Sweet November

Normally, she didn't consider November a good month.
After all, November tends to be damp.  Gray.  Dark.  Cold. Did she mention damp?

However, this particular November was different, somehow.

First off, it wasn't nearly as cold as it could potentially have been.  And, given that she could live with incessant drizzle, it was warm.  There was no snow on the ground.  In fact, the grass still clung fiercely to some vestiges of green, almost as if defying mother nature.  Winter?  Bring it on!  We'll fight it.

And in that aspect, at least, she and the grass were one.  Fighting the change of seasons, the warm to cool, as the languishing summer sun and breath of sweet thunderstorms wafting into the open window were chased away by the gusty interruption of fall and insipid creep of chill and frost and damp.

Strong little sprouts, standing proud and stubborn in the face of inevitable change.  

November was amazing.  There was abundance, for once.  There was laughter ringing through the walls of the house, most days.  Nothing was more warming during this year's late fall than the reverberation of a little girl's uninhibited giggle, the throaty laughter of girlfriends enjoying a Pinot Grigio, the muffled chuckles of early morning and late evening underneath flannel sheets.

More than that, the little cream stucco house was always light.  The neighbors sat in their kitchens, looking toward it, saying, why dear, there's another party next door.  They are always entertaining!  Really, we should have them over for dinner some night.

Late into most evenings, the little house glowed orange with laughter and warmth and the light of candles.  The dogs barked happily, chasing their tails, chasing scraps of dinner.  When the back door opened, puffs of apple and cinnamon, clouds of pumpkin,  vanilla, chocolate, sugar, garlic, all popped out the door, making the dog-walkers quicken pace to get home for dinner.  Coffee brewed at precisely 5:48 every morning, rousing the sleepy occupants.

Yes, November was unequivocally not shabby this year.

Late November, a sweet evening full of sunset and unseasonable warmth, found her standing on the back porch, cooling a pumpkin pie, shooing an insistent hound, fanning the warmth of standing next to the oven away.  It was irresistible delicious to stand outdoors barefoot in November, allowing her toes to take a bittersweet walk along cool concrete and outdoor carpet.  She knew that she'd have to change soon, slip out of the pants and T-shirt that bore the battle wounds of the day in the kitchen.  Guests would be here soon.

With candles lit and acoustic guitar strumming mellowly along, she dashed up the stairs to put the final touches on the afternoon.

Meanwhile, friends started trickling into the little cream stucco house.  Greeted by candlelight, chilled Chardonnay, subtle strains from the stereo and a wave of cinnamon, cloves, and butter from the kitchen.

They cooked and prepared and snacked and introduced and greeted.
Laughed at stories old and new.

Descending the stairs and venturing to the kitchen, she wondered at the delight dancing in her husband's eyes.
As the turkey was carved, she marvelled at the infectious laugh of the woman at the next table.  
She stifled a giggle at a priceless joke and dabbed at a tear from laughing as she dashed for the whipped cream and pies.

There was abundance of abundance, as guests ate their fill, and drank in good company as the sweetest apéritif.

As sunlight waned outside, conversation and camaraderie swelled indoors.  
Voices rang like church bells in the distance, reminiscent and distinct, giving thanks for light and dark and passing and yet to be.  Together, the thanksgiving crescendos to a chorus of blessings, an aria of abundance, a symphony of sweet time passing and being and yet to come.

As the orange halo of the day's sun bobbed and teased and finally ducked under the naked skeletons of oaks and maples, she had a chance to step back and look around.

She observed the warmth of it all and smiled.
A circle of friendship makes the sweetest choir.
From now on, it would be called Sweet November.

Requiem for a cocktail

Today, we gather to remember the cocktail.

 

 

She had a short life.  Brevity, however, did not steal her desire to make fate play by the rules.

 

Her life started far away, as a tiny seed, solitary and serene, basking in warm rain showers and glimpses of sun.

 

Plucked from the vine at just the right time, she was whisked away to a destiny yet to be announced to her.

 

In a cavernous distillery, full of metal and steam and heat and machine, she arrived only to be created into something else.

 

She sat quiet with her brethren, looking on, almost completely inaudible except for the occasional resettling.

 

Then her day came.  She could not explain what happened, really, but it was as if her essence were being changed, as if she was being manipulated over time into something that she was originally not.

 

 

After suns and moons had travelled many times over, what was left of her - the excellent, the good, the essence of the tiny pure seed she had started to be - was bottled, labeled, sealed, stamped, boxed, and shipped.

 

She arrived in yet another strange land, this time looking through thick glass at the world around her She was ripped from her carton and flung on a metal shelf painted white  An old woman with a thickly creased face put a small marking on her glass, which inconveniently blocked the view of a row of beautiful blue bottles filled with pinot grigio.

 

She was taken home by a stranger in short order.  He jostled her about, put her in a paper bag and tossed her in the trunk of a car that smelt of spare-tire rubber and sand.

 

Getting used to sitting for long periods of time staring at darkness was nothing new, after the distillery experience.  So she was just a bit surprised when not too many days later, she was snatched from the trunk and heartily shoved into the hands of another stranger.  That wasn't all so uncomfortable, as she was beginning to find contentedness in the company of strangers.  What was uncomfortable was the leers, the hands, the passing around, the fondling of her beautiful gold-edged label and red metal seal.

 

Rather suddenly, her world turned upside down once again.  As her new home was torn apart, she first panicked, and then realized that she was meant to leave the glass prison.  She breathed a sigh of relief, and the sweet aroma from her lips brought a cheer from the mates looking at her from the outside in.

 

She was falling then, splashing amongst cold mountains of ice, crashing against smooth sides of glass, mingling and dancing with others just like her.

 

Finally free, finally ready to go home, she became one with her final place in life. 

 

 

As ruby lips sparkling with anticipation and desire met her cool, moist touch, she knew she had finally met her destiny.

 

 

Unabashed Review: How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb

I have been waiting for this CD for, well, a couple of years now.  After redeeming themselves with All That You Can't Leave Behind, I think that I am finally able to forgive Bono and crew for the indiscretions of the late 90s with Zooropa and Pop.  Thank God that we're getting back to what my Irish boys do best - edgy, guitar-laden love songs.
After previewing a copy over the weekend, the CD release party last night, and a few of my usual drives, I've had a chance to listen to and think about it all.  Here is my unsolicited, completely subjective, and inherently biased review.

Overall:
The CD's first track and single, Vertigo, is a bit misleading as to the contents of the rest of the disc.  I find the foursome's latest work to be a pretty decent mix of Edge-branded guitar riffs (and God Bless Him for that...), the vocals that I have come to love and expect from my imaginary lover Bono, and even on the slow songs, outstanding bass and drums that sorta make you just want to listen to it all day long because, whether or not you like it, the songs are addictive, stuck in your brain, and once again, Bono, Edge, Adam Clayton and Larry Mullen Jr. have found the magic recipe to reinventing themselves while keeping enough identity from War to now to say, hey, that's U2, but's its just edgy enough that I really should buy it and listen to it until I wear it out.

Ranked against other CDs out there on the current adult/alternative music scene, I'm giving this a 4 1/2 of 5 stars.  Certainly one of the best I've added to my collection as of late, although my one complaint is that it's a little heavy on the slow song side.

Ranked against other major U2 album releases:

1. Joshua Tree
2. Rattle & Hum
3. All That You Can't Leave Behind
4. Achtung Baby
5. How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb
6. Boy
7. October
8. Unforgettable Fire
9. War
10. Zooropa
11. POP

 
(putting this perspective, I give Joshua Tree a 5 1/2 of 5 stars, it's such a masterpiece that it can't even really be ranked, and Pop a 3 1/2 of 5... so there are no losers on this list.)

Track Review--

1:Vertigo--We have all hear this one on the radio for, oh a good two months now.  It's poppy, catchy, and makes me want to buy an iPod worse than anything.  But it's hands-down the most upbeat song on the release.  It's a good display of each of these gent's talents.  A good first single.  I can't wait until they stop playing it on the radio so much so that I can get back to enjoying it in my own special way. 5 of 5

2:Miracle Drug--Reminiscent of something you'd have caught on the B-side of Joshua Tree... drool.  Although this may not be a popular favorite, I find nothing better than a good Bono slow song (a la All I Want Is You.)  Sigh.  Good times. 4 of 5

3:Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own--Another slow.  This track, reflective and personal, drills to the soul of any relationship that's been around for a while.  It's singalong in the car good.  Insert your own rock-starness here. 4.5 of 5

4:Love And Peace Or Else--2 Words: GOD YES.  Why this song makes me want to start a revolution, we'll never know.  But it gets to the hippie born 2 decades to late that lives inside of me.  the bass guitar is amazing.  The righteous anger in this song comes through loud and clear.  A throwback to the early years -- you could just as easily have found this track on Boy.  Which is why it is my 2nd fave on the disc.  5 of 5

5:City Of Blinding Lights --The song starts of with a "where the streets have no name" riff (thank you Edge, for making my life a happier place to be), and the song doesn't stop from there.  I love when U2 mixes their stuff up.  The piano in this song literally stopped me where I stood.  If Bono sang this song to me, I'd probably melt into a puddle.  Good stuff.  5 of 5

6:All Because of You--I dedicate this song to John Haggerty.  Though it's not a musical masterpiece, it's good.  And the lyrics are amazingly powerful to anyone who found love in a desolate small-town hole and lived to tell about it.  How does this band know how to write songs that reflect my life experiences?  I'm half a world away.  Apparently, that's part of their appeal.  4 of 5

7:A Man And A Woman--This song lacks the guitar brilliance of the rest of the CD.  Then, there's those ridiculous falsettos that sometimes work, and sometimes, not so much.  Not a favorite, but not the worst song the group's ever recorded.  3 of 5

8:Crumbs From Your Table--It's so interesting that each of these tracks remind me of a past CD.  The first time I heard this song, I really thought that I had originally heard it on Achtung Baby.  However, it's new, but a terrific throwback to that great album that I first wore out on tape, and then on CD.  4.5 of 5

9:One Step Closer--Slow and driving, this song embraces all that has been good about the last 25 years of U2.  It also incorporates some of the better lessons that the foursome has learned over two decades.  Not sure why this isn't the signature song on the disc, but hands down, it's the best.  Music and lyrics can't be beat.  5 of 5

10:Original Of The Species--Well, after track 9, nothing is really going to sound as amazing.  Some decent guitar, some traditional Bono vocals.  I imagine I'll eventually be hearing this on Cities 97.  3.5 of 5

11:YAHWEH--This is an exceptional vocal song for Bono.  Obviously, he wrote the lyrics, which are amazing.  He's such a poet.  And he can sing, which he again demonstrates on this song.  Edge gets in on the action with a piece of the lyrics and the 6-string stylings he does oh, so well.  Meaningful, beautiful.  A good exclamation point on a solid release.  4 of 5

the Shaggerty Social Calendar

Yah, I'm a real debutante...

However, here are the fun plans I have. Am always open for new adventures with new faces... so if you haven't already been invited, this is your official standing invite to come hang out.

November 21: Friends Thanksgiving III - my house. afternoonish.

November 22: U2 "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb" CD release party, The Local downtown. 10ish, until I can no longer stay up (hey, it's one AM now and I'm still kicking...)

November 24: Semi-formal (whoo hoo!) cocktail party, Dave's place. Can't wait to have an excuse to get all gussied up. :)

November 29: Book Club, discussing Confessions of Ugly Stepsister, 7:30 ish. The barnum/camerer abode.

December 9: Boogie Wonderland at Fine Line, 8 PM. Girls night (although it's a public place, and I can't stop any male-folk who are into disco from crashing our fun...)

Sometime in December: the gang goes to the Shout House some friday or saturday night. Dueling piano bar. The first time we went (Chicago, after the United match) was just about the most fun I could have with hard liquor and two pianos.

Some other time in December: Friends Christmas (chez Barnum-Camerer, I believe)

To be determined: New Year's Eve. I'm hoping for another chance to get a babysitter, dress up and drink too much. Anyone else have any thoughts?

A bit further in the future: January 19th! It's my birthday! It's a monthlong celebration (in my own head) of Sarah-ness! Possibilities for a celebration of the grandest sorts (I'll be officially in my late 20s, after all...) include:

• renting the luxury Elysion cabin, bringing all who long for hot tubs, big screen tvs, and a weekend full of play,
• Having a private party at Kieran's or the Local,
• Another crazy evening of barhopping (especially if we do a kareoke night??),
• Cake and Amaretto sours on the couch. (this one's not my fave, to be honest. But's it's always on the list.)

If you have an opinion (and you know you do), then post and let me know about it. T minus 2 months to my birthday! whee!

(and yes, I do still plan to be this excited about my birthday when that first digit moves from 2 to 3, and from 3 to 4. I survived another one! It's reason as any for a party!)

takers?

A Saturday afternoon in November.

Like most good and responsible adults, I am cleaning, listening to my favorite band (thanks Dave, you rule), and aspiring toward a clean bedroom and no laundry on the floor.

And, like the nutter I am, also ponder life, death, and love while I work.

I am recently aware that my gift of creativity is squelched on several different levels: I work for someone else. Hence, my creative assets are roped in by another's boundaries.

I live with a way-too-conservative for even me, who needs 8 hours of sleep and structure. This is the hardest of my hurdles in life to jump.
(although, would it be any better were John a cigarette smoking, caffiene dependent freelance writer with a propensity for the bottle and spurts of late night creative genious? I don't know, at least I could paint at 3AM if that were the case. Although I don't know that we'd ever have clean underwear.)

As another year's door slowly starts closing, I am fated to look back on the last 12 months. Overall, they have been productive. And difficult. And I'm making decent money and can pay the bills, but I'm rutted. I need something new and different and exciting and challenging and beautiful and dangerous and passionate and creative.

Any takers?

Today's interesting thought

11/20
We are trapped
And catapulted
By who we are not, and
Who we should still be.
By whom we left in the back seat of a car,
Who we lost in a cold corner of the university library,
Who we forgot when the dress code changed yet again.

Did you know that once
I was an artist?
A princess
A lounge singer
An amazing
Intelligent
Beautiful
Confident
Diva.

I danced on the stage
I smiled at fear
I didn’t let what age had to say
Get in the way of progress
Of the crusade for social justice
Of art for the sake of beauty and love and creation.

As an artist,
It didn’t really make sense for me to listen to the voice that said,
What about when you have to pay the bills?
How will you ever get an apartment?
Don’t you think that there will be a time when you want a family
And a husband
And a dog and cat and John Deere lawn tractor and 401(k) and a closet full of made in Indonesia conformity?

Why did I say yes?
Is that what I really wanted?
Is it what I want now that I have it?

I want to ask

I want to go back
Talk with the artist in the back seat of the Escort
Parked in an abandoned cemetery, writing poems about the angst of love
And ask her
What do you think about staring emptily at an Excel spreadsheet, sending random emails, and abusing the internet for the better portion of your paycheck?

I want to discuss
The benefits of my investment accounts and retirement planning
With the punk purple haired girl in ripped Levi’s and an old man’s wool sweater
Who fought with the optometrist for her cat’s-eye and rhinestone glasses

I yearn to check in with the woman
Who organized a peaceful demonstration
For the progress of Capri pants in the workplace
Right after she was swept into Human Resources
And put on notice for insubordination.

What would she say about the chinos and sweater sets
The Franklin Covey planner
About being 27443, or 21964499 before that?

Most of all,
I want to catapult
More than retreat

Tap-dance naked on the moonlit beach at the cabin
Steal vintage signs from condemned buildings
Sing out loud in the car when stuck in rush hour
Flirt with danger and greatness and oblivion and passion

And remember to remember that I am
an artist.
A princess
A lounge singer
An amazing
Intelligent
Beautiful
Confident
Diva.

---
11/18
...If I could find the yellow brick road out of limboland, I'd be off faster than a girdle on prom night.

All things Great and Small

-- (psst: as much as I proclaim it, I'm not actually a Goddess. Here's my thoughts on Higher Power) --

"Name, please."

"Where am I?"

"Is that your given name?"

"No, no. My name is Georgia. Where am I?"

"Do you have a last name, Georgia?"

"Uh, yah. Churchill. Georgia Churchill. What is this place?"

"Eternity, honey. Welcome to it."

"You have to be kidding. I'm in Wisconsin."

"No, nope you are not. You were in a head-on collision with big rig hauling chickens west on I-90. Tsk. A real shame. Killed on impact."

"So..."

"So this is where your soul goes. Call it heaven, call it limbo, call it Hell. Here's where we go."

"Everyone's here?"

"Oh, no. Only instantaneous deaths. The Big Man doesn't know what to do with us, so He sticks us here."

"Wisconsin?"

"No. Eternity. Here."

"Ok. Well, then. Uh, what do you do here?"

"Not much, really. Line dancing lessons every Tuesday, there's a knitting circle. You can learn to churn butter if you're so inclined. We have a great selection of cheeses..."

"I AM in Wisconsin!"

"No honey, now I know that this might be hard for you to accept, but for the last time... you... are... dead. DEAD. Wisconsin's back in the world of the living. This is Eternity."

"Are there cows here?"

"The ones who have died instantaneously."

"See? Cows. Wisconsin."

"No. Instantly dead cows. Eternity."

"Do you have a football team?"

"I don't know. That's not my department."

"Well, whose is it?"

"Bill. He's three pastures over."

"Can I talk to him?"

"Sure. I'll send a b-mail and let him know you're on the way."

"Don't you mean e-mail?"

"No, honey, b-mail. Bovine-carried letters."

"Christ, this is Wisconisin...""

Cara

-- Without love, what are we, really? --

My Final Crush

Sometimes
When I hear a song, or pass a funeral procession,
I think of you.
I imagine
what it's like
to instill the nuances of Twain
into your dark eyes,
between which
much pop music and teenage angst flows.
Why do you do it?
I always though you were more.

You and I, I think,
we'd have made a great scandal
as lovers.

we could have discusses the lyrics in Angel of Harlem
gone to Jayhawks concerts
lay around on Saturdays
as lovers do
eating cheerios and milk
wearing faded college sweatshirts
and thick, tortoiseshell glasses,
renaming all the colors
in the J. Crew catalog.

Alas, a lover only in imagination,
you gravitate to small town
and the lack of stoplights
makes me uneasy.

And so,
like all scandalous affairs,
I'd have left you brokenhearted
for the big city.

You'd have pined for me,
and lived life in hickville
alone
eating cheerios
analyzing U2
and thinking,
thinking,
thinking.

It would have been a fun love story.

Being Shags

-- the thoughts that end up on the screen instead of staying in my brain go here --
11/22

I will have a new U2 cd in my hot little hands in approximately 4.5 hours. Squeal! And, although most of my now decidedly uncool friends (yah, that's you...) aren't going, I say, God Bless the Sara(h)s, God Bless Bono, and God Bless the Irish.

This week is actually full of anticipation for me. I was thrilled to host Friends Thanksgiving III. It was a blast. It was so much fun that it hurt in the morning. And I guess that's really the way that it should be. I have the greatest friends (wait, didn't I just call them all decidedly uncool?) Ah, well.

I'm all over the place tonight. U2 -- then, one horribly long night of nothingness -- then, happiness is a bottle of muscato d'asti at chez Dave. Whee! A babysitter and all, I can hardly wait.

Squeal! What a fun week it will be (and no work for 4 days...)
sigh...