Days turning into nights.

Selections from the Cat Vanderpool American Gothic series on outdoor furniture:


Chelsey and myself celebrating the splendors of moving: the Pier One discount section, new coffee makers and tea pots.


Me and Momma celebrating her 24th Mothers day as my Momma (25 if you count the one in utero. In case, you have not formally met the giant orangutan, her name is Suzanne. YES, obvious Kevin Smith reference, but this is taken from Mallrats, not Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back. She dates back to the Hallmark year and is the largest, single purchase I made the entire time I worked there. Her and Russell Stover jelly beans (be still, my beating heart!).

I've lost my voice again. My Dad's convinced the El Rey has given me some sort of mold, which I don't entirely rule out, seeing as I don't seem to get sick until I work there for a night. I'm presuming it's allergies; it has to be by this point. I've been sick for the better part of two months. Definitely some unique symptoms, though. I'm considering going to a free clinic in the next few days just to make sure, you know, Swine Flu hasn't mutated with Haunta Virus and created Haunta Swine. (NAME YOUR BAND RIGHT NOW.)

MOLD:

Yeah, the Rey's got some of that.

You know what else had some of that? The house on Princeton after the roof collapsed. Man, I really loved that house. But post-roof collapse, I got in the habit of sleeping with a blanket over my nose and mouth (something I still do) just because I was so scared about what I might have been breathing in. And now that I look back on it, it really is a miracle me and Kenneth didn' get some kind of bizarre disease. OR MAYBE WE DID and it's just been dormant all this time. In my lungs, hanging out, waiting for the perfect time to strike.

Point is, contemplating lung-mold is much better than job hunting.

I left Oklahoma and the sun was out. I went back to Albuquerque, watched Flood the Sun release a CD and kick off a tour, did some minor car repairs to my stupid-crap battery, worked a shift at the Rey (O'Niell's staff came in and they were awesomely generous tippers. Thanks for remembering me, ladiez!) and bought my mom a McFlurry. 48 hours later, I come back and we're back to low clouds and thunderstorms forecasted for the next week. Unbelievable. It does keep things cool, though. It's not that I mind the weather, I always loved rainy Raton summers. It's just that I'm completely not used to it. Humidity is a beast this desert gal is not yet prepared for. I'm glad I have a temperate May to transition me into the muggy summer.


Lake Hefner is a 2580 acre impoundment completed in 1947 and operated by Oklahoma City. Water is bought into the lake from the North Canadian River and from the Canton Reservoir in Blaine County.

It is also a mile and a half from condo. Hello hello, summer.

Throughly prescreening matches.

Rainy 'Rey.

I haven't really wanted to have some sort of grand send off before I move. Nor am I really making it a point to say goodbye to people. Because dudes, I'll be back in 9 days. Just seems a little foolish to get all sappy and emotional. I've already cried enough for the whole city. And there's only more to come. No point inducing EVEN MORE. I told both Kyle and Mattlahoma that they both will probably be dealing with a whole mess of crazy. I felt no need to warn Chelsey or any of my lady friends, because we've all been there, that's for sure.

The major bummer today is that the bar in my closet collapsed last night. So I spent most of my afternoon picking up clothes, re-hanging them, then plastic-bagging them. By the way, the best way to move clothes is to treat a trash bag like a garment bag; pick up about 10 hangers, shove them in a bag and tie the bag around the top before the hook of the hangers. Genius!



So, life's a little messy and a little blank. I'm just not a fan of having my life in boxes and bags. Suffocating! Luckily today I discovered the Oklahoma Humane Society website. DID I MENTION Chelsey wants to get a dog?!? Heart is melting as I type. I'm going to try to talk Chelsey into going dog hunting next weekend.

Little step-sister Rachel qualified for State in the 100m hurdles today! On a time trial, even. And she's only a freshman. Git it, gurl!

Without the sun.

+



=



Do I look different? BECAUSE MY LIFE IS FOREVER CHANGED.


But, for the serious, Springsteen was super awesome. My only regret is that I could barely talk the entire time I was in Denver, thanks to this super nasty viral infection (it's STILL hanging out and ruining my days). Towards the end of the show, I started feeling really, really woozy. But then he played Born to Run with the house lights on.

Other highlights include mother effing THUNDER ROAD during the encore (Cat and every other person in that venue about DIED), the religious experience of The Rising and the Recession Anthem of Youngstown. Performance wise, that song owned it. And hey, remember when he played Glory Days? All in all, great show. The thing about Bruce Springsteen is that it's blindingly obvious how much he loves music, how much he loves his job, and yet, how lucky he is to have it. The man doesn't appear to take anything of it for granted. And it's nice to have a reminder of that, sometimes.

It was a quick trip. We got into Denver on Thursday night, late. We spent Friday during the day huddling around the Pepsi Center, eating at Illegal Pete's, then face-rockage. Saturday, we got up, ate at Smash Burger, and drove home. But, I couldn't have asked for a better time or better people to experience it with.

Since then, I took a load of stuff (including my tornado shelter of a metal desk) to OKC and spent a few days with my grandma in Pampa. Yum, Pampa. My time as a full-time resident in New Mexico is quickly coming to a close and trust me dudes, I'm really sad about it. The tears started tonight; just thinking about all the people I'm gonna miss. I know that I need myself that I won't be far and everyone I know and love is merely a phone call away. Or an 8 hour drive.

Well, I knew this wasn't gonna be easy. But, I'm glad I'm doing it.

And now, the awesome story about some dude at the El Rey asking when my baby was due. I'm tending bar and this middle-aged man walks up and wants 3 bottles of water. While we're waiting for his credit card to go through, he says, "When are you due?" I almost don't hear him, but I think I'm more shocked than anything else. "Excuse me?" I say. "When are you due?" he asks again. This time I hear him clearly, and I'm sure it reads on my face the amount of distain I'm having over the conversation. "I don't think I heard you right," I tell him, completely giving the guy an out to an awkward situation. He points to my stomach and says, "When is your BABY due?" I try really, really hard to be polite, as this man is a costumer and Kathy's about 15 feet away (and laughing hysterically, by the way) and I say, "Oh, I'm not pregnant, actually." The dudes response? "Well, you're wearing a maternity top." NO WAY, dude. I'm wearing a dress with a high waist. Kathy jumps in then and says something about it being the style and I make myself look busy. The guy makes another comment about how the TOP made me look like I was pregnant and walked off, without APOLOGIZING or TIPPING ME. Seriously. Worst man in Albuquerque.

These stirring tunes of the Lord have made me want to dance.

Why I love the El Rey:


Dancing.


Daniel.


Drunk boyfriend.


Deviant behavior.


More dancing.


More Daniel.


And A-Ha.

You know, sometimes I really hate my job. Sometimes it really gets me down. But most of the time, I absolutely love it.

Please Don't Walk Away.

Happy Holidays.

Talk about domestication, I decorated my house and baked enchiladas in the same night. This, is completely unheard of. It's amazing the lengths I'll go to procrastinate about editing my cover letter. Again. For the 19th time. (No really, 19 saved drafts on my computer.) Above photograph is a clear demonstration of job search frustration. Take notice of the frazzled hair and under-eye bags.

Last week, I babysat a film crew in the El Rey. Men Who Stare at Goats used the theater for catering and costuming. Catering was the buzzword in my agreement to babysit. I knew it would be an early morning, but I had no idea I'd have to be at the El Rey at FOUR IN THE FREAKING MORNING. And I certainly didn't have a clue that I wouldn't get out of there until SEVEN THIRTY IN THE FREAKING NIGHT. You film people are crazy. People, especially of a certain age, seem to have a hard time understanding why I have a film degree and yet so reluctant to work on a film set. FOUR IN THE FREAKING MORNING, that's why. For my efforts, I got to watch the entire first season of Arrested Development (Steve Holt!) with limited interruption and a to-go box full of probably the best salmon I've ever eaten in my life.

Side note: The costume people for that movie are meanies. The second they walked in the El Rey, they started talking shit about it. Trust me, I'm aware that she's seen better days, but come on now. I wish I could go to all their houses and insult them. I threw down some pretty vicious lady eye daggers and their insults seemed to go away. Or at least, out of my earshot.

I've been a bit of a solitary primate lately, since my boyfriend's lost in an abyss of finals and I seem to be operating on the complete opposite sleep schedule than anyone else I know. But, Sunday I caught up with Jennifer and walked the Rinconada Canyon Trail off of Unser. Pretty good day; I sort of forget how close all that stuff is. If anyone's got a day off this week (or wants to take one), let's go up to Chaco. My treat.


Because this place is pretty great.

It's cold in my house. But I'd much rather burrow under blankets than pay PNM any more money.

Lordy, don't you know?

Best/worst story ever. I cut off the tip of my finger at the El Rey last night. I was cutting limes, not paying attention, and whaaaack. The actual act didn't hurt at all, but a few seconds later was pretty brutal. Thanks, citrus. It bled. A lot. Marky went into manager mode and ran down to the Central Market for Tylenol and bandages and Daniel went into security mode with first, making me clean it (mother of GOD, that hurt, too) and wrapping it up for me. I decided to not go to the emergency room mostly because it wasn't that severe. I went to Urgent Care this morning and they shoved gel foam in my thumb and cleaned it, told me to take Tylenol. It'll grow back eventually, so I hear.

But, for a while, I'll a have a thumb mummy. If you're interested in carnage, I'd click here. Tempe blog is up and coming, but this was too awesome to not post about.

Function Check Required.

I got to go up on the roof of Spirit last night. Pretty awesome.

Not even upset about working this weekend. While it's going to prove to be brutal, I'm at the El Rey both tonight and tomorrow night, at office today, and at Spirit tomorrow morning. Both El Rey events are going to rule. Tonight is bartending for Cadillac Sky and one of my new favorite local bands and tomorrow is managing for the almighty Django Fest. I'm a little bummed that I'm not bartending the second one, since I made a retarded amount of money last Django Fest, but it'll also be nice to be able to roam around and have some fun. Spirit will be okay on Saturday. It'll be really busy, which makes the time go by quickly. And I'm going to try my hardest to take off Sunday from Spirit, so I can attend the full day of boyfriend Birthday activities, which include zoo that I'm really excited about, and dinner at his parents, which I'm not nearly as excited about.

But, Bruce-Dog will be there.


This is not cool, by the way.

YAH. UR SOOOO FUNNY. IT RHYTHMS.

Oh, here it goes again.

About this whole Club 7 nonsense... Trust me, I hate that place more than anyone else in the world. I work downtown and trying to leave downtown while there's a naked rave happening down the block is really annoying. Pre-raid, the El Rey staff liked to call out the "ho-trains" of underage girls as they walked to Club 7. In fact, when I read that police found that people had been stripping off their clothes in the club the night it was raided, I said, "What clothes? No one who went there even wore clothes." Seriously, matching bra and panty sets covering the Ho-Trains. Nuisance they may be, I knew as soon as the raid happened, it meant trouble.

From the Journal on Saturday: "City officials filed a request Friday that, if granted, would shutter Downtown's Club 7 permanently and put its owner out of business. But the request, which calls for an end to all mixed-ages clubs where alcohol is served, could also mean trouble for clubs like the Launchpad and El Rey."

OH GOOD. Remember this rodeo?

The city's complaint comes in response to a raid last week of Club 7, where investigators say they found a laundry list of drugs, including Ecstasy and heroin. Police say they found the club crowded to nearly double its legal capacity, and that 90 percent of the patrons were between 13 and 18. Police have described the club as a "predatory environment" where older men consumed alcohol and then mingled freely with underage girls who were often scantily clad.

In the three-part complaint, the city described all underage events as a nuisance if minors socialize with adults who have been served liquor.

Joe Anderson, owner of the Launchpad, said the mayor's stance unfairly paints all mixed-ages clubs with the same brush. "In going after that venue, they've decided to blanket everyone who does the same type of thing, which, of course, is unfair," he said.

The Launchpad is a Downtown club that mainly features live music, allows underage patrons and has a separate beer garden for legal drinkers. Anderson said his club has never been cited, adding that he shouldn't be punished for someone else's actions. "We have an exemplary record and probably run a much safer business than a lot of regular bars," Anderson said.

Mayor Martin Chavez acknowledged at Friday's news conference that there is a distinction between a place like the Launchpad and Club 7, but said that would not deter him from pressing for an ordinance banning such venues. Chavez said the ordinance would be written to exclude venues like Isotopes Park.

The state's Licensing and Regulation Department doesn't keep a list of mixed-ages venues, but spokeswoman Teala Kail said that, in addition to Club 7 and Launchpad, the mayor's proposal would likely affect El Rey Theater, Sunshine Theater and Fantasia Night Club.

Club 7 is closed because of code violations and could reopen as soon as the building is back up to code. The mayor's Friday request, if granted, would keep it closed for good and would prevent owner Aleksandr Mkhitarian from opening a similar club anywhere in Albuquerque.

Now, normally defeatist Cat would want to climb under a rock, cry and sob. But, here's a shot at being optimistic. Here's how the city of Albuquerque can fix its problems downtown.

Instead of focusing on shutting Club 7 down, focus on how to create safe, all ages-friendly environments that teens actually want to go to. Let's dive into WHY places like Club 7 exist, WHY there's a market for them. That's the root of the people, my dear Mayor.

So, like, how does that happen? How do you make all ages spaces safe, friendly and successful? Let's examine a little place I like to call Warehouse 21.

Now, I hate Santa Fe. I may blog about that later, but believe me, I hate Santa Fe. But, Warehouse 21 is by far, the best part of that place. "Since 1997, Warehouse 21 has served thousands of our city’s youth (aged 12-21) and young adults (aged 20-30) in the performing, media and visual arts. W21 has consistently supported youth employment throughout its existence and has partnered and developed community service programs with schools and court systems. The unique approach of Warehouse 21 fosters a particular type of creative energy that is exemplified through project-based learning models, youth access to artistic resources and instruction, and a practical “do-it-yourself” ethic that fosters artistic independence and entrepreneurialism." Every city in the world needs at least one Warehouse 21. And Albuquerque don't got it. While the city's cover of a funded-all ages venue is really cute and all, clearly, it's not opening any time soon. (But they do have enough block parties to last a lifetime.) Get serious about it, already.

The only reason Warehouse 21 has been even moderately successful is because of its a) non profit status, thus b) acquisition of state/city/federal funding. And why is that? Why is it so expensive to run a venue?

So, let's talk about artist guarantees. And let's talk about how ungodly high they are. Really. You have no idea. Let's take a pretty basic all ages show, like the Mad Caddies. Homeboys have a $8,000 guarantee for each performance they do. Not to mention, they've got a contract that pretty much guarantees anything he could ever want, also known as $200 in groceries and $100 in booze. If they play a two hour set, they get paid $4,000 an hour. UMM.

And why is that so high? Oh, probably because live music is the only way an artist can make any money nowadays, thanks to the internet and corporate record labels. But, oh, don't you worry, soon, that'll be a thing of the past, too. In fact, the independent venue will soon be a thing of the past, thanks to how ridiculous it is to pay an artist. And not that I blame them, they got bookies to pay, baby mamas to keep quiet. But really, there's nothing wrong with wanting to get paid for hard work.

But, how do venues pay for this? Let's say I charge $20 a ticket, which is actually really high for a Caddies show, and 300 people show up. That's also pretty high. That's $6,000. I'm still two grand short. And, OH WAIT. I have to pay my staff, my sound, my property taxes, my utilities, advertising, the list goes on and on. A supposed $8,000 event will end up costing you $15,000. Easy. And unfortunately, money does not fall like rain from the El Rey's roof. How does one pay for this?

If you said alcohol, gee you're a smart one. (Or you've been subject to one of Cat's at least 45 minute rants on the subject, which are normally sponsored by, you guessed it, alcohol!) Oh, sweet, sweet drunky nectar, you and Quinceañeras are the only reason my precious El Rey stays afloat.

So, dear city, if you're really interested in having events that kids want to go to, I'd suggest you get ready to fork out about $40,000 a week or let the private sector take care of it. (But something tells me you actually have no interest in this city's underage population, minus a skatepark or two. And why would they? Who votes?)

Now, as for places like Club 7, which specialize in Ho-Trains and cheap narcotics, I'd suggest revoking that magical piece of paper called a LIQUOR LICENSE. But, you see, it's actually in the city's best interest to keep that liquor license in the hands of irresponsible tards like Mkhitarian (which is, quite possibly, the best last name I have ever heard. It stirs up visions of Viggo in bathhouses...). KOAT said that Mkhivegetarian's liquor license has 51 violations on it. FIFTY ONE. Are you kidding me? Want to know how many times the El Rey's been cited for alcohol violation since I've worked there? Once. Some drunk dude stumbled out the back door with a beer and security didn't catch him in time. And there just happened to be a SID officer in the alley. The Launchpad? I think they've been cited twice in the last 5 years. And I think both of them were fake ID issues.

So, what happens when you get cited for something like that? It depends on the offense, be it over serving, serving a minor, unsupervised premise, etc. But, you can normally count on at least a $3,000 fine. Correct. The state takes alcohol law very seriously. So, how much money does the state make off a place like Club 7 where flavored vodka seems to stream into the mouths of underagers? 51 citations at $3,000 a piece, that's $153,000. Hey! That's the operating budget of a great all ages club for a month! SWEET!

Now, I would never, EVER suggest that the city or the state would keep open a crappy venue for the sake of profit. Nope, wouldn't do that. I mean, clearly. The city was on top of this Club 7 thing. 51 citations, multiple deaths, 11 calls to APD, they were doing their job, obviously. Keeping places like that open is SUCH a great idea. There's no way the city let that one ride for as long as they possibly could. Not a chance!

Places like Club 7 need a major overhaul. For one, they need a freaking dress code. There's a simple solution. "ohai, underage gymnast, can you keep your top on? tnx." That might cut down on the sleezeballs attempting to catch a free glimpse. Also, maybe try enforcing serving limits. That might work. Or maybe hire security to do their freaking job searching people. And, why you're at it APD, why dontcha wander down a block or two, away from the LEGAL Ho-Trains to our neck of the woods? APD has no problem having a cop at Denny's for the post-bar crowd, or at Frontier when it was open. Drunkies mix with underagers there. Just some ideas.

But, here's the most ridiculous, unbelievable, unreachable idea in the whole world. IT'S CALLED PARENTING.

Don't want your daughter in an Ecstasy-driven Ho-Train? Sweet! Don't let her dress for the Ho-Train or do Ecstasy. I know teens are tricky. It's better that my parents didn't know how many things I set on fire in high school. But, they were pretty involved in my life, they took an active interest in what I did. Therefore, no Ho-Train for me.

Just take care of your kids. I've talked to dozens of parents who have called the El Rey before Ska Prom or other all ages shows who are worried about their kids having access to illegal goodies. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't take much more than a phone call to Club 7 to find out what kind of a establishment they were. Because I'm sure Mickeyhitarian isn't the most friendly dude.

But, like I said, as soon as I saw 300 underagers with their hands on their heads in the street last weekend, I knew this was all going to end badly. So, here us decent businesses are, being threatened by the city with no just cause. Not to mention, this is TOTALLY the best year EVER for businesses on the 600th block of Central. It's just a possibility that the El Rey and the Launchpad's respective legal teams are just a tad busy right now (I HAVE NO IDEA WITH WHAT.). So, this great completely law-breaking sanction couldn't come at the better time.

Oh yeah, that's right. It breaks the law. Let me tell you a story about pain-in-the-ass alcohol laws that haven't been changed since Prohibition. An alcohol license is exactly the same for any business that wants one. The El Rey's liquor license is exactly the same as the license Isotopes Park has, or that Chili's has. (Actually, the El Rey's is a little different because we have a package license like what 7-11 or Smiths has. It's like Super-License!) So, by the city singling out specific businesses where minors are in the same space as alcohol, it's illegal. If they want to pass this ruling, and be legal about it, that has to mean that no, in fact you cannot have a $9 margarita while your children eat their chicken strips at Applebees. No, you cannot have a good ol' beer with your baseball. Nope, nope, nope.

And you know, the city and state are great at being legal. Because, it's not like if they stopped serving beer at Journal Pavilion, which has 200 citations on their record, they wouldn't loose $600,000. No. I wouldn't even dream of that.

SO. Long story short, hear's what needs to happen:

1. Got a bad track record? Don't wait till it's too late. Monitor places with high citation rates.
2. Fund a good, a really good, all ages space. And get ready to pay through the teeth for it. If you're not, let the good guys do a good job.
3. Parent. I know, I know, it's hard. Just try to work it out. It's amazing the way music venues actually aren't baby sitting services.
4. Please. Overhaul alcohol laws. They desperately need them. And hey, if you did, you'd be able shut down dens of sex and horror like the Launchpad, without compromising your profits, I mean endeavours, at the Pavilion.

Any questions? I'd call or write to your mayor and your governor:

Mayor Martin Chavez (I'M THE MAYOR.)
PO Box 1293
Albuquerque, NM 87103
(505) 768-3000
mayor@cabq.gov

Gov. Bill Richardson
490 Old Santa Fe Trail
Room 400
Santa Fe, NM 87501
(505) 476-2200

Attorney General Gary King
111 Lomas NW, Ste 300
Albuquerque, NM 87102
(505) 222-9000

It's all downhill from here.

I got talked into working another quince on Saturday. I'm sort of glad I did, it was $130 I didn't have before and overall, the people were okay. Except for these underage thug lifes who showed up wearing jerserys and other thug life accessories, which was Coors Extra offensive because they were related to the girl. I spotted one of them, wristband-less, with a Corona in hand, and before thinking about it, run from behind the bar and yell at him about it.

"Gimme that," says Cat.

"What?" says Thug.

"You're not 21, give me the beer," says Cat.

"No." says Thug.

"Yes." says Cat.

"No." says Thug.

He proceeds to do that super annoying thing where he holds it just out of my reach, like it's a piece of string and I'm a kitten. We circle for a minute, as he increasingly gets more and more upset and more and more in my face. Daniel saw the whole thing and came up to talk to Thug. And while Thug is distracted by Daniel, I rip the beer out of his hand and run off.

SUCCESS. But, now that I look back on it, amazingly retarded. Little Cat doesn't need to be argueing with drunk Thugs. Really, what was I going to do? Hit him with my bottle opener? I think my stealing of the bottle was top game, too. Like, really, let's see how pissed off I can make this man for Daniel to deal with him. Daniel is, by the way, my guardian angel from New Jersey.

Just TRY and underage drink on my watch, Thugs.

Saturday also marked a landmark event: the first time I was mad about having to go to work since the fire. Things must be getting back to normal.

Remained sexy while doing so.

Gosh. Maria got in a car accident last night coming home in Raton. She tried to go around some debris on the road, but ended up hitting it and blowing out a tire, lost control and ended up in a tree, probably going 60mph. Thankfully, from what it sounds like, her car did exactly as it should have and pretty much buckled, saving Maria any major injury. They took her to the hospital in Las Vegas and did some x-rays, but when I talked to her, she didn't think she'd broken anything. And I tend to believe her, as she has a degree in that.


But, RIP to Maria's dear car. What a sweet car Princess Diana was, absorbing all that force to protect her driver. Maria told me her engine is crunched in about 2 feet. It really is unbelievable that you can hit a tree going that fast and not seriously hurt yourself. And in all honesty, it was probably a good thing that tree was there, instead of risking a rollover.

ALSO, Marky got into a wreck on Saturday. He's somewhat sore and his car is still drivable, but he's pretty worried about frame damage. So, send them both well wishes, perhaps even flowers and candy. And drive extra careful this week... something's going down.

In somewhat lighter news,

Kenneth took me to the zoo on Sunday to celebrate my birth. I really do love that place. I realized what a great place it is to exercise too. I've been thinking about getting a membership and going every Saturday morning, walking around it a few times.


The polar bears were extra frisky. Well actually, just frisky. I don't think I've ever seen them in as much motion as they were in on Sunday. This bear was trying his hardest to get that plastic cylinder into the big pool at the top of his habitat. It was so crazy to watch him balance it and then shove it up, like he was serving a volleyball. He would get so frustrated when it would fall back down, but he just kept doing it.

I also worked a crazy lot last week. On top of 40 hours in office, I spent 3 nights at the theater; bartending Tuesday and managing Friday and Saturday. So, I spent a lot of time being tired.


I did have the great satisfaction of a G-Dub reunion of sorts, as one of the old security guys was back in town for about a week. With his visit, came the visits of a bunch of old staffers on Tuesday night. And who are all these people?
First row: Scott (the one visiting from Virgina. He worked at the bar for years and years before moving about 2 years ago.), Jay Dee (did maintenance and janitorial stuff before Kenneth took over. He's my favorite of the sleazy security guards we've had over the years. And trust me, there's been a few.), Kyle (you should know him), Marky (him too), and oh Daniel my Daniel (current head of security and greatest person I've met in a long time.)
Second Row: Kristina (invented the Golden West bartender. If anyone has right to claim that bar as her own, it's that girl.), Jenny (did the office job before me. She is fantastic and from New York.)
Third row: Kathy (mom), me, Phil (if you went into Birdland anytime in the last 5 years or so, you probably saw that guy. He worked security for us for a loooong time.)
Bottom: Patrick (remember how I just typed about sleazy security guards? Yeeeeah, about that...)

But, it was just so great to see everyone all in one place again. It was enough to remind me why I still work there and why I doubt I'll ever be able to leave. I've noticed now that I just love being at the theater. I'll just stop and look around at the building, just because I'm so happy it's still there.


We zombies.

Well, it looks like this little office job of mine might not be hanging around as long as I originally expected. I knew it wouldn't last through the year, but now it's looking like it might not last through the summer. Some office folk think I'll be okay, but I really don't feel like taking any chances. So, I'm starting to think of other places I could possibly work, and starting to think even more about if it's finally time I pick up and head to Oklahoma, once and for all.


I want this place to hire me.

I'm also looking campaign stuff and more federal stuff. What's up, Census 2010? I count real good.

Blessed be thy name.

Last night was the first night back to working in the El Rey. And there's nothing like standing for 10 hours to welcome you home. Attendance was poor, I think partially because it was Easter weekend and we had a week and a half to promote it. But I was really happy to see Joe Anderson and most of the Launchpad crew there. Take that, rocksquawk haters. I told Daniel this morning I feel like I had a weirdness hangover. You can still smell the smoke in the lobby, see the taped-up doors. We were projecting the film Dan Garduno shot in the saloon all night, so I watched it about 50 times over. In a way, it was comforting to be back, like a necessary step for the healing process, to get to be around my work family all night in the place where we're best aquatinted. But it was also just so, so odd to be next door to nothing. It's just not the same place, don't think it ever will be.

I'm honestly having a terrible time moving on from this. And I didn't expect it. It just doesn't seem to go away.

I took my grandmother to church this morning, which is always fantastically awkward. I see so much of myself in all the little girls at the church, zipped up and tied into the most adorable and uncomfortable garments, all in the name of Easter Sunday. Man, have I ever been there. And it never fails to amaze me how even after all these years, I still remember all the words to all the prayers. My grandma also unloaded about 5 million baby pictures on me, most of which involve me in those god awful (pun intended) frilly dresses. So, if you're up for a laugh, swing by my new apartment and check me out, circa 1989. I was damn cute, biggest eyes in the history of baby.

Church also means I got lots of parading in. My grandma loves to show me off, college degree and all. I don't she catches the sneers I do when I tell people my degree's in film. It's either "that's so cute" or "oh". I don't really care for either. Hey little old lady, go try the job market in 2008, thanks.


The prognosis for Wiggle Pants is wavering. The vet had to take out two more teeth and was not happy about how she was responding to the antibiotics. So, they took a tissue sample from the infection and sent it to the lab for testing. Might just be a nasty, nasty infection or it might be cancer. Needless to say, I'm hoping for the first, but I'm preparing myself for the worst. We'll know by the end of the week.

Working in conservative office has made me want to retreat into high school retardation whenever I'm not there. I almost got Kyle to play Chinese Fire Drill with me on Montgomery the other night. If anyone's up for that, let me know.

The dork of the Golden West.

(Heavily sampled from my dear friend, Wiki.)



Giacomo Antonio Domenico Michele Secondo Maria Puccini was born December 22, 1858 in Lucca in Tuscany, Italy into a family with five generations of musical history behind them. Puccini decided to take an interest in opera after he and a friend walked 18 and a half miles to see a production of Aida in Pisa. In 1880, with the help of a relative and a grant, Puccini enrolled in the Milan Conservatory to study composition. While studying at the Conservatory, Puccini obtained a libretto from Ferdinando Fontano and entered a competition for a one-act opera in 1882. Although he did not win, Le Villi was later staged in 1884 at the Teatro dal Verme and it caught the attention of Giulio Ricordi, head of G. Ricordi & Co. music publishers, who commissioned a second opera, Edgar, in 1889.



La boheme, considered to be Puccini's first great masterpiece, was first preformed in 1896 in Turin. The opera would go on to become the inspiration for Rent, the most popular rock opera to date, as well as the second most popular opera in the Western hemisphere. Madama Butterfly, also written by Puccini, comes in first.

La fanciulla del West, also known as The Girl of the Golden West made its American debut at the New York Metropolitan Opera on December 10, 1910. In 1913, it was rumored that Puccini was finally on a train, travelling to the living landscape of which he had composed his opera. Iole Bachechi, a young Italian girl from Albuquerque, was thrilled to learn that she could see this famous celebrity from Lucca, Italy, the Tuscan hometown of her mother Maria Bachechi. There was definitely a Puccini on that train that stopped in Albuquerque, but it wasn't Giacomo - it was his cousin, Luigi. Luigi, a young journalist living in New York (and also from Lucca) was passing through Albuquerque, saw Iole, and fell in love. They were married in 1914.

Luigi Puccini spent the royalties from the operas written by his famous cousin buying and building theaters in the southwest. In 1929, shortly after his in-laws, Oreste and Maria Bachechi built the Kimo Theater, Luigi built the original Puccini Building, which is now known as Puccini's Golden West Saloon. Constructed by Lembke Construction, the building was originally a grocery store, and later became a paint store, a lamp store, and ultimately...



A saloon. That I work at.

The Puccini building, as well as the El Rey Theater, an addition built in 1941, still remain in the Puccini family, owned by his daughters, Adelina and Virginia, and managed by his granddaughter, Kathy Zimmer.



Luciano Pavarotti made his opera début in the role of Rodolfo, which would, debatedly, become his signature role, in La bohème on April 29, 1961 in the town of Reggio Emilia. 1963 saw the debut of the famous Franco Zeffirelli production, conducted by Herbert Von Karajan with Mirella Freni singing Mimi and Pavarotti in the role of Rodolfo. This production played in Milan, Vienna, Salzburg and Moscow and dominated the repertoire for decades. Pavarotti would go on to play the role of Rodolfo in New York, Paris, Chicago, La Scala (debatedly the most famous opera house in the world, located in Milan), Australia, Philadelphia, and in Beijing, where performed in front of 10,000 people, at the very first concert at The Great Hall of People, on the western edge of Tiananmen Square.

Pavarotti's pivotal step in becoming an internationally known celebrity occurred in 1990 when his rendition of Giacomo Puccini's aria, "Nessun Dorma" from Turandot, became the theme song of the BBC TV coverage of the 1990 FIFA World Cup in Italy. The aria achieved pop status and remained his trademark song. Turandot was Puccini's last opera, in fact it remained unfinished at the time of his death in 1924. News of Puccini's death reached Rome during a performance of La bohème. The opera was immediately stopped, and the orchestra played Chopin's "Funeral March" for the stunned audience. Pavarotti sang "Nessun Dorma" during his last major performance, at the opening of the Winter Olympics in Turin in February 2006.

The moral of the story is that it's great day to listen to some opera.

Mi vida loca.

It was pretty much the most eventful night of my night last night.

1. I ended up working security at the bar because one of our security guards showed up to work 2 hours late and completely hammered. Thank you.

2. We had a wedding at the El Rey, at which one of the groomsmen got so smashed that it took two security guards, all the other groomsman, and the groom to drag him outside, kicking and punching the whole way.

3. A very short and extremely androgynous girl got wasted at the bar. It took two equally short and androgynous friends of hers to carry her outside.

4. Some poor kid, who I'm assuming was at the 12 Step Rebels show at the L-Pad, got all four of his tires slashed outside on 7th street.

5. I get a text from Scott as we're closing up the bar saying, "You might appreciate this one, Cat. I just got into a fight at the Village Inn parking lot, and now my face is bleeding. Isn't this the best night ever?" Apparently, 3 dudes just decided that Scott was "in their way" and that his face needed to be planted in a car window. All of us at the bar were so frustrated and dilerious that we were ready to head down to the Village Inn and destory, but I guess the cops were inside and handled things.

To recover, today I ate Indian food for lunch, took a 3 hour nap, then ate Cracker Barrel for dinner. Right now, I'm watching Kenneth's gnome ride a mechinal chicken. Tomorrow, I'm adventuring to the Social Security office for the new card (what disaster!) and Tuesday I'm going to Tucumcari/Pampa to help my dad finish moving. Getting out of town, even if it's just to Tucumcari, sounds lovely.

I don't think burrito is an ingredient, Kyle.

Probably the most exciting part of my week was the Billy Bob Thornton show at the El Rey. I spent the whole morning running around Billy Bob's costume person, which wasn't too bad. We did have the struggle of trying to find someone who could hem a pair of pants for BBT, himself. Every alteration/dry cleaning shop we went to looked at us like we were zombies ("You want that done today?!?!").

My afternoon consisted of picking up dry cleaning, laundry, and the infamous altered pants, alll for Billy Bob. I thought it was pretty damn funny. I didn't even meet him, but I drove around his pants all day. Much better story.

But, for the record, he's pretty short, about my height. But, everyone who actually dealt with him said he was nice.

I've been spending most of my time with my mom in the mountains, which really hasn't been by choice. The people who manage Kyle's apartments are nosey mother eff's and decided to tell Kyle's parents that I was living there. It wasn't quite true, as I have been spending nights with my mom, a few with Kenneth, etc. But, Kyle's parents pretty much flipped over the fact we were "living in sin" and banished me from ever staying there again. However, when Kyle told them we weren't having sex and he didn't see what the big deal was, they called him a liar. I normally don't like getting very personal about life-details on da blog, but DAMN if that doesn't make me grumpy.

So, away to the mountains I will go. It really is quite intoxicating; no light pollution, little contact with the outside world. It's also great to live with a dog again! But, the issue with staying with my mom is not only the gas to get back and forth from Burque to Edgewood, but her road is murder. And when it rains, it's pretty much unpassible. It was to the point last spring, when all the snow melted, that I seriously thought the national guard was going to have to airlift her outta there. It's okay right now, the sun is baking out all the moisture, but every time I see those big ol, grumpy clouds, I get pretty nervous.

The only person who even knows me in Edgewood is the guy who works at Movie Gallery. I've spent some quality time there the past few days. It's nice to not feel spied on.

I'm trying to figure out how to spend the next few months. A good friend asked me to take pictures at her wedding, something I'm actually really, really, really excited about; to the point where I'm actually vamping up a photography portfolio. So, I'm thinking about staying here, trying to put my Media Arts degree to use and find some production work. But, a big part me just wants to get the freak OUT and into Canada already. If I can't find production work, then I'll probably just take my chances and get outta here without much money. But, if I do, I'm here til October.

Words today, pictures soon.