Happy Birthday, USA!

Forget all the Scooter Libby crap for one day. Instead, cross that Peachtree finish line. Feast on hotdogs and 'cue and cold beer. Ooooh and ahhh over fireworks. Wave some tiny flags. Enjoy the day with family and friends. Remember what makes this country good.

And take a couple of minutes to listen to Marvin.

Marvin Gaye: The Star Spangled Banner

Jasper Johns: Flag (1954–55)

Happy Independence Day!

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Finest Worksong

I’m spending the morning writing the final paragraphs of my last big project for 2006. Then I get to relax, enjoy the Christmas cookies by the mailboxes, and skate through my last seven working days of 2006. Sweet!

I have literally worked my ass off the last few months. A misuse of “literally,” maybe? Not at all. I’ve dropped two sizes since September, without really trying. It was a much-needed loss, too, since I chocolate-croissanted my way through the year I grieved for my dad.

The Christmas social season kicks off for me tonight. I’m thrilled to have plans every night through Christmas. Let’s just hope I don’t put that heavy workload back on my ass.

Happy Christmas, dear readers!

Today’s Christmas Playlist

Elvis Presley: Merry Christmas Baby
Jackson 5: Santa Claus Is Coming to Town
R.E.M.: Good King Wenceslas
Pete Yorn: Do They Know It’s Christmas?
The Ramones: Merry Christmas (I Don't Want to Fight Tonight)
El Vez: Feliz Navidad
The Singing Dogs: Jingle Bells
Vince Guaraldi: Christmas Time Is Here
Kenny Loggins: Celebrate Me Home
The Eagles: Please Come Home for Christmas

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Reality Bites

I took a break from reality for the last ten days … and it was wonderful. I danced and sang along to great live music. I ate and drank and shopped like a trust-fund baby. And tomorrow I rejoin the world of grown-ups. I hope you hear the sad, resigned sigh in that sentence.

Quick rundown of my recent adventures:

Death Cab for Cutie with Ted Leo & The Pharmacists (11.17.06)

The night before I bolted to Baltimore, Dan and I hit the fabulous Fox Theater to see Death Cab for Cutie, with opening act Ted Leo & The Pharmacists (hence the subhead above).

And, yes, Grant Miller, you may call me An Anonymous Hipster.

The show itself was great. Ted and the boys kicked ass on stage. Ted’s just damn cool, and his set was my fave of the night. Death Cab for Cutie were quite good, too. But. It was The Place to Be for the pretty twenties; every time I went to the lobby for a beer or a trip to the powder room (the best in Atlanta, by the way), I felt as it I were stepping onto the set of “The OC”; scads of beautifully clad twentysomethings mingled and ogled, seeing and being seen, forgetting they were there for a concert. Those who went to their seats cheered loudly only during the recognizables riffs. The kids didn’t ruin the show; their being there to be there and not to enjoy the music just took away some of the atmosphere that should have been there (did you count my use of “there” there?).

I Was Charmed by the Charm City

I’m too tired tonight (tryptophan + red wine = tired chick), so the travelogue will come later this week, after I’m back in the swing of reality. But I’ll say this much: Baltimore has the friendliest guys I’ve been around in ages. Everywhere we went, we ran into wonderful people to chat up, to give us great restaurant recommendations, to shoot the breeze as we downed beers. And I got to say “Homicide” (from the opening credits of the greatest show ever) at least fifteen times a day; I love running a joke into the ground … especially when French laughs every time.

Robyn Hitchcock and The Venus 3 (11.20.06)

One of the reasons for our trip to Baltimore was to see Robyn Hitchcock with The Venus 3 — the V3 being the beloved Peter Buck of R.E.M., the adorable Scott McCaughey (Minus 5; Paul Westerberg’s faves Young Fresh Fellows; the second R.E.M. guitarist), and Bill Reiflin (formerly of Ministry, now drummer for R.E.M. and Minus 5). I haven’t seen Robyn Hitchcock since maybe 1992 and Georgia wasn’t on the schedule, so French and I decided to catch the Balm’er show.

And what a show it was. Robyn sounds wonderful, and you can tell he has fun playing with his pals. They played my fave, “Madonna of the Wasps” … but the encore may be my favorite in five years. They started with “Not Dark Yet,” one of my very favorite Dylan tunes. Robyn’s voice is lovelier than Dylan’s, which brought a different feel to the song. The next song still sends shivers down my spine: a cover of The Beatles’ “She Said She Said.” W.O.W. The song is perfect for Robyn’s voice and Peter’s guitar style. I was jumping and squealing and singing and dancing with joy during those three minutes, kids. Robyn told me after the show (yes, read those words again, kids: Robyn told me after the show) that they decided just that afternoon to play “She Said She Said” and learned it that day. Brilliant, magical, sublime. They closed the show, of course, with the Soft Boys’ “I Wanna Destroy You.”

Robyn Hitchcock has been inducted into the Cup Hall of Hair Fame, along with the illustrious, lustrous manes of Emmylou Harris and Oliver Platt. His hair is perfect.

French and I hung around after the show, waiting on our personal taxi (French makes friends with all the right people) and just enjoying that post-show high. I made a tactical error during the show. My general rule is I don’t drink during concerts so that I can fully enjoy the music and keep the giggly fangirl at bay. Well … we had a bit to drink at dinner (thanks, in part, to our favorite bartender evah, but that’s a story for another day) … and I sucked down three Bass Ales during the show. Multiple six cocktails with my concert high … and Giggly Fangirl joined the night.

Peter Buck was working the merch table, selling CDs and signing autographs for fans. Well, Fangirl jumped out of her hiding place … grabbed her passport … and asked Mr. Buck to sign in. “But won’t that invalidate your passport?” I told him I didn’t care, that it was the only thing I had for him to sign. I felt like a dork as soon as I did it … but then I get to show y’all:

After that bit o’ embarrassment, we got to talk to Scott McCaughey for a bit. Scott may be the coolest, happiest musician I’ve ever met. You can tell he gets such joy from playing and touring. He always takes the time to chat with his fans. I think he’s replaced Peter Buck as the musician I most want to be friends with.

Before we left Ottobar, Robyn came out and chatted with us for a couple of minutes. Yes, Giggly Fangirl had quite the night.

A Thankful Thanksgiving

Our family’s Thanksgiving holiday was casual and happy, spent at the Lake Burton house.

The entire Coffey clan was there, and it was a wonderful day. Thanksgiving is one of the best holidays, I think, because it’s all about being with family and friends, just enjoying each other’s company and retelling our favorite family tales.

A Blog Brag

I met Gizmorox from My Head Is a Box Filled with Nothing this weekend! She was visiting friends for the holiday, so we met for brunch. She’s a very cool woman … and she’s quite the cutie, guys.

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Three Faces of Cup

Next to Christmas, Halloween was my favorite holiday when I was a kid. When you have an imagination like mine, there’s nothing more thrilling than putting on a costume and another persona. My favorite was a gypsy because I could dress in a riot of color and tons of my mother’s jewelry. I loved the jingle of the bangles.

Halloween is also a helluva lot of fun when you’re an imaginative adult. I came thisclose to a fun costume party this year, but there was the threat of a soap opera, so instead I revisited costumes of years past.

Somewhere among all those T-shirts and floating pens and CDs and books and baubles are photos of me in the costumes described below, but I can’t find them (I’ll find them next week, no doubt) … so here I am on another Halloween.


Best Costume — Adult Category

Being a woman who loves color and baubles and outrageousness, it was inevitable that I’d one day spend a Halloween as Carmen Miranda.

I bought yards of a gold lame fabric covered with lots of wild, colorful squiggles. I wrapped it around me in a sarong style. This was the late 1980s, before the era of the thong, so I went commando. I used a strip of the fabric for my headwrap, to which I fastened plastic fruit — apples, bananas, grapes, an orange. I bought some cloth heels, coated them in gold glitter (I love glitter) and topped the shoes with more fruit. I was a vision in Del Monte.

The headwrap and the sarong cloth; isn’t that fabric so 1988?

We hit several parties that evening, ending up at a friend of a college friend’s party. By the time we got there, college pal Reifenberger was seven sheets to the wind — still damn funny, talking a mile a minute, but a bit oblivious to the world outside his drunken state (in other words, Reifenberger’s normal party state). We were talking and laughing in the kitchen when a very inebriated chick stumbled our way.

“Gweat costume,” she slurred. “Are you a boy or a girl?”

“I’m a girl,” I sniffed, resuming my conversation with Reifenberger.

“I dunno,” she said. “You could be a guy. Looks like something a guy would wear.”

“I promise you, I’m a girl.”

“Lessee …” and Drunk Girl lifted the hem of the sarong to the top of my head, sharing my tricks and treats with everyone in the kitchen. “Huh. You are a girl.”

And Reifenberger? He just kept on jabbering and never caught the show.

Great Concept — Poor Execution

I had a great idea, one that would play off my dramatic coloring of black hair and pale skin: go as a photonegative of myself.

I coated my hair and eyelashes in white temporary hair color. I painted my face, hands, arms, and legs black — with, of course, little white freckles sprinkled all over my face and arms. I wore a white T-shirt and shorts (sometimes in Atlanta you can wear shorts at Halloween), with a black bra and panties over that.

Cute idea, right? Problem is … my hair is so dark, the color came out gray, not white, and the color faded (well, flicked off like flocking on a dying Christmas tree) every hour. So … I didn’t look like a photonegative of myself … I looked like … oh, God … a badly executed racial slur. As we walked into parties, my friends would shout, “That’s so cool; you’re a photonegative of yourself!” so that the other partygoers would get it. It was so off the mark that when we waltzed into the Majestic (our longstanding dive of a diner) at 2 a.m., everyone stopped for a couple of beats, looked at me quizzically, realized I wasn’t a racial slur, just a bad idea, and went back to their eggs and grits.

*sigh*

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Hey, Kids, Shake a Leg

The Drive to Lake Burton

In the beach vs. mountain question, I’ve always picked mountains. I love the north Georgia mountains — the peace in the green, the silence in chirping crickets and singing birds. It’s the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, so everything is green and blue and leafy. My soul relaxes as soon as I spot the first mountain.

The drive to Lake Burton is just under two hours from my place. Last Saturday’s drive was wonderful. The sunroof and windows were down … our local station was in the middle of a Smells Like the ‘90s weekend, so the music was great … the weather was glorious, a bit overcast, but humidity-free. I zoomed and sang and danced in the driver’s seat all the way to the driveway.


The Sautee-Nacoochee Indian Mound has always been a favorite spot on my mountain tours. Legend has it that it’s the resting place of two tragic young lovers from warring Cherokee and Chickasaw tribes. Sometimes called the Romeo and Juliet Indian Mound, it was built by mound builders in 10,000 B.C.

There are many Indian mounds around the state. If you ever make it to Georgia, I recommend an afternoon trip to the Etowah Indian Mounds, about 45 minutes north of Atlanta. Very cool place.

And here’s the Lake Burton house. Beautiful, isn’t it? On the outside, anyway. Inside, it’s a museum for 1974 décor.

Can’t you see me writing great stories and novels here? Dancing to and singing along with R.E.M. from one end of the porch to the other? Just look at that porch, that view. You know how I love porches (I'm on my porch as I'm writing this, in fact).



And the level below has a screened porch running the length of the house. The home is owned by my brother-in-law’s father. Widowed father. I’m seriously considering roping him into marrying me so that I can get that house. Do you blame me?

Tomorrow: Photos from around the lake.

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My un-Labored Weekend

I spent last weekend in the loveliest spot of the state: Lake Burton, in the North Georgia mountains. I meant to write about the weekend earlier, but I took way too many photos and just finished sorting them.

My brother-in-law’s father owns a house on the lake. He rarely goes up, so my sister, brother-in-law, and I took over the house for the holiday weekend. After months of stress and heavy workloads and worries and traveling, it was wonderful to just be for a few days — no makeup, R.E.M. and Zevon T-shirts and cutoffs, hair curling wildly. We took boat rides, read, hung out, enjoyed the view.

And the house has a porch. A big porch. With railing. Overlooking the lake and mountains. My kind of hangout spot.

So, let’s start with the most important part of the weekend: the cocktailing.

My sister and I decided to cocktail for twelve hours straight on Sunday, and we pulled it off. We also imbibed much of Saturday and Monday, too. The nice thing about marathon cocktailing is, if you're a pro, you can maintain a level of buzz that's not too far over the edge. With no hangovers or embarrassing drunk dialing.

You know the pose; now meet my weekend pals.

Sister's award-winning frozen margarita

A margarita on the rocks (we tired of blending)

Chik-Fil-A lemonade with Absolut Citron

A glass of red from Garretson Winery*

A chilled glass of Naia

*Paso Robles' Garretson Winery is owned by a Georgia boy, Mat Garretson. (His older brother was one of my college radio station buddies.) The winery is known for its viognier, and I recommend it. The red we're drinking is a Georgia Bulldogs label that my brother-in-law picked up; not bad at all. Mat must know what he's doing with those grapes.

More Lake Burton stories to come this weekend.

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Four Fourths

It’s the Fourth of July here on the porch, where I’ve spent much of this holiday weekend. And when I’m on the porch, chances are I’m in a thoughtful, reflective, reminiscent mood. I’ve had some great Independence Days — Peachtree Road Races and fireworks, barbecues and patio cocktails, friends and family being the standard celebration (and there was the Nasty Clam Incident of 2004). But four were different.

Twenty Years Ago

Love of My Life: The 1980s Edition and I were driving to Vermont, where we would camp for several days on his family’s property. We stopped in Maryland to pick up his older brother, staying there for the July 4th weekend. His brother had three beautiful blonde girls — the oldest six, the youngest a toddler. I immediately bonded with the oldest, Emily. LoML was Emily’s godfather, but he shied away from her and instead played with the two younger ones. Why? Because Emily had cerebral palsy. And, as he said, she freaked him out. This beautiful, twisted child could barely talk, but communicated in so many ways. She was full of life and happiness and love and hilarity; you couldn’t help but be bouncy and bubbly when you were with Emily. And he couldn’t even look at her.

We watched fireworks on an island that July 4th. Emily sat in my lap, so LoML wouldn’t sit next to us. The bang of the fireworks at first scared the bejesus out of Emily, but I held her tight and talked to her and showed her how beautiful the sky was right after the bang. She soon relaxed against my chest and cooed “Pretty!” at each burst. Damn, I loved that little girl.

When we returned home, I saw him in a different, uncomfortable, shallow light, knowing that he couldn’t see beyond surface flaws. We broke up six weeks later, over something stupid and trivial I pulled. It was the most devastating breakup of my life. But in my heart I knew he was no man. Today, in my personal photo album, the one I keep on my bedside table, the one with the special photos, I have a shot of me on the beach with those little girls. No photos of him.

Eleven Years Ago

As the low man on the management totem pole, I was scheduled to work the bookstore during its abbreviated holiday hours. I brought in beer for the booksellers, those equally unlucky in shifts. The store was quiet, so we enjoyed our beer and our overly educated, book-snob selves.

The store closed early, around 7 p.m. There was talk about going on to Churchill’s, but instead I went to my parents’ house. I was depressed, and lonely, and alone, and lost, afraid that my life had stalled and wouldn’t restart, and I wanted the comfort of my parents. My dad loved watching the Boston Pops’ Fourth of July concert on PBS, and so I watched it with him instead of partying with friends.

I didn’t know it at the time, but this was the last day of My Lonely Year. The next night, at a party, things changed … and Love of My Life #3 and I began our interesting eight years of adventure.

One Year Ago

OM began losing the cancer battle about this time last year. There were July 4th parties to liven, races to watch, fireworks to ooooh … but instead I shut down and locked the door. I was consumed with sadness and fear and anger, and couldn’t bear to look at another soul, to celebrate something as trivial as a national holiday (it was the mood, kids). Such loneliness in realizing you’re about to lose your dad, this great strength you’d always leaned on, that this unconditional love that would soon be gone from your life. I stayed in all day, mindlessly watching mindless movies. I went to the barbecue drive-through down the street to grab lunch, and was so embarrassed about being by myself, I ordered two platters so that the drive-througher wouldn’t know I was alone.

This Year

We’re having an indoor picnic (which I think is actually called “lunch”) this afternoon at Mama’s. Fried chicken and cole slaw, sandwiches and chips, lemonade and watermelon. There are too few of us now for Mama’s banana pudding, but there is watermelon, by God. Holidays are strange these days as we create new traditions. And if my g*ddamn cable was working, I’d watch the Boston Pops tonight and hope he was watching with me.

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Musings on a Memorable Memorial Day Weekend

There’s nothing better for the overworked soul than a three-day weekend … except for that clutch in the stomach around 5 p.m. Monday when you realize it’s nearly time to head back to your desk. (I really need to pursue my lottery retirement plan.)

I had a glorious weekend, although it was a bit too hot for me. Among the highlights:
… damn good sushi with my niece …
… watching my nephew master his hacky sack …
… cocktails and lounging with my out-of-towner …
… a Beatles tribute band, with a bit too much wine and beer …
… a fun afternoon tea at a friend’s — mimosas, girlie sandwiches and gooey sweets, rambling and entertaining conversation …
… a drunken cry about OM with my brother (we both needed it) …
… coffee with condo negotiations …
… mediocre yet entertaining movies …
… family dinner at Red Lobster. I don’t even know the last time I ate at a Red Lobster, but it was good …

Hope your holiday weekend was wonderful, too. At least we’re going back to a short work week.

Speaking of going back to work, GOOD LUCK to Paige on her first day at her new job, as ministry asssistant for the new Home Life minister at our church. I know she’ll bring a lot to the position. It will be interesting to see where this path takes her.

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It really is Good Friday

My good friend Paul got his dream job today! He's going to be developing stories for a company that produces some of the best video games out there. He deserves this great opportunity; he blew their socks off with one freelance job, and they grabbed him immediately. Shows corporate smarts. It’s been a long time since Paul had a great job (Bookstar, maybe?) — he’s worked for one psycho and unscrupulous company after another — so it's about time he worked for a decent organization. And he’ll finally be able to use that English degree he earned 15 years ago. Paul’s also on the brink of adulthood — his lovely and wonderfully cool wife will soon give birth to twins — so this job couldn’t come at a better time. Clap for him!

I hope you’re enjoying the same beautiful spring weather I am; I feel God on days like today. I kicked off the holy weekend by seeing “The Easter Story: Where Reality Meets Christ” at church this evening. It was an amazing, powerful drama about the last days of Jesus’ life — put in a context for us to get it. I walked out of church in the much-needed Easter spirit.

Get out and enjoy the gorgeous spring weekend!

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