Sunday, November 27, 2005

Lightning Strikes

I read somewhere that the quality of one's writing is directly related to the frequency with which the person puts pen to paper (ermm, in this case, fingers to keyboard, I suppose). I guess that is true to a certain extent, but I find writing just to "prime the pump" ends up counterproductive, boring and flat. Plus for me, there is the distinct possibility that it will degenerate into a rant of some flavor or another. I personally need the mental stimuli of other creative people, at least once in a while. Something to break the ice. (Pardon my visual pun)

Which brings me to creative people, in general. Last night S and I got to check out the musical stylings of Dead Can Dance with four other fun, creative, literate and (drumroll, please) CHILD-FREE couples. People who read - and discuss - books. People who have great (creative) taste, interests in a variety of things. People with whom I could have a conversation that did not once in a evening involve me being gracious about bodily fluids or sudden nasty odors. These things in and of themselves were a gift not unlike manna from heaven above - the fact that they were fun to hang out with and (fellow) wine and music and art lovers was so wonderful I almost broke into a spontaneous interprative dance number. The topper on this little wedding cake of serendipity? THEY WERE LOOKING FOR US, TOO! Yessss! We celebrated our mutual non-loser status by hopping in the car.

I fell instantly in love with B's wife, who we nicknamed "Hurricane Girl" (with stages 1-5) within two hours of meeting her (more later).With her Pottery Barn-meets vintage-meets tiki room taste in decorating. Her husband, B was plying us with wine and beer within minutes of us walking in their door. Hurricane Girl, with her glossy, ravens' wing hair, curvy figure and beautiful (read: no wrinkles!) face, appears to be maybe 27 - turns out she's...wait for it... a disgustingly youthful 35, which blew S and I totally away. Before I learned this, I had been thinking,

"Cool, hey, I'm not the baby of the group by 10 or so years for once!" - but it turns out that I just look old and thank goodness I just colored the silver out of my silver fox's hair. We hit Trader Joe's for the obligatory wine, hummus, pita chips, sushi, wine, cheese (crowd-pleasin' Smoked Gouda) Chocolate (the squee-tacular milk chocolate with hazelnut chunks mini-bars) and did I mention wine? I was perusing the pinots and petit syrahs when B came up to me and said,

"So .... basically what you're saying is if anyone's drinking Merlot, you're leaving, right?" Haaaaaa! I heart anyone who can work a good Sideways reference into day-to-day conversation. We hopped on a bus that shuttled us from where we parked to the Hollywood Bowl. laden with yummy goodness and There was magic in the air, as well as a fair sprinkling of Goth Girls and guys (I'm told I have a "corset body") aging/new hippy types, punks ren-faire lads and lasses in crushed velvet, and of course the obligatory Hollywood crowd. We feasted merrily at a little picnic area and than commenced Operation Grape Grope (read: hide all the bottles of wine we were bringing in so as not to pay $8.00 for a CUP of swill) If went off without a hitch, thanks to my devious little mind and some skillfull packing. Security at the H-bowl? Awesomely lax.

Three hours or so of waaaAAAAuuughaaa, woooOOOOouuughhoooo" later (and I'm not saying thats a Bad Thing, FYI) it was all over. You can see/hear what I'm talking about here:
Mad props to anyone who can bring back the Sackbut as a viable instrument - surely no one rocks the whole "I look like a Van Eyk painting" look harder than Lisa Gerrard. What I'm saying? Even if goth/trance/weird music is not your thing--- you should check this stuff OUT!

As we arrived back in Santa Barbara, an amazing electrical storm with BIG thunder and bolts, sheets and flickers of lightning started - and went on through the night and into this morning. Coincidence? I think not.


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