Ballet and High Heel Shoes

Oh the agony. The insomnia. The repellent corticosteroid and the nauseating anti-inflammatory drugs. The helplessness of low back pain.

How does it go again? "Whatever doesn't kill us makes us stronger."

This is Round Three of pain/drugs/physical therapy. I guess it's time I considered surgery. I believe I'll consider bionic surgery.

This Really Happened

So my best friend Jaymie and I had just left a club and were gingerly teetering in our high-heeled boots through the snow and ice that had accumulated on the sidewalk since we went in several hours before.

Spying a slick layer of almost-invisible ice on the parking lot blacktop, I grabbed Jaymie's arm to steady her and said, "Watch out, there's some black ice right there."

Two guys walking toward us suddenly stopped, looked at each other and then at us, and said, "Jesus, ladies -- please!" Then they called us names and went into the club.

We sat in the car and tried to figure out what we did wrong. We were just walking to our car in the freezing cold, not talking to each other, much less anyone else. Besides, neither of us would say or do something rude to complete strangers.

It didn't dawn on us until much later that the guys probably thought I said, "Watch out, there's some black guys right there."

Yeah, I am an inadvertent asshole. Jaymie and I were discussing that episode after passing by that club yesterday. We both still feel like crap about it four years later, in case you're wondering.

Blogiversary!

Bricka-Bracka, Firecracker, Siss-Boom-Bah, WOT, WOT, rah, rah, rah!






In June of 2005 I began this here little blog.

I was living at my parents' house in Pennsylvania. Superfly and I had been dating long-distance four whole months. I was unemployed, friendless, in Greenland. So to speak.

In June of 2007:

Superfly and I moved on up to a deluxe apartment on the East Side of Denver and we've been together two-and-a-half-ish years. I am vaguely employed, lots of friends (including the only living genius I know personally, Mr. B. A.) and far from Greenland.

I am celebrating with a cold beer and some Oxycontin (my back is killing me again) and toast my friends in the blogosphere, my old/new friends, and the special anniversary of this little blog that could, but overslept.

Cheers!

If you wouldn't mind, check out the first posts of World of Trouble, under June 2005 in the Archives. That's located on the left sidebar, dearhearts.

WOT Favorites: Thin Lizzy

A few weeks ago I was helping my mother put together a photo slideshow for Trouble Jr.'s graduation party. It made sense to use songs that feature her first name for the soundtrack, so I set about googling "songs about..". The predictable ones; Hall & Oates, Fleetwood Mac, and Starship, I was extremely reluctant to use. Then, I see a Thin Lizzy track. What? I thought I knew me some Thin Lizzy, yet hadn't heard of this song.

You may have heard of Thin Lizzy, guitar heroes and rock and roll gods. Phil Lynott, the massively talented bassist and lead singer of Thin Lizzy, is probably best known for being a sort-of Irish Jimi Hendrix. Thin Lizzy's biggest hit was "The Boys are Back in Town" but the band's influence on other rockers was greater than any Billboard chart landing. It's no hyperbole to say that every single hard rock band recording today was influenced by Thin Lizzy, either by innovative duel lead guitar harmonies or by their signature working-class poetry lyrics.

Metallic famously covered "Whiskey in the Jar" and Smashing Pumpkins put their stamp on "Dancin' in the Moonlight", for starters. Thin Lizzy tribute bands abound, the most well-known and highest regarded of which is Dizzy Lizzy — personally approved by Mama Lynott.

I just saw in our local paper that "Thin Lizzy" is coming in concert this summer. From what information I've read so far the line-up is a mash-up of tribute players and original players. For my money, that's worth a ticket!

Superfly says I put too much video on my blog. If you agree, I apologize. I won't stop, but I'm sorry you and he feel that way. With that semi-disclaimer, here's a video of Thin Lizzy on Top of the Pops, singing Trouble Jr.'s song:

History's Greatest Ever Duet

Edith Piaf and Charles Aznavour, with their celebrated "Plus Bleu que tes Yeux":



If you are not moved by this song you are a heel.

UPDATE: Apparently a reverently-fictionalized biopic of Edith Piaf just opened in select markets. Go! See!

On Loving Trends Well Past Their Peak

Disco Stu doesn't advertise.

In 1975 — what many consider the peak year for Disco — I was 7 years old. More importantly, I had a sister who was 11 and another that was 15. With Sister #1, Donna Summer, Michael Jackson and Sugarhill Gang records were bought; Solid Gold, Dance Fever and Soul Train were watched; and clothing with satin and sequin embellishment were favored. With Sister #2, Led Zeppelin, Heart, and Frampton records were bought; Don Kirshner's show was watched; and clothing with band logos and feathery roach clips were favored. Of course, I was 7, so I liked the Carpenters and Donnie and Marie a whole bunch.

In 1992, disco again was in favor. Me and all my friends in the service industry rocked out some serious disco parties and rocked some seriously horrible retro-disco fashions, i.e. bell bottoms, platforms and belly-shirts. Every disco song recorded in the '70s was unearthed, repackaged, and sold to greedy disco lovers like me. Awesome.

15 years later, I still listen to disco as often as possible. Now it's on my IPod, my digital music channel on TV, my little CD player in the kitchen. I'm not sure if I can clean the house without disco accompaniment; I don't believe I'll find out, either. Often, at karaoke night, I will do a whole night of disco tunes. And you know what? Everyone — even the crusty rockers and cheesy country types — loves it. They woot and whistle, tap their feet, dance a little in their chair, and thank me.

Hating on Disco is sooooo 1980. Get over it!

Herewith, my Disco Playlist. Enjoy!

In no particular order:
Tavares - Heaven Must be Missing an Angel
Trammps - Disco Inferno
Bee Gees - You Should be Dancing
Kool and the Gang - Celebration
Chic - Good Times
Peaches and Herb - Shake Your Groove Thing
K.C. & the Sunshine Band - That's the Way (I Like It)
Foxy - Get Off
Parliament - Flashlight
ABBA - Dancing Queen
France Joli - Come to Me
A Taste of Honey - Boogie Oogie Oogie
Earth, Wind and Fire - Boogie Wonderland
Musique - In the Bush
Brick - Dazz
The Three Degrees - When Will I See You Again
Boney M - Rasputin *(see video)




Sure, most of the usual Disco nugget songs aren't on my list. That's because I'm over them. Seriously, like I never need to hear them again in my life. Especially at karaoke. I'm talking about you, Gloria Gaynor!

Might I be the most embarrassing granny in town someday? Let me go ahead and guarantee that. To paraphrase McFadden and Whitehouse, there ain't no stopping me now. I vow to get all my nursing home buddies to Bus Stop and Hustle as best their replacement limbs and joints will let them.

And I don't care what anyone thinks about it. Hmph.

Would-be Heroes

Extreme Heiress Makeover!









Paris Hilton is a rich kid who craves attention. She isn't bright or charming and her talents are limited to self-promoting activities. She tried to sing, to act, to write and to become a business woman. None of these activities have worked out as well for her as just being Paris Hilton.

Some say she's beautiful, but it is the kind of beauty a lot of money can buy: blond hair extensions, colored eye contacts, professional (I'd say, professional drag queen) quality make-up, fake tan, and the best clothing in the world, custom-fitted to her hatrack frame. Take away all of these things and she is the homely, awkward girl of her posh youth.

She's doing the best she can with what she's been given. She is really too dumb to be living on her own, as demonstrated when she gets in hot water any time her publicist Elliot Mintz isn't babysitting. Like any bratty high schooler, Paris often asserts that her critics are "jealous". To her "legions of fans", Paris Hilton is a hero.

The Hiltons are an enormously wealthy and powerful family and Mama Hilton, perhaps in an effort to live her own missed shot at stardom vicariously, insists Paris gets whatever she wants. What's so bad about that? Most mothers want their children to be happy, right?

Could be, but in this case the parent believes she and her whole family (and possibly her whole economic class) have and deserve special privileges and rights not afforded to everyone. Why? Because they are rich and therefore better. So if Mom and Pop Hilton need to put the squeeze on politicians and authorities in order to spring their dimwit daughter from the pokey, you bet your sweet ass they'll do it. If she succeeds in circumventing the law for her little girl, she'll be a heroine to her family and her class.

Judge Michael T. Sauer is not a star-fucker, unlike so many other officials in Los Angeles. When Paris Hilton was late for court, she immediately got on the judge's bad side. Sure, he clearly has an axe to grind with celebrity justice, but this behavior will irritate any Judge, heiress plaintiff or homeless plaintiff.

Paris Hilton was not arrested for "traffic violations". She got popped for DUI and driving with a suspended license. Either offense will net anyone some jailtime, and taken together demonstrates a pattern of irresponsible driving. Anyone else with her list of driving problems would likely be relieved of their driving privileges for several years, sent to defensive driving classes and DUI classes, and probably spend 30-45 days in jail, if not more.

Spending 23 days in a "celebrity wing" of a jail is entirely appropriate a sentence for Miss Hilton. Her family's effort to get her out on some medical excuse is absurd and an affront. If prisoners doing hard time can get specialized brain cancer treatment, Miss Hilton can be treated for her Herpes and her depression while in jail.

That's fair and just. Judge Sauer aims to put her right back in jail to serve out her sentence and I hope he prevails. Do I think he's trying to make a name for himself by being a hero for justice? Shit, yes. So?

Under the pressure he's facing from all sides, I'm impressed that the Judge hasn't knuckled under and sprung the rich jailbird to avoid backlash or profit from bribery. Whatever his motivation, he's upholding the law and serving up justice.

Serve your time, Paris.

Summertime

Summer in Denver means lots of sunshine, 80-degree weather, no humidity, clear blue skies (at least, until the daily afternoon thundershower), and leisurely frozen margarita lunches al fresco.

Not exactly conducive to blogging, so I hope you'll understand why it's been so long since I posted.

So far, What I'm Doing on my Summer Vacation is a whirlwind of travel, out-of-town guests, swimsuits drying in the shower, flip flops and sunscreen.

I attended Trouble Jr.'s high school graduation and burst with pride at the fine lady my little darling girl has become. Visited with parents, one of my sisters and her cutie-pie 2 year old, and friends in the hometown who've only had two months to miss me but were nevertheless happy to have an excuse for copious drinking.

Friends from NYC flew out with their 3 year old son and stayed with us for a week, allowing me to see Denver from a newcomer's perspective. New Yorkers always say the same things about Denver: "It's so beautiful!" and "Everything is so cheap!" and "These people can't drive for shit!" Also, they usually fear the authentic Mexican food you get here — it doesn't resemble the chain-restaurant fajitas, so it can't be good.

I haven't had alone time with Superfly for almost two weeks. I'll check in with you later. Hope all's well!