Some Small Things

I still can't seem to get on the regular blogging path, but here's some things from this week:

*I memorized a new poem I wrote called "I'm wearing that blue dress I hardly ever wear"

*I cleaned my kitchen on Sunday and I've kept it clean ever since. Those who know me know this is a huge event.

*A friend of mine just finished making me a Pogues mix and is sending it in the mail tomorrow, and I'm excited because feels about the (former?) Pogues the way I do about Gogol Bordello, and I am game for any such exposure.

*I took a sick day today for reasons I'll keep to myself.

*I found $40 in cash that I forgot about behind an envelope on a stand near my desk.

*I kept forgetting that April is National Poetry Month, and then remembering, and then forgetting, and then today, remembered again. Click here to sign up to receive a-poem-a-day in your e-mail inbox for the month of April. (*I've just decided that I will, in honor of NPM, post a poem, well, mmmh, I was going to say every day but don't know if that's realistic. I'll do something daily. Maybe favorite poems. Maybe short-spontaneous-created-right-here poems. I'll think about it. Tidbits that I write in my purse-notebook when I'm out and about. I will strive for regularity!)

*I braved Wal-Mart. I feel like I should go to confession. I hate going in there. I really hate it. Despite the fact that it pushes my politically incorrect button (which is, surprisingly and relatively, small), it's one of the few places in the world where I just can't bear to reach out and connect with the rest of humanity. It feels like the supermarket for the miserable people, and while I don't consider myself psychic, I do consider myself sensitive and I go in there and it's thick with something I can't name--it makes me feel hopeless. The only way I could be in there for more than an hour is if I brought in a huge boom box and placed it on the floor (maybe in the purse section) and blasted Gogol Bordello, and started a really fun celebratory riot with shit flying everywhere. All to say, when I do go in, I don't look at anyone. I just follow the red lines of the main trail and head toward the fabric department (no short cuts, too dangerous) where I buy my cheap yarn and then I get the hell out of there. On this particular visit, I went from the smell of kitty litter to the aroma of French fries to the pukey smell of fruity hair conditioner within a span of three feet. God bless America.

Having Blog Guilt and Dating Angst (Sort of)

I have been feeling like a big fat abandoner. Sure, it's only been a week, but when I read a certain friend's blog (M.'s), I am so envious of her ability to write something, almost daily, and still manage to be funny and engaging and provide good blog-reading material.

I saw The Bank Job last night. If you're not a fan of British crime capers that involve pasties, lots of boobs and butts, loud indoor jack hammering, angry black power men, a few corrupt politicians in women's underwear getting whipped (and whole-heartedly enjoying it), or disturbing torture and beatings by slimy men who make pornography, then skip it.

Worst date movie ever.

I was literally nauseous by the closing credits. Granted, my date was as disturbed as I (well not quite, but close).

I'm trying to think how I can get him back. What do you subject a kind, sensitive, artistic fellow to? Runaway Bride? Horton Hears a Who? Blades of Glory? Mmmmh... I'm open to suggestions.

At Sea

[If you're looking for the Gogol Bordello video story, scroll down.]

So I think this is the first time I'll be posting poetry on here. Maybe because I feel like there's so much of it out there on the web and some of it not great and I'd hate to be lumped with the "not great." Here's one, tho, that just came out in print, and I kind of enjoy it for its provocativeness. I wrote it for a class in grad school and it was picked up by Painted Bride Quarterly in Philly, THREE years ago (not to say that I'm not grateful; they're picky and have a good rep...but for the love of God, 3 years?!). It's just now out in their Print Annual 4--which is a hefty collection that includes 4 issues bound together. Mine appears in #78, the "Pirate" issue. I'm in good company from what I can tell so far.

At Sea

My lover naps below
while I sun on the stern
in my sundress and dream

myself a woman born
for building ships. In the
cushion of sleep I build

this one as I tarry on our
Alaskan island more than a century ago.
My lover is taken at sea

by a striking pirate
who is, underneath it all,
kind and soft and has

adorned my berth
in silk and jewels from the hold.
He touches me evenly

with kid gloves (twenty-two days at sea
and my thighs are much fleshier stories).
The blue woman and the red woman

etched on his forearms steer
the small of my back. This dreamed
vessel, its handsome

mate, immaculate sails,
the worldly character of the sun looming above,
are all my doing. I make myself

the only woman aboard
my bandit gets to win--a bottle
of port at my hip. What I pity most is the untravelled

stationary woman who at night
falls into blank sleep, and awake
veers from this world's distant climes

and men. The breast is a solemn
and familiar place, frightened of setting out--
but the bones, dearheart, the bones want motion.

Map the body's route then the love you plan
to steal and hoard. If nothing else
stay shoreless. The land

husbands your power.
O serious traveler, ready yourself
to dream, to snatch the sabled yawl

from the hulled body of the harbored boat
and row. In your berth with your pirate
when the aged ship rocks

fore and aft, there is no other region
you'll want more than this. Nothing
as delicious as this old salt in your bed.

American Wedding Video: The Cast

Now it's time to introduce the main players in this thing
(again, photos, except for #3, were taken by Nathan Jones).

The story of the video is thus: The worst of the worst in American wedding receptions. Boring company. God-awful music. People doing the chicken dance (few enough to make it feel pretty sad). Bad food--the cheese balls are congealed on the plates with the salad dressing and there are questionable finger sandwiches.

Enter gypsy punk catering company.

Enter Gogol Bordello to teach us what it means to celebrate the betrothed, Bordello-style:

Bartender and ringleader played by GB's frontman Eugene Hutz

Catering gals Elizabeth Sun (cymbal player) and Pamela Racine (drummer) carting out the drink and the replacement food, including best of all, the really thick, really phallic kielbasa (sausage).

Note: The food (real stuffed birds, roasted hocks of stuff, the truly aromatic sausage) sat out on the snack table (directly behind my table) for TWO DAYS without refrigeration. By the end of Day 2, us Table 2 residents had watery eyes and took leave in between takes to get away from the smell.

More of the catering staff

(L to R, Pedro Erazo, bongo player, general on-stage rabble-rouser, and enthusiastic stage-diver, from Ecuador; Oren Kaplan, guitar player, he's amazing on that thing!, from Israel; Yuri Lemeshev, resident clown and master accordionist, from Russia; Tommy Gobena, bass player who hales from Ethiopia, a sweet, sweet man; and Eliot Ferguson, drum-kit player, the one who Eugene says is "the only sane member of the band," from the wilds of California)


and, we can't forget ...


The guy who starts all the musical trouble at this particular reception (Sergey Rjabtzev, violinist and former theater director in Moscow)

Stay tuned for more....


photos by http://nathanjonesphoto.com.

American Wedding Video: Behind the Scenes, Part I

[photos by Bob Jones, http://nathanjonesphoto.com]

The filming of the Gogol Bordello video, "American Wedding," all took place in the basement of this church...

the Holy Ghost Ukrainian Church in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

My father and stepmother were featured extras, as the parents of the bride, while I played a regular extra, a guest at the reception. (Truth be told: if you are going to refer to us as such, please use the term "background artists," out of respect.)

Introducing the Dandy Dwarves

The video was shot by a production company called the Dandy Dwarves (watch their reel on You Tube). From what I can gather, they met as students at the Savannah College of Art and Design (or "SCAD"). While they never learned our names for how absorbed they were in video making, we came to know them in a certain way over a period of 2 days. We watched them work, 32 hours straight, hard (and that was just the hours we witnessed, there were other hours, more of them, later ones).

This is Ian, the Assistant Director:


He was one of my favorite people on the shoot. He was the one who yelled "quiet on the set, please!" and "rolling film," and "action!". He was very strict, very funny, and clearly dedicated (it was his job to keep things moving). We came to know his voice, we came to fear it, and then we came to respect and love it. At least I did. This was a rare moment, him sitting, not standing holding his clipboard, yelling.

This is the Director, Grant.

Yes, ladies, he was dreamy, soft-spoken, nice. He mostly gave suggestions to Kevin (pictured below); only rarely did I hear an actual order. And I watched him try and deal diplomatically with Eugene (who does NOT like to be told what to do). Grant knelt down a lot, made his hands into a makeshift frame, and always had a to-go coffee cup in hand. He and Kevin were amazing to watch. They'd talk quietly, then suddenly Kevin would stand up and go, "Okay, battery, I need a battery!"

And this, my friends, is Kevin, the DP (Director of Photography):


Kevin, Kevin, Kevin.
Kevin is a real life superhero, in my book. A slight man from the waist down, but his arms are BUFF, dude-- from hauling a camera, running with it on his shoulder, weaving in and out of wedding guests on the dance floor at top speed, spinning, and turning. I swear, at any moment, I expected him to take flight, for little wings to sprout from his back, and glitter to leak out of his shoes. Peter Pan-ish you could say. If you watched him for 10 minutes, you'd know he's brilliant. Not because of his buff arms, but because of how focused he is, how so completely committed to the task at hand, whatever was right in front of him. He was fast and un-self-consciously inspired, and never once stopped moving. When another guy had to strap on a steady-cam (see Chris below), while Kevin watched from the side, he'd jump up and down while the scene played out, up and down for how absorbed he'd be in watching it all go down.

There was also Josh, who worked camera 2:


and Steady-Cam Chris (super-nice guy):


There were many others--producer, art department, food folks, electric and lighting, grips, etc, some who are part of the DD core, and others who came in just for this particular project (make-up, casting, and wardrobe).

"American Wedding Video: Behind the Scenes, Part II" will introduce...(drum roll please)...the super-ultimate reason for this whole shoot: Gogol Bordello.

Important note: Again, all of the above photos were taken by Nathan Jones, another Dandy Dwarf, I believe. I did take my own pictures, and a few of them will appear in the slide show to come, but this guy took A LOT of pictures and they are beautiful, high-quality photos. So most images that will appear on this blog about the video are his.

In the Meantime, Falling Objects

I am still sifting through the thousand plus photos passed along by the Dandy Dwarves, the video production company. I'm about half-way through them. Soon, soon! It'll be worth the wait!

In the meantime, I read an article this morning in the Times about a metal disc that fell from the ceiling of a theater and hit an audience member in the head (she turned out okay), and the writer of the article invited readers to send in their stories of their encounters with random falling objects. Here are some of my favorites:

"While waiting to cross the street at 54th and Broadway a few years back a quart of milk hit me in the head--weird stuff happens." --T. Meyers

"A pigeon flew into my head at 59th & 3rd once when I was eating a hot dog...Part of a gargoyle fell & hit a friend of mine..." --J. Timms

"Walking along the street with my husband and friends a few summers ago, a large praying mantis about 8 inches long landed on my head in a strong wind. Talk about freaking out!!! I’m sure he wasn’t aiming for my hair…it landed on me with a thud. I was dancing like a crazy woman until my husband pulled it off of me and put it on a tree. We’d never seen such a large one. I hear it’s good luck to have that experience, but I could have done without it..." --Kim

"About 6 years ago my coworker and I were walking on 9th Avenue in the 50s and a ceramic flowerpot fell off a third floor balcony and hit her on the head...She had a concussion for a week." --Carolyn

"Just a direct hit of seagull doo into my beer at a baseball game, during the pre-game 'toss a ball into the little hole' event. The seagull and I should have won the car." --ap

"During The Mystery of Edwin Drood, the actors in one scene started throwing around stale bread, and I got conked in the head with a stale bagel..." --S. Katz

"I’ve lived in South Florida for years, and have had a number of experiences of large palm fronds dropping from trees near me. They are very heavy, and can do a lot of damage if they hit you." --Sally

Some pics from American Wedding video shoot

Here's one pic of me and Pam as a preview... both she and Elizabeth were so gracious and sweet.



And below is a link to some photos taken by Joe Holmes, a fellow who was one table over from me with his beautiful daughter Sophia (you'll see one of her with Eugene sitting at a table). He's an incredible photographer. None of me or my dad and Ann in his collection, but they give a really great and accurate feel of the shoot, and there's some great photos of the crew--they were up there as a highlight of the whole experience for me:

Joe Holmes' photos on Flicker of American Wedding video shoot

I will post a slide show of the rest of my pics very soon...have some re-sizing of files to do. Enjoy these in the meantime!

The Video

I have so much to share and say and many photos to post, but I have had one hour and 37 minutes of sleep and am at work (haven't been home yet since the shoot ended at 2:30 this morning).

In short, and for now: It was INCREDIBLE! So...much....FUN! Which is probably why I'm semi-functioning, successfully vertical, and retaining some semblance of mental acuity.

I will write more in full, probably this weekend. Stay tuned.....

...Have you ever been to American wedding?! Where's the vodka, where's marinated herring?!........................

Just call me Laura "Overwhelmed" Didyk (that could be my Ulimate Fighting name)

Here's just a few of the things doggy paddling around the murky waters of Laura's cabeza:

*must go buy this sad dress (for the video shoot) at the Good Will tomorrow after laundry:



(it has a slippery sashy scarfy shoulder-shawl thing that goes with it, oh, AND, it gives me bigger boobs...for three days I'll have something of a bust. Very cool!)

*stress out about shoes for the shoot...How could anything besides sneakers or Uggs be at all comfortable for so many hours? Laura in high heels is like a cat, well, like a cat in high heels...possible, but completely intolerable...

*give feedback to inmate Jeff F's science fiction story (he's actually pretty good)

*finish writing my bio note for this Fence anthology (Fence: The First Nine Years) in which they are including/re-printing a very strange poem of mine called "Friend"

*dial up a girl named Crystal about reading poetry submissions for her new lit mag

*get laundry together and ready to roll for first thing tomorrow morning

*dishes (and kitchen in general)

*4 turns to take on 4 games of Scrabulous (this one is hardly bothering me)

*make a list of everything I need (and probably a crapload of things I don't but will put on the list anyway) for my video adventure to the city

*worry about how I am going to do any or all of this and work 8 hours tomorrow...

I am, I am, I am superwoman, and I know what's happening...

OK, that's enough out of me...

The Theme of the American Wedding

From Olivia, the stylist from the casting company in charge of the Gogol Bordello video:

"The theme of the wedding party is BORING and then we spice the party with lively eastern european gypsy flavor!

Bring your best worst wedding gear...think sad 1993 prom for your dress choice."

This is going to be a riot.

I Can Stomp When I Want To!

Thanks to GR for turning me on to this video. Mister Rogers is sitting next to Richard Nixon, fighting for money for public television. It's so bizarre and moving and lovely. If you can take 6 minutes and 50 seconds, please do watch. The interjections of the facilitator, John Pastori, are so great:

Post #50 (a)

I realize that I sort of skipped right over the fact that the other night's post was #50! That's kind of a big deal. I mean, whatever. But 50!

And I officially have run out of things to say. Is that possible? It's different writing when I know people will read it--and the people reading it are a confluence from every part of my life.

It doesn't help that I've pretty much just been working and playing Scrabulous on Facebook and so find myself unfilled with anything except: is "hae" really a WORD? Come on! And "za"? Seriously? Yes, seriously. It's slang for "pizza." And a totally valid move, apparently.

So glad I am getting down to what's important. Well, the words are pretty central to my well-being...

Have been reading an interview--Jonathan Lethem interviewing Paul Auster--and I find myself envious (jealous even) of their conversation around what it's like to work on a novel for 5, 6 hours a day. They are writing for a living. And it makes my writing life seem so paltry in comparison. Sometimes I think it's the goal. Other times, I'm not sure that's what my writing life is shaping up to be, or even wants to be. Sometimes I'm glad I manage to find time to have fun--see music, go to folk dancing events, get cast as an extra in a video.

But I also want to work harder. To dedicate more of me to the work. And I actually don't think it's so much about dedication as it is about confidence, believing that I'm going to get somewhere with it, that my writing is worth my time (and others). I know it is, but then I forget. Most of my recently published work is years old...so it's scary, wondering if I can actually finish something now. Finish something and then do the work of getting it out there, in print.

Less e-mail, more poems? Less scrabble, more juice for essays? Less e-mail, less e-mails in return, more loneliness? Who knows the answer...

I know that even when I do shift my tasks, I often feel like I should be relaxing more, or cleaning more, or writing more, or having more fun, or playing more Scrabble. So maybe it's not so much about what I do, but where my head's living.

I know I work hard. I drive a lot. I try and keep my dishes washed, my clothes clean. I wouldn't trade my friends for anything in the whole world including an ultra successful writing career. I know I can have it all...it's just a slow road. Sometimes slower than I would like.

A friend and I were talking recently, and he was talking about G-O-D. And he said that lately he's been noticing how he gets everything he needs, but it doesn't always come the way he wants it to. It's only in hindsight that he's in awe over how it unfolded, how perfectly, even tho it felt far from perfect at the time. He raised his hands in the air, and addressed the heavens: "that's why you're God! Because I could never come up with that shit..."

So I'm going to try and be in awe right now. And take my comfort--if maybe in smaller doses, so I don't feel weighed down by inaction, by too much typing and not enough imagining, by too many lists and not enough language.

At this moment, dinner at the Kripalu dining hall calls...and I must answer.

Post # 50

Having a bit of the vertigo wooziness today. Sometimes it happens if I'm on the computer too long, or I'm tired. Both of which are true at this very moment.

I finally talked to the casting man. He said, "That's great you can come for the whole three days. If you need to, you can come and go, since you're just an extra and not featured." Nice.

Even so, excitement abounds.

I'll leave you this night with a quote from an elderly lady I interviewed about the yoga classes she's taking:

"I don't think there's enough laughing in there sometimes. One of the teachers one day said, 'Think about it. A bunch of us in here standing on one leg? Now, really, it's pretty funny.' And it is. It really is."

Dice! Dice!

Thanks to my dad, who brought me up in the convo with Judge, the casting dude, I got a call, too! I think I am just a regular old extra (mmph), but I'm SO EXCITED!

hopefully things at work will go smoothly so I can go for the whole three days. More details to come tomorrow from Judge.

Oh, and get this, so the video is for the song "American Wedding," right? My dad and stepmom are playing the PARENTS OF THE BRIDE!

Now, if I'd gotten picked to be the bride, THAT would have been something.

This is still something, tho, as those of you know who have been following the vision quest (as McPolack accurately deemed it) that is Laura Didyk and Gogol Bordello... I have no idea what I'm questing for . . . but I know it's leading somewhere...even if it is to just more fun, more dancing, more pumping my fist in the air...

No Dice for Me, but...

My dad and stepmom got picked for the video!!! Holy cripes. Can't believe it. I'm hoping to convince GB's publicist to let me accompany, so I can continue this radio piece I'm working on--the narrative of which just keeps getting better and better...! I meet Eugene. My dad and stepmother get chosen as featured extras for the "American Wedding" video. My god.

I'm so jealous I could explode, but happy as hell for my pops. What a story!

Thursday, Mid-Feb

I sent in my info and "head shot" taken in the professional studios called Laura's Kitchen.

I'll keep you all posted...I'm keeping my fingers crossed that in a couple weeks I'll be in NYC pretending to be at a mid-western wedding turned gypsy punk celebration. . .

Oh! Also, my pops sent in stuff, too! We both might be invited to the wedding!

Today was a frenetic day. The video announcement. My first day on FaceBook. Lots o' work. Writing. Editing. All day at desk. Trying to eat this new way, not sure if I'm doing it right.

All the while, trying not to focus on the fact that it's Valentine's Day. I know, I know. I'm not 13 anymore. It's Thursday. It's mid-February. I'm a grown-up...

I did get a lovely card from a friend out in AZ. It says on the front:
"With hearts...the best thing you can do is invite someone in, make them some tea, and secretly hope they don't break anything." The tea cups below the words say "love" and "hope" respectively. And at the top in small cut out magazine letters it says "take care in this small place..."

That's a pretty good day, I guess.

Oh my god!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
How there am I? SO THERE!!! Well, at least I'm sending in my "very clear head shot".

From Gogol Bordello's My Space page:

Hello!

We are casting for a 2-Day Shoot - A music video for GOGOL BORDELLO!

For the track "American Wedding"

The shoot will take place on

FEB 26th&27th in Brooklyn or Queens - Location to be determined

The video takes place at a mid-west influenced American wedding - typical decor / activities.

It will quickly transform into an Eastern European gypsy carnival / celebration

This promises to be a super fun shoot!

LOOKING FOR :::

All types - Men & Women

All Ages
----------------------------------
Specifically :

Polish / Ukrainian Men & Women

50 - 65 yrs of age

Children

5-13 yrs of age
----------------------------------
Availability for all days is not required - We would appreciate any time you can give us. Featured Extras will be needed everyday

If you are interested, please contact us with the following info:

height, size, hair colour, experiences, a very clear headshot, and a phone number where we could reach you.

Featured extras will receive some pay.

Everyone participating will receive a copy of the finished video / headshots from a professional photographer

Please email with any questions and send your information to…

gogol.casting@gmail.com

Thanks!

Alphabet Game

Just started doing a warm-up writing exercise that I was told about at the AWP conference. Every day for 26 days, before you work on whatever it is you're working on, do 5 minutes. Day 1: every word you can think of that starts with "a". Day 2: every word you can think of that starts with "b," and so on.

It is supposed to lure you into paying attention to language, to word, to sound.

Here are my favorites from my first two days.
A
alert
ankle
anteater
apple
anchor

B
bracken
boom
beekeeper
blanket
barnacle

May you find your own alphabet....

Changed my mind about the democratic candidate

I did. I changed my mind. I don't want to vote for Barak Obama. I want to vote for his wife.

Clipboard

Right now, I'm listening to the soundtrack of Me and You and Everyone We Know. Love that Michael Andrews (also did soundtrack for Donnie Darko).

On other fronts (besides what's blasting into my ears), I'm completely overwhelmed. I was a tornado this week. Did not stop. I was writing an article most evenings--finally done and in, thank the lord. Spent a lot of time deciding that I really care about the results of the democratic primaries. I feel tense about it...tense with friends. Tense because I don't feel smart enough, politically speaking, to make some persuasive case with bullet points about why I voted for Obama (I'm getting there). Tense even announcing here who I voted for. Why do I feel that? Maybe it's a hesitancy with creating an identity for myself via who I voted for, with advertising my deepest values, with saying: I'm with this camp, or that one, etc. I look forward to some sense of democratic-party unity once there's a candidate (not that I've ever considered myself a true democrat until now, or a true anything-political for that matter).

In all honesty, I'm just tense in general right now. The fainting incident, which has led me to the undeniable fact that I must go back to my diet of years ago that a naturopath put me on after my very first serious vertigo attack. This means:

*no sugar (thank god for agave cactus syrup)
*no caffeine (don't even get me started...I'm not there yet)
*no white flour (only a little hard...mostly just hard when eating out)
*no white rice (not that i ate much of this anyway)
*no potatoes (don't eat these either, except sweet potatoes, which I can eat)
*all whole grains and regular protein and eating every 2 1/2 hours (lots o' almonds)
*close attention to portions; there are grams involved and servings and measured amounts of things...and it's only a pain at first but then I can pretty much eye it once I do it for a few days.

In short: It means eating really healthy, really balanced meals, and never letting myself get too hungry. The only thing bad about this shift is that it's hard dealing with the phenomenon of craving. And that's just not a good enough reason to stay where I am. It also means being reminded how my commuting situation in addition to the driving I do for other things makes it harder to have a balanced routine.

How does one get it all done? The driving, the full-time job, the laundry, the feeding one's self (well), the friendships, the fun, the relaxation? The keeping things in order? The staying in touch? The reading? And, of course, the most important thing of all: the writing.

It makes me want to lay down in the middle of my storm-strewn apartment and give it all up... But I also know there was a time when I wanted nothing to do with the upper world. So on a day (perhaps tomorrow) when I feel less overwhelmed, I'll remember that I'm really happy to be here...and having all these tasks, all the stuff of life to juggle and manage, is actually a privilege, not a drag.

And if you've actually read this far, you get the grand prize of this uncensored control-V...pasting clipboard (no idea what's on it)...now!:

the bars I used to swing up to,
the bars I climbed onto
in my leotard, palms caked
with spit and chalk

NYC - Part2

I keep waiting to not be tired so I can write about my trip: the details about my epic subway ride, how the EMTs had to peel me off the floor of the L train at Lorimer Street, how they carried me out of the subway in an ugly collapsible orange chair (yup, like a queen, like a really nauseous, pale, dizzy, sweaty queen), the great team of folks that helped me in the ER at Beth Israel, and the devotion of a dear friend who stayed with me for the long six hospital hours.

And all of this followed by a great weekend in the city with another dear friend from the Northwest. We ate awesome food (Greek at Keffi in the Upper West Side; healthy Lower East Side cafe grub at the Life Cafe; Middle Eastern pizza, or "pitza", at Moustache's on Bedford in the West Village with another good friend; and other spotty snacks around town). We trudged through the rain (in good spirits) the night we landed in Keffi (yum!... a shared calamari plate which included not just squid but fried chickpeas, and, get this, fried LEMON slices...delicious...then sheep cheese dumplings with spiced turkey sausage, capers, and olives in a tomato sauce). After Keffi was a cab across town to the Hungarian House for a Greek folk dance class with the lovely and talented teacher Kyriakos Moisidis (1...2...3... 1...2...3... bounce... 1...2...3... 1...2...3...bounce), and live brass music.

And then there was the AWP conference, and the reunion with long-ago Alabama friends and teachers, energized conversations about writing and living and working, and a couple great panels I went to.

Here's this from Richard Bausch (which I think comes through him from a long-dead writer):
"Every great work is written a little at a time, over time, in tremendous doubt and confusion...so if you're confused with your work, don't think you're doing something wrong. Return to it every day, let it know you are there, and one day it will bless you."

On the L Train: NYC, Part 1

Wed, January 30, 6:45 pm–1:00 am

Frozen in Grand Central

I have some tales from my recent trip to NYC. This isn't one of them. But it's really fu-kin' great.

"I can't move my caht..."

AWP!

I'm late, I'm late...must be at the Po'keepsie train station in 2 hours...heading down to the Associated Writing Programs Conference... sounds like it's going to be madness. 7,000 people. New York City. And plenty of opportunities for me to compare myself unfavorably with others. Ah, the high road . . .

Just to continue my plug for the 1980s, I should have posted this with the photo in my previous post. Something I unearthed last time I moved. I'm sure I wrote it about 10 minutes before that picture was taken.

I don't know who Steve is. But I'm sure he was totally fine.

1980s

Oh Eighties, how I miss you so...



Thanks to Mom, for sending all the old pics!

laugh away

Sometimes, things like this make just as much sense, if not more, than anything else:

Zlatne Uste Golden Festival 2008!

Ever folkdanced with about 300 other people at the same time? Me neither. Until Saturday night and the Zlatne Uste Golden Festival, entered my life--it hails as the biggest festival of Eastern European music in North America.

I think my ass is still in the Good Shephard school on Isham Street in upper Manhattan where I danced it off. E and I got our Balkan on into the wee hours of the morn (well, 2:30 am, which is pretty wee for me).

Here's a video from before it got crowded (I didn't take any of these videos but found them on You Tube)... (this auditorium, where all the videos in the post were taken, was just one of three rooms hosting music...)



This one is a little later in the night...during what I think is Zlatne Uste, the collective Balkan brass band that is at the heart of making this festival happen. You'll notice in the video that the dancing starts out in mayhem and then lines start to form. I love the loud "hopa!" you can hear part way through...



It was so FUN! So many happy, excited, sweaty people together in one space dancing to the most gorgeous music in the world. It just doesn't get much better than that. About 40 or so bands of varying styles and covering a range of regions.

Highlights?
Slavic Soul Party of course!
Lyuti Chushki: A great Bulgarian band from DC with this incredible woman phenom. What a voice...
Veveritse Brass Band A funky balkanic explosion from Brooklyn (led by the trumpeter from the Hungry March Band)
Raqy and the Cavemen--wow, they were tight! (must thank my good friend in Alabama who gave me the tip off to GO SEE THEM...definitely one of the highlights). Free-form percussion-heavy Middle-Eastern fusion funk.
The West Philadelphia Orchestra. These guys completely rocked...I would travel to see them. Here's one video from their performance. This was later in the night--or early in the morning rather--so the population is a little sparser than it was an hour or so before...but you can see some of the fun folkdancing you get to do to this music...(if you go to their link, you can really hear their music...)



Not all the bands were brass...they just happened to be some of my favorite! I'll post more videos as I find them.

Check out Slavic Soul Party's schedule. Looks like they are doing a little touring (A, they are coming to Seattle at the end of Feb!).

Hopa!

Heading to NYC tonight for the annual Golden Festival.... so come 8 or 9 pm I'll be joining hands with many others to do dances I can't yet pronounce to live music by bands I've never heard of.

Here's a clip I found on You Tube from last year, a band called the Balkanics...



The schedule on Saturday night runs from 5:30 pm to 4:00 am. Dancing?! Into the night?! Aw yeah.....

p.s. I asked Dr. Sips if he wanted to attend but he has clients visiting from out of town. I did what he said. I walked. 30 minutes. It felt good except I got blisters on my heels from my sneakers, just in time for Balkan Dancing. You must endure it, he says. You must live with the small discomforts of the 7 incline, the 2.4 em pee aych. The law has no sympathy for sensitive feet.

Dr. Sips

I have a new doc. Self-taught. Goes by Dr. Sips. Hails from Williamsburg, Brooklyn. He told me: "Tomorrow, you gonna get on the treadmill and walk for 20 to 30 mins [yes, he said it like that: 'mins'] at a 7 incline at 2.4 em pee aych. That'll take youse one step closer to your notion of joinin' the gypsy punk circus."

I told him that I can't possibly go that slow. What's the point?

He said: That's the law.

I said: If I'm going to exercise it has to be fun.

He said: There's ya problem. Youse a pleasure hound.

Yes I am. I said. Yes, I am.

He said: Dr. Sips says walk.

An Rx from Sips is nothin' to mess with.

So I'm a' do it.

Some New Lands Worth Visiting

So I added three new links over there to the left.

1. The Holy Consumption of Chicago, the home of several comic artists, including a new favorite of mine named Jeffrey Brown. Here's one of his (click on it once, and it won't open, but if you go back and click on it again, it'll open big for readability):




2. A page that houses the making of the soon to be documentary Little Brothers of Saint Francis by my dear friend Maureen. Check it out. She's a great photographer. Here's a photo of one of the monks:


3. Last, but not least, another good and dear friend of mine, Dave, is documenting the creation of his very own farm, called affectionately Muddy Farm. Dave is really funny. And he's a talented farmer.

May the force be with you in your travels.

It was salty and bitter and tasted like guts

Last night I dreamt that my boyfriend was Orlando Bloom but his name was Taylor. And I had to eat a live goldfish. It was much smaller and not as finny as the one pictured here but gross nonetheless. I spit it into my hand and put it on a white window sill. The orange of the mushed fish was the only color in the room. We were in an office I used to work in in Birmingham, Alabama, same view and everything--except there was nothing in it but me, a fish tank that took up half the room, and the mushed gold fish.

It's crazy all the stuff swimming around in here that I don't know about until I go to sleep.

My Life as a Gypsy Punk

[article to be written and printed in Laura's dreams] “My Life as a Gypsy Punk (a.k.a. How I Convinced Punk Rock Band Gogol Bordello to Let Me Be a Member, Go on Tour with Them, and Dance on Stage)," Didyk, Laura, Rolling Stone, February, 2009.

This is not going to be a behind-the-scenes article about Gogol Bordello (tho that would be interesting to say the least), the drunken escapades of lead singer and now-best-pal Eugene Hutz (tho there were many), my friendships with the Gogol Bordello women Pam and Elizabeth (hard-won, valued, and immensely satisfying), and my on-stage collaborations with the Latin-American member and best-DJ-on-Earth, Pedro, but about how I went from mildly interested in Gogol Bordello’s music to being a front-and-center fan to a devoted supporter with the unshakable knowing that what felt like an urgent and completely unrealistic dream of being a Gogol Bordello dancer would be fulfilled. This is an article about how anything can happen.

Singin' 'round the table

A short video clip of Didyk and Palylyk families singing a Ukrainian Christmas carol...!

Ukie Christmas

I write to you on this eve of Ukrainian Christmas (thanks to the Julian Calendar). I will be spending this evening at my cousin's in Ridgefield, CT, along with about 19 other Ukrainians/Didyks on my dad's side.

Much varenyky (as in perogue, as in boiled dumplings filled with sauerkraut, potato, etc--mostly it's just a really fun word to say) and holubtsi (not as fun to say, but yummy if you like stuffed cabbage stuffed with roasted buckwheat).

At some point there will be, my favorite, the Christmas Eve Kutia--hot bulgur wheat, poppy seeds, and honey.

Merry Christmas!

For now...

I hear a killer concert slideshow is on the way from one of us--until then, click below to see someone else's (I think the bottle of red wine is their newest band member).

Gogol Bordello, New Year's Eve, Terminal 5

ciao, L

p.s. Here's priceless pics of me, Maggie, Kate, and Joyce on our way to the Terminal 5 show last November....

Holiest Happiest New Year Ever!

Before the show, Kate and I deemed my new glittery striped socks "MAGIC"...we rubbed them, we asked them to make it the best New Year ever...we told them "we trust you!" (At AJ's request, I bequeath you with an image of said socks...it's worth it to click on the picture so you can see the magic up close):





My knees are giant bruises, and my ribs are black and blue, but as DJ Hutz sings, "just as you think that it's all through....it's just the birth of something new!" (and holy crap, the socks only cost $2.99).

2007 ended and I got a kiss on the cheek from the Hutz as he walked the front-row rail after the show--he recognized my smile I suspect, and my striped arm sleeves, and from a couple playful exchanges we had during the show. Then at Mehanata (the Bulgarian Bar), I got a couple more sweaty kisses, including a few hair tussles, and a casual arm thrown over my shoulder. Nothing better than kisses from a lithe, beautiful, sweaty Ukrainian man. Well, maybe there a few things better, but not for New Year's.

2008 here I come.

There's a concert to share about (they played songs I've never heard them play live), and, socks be told, one magical cab ride at 5:15 am this morning (after leaving Eugene in the dust at Mehanata).

The show was unbelievable! More on that soon...

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

The Countdown!!!!

Dave Davies, senior writer for Philadelphia News
If I wanted to convince my friends to come with me to a Gogol Bordello concert, what should I tell them to expect?

Eugene Hutz of Gogol Bordello
Complete orgasmal hysteria

Davies
okay, you wanna fill that in a little bit?...

Hutz
I mean you can tell them whatever the hell you want to tell them, really, but it's all gonna end up in a peak experience of an emotional kind...

So, in exactly 24 hours I will be stepping into Terminal 5, baby, for the Greatest Show on Earth!

If we are here not to do, what you and I wanna do, and go forever crazy with it, why the fu-k we are even here?! Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Getting My Sleuth On

Tonight, biding time at Barnes & Nobles, I sleuthed with my cell camera. I got these two photos...The guy kneeling down was saying, "where the hell is it?" And check out the person in each pic carrying what looks to be a painting. Very suspicious....

On the Wing

How in the hell it got to be 11:15 pm is beyond me. . . I've been lost in afghan squares and DVD episodes of the first season of West Wing. I'm addicted. I can't stop. I want to hang with Sam Seaborn and Josh Lymon and argue about what really happens in Richard Kelly's film Donnie Darko (I couldn't argue anything political so it'd have to be something in my realm).

Ridiculous.

Just to contrast the above in a sort of embarrassing way, I just have to express my despair around Bhutto's assassination in Pakistan. It's always hard to write about these things without sounding completely cliche and dramatic. I will say this: I felt a sense of utter panic when I read about this this morning, then a kind of disassociation, like I'm watching somebody else's Earth and its people go totally ballistic. I can't comprehend, in my very politically naive mind, the ramifications of this, but my guess, aside from the simple squashing of hope for a country (and world for that matter), is they will be huge.

And a Merry Christmas It Was. . .

Pajamas (or jimjams as I think they say in Britain) + a close friend + Russian tea cookies + peppermint tea + phone calls to family and a few faraway friends + a sublime red velvet couch + Newman's popcorn + a lovely holiday movie (Love Actually) + chocolate = Christmas Eve

Pajamas + coffee + huevos rancheros and fresh fruit + the same close friend + more coffee + presents + more cookies + more chocolate + another movie (Once) + a walk + a visit with a few other close friends + the complete after effects of so much caffeine and sugar over the past 24 hours that I am writing this at 2 in the morning and can't get to sleep = Christmas!

My Dream Come True

Laura and Gogol Bordello, wishing you a Merry f-kin' Christmas!

Holy Hysterical...

This I Believe

I believe in moshpits...

So, I tried my hand at a "This I Believe" essay for the same-titled NPR show. They didn't choose it for broadcast, but they do own it now and it will sit and collect cyberdust in their online database until the end of technology. It didn't get chosen for the reason my father said, "Much too radical for NPR"--this I believe.

Doesn't mean it shouldn't be read, tho.

To Err Is Human

The Hudson Price Chopper is the one place I go where I decide: I do not care how I look. I do not care who I see. I do not care if Eugene Hutz is waiting for me in the ethnic foods section. I will focus on my list and I will keep my gloves on to keep my skin from the germy surface of the shopping-cart handle-bar and I will get this done.

Saturday night, I'm in my go-to-the-grocery-store-in-the-winter outfit: two layers of pants (of the sweat variety), several shirt layers under my winter coat (puff city), black clunky Uggs, my hair pulled back into a last-minute pony tail.

First stop: produce. I roll in and almost have a head-on cart collision with a tall, nice-looking fellow who I have never seen before--his cart is full of healthy food (I think I even saw a plant in there). He smiles. I smile back, but I keep rollin'. I'm not here to flirt.

At the lettuce station, I try to decide between arugala and baby spinach when the tall nice-looking man sidles up to the lettuce next to me.... "Hi," he says. "How are you?"

In general, when I am out and about, I am a gregarious person. I am open to conversation. I am not shy. I am usually the one saying "hi, how are you?" I will investigate, in short, any and every slightly decent possibility. I see it as my job as a single woman--to represent, to do my part (plus, if I follow leads, then I feel I can still complain a little).

But this friendly, warm fellow tries to strike up a conversation and all I can think is: If we do start talking, and it becomes an actual conversation, and maybe he asks for my number or asks me on a date and it works out, that will mean, after all is said and done, that we MET IN THE PRODUCE SECTION! The cliche of it hits me in such a way that it takes all my might to not turn to him and say: seriously?

Couldn't he have approached me in the toothpaste aisle? Or even better, in front of the Green Mountain coffee bins?

In the midst of my very loud interior dialogue, I answer him perfunctorily, say "Fine. How are you?" You know, like "finehowareyouandwhyareyoutalkingtomeandwhatdoyouwantandwhyareyou
beingfriendlyfornoreason?" kind of way. More accusatory than anything else. "Good," he says. Then grabs a head of lettuce and continues on his way. I do not blame him in the least.

Once I realize my transgression, I try stalking him through the store, but he is heading to the registers. The moment has passed. He is done and gone.

Universe, I promise, the next time a handsome man tries to talk to me at the grocery store, I will talk back....

Unstructured Time

First Saturday in a very long time where I have nothing planned. For some this is a joy. For me...I go through stages.

Stage 1. Wake with a childlike anticipation of the day ahead.
Stage 2. Coffee, breakfast, e-mail checking, blog tooling, and web surfing.
Stage 3. The dreaded moment: what am I going to do today?
Stage 4. Multitude of choices come flooding in.

I could:

• organize my files (you know the ones containing all things from all times)
• use my blue Target vacuum to suck up lint from the corners of my apt. (I bought the machine under the illusion that it would change my life.)
  
• do yoga on my drafty floor
• write holiday cards
• read the newest issue of Bust
  
• read more of The Lovely Bones
• read any of the piled up New Yorker's that I haven't had time to crack
• read tarot cards
  
• go make copy of inmate's essay, buy him a thesaurus for Christmas (I'm guessing that this isn't the cheeriest time in CSP Solano), and tell him all sorts of positive things about his writing because the org I volunteer for says that often this sort of mentor/mentee relationship is one of the only positive things going on in their lives, that, in fact, in some cases, this is what they live for. . . and I am 4 weeks late with my response
  
• think more about the above, feel horribly guilty, and, yet, do nothing
• mull over the fact that I have huge debt that it will take me forever and three generations of my bloodline to pay off in full
• decide I'm going to have a great day despite the above
  
• recover from the 3 hours of balkan dancing I did last night on 82nd Street
• make a list of how the folk dance crowd has not changed since I was 8 years old. There is always:
  
• the guy wearing a sweatband around his head
• a super bouncy woman that makes it hard to tell if she is really, really good, or has absolutely no idea what she's doing
• a gentleman with a super-thick Eastern European mustache
• the man next to you in the line who tells you "you're on the WRONG FOOT...LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT, RIGHT..." to which you respond "I KNOW!!!" because you do know and him telling you just makes you more flustered and self-conscious
  
• an old Turkish couple
• the elderly women that has your hand in a death grip, so when you do a dance that involves collective arm-swinging, you fear your hand is going to go fly off
  
• several young women who have clearly been doing this for years and are amazing and you can't take your eyes off of them because of how they move and then you can't help but be jealous for how large a part dancing is in their lives and you know, as you have known many times before, that you need to move into or closer to a city so that you can do more things like this more often because it makes you feel more alive and more connected and more of everything and so you can be BETTER than them
  
• do collage the way I used to, filling a whole day that way--although I was high on pot then, so it was easier to stay in one spot and get lost in the edges of a polo cologne ad, the perfect fingernail on the perfect hand of the perfect man who has a perfect woman hanging on his perfect shoulder (when I was high, this sort of stuff didn't bother me)
  
• make my bed
• shower
• go grocery shopping
• work on my radio piece about Gogol Bordello that is going to catapult me into public radio fame. Even if it did, I would long, more than anything, for Saturdays like this one, with nothing to do, nowhere to go, and a whole host of choices about what to do with my time.

Stage 5. Count to three and just go, do...something....

Two Birthdays!

Two beautiful women are celebrating birthdays today! My lovely sister Larissa, and my dear friend Melanie.

So glad they were both born. My life would be something completely else without them.

Here's me and my sis in Carmel, CA, last year:











And here's me and Mel, at her wedding party in AZ this past summer:

How I love these women.
Happy Birthday! Mwa!

Beautiful-er

Once upon a time, there were three beautiful gals who knew they could be even beautiful-er. They wandered hither and yon searching for the best haircutter in all the land. From the edge of the meadow, they heard the faint but distinct pulsing sounds of rave beats, and smelled the trademark smell--a mix of specialty cheese and hair product. Could it be?

They made their way toward the music, followed the scent into the luxurious and tasteful home of the fabulous "Michael Hewitt." They thought he was a character of fables...a legend of dreams, but here they were, in the heart of his workshop. He beckoned them in, sat them down, and one by one he worked his magic. Their lives would never be the same.

Things raining down upon us

There's going to be a kick-ass meteor shower (say the scientists) late Thursday evening--Geminid meteors (you know the ones)--"a couple hundered per hour traveling across the...sky." Let's pray for a clear night (and that no one gets conked in the head).

Balkan Cafe

Slavic Soul Par-tay!

...this frie-dee, Dec. 14th, Slavic Soul Party at the Hungarian House in the Upper E.S.

These folks played on Gogol Bordello's latest album Super Taranta, and are great on their own ... catch them when you can.

Here's a description:

Fiery Balkan brass, hip-grinding American grooves, and ecstatic anthems both new and old: Slavic Soul Party! is just what it says. Brash and strong as slivovitz, these nine musicians have forged a virtuosic new brass band music in the heart of New York City – melding Gypsy, East European, Mexican, and Asian immigrant backgrounds with American jazz and soul – and “developed a reputation for delivering a great time.” (NY Times)

What in the Mother of Crap Is Going on in This Place?

If you are era-sick for the Eighties, liked the Eighties when we were in them, or are so young you missed them altogether (and don't mind a little synth) you will love Hector on Stilts (I recommend "4th Tunnel" and "He's in Bed"!). The very kind, very tall (hence "stilts") David Byrne-esque-ish lead singer is a co-worker of mine (and J's) and his cousin Clayton plays guitar and sings. Their voices are just lovely (plus the band in its entirety is blessed with an indefatigable handsomeness).

On Friday night, J, M, and I went to see them...FUN! (fitting since their new EP is called FunSize). And weird. New Wave in Appalachia anyone? Nope, just Ballingers, in Albany.

Maggie Mayday (listen to "Spit It Out"!) the opening band who also shares two members with HOS, was great, too. Their lead singer has a gorgeous voice. And the bass player (also in HOS) is super fun to watch.

There is lots to say about the crowd--four women dressed up as Lolita bomb shells in short-short skirts, half-shirts, stilettos, and pig tails, playing TWISTER on the floor in front of the stage; the four beer-toting dudes behind us, one of whom tried to take disgusting advantage of one of the eventually drunk Lolitas; a gal in the blingy-iest gold spandex pants I've ever seen; two punk rocker dudes with laquered multi-colored hair and eye makeup (they were my favorite); couples dressed to the nines who came in close to midnight and made their confused way across and through our social stew and headed downstairs to the source of the thumping bass--but I don't want to offend anyone or sound judgmental. It was David Lynchian to say the least--the constellation of people and moments and visual perplexities.

Awesome.

Experiment #1

...to attempt for the first time in my 0wn computer history to embed a You Tube video.

Materials: Miranda July's short film: Are You the Favorite person of Anybody?

Background: If I had a talking Miranda July doll, when you pulled the string she'd say: Be brave. Be brave.




Results: Off center, but viewable, with no change in how film affects viewer. Experiment complete.

Here Comes Santa Hutz, Here Comes Santa Hutz...

...right down W. 56th Street!

New Year's Eve! New Year's Eve! When I got my GB tickets in the mail two days ago, I felt like Charlie with his Wonka Bar, finding the golden ticket (thanks to J. for that analogy). My heart started to race; I felt the smooth veneer of the Ticketmaster tickets between my finger and thumb; I even held them up to the light. I secured them into a magnet clip on my fridge. Then checked the lock on the back door (if you break into my house, take whatever you want--my computer, my TV, my new Blue Tooth wireless head set, just please, please, please, do not take my tickets).

We are all hoping Eugene is still wearing his Santa gear when he swaggers onto the stage at Terminal 5. And not too tired from delivering presents (to all the naughty girls, of course)....

Went to Salsa Anyway Because It Is the Medicine for Every Ailment

Really it is. Kind of a boring class this afternoon, however, but it's always good to practice. The guys got all the flourish today. There's a ridiculously handsome guy (ridiculously young, too, unfortunately) in my class from Germany named Roddick, only I found out today that he's actually from Turkey and his name is Marrik.

I howled in my car after class about this--how easy it is to get things wrong.

On my drive home from Albany this evening, I looked up at the moon and it was a sliver, then about 20 minutes later looked up again and it was half-full. I was like "uh, what the hell is going on?" An eclipse is what!

Came home and in celebration of the full lunar eclipse ate two whole-grain rye crackers with almond butter and agave. Very good. Now I'm going to eat two hard-boiled eggs, and hope that I'll be able to sleep for all the strong coffee I drank today.

My scarf, the one with the loose ends, is a hysterical failure. I don't know where I went wrong. I mean, it's a scarf. How wrong can it go? Seriously, flailingly wrong apparently.

Will just start over, or start a different one, or something . . .

-L

Bad Tomatoes, Serial Killers, and Loose Ends

My friend Joyce's friend Maggie has a great blog at mcpolackinc.blogspot.com and she's inspired me to re-start my blog. I've learned from her: go short. Include photos. Be as loud as you want to be. And as serious. And as funny. Life is short!

Today I must skip my salsa class in order to finish my spec script for Studio 60 for my TV Writing class. It was due LAST THURSDAY! Because of the extra time I've allotted, Harriet got to throw up her salad after Luke proposed. She's still convinced it was the sun-dried tomatoes that were bad and not the idea that she and Luke get MARRIED (for those of you who don't watch the show . . . this is a very BAD IDEA). Ms. Hayes needs to get her Christianity on. . . . and make a good decision (I'm working on it).

How did my life get so good?

I saw Zodiac last night. Aside from the first third of some of the scariest serial killer scenes ever (tho I admit, I haven't seen that many), it's pretty riveting . . . plus you get to watch Jake G and Mark Ruffalo on the big screen. Almost three hours of them? Jeez, sisters. It just doesn't get better than that.

Today I will also finish my swirly twirly scarf I'm crocheting . . . have to tie in those darn ends. . . ain't that just the way of the world.

until whenever I get back here,
L