Last night Freddy had HRS ARK ROYAL and I over for dinner. We got to talking about resolutions and goal-setting, and Freddy brought up the niceness of having your friends sort of hold you accountable to your goals. Not like they nag you about going to the gym or something. More like they pump you up to keep going when you start to feel uncertain. Like, I’m trying to drive less in the New Year. More specifically, I am trying to not drive at all at least one day a week. I wrote a post about this for a transportation blog at Freddy’s request, and when it goes up I’ll post a link. I set this goal last year as well, and failed miserably. This year I’m feeling more confident, and the main reason is that this year my friends are in on it. They know that it’s important to me, and they help with logistics. Steve just got a car over break, and he’s doing a lot of the social driving now, which is cool. And HRS ARK ROYAL is very good at helping me consolidate errands and thus driving time. I might not be drive-free yet, but I am definitely driving a lot less. Friends helping you. Nice.
It works other ways too! HRS ARK ROYAL is doing his 3m30lb challenge, and all of his friends are being so rad about it. Last night at dinner Freddy offered to remove the serving dishes from the table, in case they were tempting him to eat more than the meager portion on his plate. And he gets lots of supportive comments on his blog and flickr set. Another friend has started doing fitness walks in this new year. He told me about a rainy day when walking didn’t seem like fun at all, but he emailed a friend who responded with love and encouragement, and he went ahead and took the walk and felt real good about it.
It’s such a perfect heart ideal. Just being really open about what you are trying to do, no matter what the scale, and letting friends help you. And of course the reverse is true! I want to give so much love to my goal-setting friends. Because you know what they say about many hands. They make light work.
And speaking of friends, in a little less than an hour I am going to meet up with my friend Darcy, who I haven’t seen in almost 10 years. We were dear friends in 9th grade, then I switched schools and we grew apart. But I always wondered about her, and I blogged about her a few months ago, hoping she would google herself and find me, and she did! And she’s in town and we are getting together and it is going to be rad!
2006 is shaping up to be the best year ever.

My new ERF (Exclusive Relationship Friend, as his brother has titled it) who will heretofore be referred to as HMS ARK ROYAL, is participating in a bizarre food consumption challenge, in which he is racing against a coworker to lose 30 pounds in 3 months. Or rather, HRS ARK ROYAL is losing, coworker is gaining. 30. They are documenting their gains/losses for our viewing pleasure. While I am highly amused by this endeavor, I am also (jokingly) concerned! I have spent the bulk of my adult life dating tall, skinny, boney boys with glasses and too-short sleeves on their frayed western shirts. (These boys are semi-employed, semi-drunk, semi-angsty, but to their credit, generally talented at something.) I am finally ERing a man who is able physically lift me, whose shoulder doesn’t hurt my face with it’s bones when I lay my cheek there, and what happens? He starts eating celery for dinner!! He literally ATE CELERY FOR DINNER TONIGHT!!! And he is talking about fitness now, too! What am I going to do? It’s only a matter of time before he wastes away to nearly nothing and I will be forced to carry him around in my purse.
Egad! Will my Indie Rock past continue to haunt me for all of my days? Hey, Universe! That’s not my TYPE anymore! Stop trying to stick me with the skinnies!!
At this rate I’ll have to swap HRS ARK ROYAL out for his coworker by March. If I’m lucky he’ll keep on gaining. I’m with Rebecca. I want a polar bear boyfriend.

After a very satisfying New Year’s kiss (okay, continuing series of kisses), I offer you budding lovers the following advice:
STOP PLAYING IT COOL!!!
Yes, it is good to scout things out, be mellow, get to know a person better, consider obstacles, etc., etc. However. There comes a time when you must be ready. Ready to be rejected, ready to look like an asshole, ready for awkwardness, ready to endure teasing from friends, ready to embrace uncertainties. There comes a time for risk, a time for confession. Friends, after a many monthed preamble, my time came. I will not linger over details here, but I will say that I STOPPED PLAYING IT COOL, and reaped great rewards. Very rewarding rewards. Oh my.
My crush is no longer my crush, but a different something now, and it is very nice. He is currently mulling over a pseudonym, though his identity is probably obvious to even the most casual reader. However, pseudonyms are fun. He has requested a ship name to be printed in all-caps. A sample entry might read: “I had the nicest real date with THE DAWN TREADER last night! We went to see Jaws at the drive-in! Boy, THE DAWN TREADER sure loves shark movies!!”
So that is it. STOP PLAYING IT COOL. And then report the rewards (/consequences).
HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! 2006. It got off to a hell of a start.

You thought ska was dead.
I am here to tell you it is alive.
You thought funk was dead.
I am here to tell you, funk is not dead.
You thought hip hop was dead.
I am here to say, it’s not.
You thought Toastmasters was a one hit wonder.
You were sorely mistaken.

That’s right. My Denver friends Stephen and Jamie (plus lots of other friends at different times) are in a hip hop group called the Flobots, and they set up a show in honor of all of us out-of-towners. I told them about my Toastmasters routine, and they gave me part of their set to do my weird thing. This was after the cute ska band and the cute funk band (whose leader, Andy, I also know real well.) I decided to go with a crowd-pleaser, and so I toasted the city of Denver, as if it were a person. As in, “remember Denver, remember when we were kids? And we took swimming lessons at Congress Park? And remember how that lady spray painted flamingos on all of the dumpsters in town?” And I told Denver what I loved about her- her brick, her neon, her cowboys, her hobos. I also talked about the music that makes me think of Denver- songs that played over and over at our awesome New Years parties. And of course Flobots songs from back in the day. And then I rapped. Me. Willow. I rapped the lyrics to songs Jamie wrote when he was 19. And people cheered. Oh my god. It was the amazing experience. When I got off the stage, strangers hugged me. Friends I hadn’t seen in 5, 10, 12 years told me they loved it, and John Shoe told me that it brought a tear to his eye.
This trip home was the best I had in years. The night before I left, as I lay in bed, I had this painful desire to stop time, to silence the clock. I wanted to get out of bed and go out into the suspended city and just look at it. For as long as I liked. I wanted to gaze at the streets and friends, the mountains and suburbs until I was filled with them. Instead I fell asleep, and in the morning I flew home to Portland. The city that is my home. And where I am very, very happy.
But I miss Denver.
PS, check out the open letter to my crush that was written by some hilarious Denver friends. You can find it here.

If I were in Ireland I would still be celebrating. Over there the 26th is known as St Steven’s Day, and there is lots of eating and drinking and staying home from work. It’s called Boxing Day in England. Here in Denver it’s called I Feel Sorta Gross Day. And I am observing it by drinking tea in my favorite bookstore, The Tattered Cover, which thankfully has wi-fi. And I am semi-fasting after my huge, delicious Christmas dinner at Liz’s house. My mom, step-dad and I go there every year, and Liz and I make a lot of gracious small talk before sneaking off to catch up on gossip and old jokes. It’s real fun.
Christmas Eve in Silver Plume was fantastic. The service was mellow and touching, with lot’s of talk about keeping peace in your heart as a first step to creating peace on earth. There was singing and amped up kids running up and down the church while parents laughed instead of scolded. For a Jewish girl who spends little time thinking about Jesus Christ, I was impressed by the atmosphere of love and celebration, and the decidedly nonjudgmental vibe.
After service we went to Grumpy’s for egg nog and cheer. Most of the older folks headed home early, so in the end it was me and my old townie friends shooting pool and talking about old times. It had probably been about eight years since we were all together- Casey the terrible driver who is now an avid line dancer; Christian, the snowboarder/fashion designer who used to intimidate me with his uninhibited honesty; his brother Nick, who was my first boyfriend at ages 9, 12, and 13; Jessica, who adopted me as her little sister when I was young; Hailey, who I adopted as MY little sister when SHE was young; and their assorted partners and friends who were braving a Silver Plume Christmas.
Another Plumie of my generation was there also, though I can’t say that I would count him as a friend. Sean, who I used to think (age 14) had a “mysterious darkness,” but now I would call it a “taunting meanness.” He asked how I was doing, and I told him that I couldn’t be happier. He replied, “enjoy it while it lasts. You have no idea what’s coming.” What is the implication there? That I am naive, or somehow sheltered, or worse, delusional? Ugh! It pisses me off that someone I haven’t seen in years could make such asshole assumptions. It awards no credit for the smart, conscious choices I have made in my life, or the community of friends I have sought and maintained. What a grinch. I didn’t let him harsh my vibe though. I told him that he was mistaken, and my life just keeps getting better. And I turned back to my old friends for laughing and friendlier teases. Dick!
Cryptic Crush Update:
(dandily buried at the bottom of a semi-boring entry)
So, I finally had a candid talk with my crush about crushes. It was a great relief to get it all out it the open, though I don’t anticipate any changes in the near future. I’d like to write more about this, but my cyber life has become so entangled with my real life that blogging about it is sort of a mine field. Not wanting to embarrass the crush, or add fodder to gossip or whatever. Sigh. Maybe I will start a sneaky blog just for crush talk and embarrassing moments. Though I think think that’s how perfect heart began!

Whenever I visit Silver Plume I think to myself, “Does this place really EXIST?!?” and, “Did I actually spend a good bit of my childhood HERE?!?” It’s absolutely amazing. Silver Plume is an old mining town about ten miles from the Continental Divide (which is also an amazing phenomenon). Back during the silver boom in the late 1800’s, thousands of minors filled the tiny valley, out to make their fortune. Now Silver Plume is the home to just 200 souls, and no-one works the mines. I grew up climbing around the mine tailings with the other kids in town, and cruising up and down the dirt roads on our mountain bikes. We played a lot of baseball in the summer, and did a lot of sledding in the winter. Our parents drank at the Plume Saloon, and when that place went under, Grumpy’s Roadhouse soon replaced it. We would run around the bar, annoying the adults, drinking Shirley Temples with extra cherries.
Back then I knew every person and every pet in town. I still do, for the most part. When I give tours to Denver friends, I have to stop myself from telling them who lives in each house we pass. It’s sort of boring information for visitors, I think. But I pride myself on knowing anyway.
This is the first time since 1991 that my dad has been in America for Christmas. He generally spends the winter months in Antarctica teaching cold weather survival to scientists. But he didn’t go down this year, and I’m so glad. Silver Plume is full of traditions, and “midnight mass” on Christmas Eve is one of them. It starts at 10pm, after drinks at Troy and Cassandra’s house (they are Mennonites). It’s a funky service, with lots of singing and laughing, but also warm messages and wishes for peace. After it’s all done, the town heads to Grumpy’s for some holiday cheer. There will be lots of guitars, fiddles, penny whistles, and maybe a banjo or two.
Doesn’t this all sound totally fake? Silver Plume is like a time capsule, or a a weird novel that requires the ultimate suspension of disbelief. But it’s real! I’m here, living it right now! And it’s cold! And windy! Pipes are frozen, and my dad set up a little bed in the kitchen because it’s the warmest room in his house. And I slept there last night! It happened! I’m telling the truth! I wish you could all come here, come see. Check out my my flickr page for a little glimpse, anyway.
Merry Christmas, wherever you are, past, present, or future.

My flight landed, and by the time I turned on my phone there were already two messages from my mom telling me to meet her at the fountain. Which is where I always meet her. The airport was full of strollers and slow-walkers, and when I finally emerged from the underground terminal train, there was my mom, right in front of all of the other moms and sons and brothers-in-law waiting for their people. My mom, waving madly and grinning, and I thought, “This lady loves me so much!!” And I grinned and waved madly back, and we went straight to the salon so I could get a haircut, and then lunch, and some resting and relaxing before dinner and a sneak preview of “The Producers,” the film turned play turned movie again. Moms are awesome.

As soon as the movie ended I booked it to Heather’s folks’ house to pick her up. She was headed back to the East Coast the next day, and I desperately needed some solid girl-on-girl action. Luckily it wad Tough Love Tuesday at the PS Lounge, an unofficial weekly gathering that has been happening since before I got my fake ID and started hitting the bars back in ’99 or whatever. It was started by Heather’s brother, Caleb, and his friends who are older and way cooler than we are. A lot of them were back in town too, so the PS was super-festive. I shamelessly monopolized Heather’s attention, getting her all caught up on Toastmasters and crushes and life in the 1st Grade. And she told me about fun trips to New York to see great shows, and the cold, cold, cold weather in Western Massachusetts, which is where she lives now with her husband. The altitude + 1 gin and tonic + 1 free shot + 1 Tom Collins = I was silly drunk, which was cool, because so was everyone else.

The PS Lounge is awesome. It’s owned by a Greek man named Pete, also know as Greek Pete. Not to be mistaken with the other two Greek Pete’s that own bars and restaurants in Denver. I used to fill in shifts at the PS, cocktailing and tending bar, and Pete would always put his arm around me and offer to take me to Greece with him one day. Even though I hadn’t seen him in a year or more, and I’m pretty sure he no longer remembers my name, he still told me how beautiful I looked, and insisted that I had lost weight. I told him I was sad I’d missed his big Christmas party this year, to which he responded, “You miss the party? I make you a party right now. Rachel, give this beautiful girl and all her friends a drink on me. Drinks on Pete! We make a party for you!” This was in addition to the round of shots that Pete always sends to the entire bar, and the roses that he gives to all of the ladies every night. That’s right- every lady gets a rose. Every night. And a free shot. I have been to many, many bars in my life. The PS will always be my favorite.

Finally, after last call, after all the other customers were gone, after all the lights were turned off, we said goodbye to Pete. Heather, Caleb, Caleb’s girlfriend Jen, and I were all starving, so we did Taco Bell drive-thru and talked SNL until we were sober again. It was a great night.

8:16pm
I have resigned myself to the fact that no one is going to pull up to my curb with pizza in hand to whisk me away to a hot party with dancing and booze and movies and sleeping over. Sigh. What kind of snowstorm is this?
I’ve decided to just roll with the cabin fever and take care of some business, namely:
* Eating frozen pizza
* Drinking wine
* Playing “squeeze monster” with the twins (this is not a gross game, despite the semi-gross title)
* Showering
* Grooming “personal area”
* Reading old New Yorkers
* Ordering next semester’s books online
* Working on mix tape for my Internet friend, Allison
* Live blogging
Being snowed in. Not so bad.
9:48pm
Okay. I have just been informed that I am live blogging all wrong. Whoops! Apparently what I am doing is actually “making a lot of posts.” To truly live blog I must keep updating one entry. So that is what I am doing. I am now at Steve’s, after braving the 6 blocks of not too icy ice. I’m getting caught up on SNL and then we are going to watch Magnolia, or some other such epic. Party!
Hey, check out this nice thing Daniel did for me!
12:28am
We just watched Shaun of the Dead. Great zombie movie! Steve gave it 3 stars. For a zombie pic? I give it 4. I think I’m about done live blogging now. I’m tired and it’s time to brave the cold and return to my little nest. I hope that it all clears up tomorrow- I have to go to the chiropractor at 2. And I fly home on Tuesday, so I need the runways all cleared and ready for me. Okay, God? Thanks. Live blizzard blog 2005, out.

Well, it is snowing in PDX. Very pretty, very icy. Here is a photo Jona took:

I will continue to live blog this event until I become bored. I am actually sort of bored already. I am not one to post many links to local news stations and stuff. So maybe live blogging is not for me. Maybe I should write some poetry about snow and post that. What do you do when you live blog? I have no answers.

I lost my Dear Nora CD a few months ago, and have been really bummed about it. Mountain Rock. I need it! Steve burned me a copy a couple of days ago, and I have been listening to it pretty much nonstop since. Oh God! I love it so much! I want to start a Dear Nora cover band called Dear Katy. Every song is beautiful and perfect. Listening to it brings back the most bittersweet memories of living in Ireland and missing Jake so viscerally. He came to visit me there and we rented a 4 Runner and drove all over the country singing along. It was really fun. There were many things wrong with our relationship, and there were so many times when we just didn’t get each other at all. But whenever we were on the road together singing Dear Nora or Grateful Dead or Bruce Springsteen songs, we were such a tight couple. We made each other laugh.
I sent him a Christmas card last week. I haven’t talked to him since August when he bailed at the last minute on a trip to Portland to talk about getting back together. I think he thinks I have hard feelings about that, but really I don’t. I think of him with utter fondness, and I’m thankful for the good times and the tough times. I’ve been staring at this screen for the last 10 minutes, trying to figure out how to explain why I am so thankful. I think mostly it’s because it was all so real, and we tried so hard. And I know that whoever comes next I’ll be a really good partner to, because Jake taught me how. So yeah, I’m not mad or hurt. Instead I’m grateful, (and occasionally wistful) and I’m really ready to be his friend. So I sent him a card, and hopefully he’ll see through my abrupt contact and awkward phrasing and feel ready to be friends with me too. I miss him.
(This is the kind of entry that makes me really nervous, and I get tempted to delete it right away. But the laws of perfect heart insist that I post every embarrassing/earnest thing that pops into my brain, so I force myself to let it stand. Masochistic? Maybe.)