On whose shoulders do you stand?

Happy Holidays, readers!  This is the worst kind of symmetry, but the last time that I wrote an entry, it was soon after the passing of my maternal grandmother, Edna Mae-- and this entry comes soon after the passing of my paternal grandmother, Clara.  I am fresh out of grandmothers and I won't mince words: it fucking sucks.  I miss them.  I had all of my grandparents for almost 26 years, and it was an incredible fortune that I sometimes took for granted.  So, now I'm 30 and I'm down to 1 grandparent left.  I recognize that I need to take advantage of the time that I have left with my pepe (my paternal grandfather), but it's like I don't know how to go about it.  What am I supposed to say?  "Pepe, you're the only grandparent I have left, so I'mma need all of your free time from here on out, mmkay?"

It seems almost too right that I'd have to start this entry with a nod to my grandparents, because what I really want to write about is what comes before us, on whose shoulders we stand, and what inspires us.  [Sweet CHRIST, I hate when I have this much to say because I have to get it all down in one fell swoop or I know I won't have the right words the next day, or I won't have the same fire.  I don't like to write unless there's something I HAVE to write.]  So, let's get into it.  Strap in.

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Alright.  BFF Molly and I have been BFFs for a length of time that is now closer to 2 decades than it is to 1 decade.  You can surely imagine how many mixes have been exchanged.  We have our own styles of mix-making.  I won't write to Molly's approach, but mine is usually pretty wordy.  I once sent Molly a set of mixes with "liner notes"-- like, 5 or 6 pages explaining why I included each song and what she could take from it.  Sometimes it would include some music history-- God only knows what I wrote when I included songs from Sam Cooke or Jeff Buckley.  I'm fairly certain that Molly didn't read everything that I'd include, but I LOVED writing those notes.  I threw together 3 mixes for her over this past Thanksgiving, but didn't have time to write any notes, or even fuck around with the song order for each one.  [There's a scene in High Fidelity, both film and movie, that discusses the construction of a mix tape.  The order is key.  I'm a firm believer.]  I made copies of each mix for myself and have listened to them over the past few days, and sat down tonight to write the liner notes.  I haven't written anything longer than a few paragraphs in quite a while, and I was getting the itch, so I thought that liner notes would be a good starting point to get my swagger back.  The first mix I was chronicling is called "MKD's Ladyfierce Mix".  I include that information so that you might get deeper insight into how much fucking FUN I have with this stuff.  Here's how the liner notes started:

1.  You Drive Me Wild (The Runaways)-- The thing about most Runaway songs that really gets me is how confident the lyrics are, despite being written by 15/16/17-year-old girls, decades ago.  It's my understanding that they were the first girl group to be so overt and aggressive with their sexuality, when historically female ensembles had been good-girls or just total jailbait.  The lyrics here, in "I Love Playing With Fire", and in "Cherry Bomb" are so self-assured, self-actualized, that even if it sends a somewhat irresponsible message to really young women, I don't care because it's genuinely refreshing.  

2.  The Wild One (Suzi Quatro)-- If nothing else, Suzi Q is from Detroit.  Word.

3.  Tymps (The Sick In The Head Song) (Fiona Apple)-- I love how Fi-Fi writes her lyrics.  Kayne West interviewed her right when this album came out for Interview Magazine [they shared a producer right around that time, Jon Brion], and I will never forget reading that Kayne literally told her that her "vocabulary was so ill".  

4.  Tell Him (The Exciters)

5.  Rock N Roll (The Runaways)-- This is the original version of that song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=osOq7G-fiY8  I enjoy that The Runaways changed it to "that LA station".  When I release an album of cover songs, this song will be included, and I'll change it to "that Dee-Troit station".

6.  River Deep, Mountain High (Ike and Tina Turner)

7.  Lollipop (Squeak E. Clean & Desert Eagles Remix) (The Chordettes)-- You can hear that drum sample I mentioned at the :40 mark.  It's from Tone Loc's Wild Thing.  Check it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=387ZDGSKVSg

8.  The Kind Of Boy You Can't Forget (The Raindrops)--  I didn't know this UNTIL RIGHT NOW, but The Raindrops were not an African-American girl group like The Crystals or The Ronnettes, but rather the name that Ellie Greenwich and Jeff Barry used for their own songs.  They were married, and were 2 of the biggest songwriters in the Brill Building.  As soon as you read a bit about Ellie Greenwich, you're going to be like, "Fuh REAL!?" because she's responsible for some of the most delightful pop music.  Check it: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ellie_Greenwich  AND HOLY SHIT, she wrote my favorite pop Christmas song, too!  Check that, also: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UV8x7H3DD8Y

9.  I Love Playin' With Fire (The Runaways)

10.  I Drove All Night (Cyndi Lauper)-- I'm uneasy that Celine Dion covered this song.  Uneasy.

11.  Here's to Us (Halestorm)-- Is it too much to ask that I sit at a bar surrounded by campaign teammates and we randomly start singing this in unison?

12.  He's A Rebel (The Crystals)-- Another example of me being blown away by pop music...Darlene Love sang the lead vocal on this, and according to her Wiki page, she sang back-up on some of my favorite songs

I've been a fan of Darlene Love for a while, for several reasons, but visiting her Wiki page and then her AMG page [wait a sec, are you not aware of AMG?  Right that wrong, friend, and right it quick.], really drove home how amazing and criminally underrated she is.  CRIMINALLY.  I knew she had sung back-up for Sam Cooke, another of my favorites, and I wanted to know which songs she'd touched.  Looking at her credits, I noticed that she had worked on some of Joan Jett and the Blackhearts' albums, too.  Alright, to say that I "noticed" it doesn't cover what really happened.  I read those credits with the same emotional reaction that Allie had in The Notebook when she read the first of the 365 letters that Noah had sent her-- tearful delight, incredulity, regret at not having read those words before, etc.  I was on tilt, for sure.

And then I thought a little further.  Everything I know about Joan Jett-- which is not nearly enough-- indicates to me that OF COURSE she'd have Darlene Love sing back-up.  I LOVE Joan Jett.  I hella, hella love her.  I started listening to The Runaways after seeing the eponymous film last winter, and it really turned into something.  It made me get back in touch with the inner riot grrrl, and exploring female artists that I'd overlooked.  The overall ethos she expresses-- making noise, not apologizing, being your own advocate-- was the perfect companion to a seismic shift in my own sensibilities that started last spring. Then, a few weeks ago, I was in DC [for BFF Katie's wedding!] and I made an all-too-brief visit to the National Museum for Women in the Arts to see a special exhibit called Women Who Rock.  I wasn't sure what to expect, but on the real, I am grateful that I went on a Monday at midday because I was the only person in the entire exhibit, and it allowed me to really feel it.  The exhibit includes clothing, instruments, and random memorabilia from a ton of incredible women in music.  Check it.  And I saw things that took my breath away.  Truly.  (I described the experience on Facebook thusly:

Attention, residents of Washington, DC and the surrounding communities. If you don't take the opportunity to check out the Women Who Rock exhibit at the National Museum for Women in the Arts, please punch yourself in the face. I saw handwritten lyrics to "Cherry Bomb", a pair of Patti Smith's boots, Kate Pearson's wig, the dress Cyndi wore on the cover of She's So Unusual, one of Cher's Bob Mack

ie creations, an original issue of Bikini Kill, Kim Deal's bass, Madge's J-PG gold conical bustier, and I was sobbing for pretty much the entire time I was in the exhibit because HOLY SHIT IT'S JOAN JETT'S LEATHER JACKET WITH A PIN THAT SAYS "PRO FUCKING CHOICE" AND I JUST CANNOT HANDLE THIS EXCUSE ME WHILE I REMOVE MY GLASSES AND WEEP INTO MY JACKET SLEEVE AND CAN I JUST SET UP A COT AND HANG HERE UNTIL THE EXHIBIT CLOSES AND AREYOUFUCKINGKIDDINGMEHOWISONESUPPOSEDTOHANDLEALLOFTHISWITHOUTACOCKTAILANDALICENSEDTHERAPIST. StevieDonnaMarianneSheilaLindaPatSiouxsieDebbie, praise.) 

Seriously, sobbing uncontrollably.  [Oh, that's Nicks, Summer, Faithfull, E., Ronstadt, Benatar, Sioux, and Harry, respectively.)  My interest in/obsession with Joan Jett and female musicians only intensified after visiting the exhibit, so seeing this connection between her and Darlene Love was pure magic to me.  I couldn't help but think that maybe they're pals in real life.  Maybe they've performed together.

So, I pushed it a little further and found this.

And I lost my shit once again.  To cite another John Cusack film, it's like the universe keeps revealing these women to me.  [That's from Serendipity.]  (The tough thing, for me, about finding these little gems is that I get deposited onto some ecstatic plane of emotion, and can never seem to find anyone who can meet me on it!  ATL Laura and my friend Sara gave worthy attempts, but they really had to be there, y'know, in my head to fully understand.  It would probably help if more of my friends were prone to manic or hypermanic episodes.  Whatevs.  My friend KB gave it a shot but, again, she had to be there.)  It doesn't seem like nearly enough people in my life are familiar with Darlene Love.  It is ridiculous because NO ONE has a voice like hers.  She belongs in the same vocal stratosphere with Otis Redding, Sam Cooke, Freddie Mercury, Aretha Franklin, Nina Simone, etc.  Aside from her own hits, she sang back-up for some true, true legends, and a lot of it was uncredited.  I cannot even imagine how much of her voice is out in the ether.  (Speaking of back-up, Joan Jett sang on Peaches' "Boys Wanna Be Her", which gives me delight beyond measure.)  She was there for arguably the most important time in pop music, when Phil Spector was producing his Wall of Sound.

Anyway, I posted the above video on Facebook, hoping beyond hope that I'd find some kindreds.  No dice.    Is it possible that not everyone is knocked out by these powerhouse women?  Why do I feel like more of the exception that the rule?

I think about the women who costumes and paraphernalia I saw at the NAMWA exhibit, and I'm just floored.  (Granted, there were some exceptions.  In addition to an explanation about rape threats on an Tumblr comment thread, I'll also need an explanation for why Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera get to share ranks with Joni Mitchell and Bonnie Raitt.  Sure, Brit has given us some fun shit to dance to, and some of my favorite car-singing moments were thanks to Xtina, but what barriers did they break?  What risks did they take?  Some current-day female singers might end up really accomplishing something beyond mere hooks and records sales-- truly, I'm optimistic about a few-- but riot grrls they are surely not.)  Time and time again, these women blazed a trail.  They made noise when everyone and everything was telling them to keep quiet.  And in the process, they created some of the most indelible moments in popular culture and a soundtrack to our lives.  [Quick question: how badly do you want to listen to "Edge of Seventeen" right now? Or maybe "Love Me Like a Man?"  So badly, right?!]  A few weeks ago, a friend was bitching on FB about being tired and unmotivated, and I just unleashed.  We just don't have time.  This girl has a ton of potential, and I cannot sit idly by as she wastes it.  What if Aretha had been like, "Meh, y'know what, I think I'm just gonna marry well and hang it up"?  What if Cyndi Lauper was like, "Eh, I'll probably just wear jeans and a t-shirt.  I don't want to be too weird"?  No.  Fuck that.  This is what I wrote to my friend:

"Think of all of the women who came before you, who didn't even have the option of professional everjetting*, who were relegated to hearth and home, forced to bear the responsibilities of a family instead of pursuing a career or chasing a quixotic dream in a faraway city. We stand on the shoulders of generations of silent, bored women, generations of untapped potential and missed opportunities. You have the opportunities that our foremothers couldn't have imagined, so don't fuck around and waste those hard-won chances that lie at your feet. You would be cheating yourself out of adventure and success, cheating the world out of your awesomeness, and spitting in the faces of those who came before you. I wouldn't relay these words to every woman; I'm relaying them to YOU because I believe you are exceptional. Wake up, get your ass in gear, and don't rest until you kick some ass today."

(*Everjetting is sort of an inside joke.  It relates to an alias I assigned to myself when I feel like I'm living up to my potential and kicking serious ass.)  I was a bit histrionic that morning, and I'd had some strong coffee, too, but I'll be damned if I wasn't being completely honest.  We truly stand on the shoulders who came before us.  Thank CHRIST I haven't had to blaze any trails!  It would not go well.  They've been blazed, for sure.  It's our job to make sure they remain that way, that we're guardians of our progress, that we don't take everything for granted, that we keep at it and speak up and make sure that we reach back at every turn to pull the next woman up.  I look at my niece and think of the friends she'll make, and my hope for her and those girls is that they be governed by grace and guts, not by bullshit.  If I can have a hand in that, then I can die happy.

I am lucky that I work in a field where I have ready access to strong, accomplished women, rife with grace and guts.  I'm addicted to them.  My quite amorphous professional ambition is to get good women elected.  Everywhere I turn, I see new examples of women being abused, ignored, or marginalized.  It's like technology has given society new and fun ways to be shitty to women.  Some of my favorite female writers have been vocal about the harassment they get from internet trolls, and it goes so far beyond ridiculous.  Honestly, can someone explain to me the psychosis required for someone to send a rape threat to a feminist blogger?  I sure as fuck don't understand it.  Is there some reptilian corner of the male brain that drives one to violence in response to a call for gender equality?  I just...ugh.  So, instead of just complaining, my response is to work towards getting more women elected to public office.  I could go into greater detail about the logic that connects "women are up Shit Creek" to "I need to work in politics", but now is not the time.  Here are some things that keep me motivated:

1.  Professional or collegiate football, and the related hysteria, commercialism, and mindfuckery
2.  The Kardashians
3.  Any of the Real Housewives [except maybe Caroline Manzo]
4.  The sheer number of women I know who changed their name upon getting married [yeah, yeah, it's traditional, but FOR FUCK'S SAKE, that tradition is based on flagrant and archaic patriarchy]

And then there are the things that keep me inspired:

1.  A strong female voice, musical or otherwise
2.  Women who can shred
3.  Men who get it
4.  Women who get it-- OK, so here I was going to include a link to something that Amy Poehler once said, but I couldn't find just one, so suffice it to say that Amy Poehler gets it.
5.  My mom-- we're not always aligned politically, we're not always aligned about what I should be doing professionally, but she approaches everything with circumspection and kindness, and thus sets a good example for me (a judgy bitch).

I'm between campaigns right now, so I don't know what's next.  My career in politics hasn't been easy, and I'm grateful for that.  I'm getting psyched for a new challenge.  I know that whatever I do next will involve smart, motivated people for whom the phrase "fire in the belly" is entirely apt.  I might never get to meet my favorite female icons, but I have gotten to meet some of their political counterparts.  Legislative rock stars, if you will.  Daydream: Secretary Clinton runs for POTUS in '16, I get to work on her campaign, and the entire living roster of the Women Who Rock exhibit all offer themselves as campaign surrogates, and I get to kick it with Dolly Parton and Kathleen Hanna.  And when I say "kick it with", I mean "shit my pants and hide in a janitor's closet so that I don't embarrass myself in front of".  I'd pull it together in the end though.  It's a part of everjetting.

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Here's to DLove and Joan Jett, to the women who refuse to shut up and who dare to play with fire.

SuperRowan and 3-D Humility

Note: I have a cache of unfinished and unpublished entries. I want to cross the Ts and dot the lowercase Js, and get them up. I'll be doing this over the next few weeks, and to prevent any confusion with this blog's timeline, I'll make a note of the blog's original timestamp in the title. There's one about my favorite eateries in Baltimore that needs to be posted. I'm a little achy for B-more lately for a variety of reasons, so revisiting my favorite eats will be a little salve.

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Over the summer in Baltimore, I was blessed to have 3 interns reporting to me. They were each wonderful in their own way, and I miss each of them dearly. One of them, Rowan, asked me to send a recommendation letter to her high school, attesting to her performance over the summer and what she learned working on the campaign. It was pretty much the easiest writing assignment of all time. Rowan is still in high school, she's years from fully crystallizing into an adult, and I cannot wait to see what she does once she takes flight. I told her that I'd do whatever I could to help turn her into SuperRowan; this is an inevitability. I remember looking around at my classmates in high school, maybe during a lecture or when one of us was making one of the eleventy-trillion presentations we had to make in our four years, and thinking, "We're going to shake shit up." I met a few people over the summer who gave me that same feeling, and Rowan is one of them.

Now that the year is drawing to a close, I'm thinking back on how I spent my time and looking forward to what moves I want to make next. Since Thanksgiving or so, I've been circling some big themes, plotting what I want to do next, what I want my next writing project to be, and yesterday, I was smacked in the face with one of those "You're on the right track, girlfriend!" moments. And what beautiful serendipity that one Miss E-Cav was with me!

Let's begin with some classic DKM trivia. Question: How many times did DKM see "Titanic" in the theater? (I'll provide the answer in a future post. Ooh, suspense for all 4 of my readers who probably already know the answer.)

Suffice it to say that I spent well over an entire day in the theater watching that movie. Not in one sustained period, mind you. It was spread out over several months; that movie stayed in theaters for a long time due to its Oscar attention. Aussie Cat was my hype girl for several of these viewings because a) she had wheels and a driver's license, and b) she is as enamored of the grand/romantic/sparkly/epic/melodramatic/sweeping as I am, easily turning a blind eye to reason or logic [or discerning taste] in favor of a chance to be knocked breathless if even for a moment. (There aren't that many of us, and even fewer that aren't completely pathetic. See "Twi-hard" for some reference points for the pathetic among us.) Even at the time, I don't think that I was gushing about the quality of the movie. I probably talked some sugar about how much I wanted to make out with Leonardo DiCaprio-- that really shouldn't be in the past tense, if I'm honest-- or about Kate Winslet's performance, which still holds up. But I don't think I tried to convince anyone that it was the greatest movie ever. (It isn't. Like, at all. I could get fucking academic on that point, trust.) It was essentially a cheap high. Bear with me.

"Titanic" came out when I was a sophomore in high school. That is prime angst time, right? I was in the throes of the first major gut-wrenching, insomnia-inducing, borderline-unhealthy, unrequited crushes that I've ever had [there've been 3, and I'm pleased to note that all 3 have turned into genuinely interesting, accomplished, compassionate men-- my flawless taste started early], and I had no productive outlet for this vast store of lovey, starry-eyed, romantic drive that propelled me. I should've been learning how to write love songs or finding an agent to start a career in teen rom-coms because I probably would've been really prolific. (Yeah, that's right, Taylor Swift. You're not the only one who had high school crushes that basically made you cognitively impaired; you just managed to write some catchy and marketable songs about them.) It was like I had truckloads of bricks but no idea how to build anything with them and it was maddening. A major archetype in my heroine's journey is satiety. Even when I was really young, I remember feeling like I could never get enough of anything. I always wanted someone to pick me up. I always wanted one more person's attention. I always wanted to hear a song or a story one more time. I always wanted one more helping of whatever Jan was feeding us even if I knew, logically, that my belly was full. This 15-year-old version of that hunger/drive/craving was no different, and it just wouldn't go away. But, I remember sitting in the theater, when the lights would go down and the previews would start, and that gnawing feeling would quiet down a bit. I had 3 hours of relief that I couldn't find anywhere else. I would be captivated. I'd be swept up into something big and bombastic. Seriously, it was like a drug. It's efficacy faded, of course, but I was able to get an adequate fix for at least a handful of those viewings.

So, bring it back to the present day. That lack of satiety is still a major theme. I know that part of a political campaign's appeal to me is that it is entirely captivating; it demands everything of you, physically, mentally, emotionally. If you have any sort of intensity, you can unload it on a campaign. You can be as passionate and competitive as you want and it's rewarded. It's fulfilling on a different level if you can tap into the idea that you're doing something for the greater good-- probably why lucrative private sector campaigns have zero appeal to me-- and there's definitely some romance and drama to it. It's a reasonable outlet for someone like me. But it's also a stop-gap, a Band-Aid on a bullet wound, a temporary solution. Campaigns end, everyone goes home, and then what? I'm in that "then what?" phase right now and it definitely activates the crazy in me. (It unleashes the kracken.)

I'm waiting for the next campaign to start, I'm working an entirely stress-free job in the meantime, and it leaves a lot of time and energy. I spend a lot of time ruminating over my own psychosis, amusing myself with the ridiculous shit that keeps things quiet for a few hours at a time, and trying to be productive with that incessant burn. Is it any wonder that the blog is suddenly active again? Or that I have 2 screenplay treatments in the offing? Or that I can't sleep or eat normally? Or that I suddenly have the energy to work out like I haven't had since, oh, 2001? [I've lost about 10 pounds in the last 3 weeks, for real.] I've gone through these phases before but this is probably the most acute it's ever been. Thank GOD that I don't have the appetite for actual destructive behavior because "right hot mess" would not suffice as a descriptor.

So, yesterday, I'm sitting at a movie theater with E-Cav [in the very same building that the "Titanic" shitshow began for me], and what preview do we see? Oh, yes-- it's for the 3-D re-release of "Titanic" to celebrate the centennial of the ship's failed passage. It was like getting a grinning middle finger and a beckoning gesture from the universe; "yes, Dana, you are entirely f'ed in the head, but you're on the right track so keep going". The movie that E-Cav and I saw was "Young Adult", a dark comedy about a woman in a suspended adolescence, returning to her hometown to revisit a high school love and ask some questions about what fulfills us and makes us happy. I'd like to think that I'm not as fucking awful as Charlize Theron's protagonist, but there were some moments in the film that seemed almost too germain.

So, what fulfills you? What makes you happy? Do you know anyone who is actually fulfilled and/or happy? Are you? I'm beginning to think that my hunger thing-- the void that is never filled, the voice that keeps saying "THIS ISN'T ENOUGH!!"-- is probably my greatest blessing while also being the main source of my demons. Someone once told me that I'm a building on fire; I can't ever extinguish the flames completely, but the choices I make dictate how long I can keep the building intact. When I was first presented with this metaphor, I was in a slow tailspin and it was way before I had any sort of grip on my own mental health-- it scared the shit out of me. It doesn't anymore. Part of it is that I like that there's part of my essential composition that is uncontrollable, unstoppable, ungovernable. And the other part is that it's not entirely accurate. I definitely feel my own destructive ability but I'm not the doomed building, ready to crumble at any time. In that picture, I might be the fire itself. I'm lethal at times, and I'm not easily contained, but I throw light on things, and I offer warmth and/or heat. (And I'm usually too hot, literally.)

Should I ever realize my creative ambitions and find that my name is heard outside of my immediate circle, then this blog will be fucking hilarious.

"That's the ABC's of me, baby!"

The quote in the title of this entry is from Jerry Maguire, spoken by the character Rod Tidwell as played by Cuba Gooding, Jr. I'm generally a fan of Cameron Crowe's work, and then I read that he'd told Janeane Garafalo that she'd secured the role of Dorothy Boyd in Jerry Maguire, suggested she lose some weight for the role, and then gave it to Renee Zellweger. I'll never be able to fully express how upset that makes me.

Anyway, Sister Carrie posted this little personality expose thing on her blog, and I thought I'd play along.

A. Age – 29. No one ever guesses my age correctly. An asshole at a college bar referred to me as "some bitchy 35-year-old", when I was in fact a bitchy 25-year-old; but usually people guess that I'm 5 or 6 years younger than I am. This is good because I'm a late bloomer and always have been. I might be 29, but I'm hitting 24/25-year-old benchmarks right now. (Mind your own business about that.)

B. Bed size – Twin. I sleep in the same bed that BFFs Katie, Molly, and Thea would sleep on when they stayed over at Chez Mofo during high school and breaks from college. I'm telling you: late bloomer.

C. Chore that you hate – Cleaning my bedroom. The majority of the childhood memories of my father are of him yelling at me about my messy room, and for those that know my dad, it should be clear that having him raise his voice to you is pretty much the least fun thing ever. It's pants-shittingly unfun. Also, I don't like having people in my room, so cleaning it seems like a waste of time because I don't really give a fuck if it's messy. My mentality, much to the chagrin of pretty much everyone that has ever lived with me, is that if you have an issue with my room being messy, then you are even further discouraged to come into my room. For real. Stay out. Does this indicate some sort of psychosis? Eh, probably. Add one more to the list, and once again, stay out of my room.

D. Dogs – I love all of them. I've been bitten by a dog and I still love them. We just get along well. Aside from the basic things that one can love about the species-- soft ears, warm bellies, unbelievably cute babies-- I like how dogs have a really developed social structure, and I like that so many breeds of dogs have a wonderful, storied heritage. Also, dogs exhibit the best human traits: loyalty, cooperation, persistence, intelligence, sensitivity, kindness, etc. And this.

E. Essential start to your day – If I'm working, coffee with soy milk. If I'm idling, it's reading or doing the NYT crossword in the can.

F. Favorite color – It changes frequently, but dark, rich navy blue is a perennial fave.

G. Gold or silver – There's a time for both.

H. Height – 5'6.5". I love my height.

I. Instruments you play – I used to play piano and flute, and I used to sing in a handful of choirs. I still love to sing and I'd jump at the chance to learn any instrument. I would love to be able to compose and make my own arrangements of my favorite songs. I have this long-held ambition to write an early Jewel version of Poison's "Talk Dirty to Me". I already accomplished one of my random "by the time I'm 40" goals, so that one has moved up the queue.

J. Job title – Seasonal sales associate, freelance writer/editor. I'm hoping that it's only a matter of weeks before I get to reclaim a former title: political operative.

K. Kids – Oh, Christ, no. I love the niece, and I will love whatever other offspring that my siblings and close friends produce; I'd gladly sublet my uterus or donate my probably-very-agreeable follicles, but it would be for someone else's benefit.

L. Live – Detroit 'burbs. I love my hometown, but I'd rather be pretty much anywhere than here, except maybe anywhere along the rural portions of the Trans-Siberian Railroad or in any politically unstable country.

M. Mother’s name – Jan. Jancita.

N. Nicknames – Dee, Dana Mofo, DKMofo, D-Skrab [this is an abbreviation of my hypothetical DJ name, DJ Skrabble], Danifer, Wifey.

O. Overnight hospital stays – [see entries from February of 2009]

P. Pet peeves – religious fundamentalism, conspicuous consumption by the misinformed and Conservative new money enclaves outside of major cities, bigotry of any kind, reality television [with a few select exceptions], media illiteracy, mealy peaches, bullies, bad drivers, being told to watch my mouth, being dismissed, bad customer service, mixed metaphors and misuse of expressions and idioms, Citizens United, the objectification and subjugation of women worldwide PARTICULARLY when it's done under the guise of female empowerment or by the hand of women who are spoon-fed an easy alternative, how hard it is to make a living in anything creative, apathy, complacence, being told to calm down, and I really don't like when people put their hands on my bare skin without clear consent from me. (I have this gnawing memory from Election Night after this past fall's municipal primary; I was wearing a one-shoulder cocktail dress, and this dude was congratulating me and he kept palming the bare side of my back. It makes me skin crawl every time I think about it even if it was a basically innocuous maneuver. A lot of people crave physical contact and they're OK with fulfilling that craving with strangers; I am not. Keep your fucking hands off of my skin and keep your face away from my face.)

Q. Quote from a movie – I could write volumes from this prompt. From High Fidelity: "Well, I've been listening to my gut since I was 14 years old, and frankly speaking, I've come to the conclusion that my guts have shit for brains." I like pretty much every line that Carey Mulligan says in An Education. I love the last line of The Apartment. And I could watch the dialogue between Frances McDormand and Billy Crudup from Almost Famous-- watch from 3:05 to 4:50 -- about a billion times and never get sick of it. There's this tiny little nugget from The Muppets Take Manhattan when the whole gang is talking over one another, someone quiets them down, and Janice (the blonde from Electric Mayhem) goes, "I'm not taking my clothes off for anybody, even if it is artistic." I like most all of Olympia Dukakis' lines from Steel Magnolias. "There's no crying in baseball!", from A League of Their Own. For real, I could go on and on. Even if a quote doesn't have that same "I coulda been a contender!" punch that we crave, there are moments of magic when an actor's delivery of a line elevates the material beyond what is deserved by the shitty writing. (Kristen Stewart, I'm looking at you.) Rene Russo's line in The Thomas Crown Affair, referring to her character's lack of a genuine romantic history: "Well, men make women...messy." Joan Cusack in Working Girl: "Sometimes I sing and dance around the house in my underwear. Doesn't make me Madonna. Never will." Rosie O'Donnell's monologue from Beautiful Girls. Yeah, I have to stop now.

R. Right- or left-handed – Right

S. Siblings – 3 biological, 3 by marriage.

T. Time it takes you to get ready – That depends. Ok, from drenched in sweat to bridesmaid-appropriate, I'm 60 minutes with no distractions. From pajamas to work-appropriate, if I've showered the night before, 7 minutes.

U. Underwear – I'm a fan. I think thongs are ridiculous and I take issue with anyone who tries to convince me that they are comfortable. No, they aren't. And avoiding VPL is a waste of time-- yes, I'm wearing underwear! Stop the presses!

V. Vegetable you hate – I can make it work with any of them. I don't really like okra unless it's fried, and I don't like vegetables that have been pickled. Otherwise, I'm agreeable.

W. What makes you run late – Everything. I'm constantly running late. I recognize that it drives my friends and family crazy and it's a never-ending struggle.

X. X-rays you’ve had – Spinal column, teeth, jaw.

Y. Yummy food you make – I make really good risotto.

Z. Zoo animal – I really like big cats, particularly the massive matriarchs.

Open Letter to Adele

Dear Ms. Adkins,

Hello and happy holidays! I write to you today for several reasons, not the least of which is to praise you for your album 21,. I quite literally cannot stop playing it in my car while driving. (And if I'm honest, I play it frequently in my car without driving. Like on my lunch break. Or in my parents' driveway like a total rom-com single girl cliche.) But I'd be remiss if I didn't address a few other points.

I'm grateful to you for bringing back liquid liner, faux lashes, and hairspray usage. Some American celebrities who will absolutely remain nameless have taken to wearing faux lashes on their bottom lids or allowing their hairstyles to be influenced by Sarah Palin or Nicole "Snooki" Polizzi. I find it repellent. But, when you do it, it just looks bangin'. Keep it up. Your live performance at Royal Albert Hall gave us a reminder of Cindy Crawford's hair in the "House of Style" days, and I mean that in a good way. Velcro rollers, what.

I'm grateful to you for towing the line for the alabaster among us. I'll admit that I've fallen prey to the siren call of the airbrush tan or Tarte's Park Avenue Princess bronzer. But, underneath, I'm fair-skinned and proud of it. Snow White never got Mystic'd and things turned out pretty well for her.

I'm grateful to you for dressing like a lady. I've been puzzled since Madonna wore that Jean-Paul Gaultier conical bra, so you can just imagine the cognitive dissonance that Lady Gaga or Nicki Minaj have caused.

I'm grateful to you for fucking BELTING when there are too many female vocalists who play it coy because they don't have the pipes to back it up. (Yes, Rihanna and Katy Perry, I'm referring to you. Get your shit right.) Popular culture has brought us some incredible male vocalists over the years. There are men who can sing like Clapton can play a guitar. Sam Cooke and Freddy Mercury always come to mind. But there's nothing like a woman who steps up to the microphone and, without any tricks or cop-outs, can level an audience with just pure power and talent. I listen to your live performances and I just want to punch Ke$ha in the face.

I'm grateful that your lyrical content is organic and candid. You're not making up songs to titillate or make an easy buck. (Ri, Katy, I'm still referring to you. "S&M", "California Girls", really? No, but really?) You're singing about regret, rejection, desire, and heartbreak and I fucking dig it. The women that came before you, the original torch singers, the soul sisters, the ones who could bust down the doors with a single note-- they can rest easy for now.

Ok, now, about 21. If I never hear another album that is as intense, as satisfying, as moving, and as just totally fucking good, I genuinely think I'll be alright with it. I really wish that you'd included something boring and derivative, just one track that I felt compelled to skip, because then maybe I'd be less of a crazypants about 21. But, alas, we all have crosses to bear.

Lastly, I just want to extend my sympathies about the Glee cast's performance of "Rolling in the Deep". Yes, Lea Michele and Jonathon Groff can both sing. No, they are not without talent. But, their performance of it was a classic "is nothing sacred!?" moment, not unlike the casting of Ann Hathaway in the role of Fantine in the upcoming film adaptation of Les Miserables. Gwyneth Paltrow's version of "Turning Tables" and that kick-ass mash-up of "Rumour Has It" and "Someone Like You" are different stories altogether. But, Spring Awakening-does-Adele was just too much for me. And I'm sorry that you and your millions of fans were subjected to that dross.

Is it weird that I have a vivid recurring daydream of singing "I'll Be Waiting" to a packed house at a downtown club venue, dedicating the song to one of a number of men in my life? (Sometimes, it's an actual guy I know whose children I would happily bear; sometimes, it's one of a few celebrities with whom I can picture having an on-and-off-again love affair.) I've been rehearsing in my car on a regular basis should this opportunity present itself, and I hope that I'll do you proud.

Best wishes for a lovely holiday season,

*Dana

PS If it helps, your choices to pay tribute to some of the great music that came before you are not lost on me. The torch singer, Tin Pan Alley, Wall of Sound, and honest-to-God Delta blues-- what a refreshing departure from the robotic Ryan Tedderization of pop music. If you want to hang out with Ronnie Spector or write an album with some of the OG Brill Building songwriters, it would be awesome. Get it, girl.

Baltimore via DKM's palate [ORIGIN: early October 2011]

I took a long break from the blog game to spend my summer in Baltimore, MD. What a fantastic experience! I'd be remiss if I didn't take a second to give credit to the places that added a little extra awesomeness:

Joe Squared
Try whatever risotto they have as a special that week-- the last week I was in town, they had one with coppa and asparagus. It is the 2nd most delicious thing I ate the entire summer. For readers with whom I've never had a conversation about food, that might seem like empty praise. What if I was one of those assholes that only eats iceberg lettuce and Bud Light and WonderBread? What if I really don't know what constitutes good food? If that's your opinion, then get in touch with me, take me out to a legit restaurant, and perhaps I can demonstrate my good-food bona fides. Or you can just take my word for it.

Joss
I like taking my corn-fed, Midwestern palate on uncertain cultural journeys. I like food that is not easily pronounced. That said, I haven't done enough to explore Japanese flavors and techniques; it's black spot on my record. I went to Joss with some beloved friends and started a new love affair with sushi. And holy shit-- Kobe beef.

Iggie's
Try the Cipolla. Thank me later.

Pitango
This is right in the heart of Fell's Point, and it made for a wonderful place to grab something sweet at the end of a day and walk around a bit. I have great memories of eating insane gelato with two of my Baltimore siblings, Calvin and Monike. I miss them daily; I miss Pitango weekly.

Charmington's
Try the Turkey Powerhouse-- but ask them to use bacon instead of turkey because bacon is always better than turkey.

Eddie's
Liz Lemon, mother of us all, once told Jack Donaghy that she believed that what everyone really wants is just to eat a good sandwich in peace. She's not too far off-base. Eddie's is a good place to get one of those sandwiches. Also, their location in Charles Village has a salad bar which was basically my only source of green vegetables for several days at a time.

Miguel's
Their take on grilled Caesar salad is legit. I haven't written enough on this blog about how much I like tequila, but I do. I drank a few things at Miguel's that involved tequila and I'm a happier woman for it.

Carma's Cafe [for some reason, I can't make this a hyperlink-- it can't be overstated how AWESOME I am at web-based miscellany]...but www.carmascafe.com
This is a little joint right near Johns Hopkins, and holy shit. Cold sesame noodles. A meatball sandwich called a "rocket" that is even better in its vegetarian permutation. Pink dalmatian cookies. Mexican Coke. I can't even.

Rebecca Howe to Sexy Muppet: The Journey of Kirstie Alley

I'm not entirely psyched that I'm about to comment on Dancing With The Stars, but it is positively mandatory.

To begin, one thing needs to be established. On the Cheers spectrum, I am a staunch Diane-ist. If it were to be a campaign, I'd want to run it, and the slogan would be "Shelley Long Can Do No Wrong". That said, Kirstie Alley's portrayal of Rebecca Howe was fabulous. Girlfriend has legitimate chops.

Cut to her current position in pop culture. She's a punchline, a ready-made fat joke, a caricature. Instead of presenting herself as a comedienne, she's a clown. And instead of a wicked hot woman, she's Miss Piggy in spandex and suntan tights. Why!?

In other news, 1) BFF Katie has handed me a true breakthrough in my quest to not be a hoarder. There are 7 paper grocery bags full of notes, cards, and sundry pieces of mail-- and I'm not even done yet. I'm not stopping until I rid my bedroom and personal effects of any vestige of bullshit. It helps that I can get rid of anything from my ten-plus years of undergradness! One thing that I've been keeping in mind is that I don't need pieces and pieces of memorabilia; some events have their own souvenirs built in. For example, I don't need all of my friends' wedding invitations; the best souvenirs from these weddings are the actually marriages themselves. I don't need every piece of mail that BFF Molly sent me during our college days; the best souvenir is our friendship lasting and growing despite trials and traumas. As I told ATL Laura, my ridiculous Rain Man-esque memory is its own sort of scrapbook. 2) BFF Katie is done with medical school-- she just needs to gradumacate, and she'll have her varsity letter in doctoring. 3) My ongoing job-searching is indicating that I need to learn some techie stuff-- lots of acronyms and clicks and secret codes. ATL Andy and Bro-Joe are probably going to get a lot of phone calls from me.

My current plan for watching the royal wedding involves curry, shandies, and a fascinator. Who's in?

Sweetness

It's been 8-and-a-half weeks since my last Diet Coke. Habit, kicked. Moving on...

Since I last wrote, Mama Jan and I ended our volleyball season. I'm still taken aback at how much fun I had, and how much I took from the experience. I genuinely hope that some of the girls keep in touch; a few of them were genuinely cool, like to the point that I'd want to hang out with them if they weren't half my age and ass-over-elbows obsessed with Justin Bieber. In 10 years, we could have a volleyball team reunion over cocktails. Over the course of the season, I tried to approach the girls like my favorite coaches and teachers had-- plenty of discipline and hard work, and enough humor and kindness to present myself as their advocate/counselor/friend if they needed it. I don't envy kids their age; it must be ridiculous trying to navigate the intricacies of adolescence with the added pressures of Facebook, texting, and the horseshit that's offered as entertainment for that age group. Oy.

Speaking of which-- I reunited with an old friend a few weeks ago. Crystal was my best friend when I was in elementary school, and after freshman year of high school, we had totally lost touch. (We went to different high schools; she went to a normal one, where people are socialized properly and attend magical events like football games, while I went to a school with a kick-ass robotics team, where school dances were held in carpeted multi-purpose rooms.) Through the powers of Facebook, I'd learned that Crystal had started working in the culinary arts, specifically in chocolate, and had even started her own business. Since Sister Carrie's baby shower was approaching, Mama Jan and I met with Crystal to order some of her sweet creations for dessert.

1. Crystal is a damn genius with sweets. When we were little, she was all about the chocolate; she'd eat Cocoa Puffs with chocolate milk. I'm not kidding nor am I exaggerating. And now, she is a professional chocoholic. It is [literally] sweet symmetry.

2. Our reunion was awesome. We talked until 1 or 2 am, not unlike our sleepovers back in the day. It feels like we've both lived a few lives in the interim.

3. Cake balls. No, but seriously.

And in most recent news, ATL Andy and ATL Laura got married this past weekend. After Bro-Joe's wedding weekend in Monterey last year, I never thought I'd say this, but Andy and Laura's wedding is tied for Dana's Favorite Weekend Ever. Someday, I will write a lengthy post about everything that I love about Andy and Laura; it will include hilarious anecdotes and touching stories, and it will be awesome. I'll write about fried green tomatoes, handcrafted cocktails, and how everything about the entire weekend was representative of who they are as a couple. In the mean time, I'm just reveling in the fact that two of the best people ever have found each other and made promises for the long haul.

A Guide to Celebrity Crushing, DKM-style

I'm still working on my Oscars round-up entry. I have a lot to say about the right mess that was made at the Kodak Theater on Sunday. I will not rush it: the Oscars are my Superbowl. Ridiculous, arbitrary, mandatory.

In the meantime, here's a little something. I read that Matt Damon and the cast of The Adjustment Bureau was being interviewed on "Piers Morgan Tonight", so I DVR'd the episode, and watched it a little while ago. I'm always so impressed with Matt Damon. Aside from his success in movies, he has a great public persona-- eloquent, whip-smart, engaged, funny, etc. The PMT interview was just further proof. I wrote a status update on Facebook to that effect, and a friend of mine replied, ribbing me about my obvious ambition to make out with Matt Damon. I have no problem with that at all. I wear that badge proudly!

So, it got me thinking...with all of the media that I consume, I am exposed to a lot of different public figures. It's only natural to evaluate some of these people in terms of how fun it might be to run into them at a bar, have one too many cocktails, and, you know, see where things go. I've come up with a solid outline of my personal criteria.

1) I have to find them more attractive than my old high school crush. (This is not easy.)

2) They have to tread the fine line of taking their WORK very seriously, but not taking THEMSELVES seriously at all, judged solely from interviews that I see/read. (I don't meet a lot of celebrities while living in the northern 'burbs of Detroit. I know, shocker!, right?)

3) They have to exhibit at least one of the following: an above-average command of English, thoughtful allegiance to liberal values, and/or indisputable musical or comedic ability.

Yes. It takes more than just a pretty face, Hollywood. Brad Pitt, while gorgeous and talented, is a failure in the second criterion. Justin Bieber fails on both the first and second...and I'm probably breaking some sort of law or ethical code by even evaluating him, given that he's about 7 years old. Matthew McConaughey fails on the first and third. Orlando Bloom, both of the guys from that awful book-turned-movie series that I cannot bring myself to mention on this blog, and the Jonas Brothers fail on all three criteria. [Side note: Orlando Bloom's baby son is named Flynn. Flynn Bloom. Say what you will about obscure baby names, but at least "Apple Martin" and "Harlow Madden" are relatively easy to say. "Flynn Bloom" sounds like some sort of onomatopoetic exclamation from a poorly translated ethnic fairy tale.]

So, who joins Matt Damon on my list? Jon Hamm, Robert Downey, Jr., the Clooney, Jason Sudeikis [yes, I recognize that three of my celebrity crushes are also the three actors that have played significant love interests for Tina Fey's character on 30 Rock...I think it shows discerning taste on my part], Bradley Whitford [seriously, if a guy gets a role in anything Aaron Sorkin wrote...], Matthew Perry, Paul Rudd, Jake Gyllenhaal, and the Timberlake are key players. There are a few others, but these are the ones that come to mind first.

Congrats, guys. If you're ever in the Detroit area, give me a call-- I know a great bar.

"Jennie's getting-- what?!"

Did anyone else see that SNL retrospective on Sunday night? Nothing exactly groundbreaking, but it's a treat to see all of those brilliant people in one listing on my channel guide! I read a good piece on the program, and you can read it here. (You can find more from this writer, Ryan Vaughn, at his great and somewhat NSFW blog.) It was interesting to learn that Andy Samberg is responsible for what I think is the best segment of Weekend Update. I tend to skew towards the Andy Samberg-is-overrated side of the spectrum, "Dick in a Box", "Mother Lover", "I Ran (So Far)", and "Lazy Sunday" notwithstanding. But, as Lorne Michaels reminds us, SNL has to cover a lot of bases. Comedy is subjective. Ahem, "Two and a Half Men", cough-cough. For me, just me, "Really?! With Seth [and Amy [and Tina]]" is the best of SNL: snarky, timely, irreverent, and wickedly smart. Link time...

Kanye West

Michael Phelps

Gov. Blagojevich

Eliot Spitzer

Alberto Gonzalez

Goldman Sachs

Mahmoud Ahmedinejad and DADT

Sen. Craig

Times Square

Michael Vick

I think that's all of them. I want to declare, here and now, that my blog may not have any real merit, whatever, but at least the links to every "Really?!" sketch are in one place. So...you're welcome.

So, what else...

Oh, balls. I committed a friendship faux-pas. BFF Molly and I had been pretty out of touch since the holidays, and we just had a good catch-up on the phone. I'm prattling on about my goings-on this weekend, and I made some reference to helping my sister find a wedding venue. And Molly didn't even know that Jen was engaged, which is news from, oh, a month ago. I broke a cardinal rule of bestiehood. That does not sit well with me.

Yes, Sister Jennie got rocked up a few months after Sister Carrie got knocked up. There shall be a new niece and a new brother in Danaland, and there will be much joy in Mudville.

I'm a big believer in dreams-- paying attention to them, savoring the great ones, learning from the bad ones, etc.-- and I had my first niece dream the other night. It was entirely kick-ass. There wasn't a whole lot of detail, but the general thesis of the dream was that I was with my siblings, and little nieceface started crying. I picked her up and calmed her down, and she fell asleep on my shoulder. And then I woke up to hear Big Daddy Doug talking very loudly on his cell phone and my day began. (It was the 3rd time in 2 weeks that I've been really resentful of whatever wakes me up in the morning-- 1. was a dream that involved a glass helicopter and fireworks [yeah, it was THAT awesome] 2. was a dream that involved a certain attractive reality-star-turned-decent-TV-actor and some sort of geographical hybrid between the Greek islands and the beaches of northern Michigan. My subconscious has been kind to me!)

In other news, OscarQuest 2011 begins this week. For loyal readers, this is a return to last year's activities in which I saw a bunch of nominated films in the last days before the Academy Awards. This year should be just as fun except-- and I hate to even mention this-- not drinking a cold Diet Coke while seeing a movie is going to be uncomfortable. It'll be like eating Cheez-Its without Diet Coke. Or eating pizza without Diet Coke! Or taking a road trip without stopping for a fountain Diet Coke!! Sweet Christ. Old habits run deep or die hard or whatever. (I'm 8 days clean though, despite the efforts of a certain Catholic school teacher/Glee fan.)

Lastly, on a more serious note, there are some ridiculous things happening both home and abroad. If you haven't been paying attention, then now is a good time to start. History is being made in some cases and ignored in others. You can expect some commentary from me and possibly from BFF Katie regarding what went down in the House last week. Spoiler: current events in Libya will be taking a backseat on WTF!?.