Pre-Game

It has been too long to be cohesive here, and three days can see me around three extremes of states of mind, much less nearly three weeks. I've written much in my head- on buses, trains, collapsed into shivering piles of circus flesh, and other gross moments. I come home late, too exhausted sometimes even to write the Sailor, much less pound out something worth publishing online.

Whatever, excuses are boring. Days pass when I wonder if my ability to write will someday forsake me when I have so often forsaken it. But it won't. It will die as it was born; with me, under my inscrutable and tyrannous thumb. Or maybe it's the other way around.

It's probably the other way around.

Anyway, so to catch up, there was Thanksgiving, in which nothing was burned and three people cooked a 15 pound bird:























Then there was Boho Carni and Vau de Vire-ness, which the Guardian did a feature on. Apparently it's no big thing to have your name in the Guardian, but I'm from Monroe North Carolina, goddamnit, and my picture's in the fucking Guardian. That's good times to me. And luckily, the picture has enough bokeh (that was for you, Coop) that you cannot read what the medallion around my waist says. And the picture is not online, only in the flesh and blood newsprint now lining BART stations from here to Fremont. And I get to be a part of that. I am proud, and not even being sarcastic.

And only mildly tampering with anxiety. Or severely, depending on the day. Today it was severe, mostly out of an inability to create more hours from the hours allotted to me by the sun, common knowledge, and the need for sleep to perform up to my standards.

I'm going to LA tomorrow with my beloved Nekyia ladies for a belly dance video shoot on Saturday. If some of that sounds out of place, stare blankly at your screen. Yes, I studied belly dance, but my technique is quite shit. Kristina and Rebecca are both proficient, experienced belly dancers, and have come, in some ways, from the belly dance community.

Now I want to make this perfectly clear. The belly dance community bears a serious grudge against the Nekyia for the blatant use of sex appeal in our choreography, coupled with the fact that we are associated with belly dance.

I just want to clear this up...I am not a disgrace to the artform of belly dance because I do 3/4 shimmies in a copper bra.

I am a disgrace to the artform of belly dance because my 3/4 shimmies are deplorable.

In any case, perfect isolations are not my main concern. The lines of the body, the integrity of the presentation, and the strength of the performer are my concerns. So anyhoo, I've never been to LA and I'm feeling very small-town back-woods-yeehaw about it, so bring it on. Will get back to you soon about whether or not the shit did, in fact, storm.