BOO yah.

Okay, my main Accomplishment this Halloween will be to not eat my weight in candy. (Which I could easily do.) I do, however, need some motivation to get into the spirit, though I am determined to finally be Little Edie this year, even if I just stay home and protect our pumpkins from goblins (aka neighborhood teenage thugs). But really, is Little Edie all that much of a stretch? I don't even have to BUY anything for that costume, except maybe Wonder Bread and a raccoon.

So yeah, I need inspiration. I haven't even hung up our Halloween decorations. I don't even know where they ARE. But we did carve pumpkins on Sunday, which is something. And they will be nice and moldy and therefore scary by Saturday -- so really, I hope the thugs do smash 'em so I don't have to touch anything gross. (Insert sinister laugh here.)


Halloween circa 1972. The scariest thing about this picture is my hair.

So if you're like me and need motivation to summon your inner zombie, here are some links:

Last year's post,in which I blather on about past costumes

And

For beautiful spooky photos and songs, go to my friend Dania's blog, All Eyes and Ears

And

Like Dynamite to Your Brain is posting creepy goodness for your listening pleasure

And

The Fabulous Dusty of Cotton Candy Truant has been posting scary gems (and other stuff that rocks my world)

And

Neato Coolville is in its Neato Ghoulville incarnation

And

The year-round delicious The Girl Can't Help It tricks and treats

And

A delicious recipe

And

One of the best things EVER, from The Haunted Mansion:



And I know there are so many more blogs getting in the spirit -- feel free and post links in the comments. Trust me, I need all the help and motivation I can get.

And I need to get more candy. All the Milk Duds are already gone.

Happy Halloween, y'all!!!

Accomplishment #37: Participate in a New Cultural Tradition (#44)

When I was 9, my dad, much like Mr. Brady, had to go to Hawaii on business, and he brought the whole family along. (You may remember this from here.) My parents stayed in a 2 floor suite (the "Na P'ali Suite") at the ultra swank Kauai Surf Hotel, while my sisters and I stayed at the Plantation Hale Motel a few miles away. At first I thought that it would be exciting, but my sisters' absolute distaste at being stuck in a motel room with their obnoxious little sister kind of put a damper on the whole experience. And really, could you blame them? They were 19 and 23. In Hawaii. In their own hotel room. And then there was me: "HIIIII! Let's go SWIMMING! Let's watch TV! Let's play CARDS! I'm HUNGRY! I'm SUNBURNED! I didn't MEAN to spill! I miss the dog and all my friends! Nancy Drew saw a hula dancing ghost in Hawaii! This is like the Brady episode where Bobby finds the cursed idol and Greg falls off his surfboard! Whatcha doing? Can I go? I don't want to do my homework! I don't want to leave you alone! I'm gonna tell MOM!" You get the picture. Tropical Paradise it was not. At the Plantation Hale Motel anyway.

But at my parents' swanky hotel, where I actually was most of the time, it really was paradise. I'd get dropped off there every morning so my sisters could go do their thing, and I'd head straight to the pool that had a SWIM UP BAR. You literally swam through a waterfall and there was a bar so you could sit in the water and enjoy your cocktail. How amazing is THAT? And since it was IN THE POOL there was no age limit, so I swam up and ordered Shirley Temples and charged them to my dad's room. (I'm sure all the swingin' adults were just thrilled to have a creepy little kid hanging out and staring at them.) It was also the first time I had ever seen umbrellas in drinks, so every day I went down to the pool and asked everyone with a cocktail if I could have their umbrellas. (Charming. My sisters nearly died when they found out. I came home with about a hundred.)

One night, the hotel put on a real live luau, and I couldn't wait. I knew what a luau was -- the Bradys had gone to one and blew into a conch shell -- and I was excited to wear my new, fancy pink and white gingham dress. Except that day I had gotten a brutal sunburn, and by the time the luau rolled around, I was pretty much in blistering agony. But still, I was a trooper:


note: I am not wearing a tank top under my dress. That is a sunburn. But the flower crown did make it feel better.

There was a pig, and lots of drinks, and Mrs. O'Connor (the woman in the center) made me eat poi which I hated. We all sat on the ground (which was a little rough for the adults, and bad for me with the sunburn) and watched fire dancers and hula girls put on a show. But the most amazing thing was right before sunset a helicopter flew over and dropped hundreds of gardenia petals and orchids onto the party. The flowers floated down from the sky like sweet, fragrant snow, and we all gasped and clapped. And I was thrilled when the helicopter dipped like it was taking a bow, and I remember turning to my mom and shouting, "WOW!" with utter joy. The joy was fairly short-lived, however -- I hurt so much that my mom had to take me upstairs to their room and put me to bed with Solarcaine and aspirin.

I remember that trip with such clarity -- asking for those umbrellas; the moment that I thought I saw a quarter at the bottom of the pool (greedy!) and scraping all the skin from my nose when I dove down to get it and seeing swirling blood (consequences for that greed); a maple donut I ate; the cool stillness of the Fern Grotto and the rainbow ice we got on the way there; sucking on sugarcane; getting sucked down by the undertow and nearly drowning (I was a NIGHTMARE child); the groovy orange and blue metallic wallpaper in my parents' room; the hotel gift shop where I got a music box that played The Hawaiian Wedding song... but the memory that sticks with me most is being covered in flower petals, watching the helicopter take a bow. (Whenever I smell gardenias, that's what I think of.)

I've been back to Hawaii once since then (not as fun as the first time: 13, miserable, and got my period for the second time ever so I spent a lot of the time in the room sulking and reading Danielle Steel novels from the gift shop, but I did eat banana flambe in a fancy restaurant!), but long to go again. Of course I want to go on a time travel trip to Hawaii in the 50's or early 60's because it was so amazing back then, and I could buy more crap for our bar. But I'd like to go as an adult so I can actually drink. Um, I mean really appreciate it.

But, alas, since a trip to Hawaii isn't exactly feasible right now (especially a time travel circa 1962 trip), I did the next best thing: I joined forces once again with my Co-Hostess with the Mostess, Jennye (whom you may remember from such posts as winter wonderland extravaganza or mid-century supper clubbing), and we brought Hawaii -- and 1962 -- to Oakland, CA in 2009 for the hoolaulea of the year.

Sure, since a tiki theme is always a favorite, I've been to lots of luaus. LOTS. And though they are always fun and festive, they are really just an excuse to don loud clothes and drink a lot of rum, so really, they are theme parties, not luaus. (Believe me, I am not complaining. I'd go to a tiki party every day of the week if I could.) But since this one was the grand poobah of the Mid Century Potlucks, and since it's always a good idea to learn a new cultural tradition, we stepped it up a notch and did a little bit of research, thanks to my 1950's "How You Can Give Hawaiian Parties" by Patricia Collier, published by Dole Hawaiian Pineapple Company:


I always knew this would come in handy someday.

It is chock full of Hawaiian tips, and I set about trying to become fluent in party Hawaiian from the section, "Hawaiian Words That Are Fun To Use!" Since I only knew stuff like, aloha and mahalo and mai tai and "The Big Kahuna," I thought I'd pepper my conversation with these useful gems:

Haole: White Person or Foreigner
Hoomalimali: To Flatter
Humuhumunukunuku: A Species of Fish
Kaukau: Food
Lomi: To Rub or Massage
Malolo: Flying Fish
Nui: Big, Great
Okole Maluna!: Bottom's Up
Opu: Abdomen
Wai: General Name For Anything Liquid
Wikiwiki: Hurry Up

And I also learned that these were parties for King Kamehameha and his royal bunch, yet they were informal, sitting on the ground and stuff and eating with your fingers and leaves. And according to Mrs. Collier, a luau without Kalua pig is NOT a luau, but a poi supper. And considering I had not so fond memories of poi and we wanted the real deal, we were gonna get a whole damn Kalua PIG.

Initially we were going to get the pig and bury it and roast it, but then Jennye and Aaron, her husband, found whole already roasted pigs in Chinatown for cheaper, so we went with that. And spent weeks planning the backyard Party Of The Year, only to wake up that morning to discover that the ONE TIME is has rained in the state of California in MONTHS was that night and morning. "Hey," Aaron said as we panicked, "It rains EVERY DAY in Hawaii. It's more authentic." So the shindig was still on.

And was it ever. People outdid themselves as usual with amazing food:









And Ono Ono drinks:





Festive luau-wear:



Tiki tunes:



And the pieces des resistances -- not one, but TWO pigs!





But I'll admit -- no one sat on the ground because it was muddy and we used plastic forks. The ukulele player had to cancel. No hula, as we are closer in age to Alice than Cindy and could have potentially thrown out some hips. The limbo was completely forgotten, though an impromptu 80's dance party ensued. (I like to think King Kamehameha would have been pleased.) Plus, I put so much wai in my opu that everything I said sounded vaguely Hawaiian, instead of actually the words I'd studied. And we bombed as judges because we really kept sampling the entries of the liquid alcoholic variety and kept getting distracted.


Would you trust these wahines to be judges? Not a maikai idea.

(For more photos, like you haven't had enough already, go here and here.)

Even though there wasn't a helicopter that scattered flower petals all over our guests like the one in Hawaii when I was nine, it was a fabulous luau. (And this time I wasn't sunburned, and could partake and the delicious rum drinks.) And it was a real luau, thanks to the pigs, we can't wait to do it again next year. I highly recommend it -- it's fun and CULTURAL. How's THAT for an Accomplishment?


Aloha and Maholo!

(And if you do throw one, invite a tech genius who can do stuff like THIS.)

Thirty-seven down, 60 to go.

TOTAL ACCOMPLISHMENT: I'm reading at Litquake's Litcrawl!

I know, I know, it's been WAY too long between posts, but I have... okay, no excuse. Well, a small excuse.

I was honored to be asked to read at San Francisco's Litquake's Litcrawl on Saturday, Oct. 17th at Double Dutch, SF(16th & Guerrero) with the Rebel Reading Series. I'll be reading my 10 minute opus at 6pm as part of Phase One of the festivities, with four other talented writers: Blag Dahlia, Dan Strachota, Jason Myers and Stephanie Pullen. And that's just phase One -- the whole night is PACKED with talent all over the Mission!

here's the home page:

litquake 2009

and here's the page with MY NAME on it (in small print):

phase one

(I'm telling you, it was so exciting to see my name with such amazing company, and I had to keep from squealing when I saw my name and terrible bio in the program. I'm practically not really famous!)

The topic: Sex, Drugs, and Rock 'n'Roll. I know, right? But here's the craziest thing: IT'S ALREADY WRITTEN. No last minute scrambling this time around -- it's done! Even Mrs. Parker would be proud of me.


I love you, Dottie

So if you're in the area and have been just DYING for an updated post for 97-land (or you're bored and want something FREE to do on Saturday night), come on out -- I'd love to see you there!

And I promise, I will update soon!!!

xoxo

Accomplishment #36: Watch the Sunrise (#95)

Okay, sure -- I have seen a sunrise. But not because I've actually wanted to. It's been more like, "Oh no... What time is it? Oh, UGH." You know those times: staying up too late writing papers (only to hand them in at ten a.m and falling asleep in class); staying up all night studying for the final (only to go to class at ten a.m. and blowing the test because you haven't slept and all you ate was pizza or crackers); staying up too late drinking with friends and when the sky gets light and the light less flattering everyone looks greasy and exhausted and you feel like you've been chewing on a wool blanket (but OMG, that was like, so much fun!)... But I'll admit, the more recent sunrises I've seen have been either because of insomnia or having to get up and get to the airport to catch an ungodly early flight. (That's what happens when you get old, I suppose. Though the other sunrises weren't that long ago.)

So basically, I know they're beautiful and miraculous and everything, but I don't exactly go out of my way to see them. Things that require me to get out of bed early had better be Really Important and involving gifts or keeping my job. Now sunsets -- sunsets are glorious things and I don't have to make too much effort to see those. Those happen when I'm already awake. And living in California, we get such amazing sunsets. One of the most perfect moments of my life was standing up at Coit Tower, and watching the sun set beyond the Golden Gate Bridge. And I hadn't even meant to go there to do it -- it was just one of those lucky right time/ right place miracles. Ohh, California. You're broke and a mess and on fire right now, but I love you so.

But a few weeks ago, we left the Golden State and ventured to Oklahoma. Now, let me beat you to it:


And yes, this song was in my head the ENTIRE time.

Jon's mom bought two houses there -- one in a small town called Hollis, four miles from the Texas border, and another on a lake in a town called Lone Wolf. I wasn't sure what to expect -- I'm used to going to New York or Chicago or somewhere that's GO GO GO, not small little towns where the population is smaller than the number of my facebook friends.

But I have to say -- I loved it. It was so relaxing, the opposite of go go go -- exactly the kind of vacation I needed. It was hot, and yes, the wind totally swept down the plain, though I didn't see any wheat. (We saw lots of cotton.) The sky just seems so much bigger, so much bluer, and with so many more stars. And the lake was gorgeous, with red sand and rocks.

When Jon's mom and everyone left the lake house to go back to Hollis, Jon and I stayed up there for two days and just relaxed. And one morning we woke up when it was still dark outside and walked down to the lake for this Accomplishment.

And I must say, it was amazing.


from the front deck of the lake house


walking to the beach


there









It was awe-inspiring. The colors were so vibrant, and the stillness, with just the sound of waves lapping, felt -- I don't know, sincere somehow. Clean, the way a new day should feel. In the past I dreaded the sunrise -- it meant an end to secretive nighttime hours where everything would be exposed -- my lack of preparation and good judgment, an end to fun and the start of paying for it, the hassle of a journey and responsibilities. But as we stood there and watched it happen, with nothing to do but take it all in, I recognized how much I've missed by not watching them more often and feeling that sense of calm and the miracle that this happens every day. (Who knew?) Sometimes it's easy to forget how amazing nature is when you're surrounded by a city. In the 2 weeks since that sunrise, I've mentally gone back there and just let myself be in the moment.

But when the moment was actually happening, it started to sprinkle and I found Jon's sunglasses that he'd left on the beach the day before and I took a picture of nature's cruelty:


Poor, poor fish.

Thus inspired by the early hour, we actually didn't go back to bed and wound up driving around Oklahoma which was AWESOME and I got to do something I've always wanted to do:


Got my kicks on Route 66!

So for the first time, I watched the sunrise and got it, not dreaded it. I learned to just stop and think a little bit, and just be in that moment. (Until I see a dead fish on a rock and have to squeal and take a picture.) And that, ladies and gentlemen, really is an Accomplishment.

And that Rogers & Hammerstein totally weren't kidding:





Thirty-six down, 61 to go.

Help my friend Accomplish his DREAM!

I wouldn't normally do this, but I am trying to Accomplish something -- really! -- and help someone Accomplish his DREAM. My friend Johnny Bartlett is going for the Mad Men contest role (the winner gets a Walk On part on our favorite show!), and look at him. He was BORN to play it! (And yes, that is how he always looks.)

If you are so inclined (and love Mad Men like I do), please give the man five stars. And if he wins, you can say you knew him when. Sort of.

VOTE HERE!

You can vote every day until August 11, 2009.

Thanks!

Happy Anniversary... errr, Blog-iversary to me!

Yes, I know, hard to believe, but this week marks my one year anniversary into the world of blogspot. I am SO tooting my own horn:


nicked from mademoiselle therese's amazing Corbis Flickr set

So one year ago, I hunkered down and wrote this. I had a plan -- I was going to do an Accomplishment a week and kick some serious bootay. I was going to be an Accomplishment Machine! Naps and inertia were to be things of the past. Every spare moment was going to be spent Making Podcasts (#49), Joining a Political Campaign (#69), and Taking Care of a Houseplant (#81). (Podcast: Uh, not done yet. Political Campaign: Check. Houseplant: Uhhh, I didn't want to tell you guys, but I killed it. I am still ravaged with guilt. Sort of.) If everything had gone according to plan, I'd be sitting pretty with 52 Accomplishments right now, but instead, I'm at 35. Which, actually, is pretty surprising.

I know myself -- I figured that I would get aaaalll excited, be super into it, and then procrastinate and let it lag and die an unspectacular death (and it came dangerously close to that), much like my livejournal and myspace accounts. But oddly enough, that hasn't happened. Okay, so procrastination and naps and inertia are still a very big part of my life, but so is this blog.

Part of the reason I've kept it going is because of scary Google Analytics -- thanks to that, I know that there have been 11,075 views in the past year (I think at least 10,000 are from me checking the blog roll and seeing if I have any comments, because I chose such a stupid name that all emails go straight to my junk filter), the average time on the site is 1:38 (most visits read 0:00), and the bounce rate is 81% (which, apparently, is not good but I don't even know what that MEANS). As somewhat creepy as Google Analytics is, it has made me realize that people out there are reading it -- I may be doing the most clicking, but I am not in Bangalore, India, and someone from there read it for seventeen whole seconds.

But another reason, and a good one: I love it. I love Accomplishing Things, especially Accomplishing Things I should have done over two decades ago. I am so lazy and scattered that having an actual list that I can cross off makes me feel totally organized, even if I haven't put the new tags that I got in the mail three weeks ago on my car. And I love sitting down and writing and actually having some structure -- when left to my own devices, I can barely think of anything to Twitter. (And, well, there's the procrastination, and I JUST got THIS as I was writing this, so that's kinda spooky.) Just writing something is an Accomplishment for me, so it's Double-Whammy Goodness.

But here's the best part -- I have "met" the coolest people, found the most fabulous blogs, learned all sorts of new and wonderful stuff, have the best entertainment to read every day, all thanks to starting this blog. Lots of stuff has happened over the past year, and I have gotten such support and kind comments, and I appreciate that. And I am so grateful and shocked that I have over 100 Followers. Now THAT I never, ever would have expected, and I am tickled.

In fact I am tickled PINK, and to commemorate that and its one year anniversary, I am redecorating the blog. The polka dots were cute for a year, but so blogger-y and I have had serious blog envy each time I look at anyone else's. I wish I knew how to make a fancy banner, but I think this is enough for one day. And come on, pink is so glamorous. Just ask Zsa Zsa Gabor!!!


Listen to Zsa Zsa, daaahlinks! Sparkleneely loves you!

Anyway, thanks so much, everyone, for reading this blog, for motivating and inspiring me, and welcoming me into the Blogosphere.

Now go Accomplish something. I am going to eat some Cheez-Its and lay on the couch.

xoxoxoxoxo

Accomplishment #35: Raise Money For Charity (#74)

On July 19th, 1986, I went to a party at this girl Valerie's house with my friends Andrea and Monica. It was just a regular old party, and since I was the designated driver, I wasn't expecting much. But by the time we piled out of my car, we knew -- this was a good one. All the usual suspects were there -- the usual skate punks and new wavers and mods and "death rock" kids, all mingling together. (There was enough hairspray and eyeliner going on in that house that I suspect the early evening hours of July 19th, 1986 burned a swath in the ozone layer.) The house was jam-packed, beer and wine cooler bottles everywhere and hazy with smoke, Echo and the Bunnymen blaring over the speakers, and a mad panic dash to the bathroom when the police arrived. Yep, it was a good party, alright.

In fact, to this day, exactly 23 years later, it is still the best party I ever went to. (And I have been to many a party. But this one will always be my favorite.) Not to be corny, but that night my entire life changed. I can still remember what I was wearing, what the porch looked like. I can remember the exact pinpoint moment when my life began: I was hitting my friend Clark with a broom (yeah, I was sober) when someone called my name, and I turned around and found out there was such a thing as Love At First Sight.

He was tall and dashing, and absolutely charming and sophisticated. He was different than the other boys I hung out with (I would NEVER consider hitting him with a broom), and the conversation sparkled. He wrote his phone number on the visor of my car, and told me to call him. I went home that night, floating on air.

For the next year I vacillated between floating and drowning. I loved him more than I had ever loved anyone -- he was IT. He was PERFECT. He was only 2 years older than me, but he seemed so adult. I was away at college and wrote him long letters, agonizing over every word, worried that he'd think I was silly and stupid. I got quick and witty postcards from him, that I carefully pinned to my wall. He came to visit, and asked me to marry him. But something wasn't right -- our relationship was strange and chaste. If I broached the subject, he told me not to over-analyze, and then talked about something else while I, yep, over-analyzed. We spent magical days riding his scooter all over San Francisco, and nights bundled in pea coats, sharing bottles of Boone's Farm. Every second with him was an adventure, but every second without him I grew more and more confused.

"He's gay, you know," someone pointed out. And they were right.

Of course I was heartbroken, and thought that I would never stop crying. (My poor, poor friends. I made lots of shoulders wet with tears and snot.) But eventually I did, and our friendship resumed, stronger than it had before, because there wasn't that unspoken secret anymore. And I found that I loved him even more after that, because he wasn't perfect -- he was my friend. (And I would, in fact, hit him with a broom if I had the chance.)

He changed my life. He was my first love, sure, and with that my life changed. But more importantly, he opened doors for me that I never thought possible. I learned more from him than I did in school. He was a traveler, and told me all about the amazing places that someday I would go, too. He introduced me to new music, new food, new cultures, and showed me hidden nooks and crannies of San Francisco that made me fall in love with my city and left me breathless. He helped me move, and he made me laugh hysterically. He lent me books that he found fascinating and I tried to read them, but they were a little too, uh, smart for me. We worked together at the circus one summer, and got in trouble for printing nasty comments on tickets. I barfed in his catbox. Thanks to him, I met amazing people, most of whom are still my best friends to this day.

About four years after we met, he called me and told me that he and his boyfriend, who also became one of my dearest and most beloved friends, had something to tell me. They came over, and we laughed and ate and it was like any other afternoon hanging out, until they told me that they had just been diagnosed positive with HIV.

I was stunned. I swallowed and wouldn't let myself cry, and made some sort of comment like, "Well, we'll get through this. It'll be okay." And after they left, I broke down in my tiny kitchen and sobbed.

I knew what being HIV positive meant. My cousin Paul had succumbed a few years before, and his square was a piece of the AIDS quilt. My aunt and uncle had been devastated to lose their son. You couldn't live in San Francisco at that time and not hear about AIDS daily. And in 1990, being HIV positive was a death sentence.

But 23 years later, he and my other dear friend are still alive and thriving and doing well. I know there are bad days and good days, and I don't talk to him as often as I should. But I love him just as much now as I did back then, at that First Moment.

Which is why this is the fourth year in a row I will be doing the SF AIDS Walk. I'm pleased to say that every year I have been a Star Walker, meaning I have raised over $1000. Out of all of these 97 Things, this Accomplishment may be the one that I hold highest and dearest. Until someone finds a cure, I will continue to do what I can to help.

And you know, you really do meet the nicest people on The Walk:


Me and The Outrageous Miss DiDi Mau. I LOVE her. She walks in 6 inch heels!

So on Sunday, July 19th 2009 -- 23 years to the day I met him and the irony is not lost on me -- I will be walking six miles through Golden Gate Park in his and my other friend's honor, and in the memory of my cousin Paul and friend Cherel, both of whom I've lost. And for all the others out there who have been affected by this horrible disease.

But I have fantastic company:


Jennye, co-captain and co- supper club hostess

And should you want to sponsor me (and I would really, really appreciate it), go here:

My AIDS Walk Page



Thank you.

xoxoxo

Thirty-five down, 62 to go.