Everything In Moderation

Sober October

…and then some.

What normally is my No-Alcohol-November has turned into Sober October. This is the fourth consecutive year that I have taken the month-long abstinence from booze. It’s a pep talk to my immune system! It ensures I’m hydrated and helps me enter the long winter months with a sense of mental clarity. This break is something that I look forward to yearly.

I started my No-Alcohol-November tradition in 2014, my first year in my current apartment. It was a choice. In a way, it felt empowering, like those first few, easy checkmarks off your to-do list. I knew it would be a satisfying way to be in control, and a quick turn-around to feel the strength of success.

Now I know that “4” is not a typical anniversary year, however, I believe what we accomplish (or chose to exclude, in this case, I suppose) should be celebrated daily. Because we’re worth it, dammit. And everyone should know.

That first year was an easy attempt. The concept is a bit gimmicky in general, so by excitingly telling my peers, their attention was caught and I was held accountable to meet my goal. I wanted to lead by example and though some folks were impressed, some Happy Hour goers just didn’t get why I’d go dry.

Alcoholism runs in my family. I’ve dealt with it directly and indirectly with family members, though many of them have gone 100% sober after years of overindulging. Although the darker years are never forgotten, the sense of accomplishment and pride will forever outshine. But it’s in my genes too. So to keep myself in check, I give it up once a year, for a month, and then ease back in throughout the Holidays, because it’s COLD after New Year’s and that whiskey warms those places that space heater don’t.

And I sure do love me some whiskey. Or, sometimes, a celebratory cocktail. Maybe the occasional glass of red or white wine, vodka in the summer, or tequila on the beach. I even don’t mind a $10 Bud Light at an outdoor concert, back home, in Boston, in July. As long as the music’s good. But usually, it’s the whiskey. Preferably Bourbon. Never Scotch.

I’m not sloppy though. I don’t get angry or overemotional. Like with a Red Bull energy drink, I grow wings. I remember my conversations, I create and laugh, and get just plain chatty. I don’t over-consume, though I’m the kind of person where if it’s in the house, there’s a glass waiting in the kitchen. Much like with my coffee consumption, it’s not how much - it’s how often. And my Father always taught me: everything in moderation.

I must admit, I cheated once last month (first week - White Russian – worth it) and once in 2015, during my second annual liquor-fast. Though it’s called a fast, it didn’t go by very quickly that year. On a roller coaster of work stress and personal weight, I craved a drink to relax every other day. One day, I finally broke and begged for a shot at my friend, Amanda’s door. I drank it with zero regrets. Then she offered a lovely dinner.

Last year, 2016 was also very difficult. I mean… The. Election. But my friend, Pope came out West to visit for the last week of the month, which helped get me through the home stretch, alcohol-free.

This year, to mix it up, I decided to detox in October instead. Really, I just have too many fun things planned this month, and I expect to have more than just a Holiday toast. This month yields 3 Tori Amos concerts, 2 Seattle trips, 2 Emily Saliers concerts, and 1 amazing Thanksgiving dinner with my friend, Lela and her family! I even have an Ani Difranco ticket! What am I most excited for? Lela’s meat stuffing and guava pie, for sure.

I predict I will fully enjoy myself at these special events over the next few weeks. However, to keep my pennies in my piggy, I will not be visiting the liquor store until Christmas. This will allow for larger Christmas shopping funds in the meantime! Shutterfly shipped my stack of 2017 Holiday cards, and although I had coupons, that cardstock ain’t free! Most importantly though, this extended diet will maintain my gorgeous complexion.

So, let’s CHEERS to that!

The Art of Giving

            Clap on.

My best friend use to have The Clapper.

            Clap off.

But my cackling laugh always created a strobe light effect, turning the lights on and off. On and off.

            The bedroom was our disco.

            A group of us often piled on and around her bed taking turns playing DJ at the computer, my laugh always giving the room life like a pulse. It was through those computer speakers when I first heard the softly bouncing keystrokes of an electric Kurzweil keyboard. It was a sinister nursery rhyme with a creepy melody and lyrics about an inappropriate, older lover. I could hear a bit of Boston in her voice. I could hear a bit of Berlin. She may not always hit every note but she didn’t have to with her kind of passion. The song was, Missed Me, the band was the Dresden Dolls, and she is Amanda Palmer.

            In their band, Amanda plays the electric piano and Brain Viglione plays drums and guitar, and occasionally, both at the same time. The Boston-based duo self-proclaimed their genre as Punk Cabaret – each song as gentle as a spooky lullaby or as pounding as a vibrant burlesque. In a heartbeat, I was a fan. I bought the albums, I attended their epic concerts, and I downloaded the bootlegs. Outside their concerts, hours before show time, the line blurred between fan and volunteer. People in elaborate costumes would congregate outside the venue doors on the sidewalk. Chalk artists, hula-hoopers, human statues, accordion players, stilt-masters, magicians, and fire-breathers. Okay, I may have made that last one up, but I wouldn’t be surprised.

            One time, at Newbury Comics on National Record Store Day in 2008-ish, my friends and I joined a packed store to celebrate music and support record stores with other fans. The Dresden Dolls were there for an all-day appearance. They didn’t play music, instead, hung out for hours with us, made art and we all painted each other's faces in a circle. Caught up in the moment, I had twirled Amanda out of our hug and kissed her on her naked shoulder before leaving the store. She didn’t mind. She thrives on connecting with others and I’m so grateful I’ve been able to participate in these magical Bostonian moments.

            Before the Dresden Dolls, Amanda scooped ice cream at Toscanini’s in Harvard Square. Them, she became the Eight Foot Bride. Adorn in lace gloves, a black wig and a long vintage wedding gown. It touched the ground, covering the milk crate that she’d stand on for hours, frozen in time. Her face was painted white; her eyebrows were shaved and drawn back on in crazy designs. She stating the painted eyebrows was a way of inviting people to look at her face. To actual see her.

            Each day, the Eight foot bride held a bouquet of flowers (her first few batches handpicked from along the Charles River). When a stranger would drop money into her hat, Amanda would come to life, intently making eye contact with her patron. Her eyes saying, Thank you. I see you. The same way she looked at me the day I kissed her shoulder all those years later. Her gaze so warm, I’m sure she saw the gratitude in my eyes at Newbury Comics.

            Then, the Eight-Foot Bride would slowly gift the stranger a flower from her bouquet and return to her next frozen pose. Amanda has stated that more often than not, the eyes of her generous strangers would say, Nobody ever sees me. Thank you.

_____________________________________

            In 2013, Amanda wrote a book called, The Art Of Asking: or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Let People Help. She recalls her TedTalk experience and elaborates on her ideas of asking and giving. Asking can be hard, though, through reading the book, I realized how easy giving can be. The Eight Foot Bride was a symbol of giving. So was the flower. So is any dollar any patron has ever placed in any hat.

Amanda Palmer & TEDtalks: The Art Of Asking 

            For me, The Art of Asking not only reinforced the importance of communication and of asking, but also excited the art of giving. As a long-term volunteer, I understand that non-profit organizations rely on community member’s donated efforts in order to survive. Likewise, financially supporting the independent artists we love is vital to the livelihood of their creations. I always put a dollar in a street performer’s hat, and more often than not, I don’t just visit the merch table at a concert. I buy the album. Or a poster.  Or a sticker. In most scenarios, those sales benefit the artist directly, or help them pay their bills at least. 

            I have devoured The Art of Asking about three times now between audio and hardcopy. I own a hardcover, a soft cover - so I can always lend one out and I keep buying the book to gift. I have many favorite parts but here is a section:

           

“ We ask each other, daily, for little things: A quarter, an empty chair, a lighter… but I’ve learned that everybody struggles with asking… It isn’t so much the act of asking that paralyzes us - it’s what lies beneath: the fear of being vulnerable, rejected, or looking needy or weak… American culture has instilled a bizarre notion that to ask for help amounts to an admission of failure. But some of the most powerful, successful, admired people in the world ask constantly, creatively, compassionately and gracefully… There is always a possibility of a no, but if we don’t allow for that no, then we’re not actually asking… We often resist asking not only because we’re afraid of rejection, but also because we don’t think we deserve what we’re asking for. We have to truly believe in the validity of what we’re asking for, which can be hard work… Even after finding balance though, how we ask and how we receive the answer (allowing for the no) is just as important as finding the feeling of validness… We may love the modern myth of Steve Jobs slaving away in his parents’ garage to create the first Apple computer, but the biopic doesn’t tackle the potentially awkward scene in which Steve had to ask his parents for the garage. All we know is that they said yes. And now we have iPhones.”

BUY THE BOOK

BUY THE BOOK

_____________________________________

            Before The Art Of Asking, after the Dresden Dolls took hiatus, Amanda captured the mainstream media’s eye when she began crowdsourcing on Kickstarter dot com to fund the creation of her second solo project, Theatre Is Evil. Not only did she surpass her financial goal, she broke the record by fundraising the largest amount of money in the shortest amount of time, at the time in Kickstarter’s history. However, she received much negative feedback.

            Some said that her act of asking was distasteful, but the truth was that in the spirit of community, Amanda’s backers were happy to support a fellow artist that they cared about, and who cared about them. Amanda redefined the music industry and started a revolution for independent artists. She still crowdsources for her projects now, on Patreon dot com, a pay-per-thing service. And I am a proud supporter.

            Throughout my life, I have always been encouraged to ask questions. Asking questions encourages vulnerability with each other. Asking with gratitude says we have the power to help each other. It’s super important, and as silent as the Eight-Foot Bride was, she always made it possible for strangers to engage. To ask. To give.

“Is that a real person? Is that a real statue? Look, there’s a hat! What does he do if you give him money? I would beam with joy when I saw strangers giving each other money, saying: That’s a real person, look, put this dollar in his hat! It gave me faith in humanity. Even if they thought I was in drag.”

-       Amanda Palmer

Amanda Fucking Palmer

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/amandapalmer

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/amandapalmer/

Website: http://amandapalmer.net/

            Though the Dresden Dolls no longer release new material or tour on the regular, their musical catalog received medium success and notoriety, and still has a cult following, especially in New England. Gone are the days that my friend, also Amanda, and I as teens would sing Good Day, Delilah, and Sex Changes at the top of our lungs in my Ford Taurus behind Donut Donuts. However, for the past two years, Amanda and Brian have reunited for special concerts to celebrate their anniversary and revive the magic. Catch them next month at the Paradise Rock Club in Boston for a 3-night run!

Dresden Dolls

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/dresdendolls/

Website: http://dresdendolls.com/

Lindsey

      Upon completing a term of service with AmeriCorps, the volunteer earns a $5,500 education award that can be used towards student loans or intuition. As I didn’t personally have either expense, my awards have just kinda sat there all this time.

      They do expire though.

      So I decided to tap into them earlier this year with a couple writing classes through Portland Community College. My first class was Creative Non-fiction, and my goal was to bring it full circle by writing about my AmeriCorps experiences. 

      “Lindsey” is what came out of that workshop, about my friend Lindsey, who was on my first AmeriCorps team with me. We traveled the West Coast together and these are just a few of our memories…

Lindsey

(or: 26 notes on service, belonging, desert life, and how two East coasters met in California)

1. Annoyed: She was probably annoyed with me when I interrupted her the first time we met. But I’m also certain that Lindsey admired my confidence.

2. Base: Our relationship started over a scavenger hunt around McClellan Air Force Base in October of 2011. The retired United States Air Force base, located in the North Highlands neighborhood of Sacramento, California, is the regional campus for AmeriCorps National Civilian Community Corps (NCCC): Pacific Region. This former military depot was the landing pad for my own California dream.

3. California: High school was never enjoyable for me. As I half-heartedly researched colleges, I also learned about long-term service programs since I already belonged to the high school’s own non-profit volunteer program, GIVE. The founder of GIVE, my Sociology teacher, introduced me to the wonderful world of AmeriCorps. How had I never heard of this? I learned that with NCCC, I could serve and travel with like-minded individuals with the potential of being assigned to camp out in California and build trails. The opportunity was a life changer. A young East Coaster’s Californian vision is usually movie-picturesque. My peers were attracted to luxurious Los Angeles and the glitz of Hollywood. I wasn’t distracted by California’s charm as much as I was attracted to the program’s encouragement of belonging to a community and getting dirty in the process.

4. Diversity: The mission of the AmeriCorps NCCC program is “To strengthen communities and develop leaders through team-based national and community service.” Diverse corps members of different backgrounds are selected to serve and are assigned to a campus. Corps members are split into teams of 11 including a Team Leader, and complete up to six projects.

I had once applied before graduating high school and was passed over. The desire to reapply stalked me for years.

5. End: During those years, I worked fulltime, went to college, and started and ended a solid long-term relationship. Then, I reapplied to AmeriCorps NCCC and moved to Austin, Texas to escape the looming winter months.

6. Fall: Late one night at the bar, shortly after SXSW wrapped up another dangerous and successful music & film festival, my Blackberry lit up. (Yes, I said Blackberry.) The email was from AmeriCorps NCCC and it read: “Congratulations, you’ve been selected to serve the Fall semester in the Pacific Region!” Celebratory shots were poured as the karaoke singers rejoiced around us. I told everyone that I was going to change the world.

7. Grandmother: As much fun (maybe too much) as Austin was that winter, my intuition urged me home for one last summer since everyone was saying once I hit the West Coast, I probably wouldn’t come back. The heat came and passed and three weeks before the program started, my Grandmother unexpectedly passed away, leaving my family devastated but for a moment, closer than even before. Meme was very proud of me and I knew she’d be thrilled to ride shotgun on my pending road trip.

8. Haight: At the funeral, my ex told me that I was going to change. For the better, I told him.

I drove south, stopping at my Aunt’s in New Jersey, an old neighbor’s, who had moved to Asheville, NC, and a fellow music-lover’s apartment in Hilton Head, SC. She wasn’t home that weekend so I had to be the one to administer eye drops to her bunny, Greta.

I drove West stopping for a long weekend in Austin, where I had time to process the past year while on an old roommate’s couch. Grief finally caught up with me there.

Onward to enjoy 12 hours in a Tucson hotel, and then finally two rainy San Francisco nights where I prepared for the upcoming year, on a mentor’s couch, in the Lower Haight district. My nerves reseeded but my allergies raged.

9. I: I was excited. I wanted to help people. I wanted to travel the West Coast.  I thought I knew what to expect. Then I arrived at McClellan.

10. Jitters: The program started with a week of orientation before teams were assigned, followed by three weeks of training and orientation before deploying to our first adventure. Team assignments were immediately followed by the scavenger hunt around the Air Force Base, which the newly formed team completed with minimal outbursts. Still, I was jittery and on edge, suddenly blanketed by the permanence of the year. I would feel every single emotion except for sad throughout my service year. I would learn to leave the room when I felt anxious. I’d leave my hands under the warm, running water for a while. Anxiety reigned over the first six weeks but washing my hands help calm me down. Lindsey, a piece of home, was a grounding source.

11. Kind: It wasn’t until we were all sitting together that I noticed her, though. We had each chosen opposite heads of the table with our team around us. We faced each other. She was blonde and seemed to be the most reserved and kindhearted on the team, but had been overshadowed by the other developing personalities.

12. Lindsey: The team could have been cast for a reality show. All strangers, picked not only to live and serve together but to cook, eat, sleep, meet, greet, travel, workout, play and profess together. We were strangers when we met; A diverse bunch with a bit of baggage. Despite our differences, we were all together for a common reason: to change the world. We introduced ourselves clockwise around a pizza. Lindsey went second and her tone was matter-of-fact.

13. Marblehead: “Hi, I’m Lindsey. I went to college at Fitchburg State, in Massachusetts, but I’m from…“ “Oh my god,” I said, “That’s where I’m from! Leominster, Massachusetts! Right next to Fitchburg!” Since I don’t believe in coincidences, it was the very first example of We Are All Right Where We Belong, a team motivator I later adopted in the desert and preached all year. Excited, yet slightly annoyed, Lindsey laughed and stated she was actually from Marblehead, Massachusetts.

14. North Shore: Marblehead is a coastal town on the North Shore. East of the Salem witches, and known for fishing, whaling, and yachting; The number of boats in the harbor is a constant reminder of the season. In a small, sheltered community full of traditions and celebrations, Lindsey knew all her neighbors and felt comfort from the salty air. For me, the coast was a vacation spot where I could visit the magic of the weathered islands, cranberry bogs, and sassy seagulls. Though seagulls also commonly congregated in the Taco Bell parking lot in my own landlocked hometown, they were never quite the same without the crashing waves.

15. Owl: The team that Lindsey and I were on was the seventh team under the Green Unit, thus making us, Green 7. During one of our first Unit-building exercises, we were instructed to choose our spirit animals. Upon gathering with the socialite dolphins, I quickly realized I was to be with the observing owls. Lindsey was one of only three loyal lambs that day.

16. Project: Our second campus scavenger hunt determined the location of our first six-week project: Agua Caliente, a county park in California’s Anza Borrego Desert, containing three geothermal hot spring fed pools - two outdoor and an indoor heated spa. We were assigned to prevent erosion in preparation of flash floods. We dug out over a ton of dirt from around the water tanks and used it to build trails. We also planted cactus plants and palm trees, removed invasive species, painted, sorted lumber, shoveled rocks and built horse corrals. We also adopted our team tribal call, much similar to the Warrior Princess Xena’s.

17. Quail: Hot days and cold nights, the dramatic Anza Borrego is surrounded by the Vallecito Mountains to the South and the Santa Rosa Mountains to the North. We were among desert bighorn sheep, mountain lions, roadrunners, and my morning alarm clock: the quail.

18. Rain: Arriving during a rare desert rain shower, we set up camp under a vibrant rainbow. Our living arrangement was a cluster of six tents. I had never camped. Now I was in the desert for forty-two days. And it was raining.

19. Sandwich: Agua Caliente became a place of introspection for both Lindsey and I to figure out our purpose on the team and our goals in the program. It wasn’t until we snuck away during work hours, that we first bonded over our neverending appetites. Our plan was to make 11 surprise PB&J’s for the team. We each ate one in the clubhouse and brought seconds for the walk back, brainstorming our assets and team contributions. I was learning how to actively listen and constructively share. Lindsey was finding her strength.

20. Turn: Nearby Camp Vallecito was said to be haunted. They also, however, had cell service, which was nearly nonexistent at Agua Caliente. Weeks into the project, the team planned an overnight with just our sleeping bags and cell phones in the sand. Around the fire, we all shared songs from iPods with personal meaning. Lindsey shared an Edward Sharpe song and I shared the Byrds, “Turn, Turn, Turn.” For everything there is a season. A time. A purpose.

21. eUlogy: The lyrics are from Ecclesiastes 3, which the first 16 lines of were read by my cousin at my grandmother’s funeral just months before.

22. Van: Our 15-passenger van was named Pigeon because of the cooing the sliding door made. Julian, California, known for their pies, was only 33 miles away from Agua Caliente, but was an hour long haul for Pigeon. Still, we packed her with pies on Thanksgiving after serving food at the community dinner. I was partial to the Mountain Berry Crumble… for breakfast. Thanksgiving night, around another rectangular folding table, I read aloud the eulogy that I wrote and spoke at my grandmother’s funeral. Since she was a part of every day conversations, the team would dedicate our first service project portfolio to her.

23. Whirl: Julian was once a week for laundry and groceries. Lindsey and I took on laundry duty. The laundromat was a reprieve from the team’s tornado of energy. The whirling spin cycle was more appealing than foraging at Safeway to feed a Pigeon full of 20 year olds for the next seven strenuous desert days. Lindsey and I got to know each other over the team’s dirty uniforms.

24. Xtina: During the wash, we’d spend some time making personal calls then shared stories during the day. We once enjoyed a secret Margarita happy hour then DJ’d and sang the whole car ride home: Whitney, Christina, Gotye, the last two tracks on the self titled Third Eye Blind album. Lindsey was finding her voice.

25 Yawn: I knew I was finally getting comfortable with my surroundings when I started sleeping barefoot. However, dreams of vacuuming the inside my tent lasted my entire desert tenure. I’d wake to magenta sunrises and howling coyotes yipping across the nearby sands. They sounded smaller than our East Coast packs, but they sounded close.

The entrances to my tent and Lindsey’s tent faced each other, with the other team-tents to the sides, similar to how we sat across the table from each other the day we met. Each morning, emerged from our tents yawning but somehow managing to giggle at 5am.

26 Zaster: Lindsey ended up earning the nickname of “Lindzaster” after weeks of early mornings and tense evenings, mountain hikes, dehydration and building an irrigation system. “Disaster” seemed so inappropriate, thus humorous, for the quiet girl I had interrupted across the table half-way across the state. But this was a changed Lindsey. A Lindsey of a different color. One who could now command your attention in a team meeting, plan service projects and contribute the level-headed ideas. Zaster was learning to lead. We had signed up to help others, but we soon realized the personal benefits were even greater. We were changing the world and our little lamb was now a lioness.