly as it began. If I was in that room longer than 10 minutes, I’ll eat my favorite pumps.

Here’s the upshot: I presented myself as a foreigner, I gave them NO insurance information – just my passport. That little visit cost me 30 Euros. The medication was only 15 Euros. That’s something like $60. Even if the rate of currency was 2 of our dollars for every one of theirs, I would still have paid less than $100. We were in and out of there in less than an hour. I was more than astonished. I was impressed.

I remember sitting in the van as we zipped down the highway, more than just a little freaked out as I considered the American no insurance alternative: sitting in the triage section of an emergency room’s waiting area for hours on end, eventually sifting through  a stack of paperwork only to wait and wait and wait until a doctor sees you, hurls you through some expensive equipment if you’re lucky or tosses some Tylenol at you if you aren’t.  That bill would be for hundreds upon hundreds of dollars. If you have coverage, you’ll spend months haggling with the insurance company over it. If you don’t have insurance, you’ll give a false name, address and social security number, and then you will disappear. Or you will give them your correct information and pay hundreds of dollars for what would have cost you less than $50 in a place that used to be behind the Iron Curtain.

Would Jonathan Larsen -- creator of the Tony Award-winning Broadway musical RENT -- be alive today if he’d seen a European doctor instead of an American one?  He’d probably still be here if he had insurance during his emergency room visits to two different hospitals because it would have compelled hospital administrators to take him seriously and order the tests he needed –  expensive tests that run on expensive equipment that would ultimately have saved his life.

I have insurance but that doesn’t mean that my days of munching on fresh fruit and praying that I don’t get hit by a bus are over. Plenty of Americans have all the insurance they could possibly want. And they get a major illness and get bilked out of their life savings. Why, it’s almost as though corporations are constantly scheming on how to get as much of everyone’s money as they possibly can.  We’ll be a country of the very rich and the very poor in no time at all. The haves and the have nots. And of course, the haves will say that what you have or don’t have will be entirely your own fault. You just didn’t work hard enough.

Whoever came up with the idea of America being a place where everyone pulls themselves up by their own bootstraps should be taken out back and horsewhipped for all eternity. The idea of such a notion – if I work hard, I can have whatever I want! – is appealing, but it’s just flat out not true. First of all, this great nation has worked very hard to disenfranchise a great number of its citizens since its very inception – and in many ways, it continues to do so, unabated. Jim Crow?  Segregation? Voting rights for everyone – not just white men who own property? Slavery – a topic that NO ONE wants to openly acknowledge or discuss. Give me a break. Secondly, no man is an island. No one does anything in and of themselves. Land grants? The G.I. Bill? Free (yes, free!) college tuition? Give me yet another break. And last but not least, there’s institutionalized racism. You know. It’s that thing that tilts absolutely everything in this country to your white advantage.

But I digress.

Americans seem blissfully unaware of how well other first world nations live. If they knew what they could be getting for their hard earned tax dollars, they would riot in the streets. As one ex-pat said to me after a gig in Dresden:: “Why should I go back to the USA? There’s no poverty here. They have universal health care. They pay for your education. They have gun control.”  He paused, shrugged and continued. “While America is squabbling, everyone else is living in the 21^st century.”    He’s right. That’s a 21^st century way to live.

Because I'm convinced that Michael Moore’s documentary Sicko should be required viewing for anyone in this country that doesn’t want universal health care and anyone else that's curious about what's really happening in the health care industry, I've included it below in its entirety.

And no, I’m not a socialist.

pithy little thoughts

unbelievable but true -- the tour with james "blood" ulmer and odyssey is almost over. it feels like i've been away for a month! this entire experience has fortified me, somehow. i feel much improved overall: stronger, lighter and way more focused.

whenever i travel abroad, i learn more than i think. here's the top five that's floating around in my head at the moment:

1. get your electronic gadgets in order, stat: a kindle is a lot lighter than a few books.
2. underpack -- because those excess airline weight fees can be pricey.
3. oversleep, oversleep, oversleep -- because when you travel, you're probably not getting enough sleep, anyway. if you think you're oversleeping, you're probably barely breaking even.
4. eat clean, eat less than usual and don't eat at night.
5. there ain't no blackgirl hair products within easy reach, so pack what you need - or better yet, put your natural hair in a protective style before you leave home.

here's a bonus: never eat seafood in a land-locked country.

i'm still trying to figure out phone usage (i have an android), how to get around a no-internet situation, how to pack more than one pair of pumps and still staying underweight, how to workout in tiny hotel rooms, finding a smaller lighter laptop for travel and of course making my simplest manicure last longer than a week. 

nablopomo - again?

falling into the dead of winter with nablopomo, to jump start some ideas and keep my creative juices flowing.   although blogging everyday for a month sounds daunting, i'm determined to not fall off this time. wish me luck -- or better yet, join me!

Food for Thought: Student Loans = Debt Slavery

Infographic by College Scholarships.org

Valentine's Day Weekend in NYC: The Sweetheart Soiree

On February 17, my trio and I will perform at the elegant Sweetheart Soiree with Michael Arenella and his Sextet at The Stone Rose Lounge in the Time-Warner Center overlooking Columbus Circle.  There will be performances by The Minsky Sisters as well as Grace Gotham, a dance lesson with the one and only Roddy Caravella, and of course a kissing booth.

We will be performing rare sides and well known standards from Billie Holiday's body of work. It should make for an interesting evening of romance and love.

More details:

Doors open at 7pm

Live entertainment from 8pm to 1am

Admission: $60

One complimentary glass of Prosecco upon entry

Complimentary hors d'oevres

All guests must be 21 and over

Black tie and evening attire is encouraged

Please note: This event will sell out. Tickets are limited. Please click here to get your tickets now.

On the road again...!

As of today, January 22nd, I'm on tour in Europe as vocalist with guitarist James "Blood" Ulmer's iconic band Odyssey. For tour dates, click here -- and if you'd like to follow along as I blog all about it, please go to This Rock 'n Roll Blackgrrl's High Life -- A Cautionary Tale. Danke!

Here's what Odyssey sounds like -- via a live performance in Tokyo, 1983 -- doing one of my favorite songs Are You Glad To Be In America?

Envisioning Emancipation

Apparently, this somewhat celebratory moment that commemorates the Emancipation Proclamation isn't lost on Hollywood or the media. There are an avalanche of movies, documentaries, exhibits and the like that are to be released within the next two years. Here's a little something that caught my eye. 

The book Envisioning Emancipation: Black Americans and The End of Slavery -- released on January 1st by Temple University Press -- has me spellbound. I get lost inside those faces, their collective stance, the feel of it all. They are somber, elegant and in most instances, they are painfully well dressed. What's especially disturbing is that they look too familiar. I remember thinking, I know that look on that little boy's face. The way that soldier's shoulder is thrown back, the way her arms are folded. If I look at those pictures for too long, I can almost sense their thoughts. It's all so dignified, so full of self-respect and hope.

Many of the photos have never been seen before. God only knows where they were hidden or how they were found. 



Images in media are so much more important than we think they are.  As we are shown someone else's perspective of us, we are taught so many things  -- who we are, what we look like, where we stand, whether we truly matter.  For God knows how long -- for too long, really -- we have seen ourselves through the bluest eye. And now this: thousands of photographs taken by us, for us -- black photographers capturing snapshots of black people as they stand on the brink of freedom and true self-determination. I have seen other pictures from this era and when I look at these, I can feel the difference.

Free films! (Yes! Free!)

Snag Films has thousands of independent films that you can watch anytime for free and share with others.  I highly recommend this site. It's inspiring stuff.

I'm really into documentaries right now.  I think they can be a great way to learn about things that usually fly under the media radar.  Nowadays, I suppose most things do.  Everything around me seems determined to shift my attention to Honey Boo Boo or some celebrity squabble instead of the killings in Chicago that rage on unabated, the ravages of war in the Middle East or the financial mess we're in. The struggle continues -- for my almighty dollar, for my right to fight but most importantly, my attention span.


Here's the blurb for a documentary about Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Really makes you wonder what else they've been sitting on for decades, doesn't it. Enjoy.


A Man of Peace In a Time of War: A rare and candid TV interview with Martin Luther King, Jr. -- unseen for 40 years -- is the centerpiece of this timely tribute, featuring exclusive interviews with such notables as Jesse Jackson and Colin Powell that provide fresh insight into the life and personality of the late civil rights leader.

graduate school post script

i got accepted to new york university's tisch school of the arts mfa program last year and delayed entry for one year to look for a way to pay for it without having to take out six figures in loans and turn myself and mpb into debt slaves for the rest of our adult lives. everyone else i know has no qualms about being up to their ears in debt forever. i can't. i don't want anyone to own me, certainly not any bank or corporation.  get out of debt is a chant that has been on a slow boil in my life for awhile. now that i'm close to that finish line, here comes a situation that would land me right back into the hole i'm about to crawl out of.

am i sisyphus or what.

graduate school has always felt inevitable, somehow. i never intended to leave new york city without an advanced degree.  i'll feel a lot better about getting out of here, once i get one.

needless to say, i'm still looking for money. the foundation center seems to be a solid place to start. if anyone has any other suggestions, get at me. i would love to hear them.

in the meantime, i found a 26 minute documentary called scholarslip about the student debt crisis that really sums up so much of  what's fundamentally wrong with the system.



and as if all of that weren't enough, here's a word from frugal dad -- college isn't cheap!

Top Ten Reasons Why I Liked Django Unchained (Spoiler Alert!)

(Please note: This is the second trailer for Django Unchained. Enjoy!)

I don't think Spike Lee was wrong -- I want to honor my ancestors, too -- but I can't criticize a movie if I haven't seen it. And yet everyone has an opinion on Django Unchained.  I supposed that's understandable. It's been awhile since Roots had everyone glued to their televisions for a week. And then we wanted to talk about it. We wanted to find our roots.

As a nation, we are in dire need of a collective roundtable discussion about race. And for once, we really need to make it an honest one. Perhaps the success of this movie will trigger an avalanche of talks, documentaries, exhibits and yes, more films.  Nothing gets more movies made in Hollywood like a blockbuster. The more information, the better.  Anything to get the ball rolling.

I have way more than ten reasons as to why I liked Django Unchained.  These are the ones that floated to the surface initially.

1. It's funny.  Needless to say, the most telling moments happen when white people stop laughing and black people can't stop cracking up. The white guy behind me was giggling quite freely until Django beat the brakes off of that white man with a bullwhip. 
2. It's fiction. Of course, that won't stop people from treating it like a documentary. 
3. It's about slavery in the United States -- something of which way too many Americans know very little. They certainly know even less about its atrocities.  And they seem to know less than nothing of the Black Holocaust.
4.  It's got a black (ex)slave hero. The truth is, there were hundreds of thousands of Nat Turners, disrupting anything whenever they could. Where's that movie?
5. It's got a black hero that's beating, whipping, maiming, shooting and killing a garden variety of insufferably racist, bigoted white people. I can't think of any black people that wouldn't want to see that. Repeatedly.
6. It's got a loving, solid black marriage.  Yes, black people want to see that, too -- in any time period. Slaves fought desperately for their marriages -- and their children. It didn't start with the Huxtables.
7. Believe it or not, the black hero's wife doesn't pass the paper bag test.  Shocking, right?
8.  It's got a black hero that's focused on saving his black wife by any means necessary.  I don't know about you but I don't see very many leading men in filmdom going to the absolute limit for the love of a black woman.
9. Maybe it's my recent forays into the Rhineland or the research that I'm doing about Germans in the (Antebellum) South but I loved the German references within the storyline. (Interestingly, my last name is German. More on that later.) And those filthy greedy Australians? That was just too perfect.
10. It's got a beautiful ending: the black hero and his girl ride off into the sunset together. I remember seeing that and thinking, Why not? Why shouldn't they run off and be happy? At Harlem's Magic Johnson Theater, the audience stood up and cheered.'Nuff said.

Perhaps Dangerfield Newby is the "real" Django Unchained.  He tried to buy his wife Harriett and their 7 children out of slavery but when the agreed-upon price was abrubtly raised once he'd met it, he sought other means and joined John Brown's raiders at Harper's Ferry. And the rest, as they say, is history.

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