A ram is also a sheep.
Holiday Party with an Emphasis on Christmas
The time has come to plan my (and that other guy’s) holiday party! I have a few preliminary ideas for entertainment:
1) Famous local musicians will lead my guests in a Christmas carol sing-a-long. I will pay them in merriment.
2) The two principals of the Charlottesville Womens’ Arm Wrestling League will give a pre-season exhibition.
3) We will paint cookies with dyed confectioner’s sugar that will not be tainted with lead.
4) Someone will dress up like Santa Claus and promise your children expensive gifts.
I need to choose a date. Saturday night the 15th of December? Thoughts?
PS The Christmas tree is dead and won’t be accepting presents this year, but I will.
The Satellite Ballroom’s Robot Wares & Record Fair
I am thrilled to announce the return of the Satellite Ballroom’s most outstanding event of the year (after, of course, last week’s Slightly Stoopid show):
THE ROBOT WARES & RECORD FAIR!
For those of you with superior taste who have lived in Charlottesville for a couple years, you may remember this as THE shopping and music event of the holiday season. Last year I bought homemade manatee stationary while listening to Sarah White and drinking mimosas. Patrick Critzer sold curry, Thomas Dean sold silk-screened t-shirts, Junkyardoll sold vintage clothes, and a good time was had by all. I hope that everyone comes out to the Satellite Ballroom this year to support Charlottesville’s best vendors, craftspersons, and artists. I swear to blog that you will end up finding some kickass Christmas presents there.
The fair is on the afternoon of December 2nd. Let me know if you want to help organize or publicize the event, or if you need information on how to reserve your own table and make tons of cash money.
Virginia Safari Park
The Virginia Safari Park in Natural Bridge, VA is the saddest, most wonderful adventure you can take from an Interstate 81 exit. First, a photo essay:
Hi, furry cow creature. Do you want to wipe your boogers on Darren’s hand?
Look Harper! Baby piglets! We can just throw them some grain from this bucket and…
Holy shit! Roll up the window!
This was actually our second trip to the park. The first time, on Gene’s birthday, we thought it was a good idea to safari in the back of a pick-up truck. I still cannot believe this is legal–we must have signed some incredible waiver when we bought our tickets. Darren was gored by a tusked beast while he was trying to feed an ostrich from his bucket. He still has a scar. This time, we took Harper in a tusk-proof Saturn station wagon. Without automatic windows, we had a few close calls, but mostly we just got snotted on. The zebras were isolated this year, which was fortunate. They will bite off your face if you give them a chance. No wonder Jared Diamond said they were immune to domestication.
Attempts have been made to train zebras for riding since they have better resistance than horses to African diseases. However most of these attempts failed, due to the zebra’s more unpredictable nature and tendency to panic under stress. For this reason, zebra-mules or zebroids (crosses between any species of zebra and a horse, pony, donkey or ass) are preferred over pure-bred zebras. (link)
Wow, that was distracting. So anyway we fed giraffes from our hand, pet pygmy goats, saw a kangaroo with an upside-down baby in her pouch, and whispered sweet nothings to an albino tiger cub. Whatever–I’m so over it. Step it up next year, Virginia Safari Park. I need a unicorn or a baby dragon or something. I can fondle llamas at home.
I ate burritos with the Governor
Let me preface this story by saying that Barack Obama gives a killer stump speech. If I go to a political rally in the cold, I expect a lot of high falutin’ promises, righteous anger at George W. Bush’s administration, and humorous yet telling anecdotes that will inspire me to clap my hands and hence raise my core body temperature. Last night my fingertips remained numb, but I liked the candidate, and he liked me. At least, I feel that he has faith in people in general (and yes, my emotions will determine the next President). I think that genuine faith in oneself leads to faith in other people which leads to honesty and transparency in the White House.
Obama reminds me of the great college professor who listens carefully to the stupid question you just barely articulated/blurted out in class, then uses his superior wisdom and vocabulary to ask it back to you (“Do you mean ___?” “Yes, sir/ma’am.”), then leads the whole room in a lively and enlightening discussion of the possible answers to the question you actually didn’t ask but in an ideal world where you are smarter and have an extra hour to think in a hyperbaric oxygen chamber before class, you might have. And he gives you credit for the whole thing. Good guy, that Obama. I like his wife too.
After the rally, we went out for Mexican food (thanks Dad). To their credit, the employees of Guadalajara were not overly star struck when I walked into the restaurant, nor when Virginia Governor Tim Kaine walked in moments later with a small entourage. Before Governor Kaine had a chance to sit down and order a beverage, we leapt up to shake his hand. This was sort of a blur. I think I said something like “wonderful job” and then slapped him hard on his heavily trench-coated shoulder. Then I quickly sat down and ordered a beer. He was a swell guy though. I enjoyed his introduction of Senator Obama at the rally. At dinner I kept wanting to stand up and make a speech for Kaine’s benefit, like “This is what America is all about! Eating Mexican food and laughing with my family! I’m fired up!” He stopped at our table and said a nice goodbye before he used the Guad restroom. This made Darren wonder if the Secret Service encouraged him to climb out bathroom windows into waiting limos after he dined in public, but actually he used the restroom like a normal person and probably only said goodbye to us beforehand because he had to walk by our table to get to the facilities and we were all staring at him. Then (of course) we joked about sticking sexy notes or men’s shoes under the door while he was in there. But we didn’t because we were too busy talking about reality TV.
Governor Tim Kaine, please don’t hate me for publicizing your lack of restroom exploits. You do good work and my dad was right – last night Guadalajara missed out on a great opportunity to start a “Wall of Fame.” They totally could have photographed us together.
An incident in the women’s bathroom
Tonight I had my fiction class at UVA. It was great, as usual, but I was drinking a forty of Hurricane during workshop and consequently had to take frequent trips to the restroom. It was actually a twenty of Diet Doctor Pepper. I was alone in the restroom when I heard a very loud pair of shoes barge in and loiter in front of my stall door, where I was actively urinating. The hinges on the door allowed for a lot of peeping space, and I nervously ducked down because the intruder was obviously checking me out through the cracks. Then the person went into the stall next to mine. I saw white tennis shoes and socks facing the toilet under the division. I heard a male voice murmuring to the bowl, but no liquid or flush, and then suddenly the person stomped out without washing his hands. The whole incident took less than half a minute. I tried to finish up quickly so I could catch the culprit, but DDP creates a long stream. A female classmate entered the bathroom as I was exiting the stall, feeling very violated.
“Did you see someone leaving?” I said. “I think a man was just in here.”
“Oh yeah,” she said. “I think it was___(another classmate). He was in here last week too.”
I furiously washed my hands and returned to the classroom, where __’s complacent white tennis shoes confirmed my suspicions. Not wanting to embarrass the guy, but also really wanting to embarrass him, I said, “Hey __. Were you just in the women’s bathroom?”
“Oh, was I?” he said, unapologetically. “Yeah maybe. I get them mixed up all the time.” Evidently the little skirt on the bathroom door says nothing to this guy except “Lift me up.”
Princesses on Ice–or, Why Charlottesville Is Not Like Las Vegas
Has anyone else in Charlottesville seen the billboard truck that has been driving up and down the 250 bypass advertising Disney Classics: Princesses on Ice? I suppose the show needs an ad-mobile when someone on the Disney team is writing copy this seductive:
For the first time ever, Disney On Ice combines exceptional moments from Disney’s Cinderella, Aladdin, The Little Mermaid, Sleeping Beauty, Beauty and the Beast, Mulan and Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs in one captivating production filled with amazement and wonder. Dreamers of all ages will take flight on a heart-warming tale filled with sizzling special effects, dazzling set designs and elegant artistry on ice. Families will share moments of laughter, romance, struggle and triumph as each Disney princess has her dreams come true.
I wonder if the ad-mobile fills its gas tank with amazement and wonder and that’s why it never gets tired of driving down my road, annoying the hell out of me. When I went to Vegas this summer, there were two of these billboard-mobiles to every car on the Strip, and they were all embellished with giant Russian prostitutes and their personal phone numbers. These women invariably had bad teeth that were blown up to the size of sheet cakes in their photos. Walking down the Strip, hating life and sunshine, the billboards actually cheered me up. No matter how miserable I was in Vegas, those Russian whores were uglier and more miserable, plus they had to talk to jerks on the phone all the time whereas I can screen my calls. These giant ladies did wonders for my self esteem. Meanwhile Charlottesville has larger-than-life, cartoon princesses populating its city streets, making me feel inadequate. I suck at ice skating, I have no poofy dresses, and my boyfriend isn’t royalty. I drive a tiny car that would probably be incinerated in a head-on collision with those virgin princesses, and only the cartoons would get out alive.
Sacaga-geewhiz
For a few days Jennifer has been collecting petitions on the Downtown Mall, advocating removal of the offensive Lewis/Clark/Sacagawea statue on West Main and Ridge. I imagine she has been attracting a lot of interest to her cause because a) She is Downtown during lunch rush; b) She has a lot of friends and supporters behind her; and c) She is wearing some kind of garish 80s prom gown and her hair is dyed crimson and purple.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the protesting Jennifer, my aunt Deliah was upstairs at City Hall peering through her office blinds at the scene on the mall below, going “What the fuck?” My family jokes that Deliah should start her own private detective agency because she always knows everyone’s business. The statue affair was no exception. Deliah quickly got on the ground to see what was going on. After citing the protesters for violations of city code, Deliah proceeded to grill the women on their motives. Not satisfied with their answers, Deliah decided that she should be the voice of public reason every lunch hour, dissenting against the dissenters.
Here is where Darren comes in. This afternoon D made his way downtown to get lunch as usual when he ran into his sister Jennifer in a prom dress and my aunt Deliah in her city uniform having a heated debate about Sacagawea. Before he realized what was going on, he said “Deliah, have you met my sister Jennifer? Jennifer, have you met Wistar’s aunt Deliah?” They suddenly realized that the other was not just a random crazy person on the Downtown Mall, and that they had a piece of common ground.
Did anyone bear witness to this? I want quotes.
I think this is funny because my beloved, strong-willed aunt and my boyfriend’s amazing, equally strong-willed sister, were anonymously sparring on the mall about the symbolism of a Native American woman who died 95 years ago. I think Sacagawea would have been proud of both of them.
Wedding pictures
-Posing by the gazebo
-The second best date at the wedding, after the bride
-Gleefully instigating a dance fight
-What’s a wedding without a secret tree fort?
Signs of a Small Town
You have seen all the local vanity license plates three or four times.