Dream, that's all you can.

February 28, 2008 is the sort of day I can only remember pieces about. There's lots of pieces, some of them fit together, but for the most part, it's all a jumbled mess of a day.

I remember driving faster than I've ever driven through the canyon, only to find a huge black cloud rising from downtown. At which point I thought, "Why am I speeding? Am I going to put out the fire?". I remember gagging when the fire department let us close enough to the Golden West where we could finally see the full extent of what had happened. I remember the huge, overwhelming sense of relief when the fire department let us inside the El Rey, seeing our precious dance floor flooded with gallons of water. In a weird way, it didn't look out of place. I remember the smell, oh God, that smell. It still makes me cringe. I remember sitting on curb, in between Kyle and Joe Anderson, eating a sandwich. we were waiting for something. I have no idea what. I remember Kathy screaming at ATF to be nice to our staff. I remember sitting down in her house with a yellow tablet and a pen, trying to figure out exactly where to start.

I thought about having some kind of memorial service in the Golden West (actually, I thought we should have a fun jump and a keg in there). I thought about getting a memorial tattoo today, just something to symbolize the year that's gone by. But, the way it's worked out, I decided the best way to honor my fallen comrade was to let the anniversary pass by, quietly and gracefully. It's what she would have wanted. If you don't believe that those walls could talk, then I don't know what to tell you. I think that's why we all miss it so much. She had some good stories. But really, she still does. She would tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself, go to work, and maybe throw down a shot or two later on in the night.

Last night was the first night I cried over the fact that someone could have been in there when the fire broke out. I guess that has a lot more to do with my Grandfather. He would have loved that place.

So, after a year, it's still there, four walls and a wooden floor, the skeleton of its former self. We lose certain parts and pieces of our lives at any given time, but we find just as much as we lose. I guess that's what I needed to learn this past year.

That being said... Seriously. Get me out of February.

Had to leave myself behind.

These were taken in Biloxi and Gulfport Mississippi in October 2006:










NOTE. Taken in 2006. Hurricane Katrina hit in 2005. I took these ONE YEAR AFTER the hurricane hit. I went to the Mississippi Gulf to film the reconstruction for my 16mm class. I had no idea the only thing they'd be rebuilding were casinos. There was a reason I wanted to go to Mississippi and not New Orleans. The damage in Louisiana was much worse, of course, but I felt like its poor neighbor got forgotten about. Maybe that's why it's taking so long to rebuild.

You can blame FEMA. You can blame George W. Bush. You can blame levees, poverty, CNN, blame whoever you wish. But, I think when something that big comes along, there's only so much you can do. But in that, you better every, single thing you can.

The first thing I thought, the first time I stepped foot inside the burned bar, was "This looks like Hurricane Katrina."


It's been three years since Hurricane Katrina. It's been 6 months since the Golden West fire. I'm much closer to resolve, but I'm not there yet. And now, as Gustav looks poised to hit the same area again, I wonder what there is left for it to destroy. I can't even imagine how horrible those poor people must feel, watching and waiting... again. It would be like watching the El Rey go up in flames. Shudder.

So, I'm keeping lots of good thoughts floating around for the Gulf Coast. I hope you all are too.

Trying to stay big.

This makes Tuesday better. "I got Fight Club for 6.98 at walmart." "I am Jack's low price guarantee."

CRAP I had a long weekend. I worked nine hours at the El Rey on Saturday. And I spent most of that time looking at this:


Oy, quinceañeras. You're such a cruel mistress. I love them for their $100 bar guarantee, but hate them for the fact I am forced to use what little Spanish I've retained after 4 years of schoolin for it. This one wasn't so bad, especially since the girl's dress was GREEN and she had a GREEN and BLACK theme. Thank baby Jesus. The girl always wears white and her colors are always red and white. Booooring. So thanks Veronica, for spicing it up a bit.

I ended the night really grumpy. It was weird seeing the Launchpad open again, talking to the staff, watching everything get back to normal there. It just made me sad, knowing that I'll never get my bar back. It didn't help when the El Rey's roof started leaking like mad with that crazy downpour we had at about 1:30 on Saturday night. We had to construct an elaborate system of trash bins and beer coolers to catch it all. Historical buildings never get all the way fixed, if I've learned anything, it's that.

And yeah, I'm getting used to it by now. But, I'm starting to feel like I have to justify my grief (mostly to myself...). I guess it's okay to still be sad. I've never really experienced loss like that before.

On a lighter note, Kyle said the funniest thing this weekend about selling fireworks. "I'm going to make it magical next year. Like going to Narnia. I'll wear fairy wings if I have to."

Speaking of, he joined a new band. Perhaps you've heard of Flood the Sun? Well, their new bass player is fantastically tall and awkward. By this happening, it means that 3 out of my top 5 favorite men in Albuquerque are in a band together. Success!

Visions of sugar plums.

I'm trying to see possibility. I don't think I'm there quite yet.

Humanity.

Big ups to whoever broke into the Golden West cooler last night. No really, bravo. You come in and see a building in complete ruin, gutted out, and decide that, what the hell, let's take the only thing left.

But what I'm really impressed with is how you managed to get into the cooler without dying because the roof over the cooler is collasped in front of the door.

So, I hope endangering your life and grave robbing was completely worth it for a couple cases of burnt Corona, buddy. Good luck sleeping anytime in the near future. Actually, you probably won't have any problem sleeping. That's what makes me sick.

I hope that beer makes you sick.

I still hear trains at night.

2 months later, demolition started in the Golden West last week. If you're wondering why it took so long, the wonderful folks at AFD and ATF asked if we would maintain our site as it was so that police dogs could come train. In exchange, they would help us with our demolition. Well, after training, AFD decided the structure wasn't sound enough to send their firemen in to help with demo. Convenient, ain't it? Also, way to lock the front door jackasses, enjoy the Jager.

2 months later, there's still pits of loss in my life. It is easier than it was, without a doubt. At least now I feel like it's real. It actually hurts more than it did, but at least I know it's on its way to getting better. There is hope, my friends, and that's something I haven't had for a while.

That being said, I think my duration in Albuquerque is about to come to close. At least for a while. I love it here. I love all the people I know and I love all that they have done for me. But, in perfect honesty, this place is currently breaking my heart. I feel myself bitterizing (best. word. ever) and I hate it. HATE it. We all go through those phases when life gets you down and all seems lost. Sooner or later, it always gets better. But this one feels different than the others. My current job is really only a temporary gig, so I'll probably ride it out and see where I am in a few months, then make that call. I'm pretty much dead-set on getting back into school, finishing a BA in Anthropology, which probably won't take me long, under two years. WHERE I finish is the question.

I guess the fog of smoke engulfing our fair city this week makes it even harder to be here. That smell will haunt me for a long time.

Hearing about those poor homes burnt in the Trigo fire breaks my heart. I want to go to the motels in Moriaty where all those poor people are staying and bring them all cookies and pie.

On the subject of the Golden West smell, it seems to have evolved. For a while, it was just charred. It still smelled like gas explosions and burnt wood. Now it smells like KFC, a wooden pizza oven.

'Member my kitty Mohammed? His kidneys continue to be troublesome. The prognosis is increasingly grim.



Of all the tattoo ideas I've had, I've never been so committed to this one: an olive tree on my upper center thigh. A good Italian tree for a great Italian building. With two trunks, one for the bar, one for Annie.

Roadblock.

I guess it's a little ridiculous to say I have a hard time dealing with sadness. I think pretty much everyone does. My mom and me have had long conversations about how it's okay to feel sad, it's pretty damn normal. Having a bum month happens to everyone. Cowboy up, deal with it. But, I can honestly say it's been a very long time since I've felt this sad.

It's like big, giant parts of my life are collasping, voids are being created and I haven't quite figured out how to fill them (or if I should). I could laundry list them, but that's not important. Doesn't make them go away. It's to the point where it's effecting me physically, which is also something that hasn't happened in a long time. I feel myself drawing inward a lot. (If you've called and I haven't called back, I really am sorry.)

I'm trying to be a Chas about it. He's got this fantastic way of taking every experience in life as exactly that, an experience, and evaluating the losses and gains. Not to say he's withdrawn emotionally, because he's far from it. But he's got this almost editorial way of accessing the situation and in the end, he always seems to come out okay. I'm trying to make myself think about it in the most rational way possible, trying to study myself from the outside.

I guess it's a little bit fascinating, all the sensations going on in my head, the way they're translating to my body and to everyone else. Just trying to make sense of it all. And mostly, trying to not numb out. I can't imagine anything worse right now.

I'm hoping some open road and a little bit of distance will grant me another perspective.

(I'm pretty sure one of these would make me feel all better.)

$20 billion and 80 million acres.

I'm feeling "rage phase" set in. I don't like it, don't quite know how to combat it, either.

I have to be at work at 6:00 tomorrow morning. BOO. But, I do get Friday off.

That means I should be in bed already. I just wanted to say that God invented Cameron Crowe to introduce a new generation to Tom Petty. Among other things.

Mass Cane and Gouldian Finches.

Tonight was Emily's birthday party and it really was fantastic. Everyone was happy and they all looked fabulous. I felt quite shabby by not dressing up, but I really had NO idea what to wear. Ask Kyle, he had to deal with about 30 minutes of "What shoooould I weeeeeear?" Which I'm sure was unbearable.

At the party, I found myself in the same place I've been in about a dozen times. Someone was talking about the Golden West and I got so excited that someone cared about the only thing I can bring myself to care about, I dived right in. The only problem is it always yields the same result. Like I said before, it's not really depression, just this huge void in my life, recognized.

I don't like how I've gotten to be this way, this trauma junkie. I feel like I'm slowing down for a car wreck every time I dive into the discussion. A part of me knows I really should just distance myself, try to get away from all the message boards, all the media, the negativity, and just be Cat. Not Cat, defender of the honor of the might and noble Golden West (or should I say Kathy Zimmer?). But, I'm just not there, I just can't do it.

The thing about that bar is that it was so irreversibly intertwined with my life that I can't get it out, especially not now when she's sinking more and more every second. It's the mark of a true theater kid, irrational attachments to spaces. I genuinely missed the Shuler when I left Raton. When I found the Golden West, the El Rey, I felt that loss lift. New theater, new space, new home. Screw that noise about that place being my second home. It was MY home, especially after I stopped paying rent in June. I can't tell you how thankful I am that the El Rey is still standing. I don't want to imagine where I would be if that was gone too.

Reality is slowly sinking in about it. All of it. I went through 2 weeks of shock and awe and now I can feel the reality sink in. It's. Not. There. Anymore. It's sad, but maddening all at the same time. I'm not there, but I'm getting close. Even today when I stood in the Saloon, it didn't feel real. It just looks so different, I still can't believe it's the Golden West. I listened to a lot of Elton John last night and had a nice hour-long cry (by the way, best sentence in this blog, by far). It was terrible, but in a way it felt like I was progressing. I honestly haven't had a good cry about the fire since it happened, just little bursts here and there. But the thing that scares me is the anger I feel coming on. About 70% of it has to do with my own personal objections to the management of this whole debacle, the other 30% coming from internet speculation.

It hurts a lot that it's becoming warfare. I almost enjoyed the mild rivalry we had with Joe Anderson and the Launchpad (which you know, give me a break, we were nothing but a mosquito compared to that empire). It was fun, high school sports. And trust me, I loved that place just as much as the nest person. Burlesque, suspension, some of my first punk shows. I've had some great times in that place. But now it's a blame game. If we would have taken care of the rags the right way, it never would have happened. If Joe would have had a firewall and a roof, it never would have happened. If someone had answered my phonecalls at any of the 5 hardware stores I called the day before about applying linseed oil, it never would have happened. If we would have hired someone to do the floors. Your fault. His fault. My fault. Kathy Zimmer's fault. This has nothing to do with fault and everything to do with pride.

I adore Aunt Virginia, Kathy's aunt who turned the Saloon into a saloon and turned the El Rey into a nightclub. She is the definition of a tough, old girl. Sometimes, I can just see her running around that theater, the way Kathy does, taking notes, yelling at lazy security, monitoring her bartenders. It really is a fantastic image. And I keep asking myself, what would Aunt Virginia do? More than anyone in the world, that is HER bar, her theater. And the answer is, fight to the death.

That makes trying to turn my back on this divine mess that much harder. I want nothing to do with a battleground. A scene war? That is so impossibly far from Cat-territory. But it's hard when it involves one of the true loves of my life.

I love the way I feel when I laugh about it, breaking up those terrible insurance-related conversations with little inside jokes and memories. Like when Daniel dropped Patrick to the floor. Or Pornogate 08 in the office. When the pigeons got through the roof and were nesting on top of the tin ceiling and we could hear them cooing. Kathy's freaking Christmas carols over the holidays. Kyle's unofficial 21st birthday party with Nothington. After hours with Le Chat. I'm smiling right now.

That's where I want to be, able to relive it all, without having to drudge 13 paragraphs (metaphorically most of the time) of somber babble. To remember how great it was, to think how great it might be again.

I know a good chunk of it is all the other stuff going on. New job. New room. Sick pets. Sleep deprivation. Adultness. Maybe it would all make sense if everything else was clear in front of me, but that's never the case.

I really am trying my best to not late-night blog, not listen to sappy Elton John, instead go out, be social. But sometimes I think you need a little sadness to get there.

It's not that complicated, really.


I just miss it.

Strictly Rude.

Emotional irrationality continues.

I have a monthly parking pass for a downtown garage and the damn thing is so, so danty. I have to make sure to swipe it once, and only once when I try to exit the garage. If for some reason it doesn't read, the machine assumes I'm trying to steal parking and blocks my card. This happened to me today, for the second time in a week, and when I asked the parking garage attendant to open the gate (which I knew she could do. Another attendant did it for me earlier in the week) she interrupted my request and very rudely told me she couldn't open it and I would have to call a 1-800 number for help. Not to mention she was on the phone the whole time.

I. Went. Off. So much so I shocked the attendant so much, she froze. I thought she was going to call the police. I called the 1-800 number, got out, and cried the whole way home. Not normal, no sir. I think half the reason I was crying was because I was so mean, that whole feeling of completely losing sight of yourself, but mostly my brain just feels like a game of boogle. Sometimes, there's words, coherent thoughts, but most of the time it's just bits and pieces. And I'm tired of trying to make them fit. I've never been good at being graceful, but I feel like any little bit of grace I had is completely gone now.

I need more sleep and Brazilian meat. Too bad I'm broke like joke.

4:30 is the new 5:00

I can't blog about my job, but here's some basics you all need to know.

1. A woman calls me every morning named Rhonda Neilson and she says she's the President of the United States of America. She says she would like us to buy some land.

2. I'm right across the street from a cupcake store. So whenever I'm having a terrible day, I can just go get a cupcake.

3. Everyone I work with is fantastically nice and helpful.

4. There's cable TV in my office. ANTM!

5. Piercings. Gone. I'm trying really REALLY hard to not get emotional about it, letting myself indulge in the luxuries I never got before, like lip gloss, but it's still kind of hard. Nape is still in, because it's discreet when you have long hair, as is septum. I think I'll go visit Noah for some creative jewelry options for it. Make me feel better.

6.With that said, I must be a fancy-pants now. Literally. I've never had a job where dressing up was required. Once again, trying to find the perks like tax write-offs and such.

7. I almost started crying when I saw the health insurance I'm going to have. And how cheap it will be.

8. Your tax dollars pay for my salary. Congrats!

9. I wish I had a window.

10. All in all, it's not too bad.

Other than starting new job, moving into new apartment is going well. My desk got in last night, which was fantastic. It faces my window, and I have a big, fantastic tree to look at. It's going slowly, bit by bit, but it's much nicer than having the stress I had with my last move.

I feel like the shock of the fire is over and I've moved into grief. It's not a depression as much as it is a feeling of loss. I'm not overcome with any kind of sadness, but it feels like there's just something huge missing from my life.

I really must stop reading rocksquawk. All it does is make me so furious my face turns red. Yesterday turned into Hate On Kathy Day. People were saying the most disturbing things. Appartently, in their brains, she was sitting around with lighter fluid and bottle of linseed oil, just waiting to ruin Joe Anderson's life. Not quite true, guys. I guess they missed the part about the fire being accidental. And the part about how we've treated our floors with linseed oil before and this never happened. And the part about how ATF had only heard of this kind of thing happening. One of them said that if Kathy wanted help from the community, she would have to be part of it. Well, that's somewhat true. She was never part of their community. I know why people don't like her. Trust me, I completely get it. And she does some things sometimes that I don't agree with at all. But, she is far from a failure or a community-ruiner.


I certainly found a community because of her.

And not only that, say what you want about the bar. We never gave a damn about our reputation. BUT YOU FLAMERS LEAVE THE "JANITOR" ALONE. Once again, did ya get the memo the fire was accidental? You have no idea what "the janitor" is going through. He did exactly what he thought he should have been doing. I called 5 different hardware/floor stores and no one could give me an answer about the application of linseed oil. No one. Spontaneous combustion is more urban legend than anything else. He even washed out the rags. Repeatedly. The water actually made it harder for the oil to break down. This wasn't just carelessly leaving rags lying around. He doesn't need your judgments.

The point is, it's bad enough what happened. You don't need to bash on the situation on an internet message board. I'm not asking for you to pretend you loved it, that you went there every weekend. Just have a little heart. As far as I'm concerned, that building was the best thing in the world. For several reasons. But, right now, because it held in that two alarm fire. Without much trouble. It could have destroyed the whole block. But it didn't. And for that reason, people should love her.

The other point is I'll never post that on rocksquawk. Mostly because it's not even worth it, but a tiny part of myself is terrified of internet warfare, as previously mentioned.

When it rains... Annie has to go to the vet tomorrow. I'm very much getting the feeling that my grandma's giving up on her. Her health is getting worse, but I'd call it more inconvenient than anything. I think Grandma's leaning for putting her down (something that makes me cry just to type) and of course, I want to fight for her. But, I don't know how much say I have in the matter since she's really not my dog anymore. I can't keep her, and I don't know a single person who would want such a high maintenance creature. Like I said, not looking forward to that discussion tomorrow.

Trying really, really hard to be positive about all of it. Trying even harder to find constants in all this change. But, both seem impossibly hard sometimes.

I want you to dress like this.

A conversation.

Cat: "Excuse me, what are you doing?"

Random carpet cleaner man trying to profiteer on disaster walking into the El Rey: "Oh yeah. I'm with a carpet cleaner. Steam cleaner. I have an appointment."

Cat: "No you don't."

RCCMTTPODWITER: "Yeah I do. I have an apointment. With Christine."

Cat: "No you don't."

RCCMTTPODWITER: "I have a licease- an appointment."

Cat: "No. You don't. Try the Launchpad."

RCCMTTPODWITER: "Oh. Yeah. Maybe I'll try that."

RCCMTTPODWITER didn't have an appointment with the Launchpad either.

Smile like you've got nothing to prove.

Yes. I am wearing shorts.

Detroit Red Wings ones, even. But what makes this picture even better than the mirror closet doors it contains is that it's the first picture of MY NEW ROOM. That's right, my days of living out of a duffel bag are over. At least for the time being. And not a minute too soon. After ten months, having a closet, especially one with mirror doors rules pretty hard. I moved my mattress in today, along with some basics, mostly books and clothes. The rest will come after the weekend when Maria's old roomie gets her bed n stuff out of the room. I was just a tad eager to get in here, as you can see.

But having my own space again was exactly what needed to happen today. It was frustrating, as moving always is, but the sweet release I'm having right now, of blogging on MY internet connection on MY bed in MY room, is just too fantastic. There's a few ounces off the weight on my back. So worth skipping the Murphys for.

I think today was just the day the first real, brutal emotional waves set in. I've felt myself pulling inward, not returning phone calls, just wanting to be alone. But today I think the weepy stage of grieving set in. Of course, triggered by a terrible day at the "office". It's become hard to leave work at work, but I am trying.



While work drains my soul, I get to visit this little lady every day. Kathy has a ocicat, also known as a very expensive kitty with fancy coloring. But, Pookie is dang precious and she's taken quite a liking to me. Why must my boyfriend be allergic to kitties?

I look like trouble.

Inhale, exhale. I swear there's still smoke in my lungs. Life just feels like this giant haze.

I got a job offer that I can't blog about. Which means I'll probably hate it.

Fact is, I just can't handle any more change right now. I'm also supposed to be moving into Maria's this week. It's just a lot. The thought of removing the rest of my piercings (corporate proofing) makes me cry. It's always the little things.

I'm right in the thick of it now. Kathy can't stop moving, her brain's just gone.

I'd give just about anything to be back at my grandpa's right now.

Something constant under my feet.

Ready for the good?


My kitty made an almost full recovery. $500 and 4 days later, they let him come home. He'll have to be on special kidney food for the rest of his life, but thankfully he likes it. He's energized, he's happy, and it warms my heart to see him running and playing.

Ready for the bad?


Before I left for my trip, I tagged the El Rey. I guess it was sort of a tradition, former employees leaving little calling cards. They seem to be all over the premise of the (former) bar and the theater. Under the stack of letter C’s for the marquee in the theater’s utility closet, I wrote, “Someday it will be your theater too.”

When I first starting working there, Kathy told me that same sentence. I remember feeling uneasy about it, wondering if I could hang out in that place long enough to call it my own. But somewhere in the last 3 years, between Ska Prom and inventory, it did become my theater.

I’ve spent more time in that building in the last year than I have anywhere else. It wasn’t just my theater, it was my home. So, standing in front of it Thursday morning, watching black smoke fold out in front of me, was quite possibly the single most heart-breaking thing I have witnessed.


You can't do anything, you just have watch it wash out into the streets; 3 years of your work, 3 years of your life. I stood outside of what was the Golden West for 7 hours, completely helpless, completely useless, occasionally breaking into tears, and hoping for just some kind of decent news. Just some sign that there was something good in all of that. Really, I would have taken anything. No one was hurt. I needed to remember that.

The Golden West on the other hand, is completely gutted. When I say that, I mean gone. The only thing left standing is the front wall and the beer cooler (of course…). It looks like a sound stage, a movie set. Once the smoke settled, it was just like a completely different dream. By far, the most surreal day of my life. How can a structure like that, with so much in it, so much to it, just vanish? And that’s literally what it did. You’re all breathing it in right now.

But, the old girl, the 80 year old lady, did exactly what she was supposed to do. She contained herself. For the most part. The Launchpad shares our wall, which is why there was damage to it. It looks like most of their damage happened when the roof caved, pulling some of the wall with it. The rest of their damage is water and smoke. The El Rey is almost perfect, minus basement flooding and and some smoke damage in the lobby. The Golden West protected her babies like a champ. I couldn't help but feel a little swell of pride, as silly as it sounds.

Where I am right now, I'm trying to make sense of it all.

It's pure tragedy. It's no one's fault, just a gaping loss. I don’t think I’ve ever processed something like this. This weekend, I just felt devastated, but completely numb all at the same time. I am coming to terms, with each walk-through I do, each beer I have with Daniel. It’s just… not there yet. I keep trying to rack my brain, thinking of all the amazing things that have happened in the old girl. But, the memories aren’t coming. I think I’ve somehow managed to block them out.

But something amazing happened Sunday. For the first time in all of this, I started finding the comedy in this, letting myself laugh about it.


That makes it feel a lot better.

There's lots more photos here. And more to come.