I'm One Step Away from Glow Sticks and Pop Rocks

My lovely houseguest (the third, for those of you keeping score at home) was in town this past weekend to complete the second four-day portion of her Thai yoga massage workshop at the River West branch of the Moksha Yoga Center. She invited me to come along with her to a holiday potluck/talent show gathering at the studio on Saturday night. I went mostly as a gesture of good faith, since she'd come with me to a party with my friends the night before. (Which was all kinds of fun, by the way, C&LLA. Thanks for hosting.) But, what with leaving my cozy, recently Christmas-ized apartment in the sleety snow and anticipating feeling awkward standing around in a room full of sexy yoga practitioners, I'd pretty much already made up my mind that I wasn't going to have a good time. (That doesn't sound like me at all, does it?) Let me tell you, though, all the awkwardness was TOTALLY WORTH IT when the final act of the night took the stage. They were two guys from Chicago's Spunn dance company (yeah, I'd never heard of them either), and all the pent-up anxiety I was feeling about being there came out in a cathartic rush of sudden, unexpected tears because of the pure beauty of what they were doing. I know it sounds kind of ravey and lame to describe; they were basically just spinning around with some fluorescent tie-dyed flags under a black light. But, in that moment, it was the most wondrous thing I'd ever seen. (Shut it, haters—I was totally sober and un-chemically altered.) I was electric with thankfulness to be alive and there to see it. I felt like Dana Whitaker after going to The Lion King on Broadway: "It was really quite something. It was exactly where I was meant to be at that moment. It was like church. I didn't know we could do that; did you know we could do that?" (Why does everything in my life have to come back to Sports Night?)

(Speaking of my being electric: I shocked myself in the ears last night. No joke. I was wearing my headphones, which were plugged in to my portable CD player, which was zippered in to the front flap pocket of my messenger bag, which was sitting on my lap as I was on my way home on the El. I wanted to transfer my plastic H&M shopping bag from my right hand to my left, but as I passed it across the front of my body, the static electricity leapt off the bag and traveled through the zipper, up the wire, and straight into my skull. It was one of the most ridiculous and ingenious ways I've ever mildly injured myself.)

I don't think there's ever been a contest I'd be more capable of winning: Said the Gramophone is asking folks to make their top ten album list for 2005, then write a haiku about it.

If the time ever comes when the whole husband and baby thing becomes a viable option for me, I want my marriage to look like this. BAK recently turned me on to Dooce, which is my new favorite blog. She's the mimi smartypants of Utah.

17x5

It was a big weekend for movies for me, and there's no way I'm going to be able to comprehensively cover all of them. So I'm going to have to roll Kittenpants style today and set you up with some haikus (hai-reviews? [sorry]).

The 40-Year-Old Virgin

Cheap ending copped out:
song-and-dance sequence went from
sweet to snarky fast.

The Life Aquatic (on DVD)

This is Anderson's
Chinese Bookie—where Owen
is Esteban, dead.

Red Eye

Well-done genre flick.
Craven gives us shocks and laughs.
Girl power ending!

2046

Memories bring pain.
Pay for sex, then disconnect.
Whisper your secret.

The Constant Gardener

No full frontal scenes
for Ralph this time—what a shame.
Rachel still bugs me.

Notable previews include Philip Seymour Hoffman's Capote project and Brokeback Mountain. (Woo! Who doesn't love gay cowboys?)

Chicagoans, be sure you make time check out the Daily Meaning audio/photo exhibit at the Peace Museum in Garfield Park. Though I didn't have any run-ins with NPR luminaries at the opening on Friday night, I was still thrilled to be there to support the Pitchman. Look for his excellent pieces on the chicken slaughterer and the lineman when you go.

Check out Bushman's blog for a host of ideas on how you can help donate your time and money in the aftermath of Katrina.

Bloggers, get your free graphic at Last Plane to Jakarta, so you too can say thanks to Kanye for speaking the truth live on NBC this weekend. (You can read an editorialized transcript of what went down here.)




Overheard in a coffee shop in Evanston on Sunday: a twentysomethingish man to a twentysomethingish woman, clearly flirting, "You are a violent person. Look at you—you're full of hate. [beat] I like that in a girl." Kittens, that was the sexiest motherfucking thing I have ever heard. I've been waiting my whole adult life for someone to say that to me.