Play it now, my baby...

Oh, I love my Rosie child
She got the way to make me happy
You and me, we go in style
Cracklin' Rosie you're a store-bought woman
You make me sing like a guitar hummin'
So hang on to me, girl
Our song keeps runnin' on

Play it now
Play it now
Play it now, my baby

--"Cracklin' Rosie," by Neil Diamond


This is the song I woke up with. Didn't hear it yesterday or this week or even within the most remote timeframe.

I just woke up with it and it's been swirling around in my brain all morning while getting dressed, feeding the dogs, through a breakfast meeting with one of my peeps from work.... By the time I got to the office and realized it was still with me, I decided there was only one choice: Buy it on iTunes and blast it out loud. And dance.

The few folks here at the office laughed with me. I told them I had no idea why in the world it was in my head. Someone offered up, "Well you know who it is then. It's the baby."

I liked that thought so much, I had to rattle off the first blog post in 6 months.

Thanks for the song, Bean.

Eulogy for Manuel Lopez, Jr.

Manuel. Manual. Manny. ‘Into. Mr. Lou. Little Friend.

Primo. Tio. Hermano. Grandpa. Dad. Daddy.

And to Sotera Lopez: Mi Amor.

And no matter what other name we had for him, or which title he held in our lives, it is true that we all called him Friend.

His eyes were kind. His smile was his calling card. He was patient and protective. He was always ready for a joke. He was generous. He was talented. He was your biggest fan.

When I reflect on a life of knowing him, I will remember his laugh. His bouncing knee that seemed like it had a separate motor from the rest of his body. His serenity and sense of purpose when he entered a church. I’ll remember how he slurped his morning coffee and how happy he was when he had any instrument in his hands, especially when he was strapped in behind the accordion. The one displayed at the Rosary last night. The one his wife saved for months to buy him. The one he so lovingly and consciously entrusted to his oldest grandson Gary Douglas just a week before he died.

I’ll remember that, when I was with him, I simply felt special. Just like every one of you did. It’s that feeling that packed the chapel for the rosary last night.

I can remember being in Stamford for a wedding where, as usual, I was running around with all the cousins at the dance reception. I cruised by the table where our family was sitting. Grandpa looked up, saw me, and said, “M’ija, let’s dance.” My heart soared! And then it sank. It was like Fred Astaire asking me to dance, only I didn’t know how to. At these occasions, I just goofed off with the cousins and drooled at the cake table. I didn’t dance. So, I tried to decline, but he led me out to the dance floor anyway. And I was so awkward. I felt like everyone was looking at me, seeing that I didn’t know what I was doing, and I started to cry. I felt like I was letting Grandpa down.

But he just held me close and told me softly what to do with my feet. And I remember thinking, “Why doesn’t he let me stop? Can’t he see I don’t know what I’m doing? This is embarrassing.” He took me around and around until the song was finished. I thought he was being mean. But that wasn’t it at all. Not only was he teaching me to dance, (which, clearly I needed the lesson) but he was also teaching me that, sometimes, you have to learn right out in front of everyone. And if you can’t do that in front of family, even if they are a big bunch of teasers, good luck with the rest of the world.

The life Grandpa led was an example of fearlessness and not worrying about whether the circumstances were just perfect. Like José said last night, he was a man of great faith in God. And a belief that we all have a calling. That belief led to many pursuits and adventures in 78 years. I asked Grandma a few nights ago if there was any adventure in particular that she wanted me to share, and after a moment of trying to pinpoint just one, she said, “M’ija, our whole life was an adventure.”

I know Grandpa would want me to keep this brief. In fact, he probably thinks I’ve said too much already. But I’d like to end by thanking all of you, on behalf of his wife, his children and grandchildren, and his brothers and sisters. Thank you for being here today and all throughout this week. Grandpa has been honored by your presence, your prayers, your beautiful flowers. If you traveled, may God see you safely home. Thank you to our amazing local family for your love and support. The abundant food and all the little things we may not even know you’ve done to make this week easier. Thank you to Father Thu, Deacon Jim, the Altar Society y las Guadalupanas here at St. George.

And thank you, Grandpa. For sharing your adventure with us. For the laughter. And the music that still rings in our ears. Thank you for teaching us all – in some way – how to dance through life with grace and courage. It is a dance that your family does across the great state of Texas. It’s danced from the Rocky Mountains to the East Coast and even overseas, in service to our country. So, if you keep playing that accordion and singing your song from up there, we promise to keep dancing — even when we don’t know the steps. Because we know you’ll be right here, whispering them to us.

Manuel Lopez, Jr., born December 25, 1932, died March 19, 2011. This eulogy was delivered March 23, 2011 at St. George Catholic Church in Fort Worth, Texas.

10 pounds and BALLS!

Still managing to eat right. Still cooking or preparing nearly every meal. My trip to Texas this past week was a combo of my normal plan and improvisation, and included having my grandparents' menudo (the BEST bowl of menudo in the world), along with my grandma's tortillas, thankyouverymuch. I managed to have only one tortilla with my bowl and didn't feel deprived at all. (Usually, I'd have at least three to a bowl.)

On Saturday, my aunt and uncle went all-out, renting a big ol' smoker to smoke two briskets, three slabs of ribs, several chickens and maybe even sausage, I can't remember now. My aunt made these amazing beans, potato salad, cole slaw, deviled eggs; Mom made a tres leches cake; my aunt and I made pumpkin fudge, a pineapple upside down cake; and guests brought other sundry items, including pumpkin cobbler (!). I had little bites of anything I wanted. I also made sure to eat some lower-glycemic things throughout the day so I didn't attack any food out of angry hunger. After all was said and done for the weekend, I'm now a pound down from this time last week.

I can friggin' do this. It's ten pounds altogether now.

Speaking of being home, that was really nice. My cousin won't be able to make it down from NYC for either of the holidays, so we seized an earlier opportunity to have all the family together and soak up some time with Grandpa. The only person missing was Lee, who had just traveled so he couldn't take more time right away. I also managed to catch up with my bestie Angela. We were inseparable in college and, since moving here eleven and-a-half years ago, it's gotten harder and harder to keep up. But we talked until 3am Friday night. She's in the midst of some pretty intense changes and I think I'm happier for her now than I've ever been.

As always, any visit is divided (not always equally) between my Lopez half and my Hinshaw half, so despite this trip being pretty focused on the Lopezes, I got some time in with the Hinshaws, too, including a lovely lunch with my Aunt Dixie and brunch with my Dad and siblings.

My sister Asia (read her blog here) has this wonderful guy in her life who is constantly befuddled by our lack of planning.

Him: Isn't your sister here?
Asia: Yeah, I think she got in yesterday.
Him: Well, are we doing something with her?
Asia: I don't know, I'm sure we will.

Thing is, we've grown accustomed to waiting until I'm actually in town before planning anything. Because, for Asia and me, quality time can come at any time of day or night, doing just about anything. (Except napping. She hates when I want to take a nap.) So, we usually let my schedule fill with the less-flexible events and my work schedule (Go, telecommuting!), then fill in our time around that. This isn't very easy on our significant others, though, who may find themselves kicking off their shoes to lay down on the couch just as one of us gets off the phone with the other and annoucnes, "We're going to a movie!" I love my sister. I love that we have a way we do things, a style that is common to us and uncommon to everyone else. But, point taken: We need to plan a little more or we're gonna drive our boys crazy.

And then there's BALLS!, a show I guest-starred in last year, but have now joined for the whole crazy ride. We've been working on refreshing some of last year's bits and will soon work on totally new material. One of the things I'm most excited about is that this year, each of the six nights will benefit a different local non-profit. Read all about it and then make your reservation! It's gonna be a blast!

Remember that time when I was all addicted?

Exactly one week ago, I couldn't imagine how I would make it through the rest of the week. I pictured myself, lying in an alley, passed out with an empty Lamar's Donuts box over my face and the awful stench of failure surrounding me.

But I did it, I went the week (with a minor adjustment to make room for life on Thursday night). The reset ended Friday evening and then I was released into the wild, into a world of ALL THAT FOOD, and you know what? Still towing the line. I've been preparing my meals, planning my day, walking past the kitchen at work which smelled suddenly of bacon and mac n' cheese all the time (eff you, office mates), and still I'm really doing a-ok. I did indulge in three vodka sodas at the LUPEC Crush Party, but that doesn't count.

Everyone knows the clear liquor doesn't count, right?

Anyhoo. I don't think I'm cured, by any stretch of the imagination. It's just that I can see so clearly now just how much I was shooting up with carbs. There are things in my kitchen now that only uber "with it" people know how to prepare: bulgur wheat, couscous, brown rice. Turns out, all you do is add hot water!

Okay, I knew that. But honestly, I thought it took a genius to cook well enough to make that stuff taste good. Turns out, anything tastes good after a week of not eating!

Okay, that's not really true. Found out not to ever EVER cook mushrooms in lime juice. (It was an accident.)

But seriously, people. Good food. It's worth the effort to reach past the Nutritional Industrial Complex and get your hands on some. I've been hot on the trail since reading Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food, which inspired me to grow a garden. But I think I was missing a major point: You can't really get the most out of real food if you're still also eating so much of the fake crap. But now, because I can feel a physical lightness, a clearheadedness, I'm a believer with a whole new fervor. (Don't worry, I don't have to talk about it at parties if you don't want to.)

Plus. Over six pounds gone and counting. Come on. I get to learn how to cook new recipes AND lose weight? Hey. Know what we're having for dinner tonight? Filet mignon.

Lamar's Schlamars.

For the love of all that is food

I've been eating ANYTHING that fits in my mouth. And I've been wishing (as if I have no control over these matters) that I could just clear the slate and start over with my habits. I've done it before (at least twice), but it seems that this proposition gets harder every time.

Enter: my pal C, who, on a trip to Aspen to celebrate our pal Julie's birthday, got us all geeked up to do a Reset. Man. Three girls can work themselves into a frenzy for just about anything. And I paid money for this strange form of torture.

This is my 2nd of five days, and if I don't run screaming to the movies for popcorn first, (CRAVING. Hard) I can tell by my body's reaction that there really is the potential for a reset because it is clear that I'm in the throes of withdrawal, here.

Headache? Check.
Irritation? Check.
The shakes? Check.

It's disturbing that, by the way I eat, something that should be so simple as food, repast, sustenance, fuel, nourishment, has instead become a full-blown chemical addiction. And let's not even get into the emotional addiction part.

I love food. LOVE it. Love to grow it in my garden. Love to prepare it for my family and friends. Love to eat it. Here's hoping a little time away from it will help me put it in a much healthier context. Because it's true that you can love something so much that it hurts.

El DeBarge is coming! With Mary J. Bl- WTF??

Remember my post about El DeBarge? Of course you don't. But even so, this is still exciting and bizarre news: According to Denver Post's REVERB, he is coming to Denver! With Mary J. Blige! (I mean, duh, right? Those two: Like peas in a damn pod, I tell you.) El. De.Barge. C'mon, y'all. Don't even try to deny your excitement.

"When you feel like the world is on your shoulders
And all of the madness has got you goin' crazy..."

Oh my god. I can already feel the pleated pants and sequins against my skin.

CORRECTION: I didn't read REVERB's facebook post very well. El DeBarge will not be stopping off in Denver: "EL DEBARGE IS ON TOUR! With Mary J. Blige? Random. No Colorado date. [<----I read that as no Colorado date yet.] But still. EL DEBARGE."

First post of 2010!

Pitiful.

I just logged in to this blog to link to my little sister's new blog and saw what state the ol' RWS is in.

Pitiful.

For 2.5 seconds I felt okay about the fact that I haven't posted ONE TIME all year because I know I've been posting to my Tumblr. But then I looked at that real quick and it's been four months.

Pitiful.

Here are some random facts about RIGHT NOW, August 17th, 2010:

1. My grandpa has a tumor choking his liver. It's inoperable.
2. My godson swallowed a quarter "trying to clean it," and had to go to the ER. He lives!
3. My garden (which I absolutely LOVE growing) has approxiately 50 green tomatoes in it that absolutely refuse to turn red.
4. My favorite dancer won SYTYCD this season. That's never happened before.
5. My standards for "happy" are at an all-time low, I think.

That last one is a doozy and it just sort of came out. A Buddhist would read that and think, "Good for you!" but I don't actually mean it in a very Zen way at all.


Still. 2010 beats 2008 and 2009 all to hell so far!

I'll sign off with a photo of my grandpa proudly displaying a beautiful watermelon grown in his garden, which is eerily similar to my last post.

For the BALLS! audience

Tonight, I'll be performing in Mare Trevathan and Melanie Owen-Padilla's wayward holiday brainchild, BALLS! It's part variety show, part living room party. I can't wait to see what they've cooked up!




Speaking of cooking, I plan to refer to this very, very yummy recipe by Giada De Laurentiis just before I perform "The Christmas Song," by Mel Torme, with Jimmy Ruberto on the upright bass. (A dream come true for me.)

So I'm placing this here for anyone in the audience who decides to embrace the chestnut and make it for their Christmas dinner: http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/giada-de-laurentiis/raffys-turkey-sausage-and-chestnut-stuffing-recipe/index.html

Merry Christmas, all! And after the holidays, if you want to blow off some steam with more onstage zaniness, drop by Freak Train on the 28th!

Hard work gives you permission

"What are we doing in rehearsal? What are we striving for? What is the point of all the discipline, hard work and training? The preparation and sweating and memorizing and studying is not the point, rather it is the indispensable discipline and sweat that endows upon us the permission to take up space and make wild, surprising and untamed choices."


I love this woman.


Read more from Anne Bogart here: http://siti.groupsite.com/post/october-2009-fuck-you-anne

Write, You Boring Loser!

Why is it that, for almost all of 2009, I've had almost nothing to blog about? Meaning, I can think of nothing to write that anyone else would be remotely interested in reading.

My job's... jobby. So, yeah. Oh, and I took a hiatus from big theatrical projects this year. And I don't have any family in crisis. Well, no crisis that I could share publicly. That is, until I write my tell-all memoirs and air out all our dirty laundry! (Please. Like any of my family wouldn't tell you themselves what's effed up in their lives.)

Hmmm. I guess I just don't have much in common with anyone right now. And also, I think too many people I know would read this (five people) and so I can't even do the easy thing and make fun of other people's Internetting Efforts.

HEY! Speaking of, you know what's not funny? A LOT of stuff on FunnyOrDie.com. I was just watching this thing made by this friend of a friend. And it was not funny. Typical bloggers would probably post it here so you could see for yourself how not funny it was. And then you could say stuff about it, too. Or maybe you could even defend it. Like, "Hey! That's me in that sketch! You're wrong! That's funny!"

But.

I'm not going to post it.

BORING.

A quick note about Chik-fil-A

I don't care.
Don't care that my husband calls it
"Jesus chicken,"
And my friend from Indiana
Says it brings back lame, mallrat memories.
I love Chik-fil-A.
I love its waffle fries.
And its pickles.
And its sweet tea.
And its lemon pie in a weird platic triangle.
So there.

Ah, Freaks.

Tonight was a great night at Freak Train. It's too bad that I'm not A/V savvy enough to get some YouTube action going so you can all see it. My cousin Chad, who lives in Austin, has caught the show when he's visited Denver, and has fervently requested that we stream the video live on the night of the show.

What a great idea.

Who will do this?

In the meantime, you'll just have to trust me: If you're in Denver, or even NEAR Denver, just come and see the show. It's like a combination of any given open mic + your cousin Kenny performing his "I Have A Dream" speech for the whole family at Thanksgiving + a busker convention + (when you're REALLY lucky) an impromptu performance by masters of their craft + FREE BEER.

And after nearly nine years, it hasn't gotten old. Just truly habitual.

Thanks to all who came out to the show tonight! Special thanks to all the Regular Freaks -- well done. And farewell to Bradford Wills, to whom I wish all the very best in the Beaumont, TX family bunker. Thanks to John for the the great chat about FT and our podium pioneer Joel, my long-lost love Ashley, and my boy wonder Dave. Finally, thanks so much to Alex, for being my steadfast partner in Freakdom. Hope little Max starts feeling better.

Freaks: See you next month.

Desperately Seeking GerRee

This has never happened to me before.
I am stunned and paralyzed.

I always get to be "GerRee." Always. Does that make me spoiled? Yes. But I earned this. I endured teasing and countless mispronunciations and misspellings of my name all throughout childhood. WITHOUT self-righteous, corrective response from me, mind you. But, by the time we all went wired, and everyone was having to use handles like Jen146 and SteveA7, I came out on top. I never had to compromise, or even throw in my last name for good measure. Nope.

Just "GerRee."

Then came Twitter. I purposely dragged my feet. Ever the early adopter of other social media, I decided to sit the first round out, just to make sure I wasn't taking on a new online habit that soon would evaporate like so many others.

But here I am, coming in on the "late adopter" curve, as everyone tweets. And, what to my wondering eyes does appear?



"Username has already been taken."

I blinked. I typed it in again. Same result, obviously.

I can't move. I can't breathe. Someone. Else. Is GerRee?

The kicker: They first tweeted only two weeks ago. I missed my window by 15 days. The gut punch: They haven't tweeted since.

I have been thwarted by a late-adopter, non-user. Perhaps he or she has been running into me at every turn for the last 15 years.

And they've finally won.

Perhaps I will chose LoserGerRee for my Twitter username. Or DefeatedGerRee. Or FuckYouGerRee. I don't know.

For now, I can't bear to register anything. I am now fully engulfed in the flames of pouting. Burning, burning....

Tortillas

So, update: The cards raised over $1,000 for my dad. Thank you so much, Jen, for all your dedication to this project! And thanks to Cheryl and Lauren for helping us sell. And to everyone who bought them. I hope your families and friends enjoyed receiving our original designs. Jed will be selling them again next holiday season and pledges that all proceeds for these designs will again go to Dad next year.

I'm at a time in my life marked by nostalgia and anxiety. I find myself reflecting back on the last twenty years a lot. And just as I've been in the process of doing so, a friend suddenly died, which has REALLY turned up the heat on my reminisence. 

My love for my friends and family sometimes paralyzes me. I want everyone to be okay, and I want to be a part of helping to create that okay-ness. And the world's a big place. And I'm just a small blanket that covers, maybe, the tip of the left pinky toe of humanity.

Lee and I decided a couple weeks back to take a road trip down to Texas this coming Valentine's weekend. I've been really craving time with my grandma. I want to learn--once and for all--to make her tortillas. It feels like, as long as I can make something that approximates her food, maybe, just maybe, I won't lose my mind when she leaves this world. (Which, might not be for twenty years, for all I know -- she's not ill.) Her departure will cause great shift in my life. But somehow, I'll be able to visit her when I cook. Learning her cooking is a conscious bridge to her that I like building while we can do it together. 

You're Such A Card!

HEY! Looky what I did with my friend Jen! (Go ahead. Click it.)

Las historias

I just spent a little time with my grandma. She told me of my grandpa's family's trials and tribulations in the the early thirties.

After my great-great-grandfather Max Lopez died, his wife Benedicta, who didn't speak English, was worried she wouldn't be able to hold her own with the bolios. So, although her son, my great-grandfather Emmanuel and his wife Maria were well-suited to continue the family's sharecropping business out in Rotan, Texas, Benedicta decided instead totake the advice of her husband's brother Francisco. Francisco had heard they were giving good land to people to entice them back across the border. So Benedicta and all her children, including Emmanuel, his wife Maria, and their three children, followed his advice all the way back to Mexico to seize opportunity.

Well, Francisco was half right.

They were giving away land, but it was not good.

It was totally un-farmable. Rocks and dust. And after a short time there,the monsoon rains came and flooded their homestead. The whole family had to scramble to the top of a hill with all the belongings they could carry in order to avoid being washed away.

It was around this time that Maria became pregnant with my grandfather Manuel. Maria, a US citizen who already had three children with Emmanuel: Beatrice, Alex, and Max -- all US-born -- looked around and saw that things were not great and were not getting any better. She decided she'd head back across the border when it was time to have my grandpa. Mexico was not a long-term plan as far as she was concerned.

She set out, forced to leave her husband and children behind, and went to stay with a friend of the family, who, like many during the thirties didn't have much to offer. The woman slept on a mattress placed in the bed of a covered waggon, off its wheels. She offered it to Maria during her labor. And that's how my grandfather, Manuel Lopez, was born in Del Rio, Texas, in a covered wagon.

My dad: The long and short of it...

Short story: My father is in the Burn ICU at Parkland Memorial Hospital in Dallas, TX after suffering injuries in a fire at his home. He is very slowly recovering, and we are hopeful. My brother and sister were not home at the time, so only Dad and Asia's dog Scout were in the house. (The other two dogs were outside. Scout didn't make it.) I am here until my father improves enough that I can be certain things are on the up and up, and until I can help Asia and Forrest put the affairs of the mortgage, insurance, and other assundry red tape in some semblance of order.

Long story: http://hinshawrising.blogspot.com/

What can you do, dear friends? Just pray and hold my father and my family in soft light in your hearts.

Oh, and volunteer for the Denver Post Underground Music Showcase. It'll be fun! And a load off my mind if we can get an awesome number of people helping out. I LOVE this event. For four hours of your time, you get a pass for yourself and a friend, as well as access to the VIP parties after the event. (Read: TOTAL fun.) It's a great way to enjoy a summer weekend being a Denverite and supporter of live music! August 1st and 2nd!

--------------------

Shout out to Yancey Lee: I love you so much. I am the luckiest woman in the world to call you my husband, my lover, and my friend.

Politician, heal thyself.

Sometimes, nothing is more compelling than hearing it from the horse's mouth.

Recorded something...

Click here to launch the myspace page that hosts two covers I recorded of Hank Williams' "Can't Help It If I'm Still In Love With You" and Steve Earle's "Nothing Without You" (dedicated to my boyfriend yLee, who included the original on our wedding CD.) I'm trying to find "my voice." The Hank Williams tune is an example of just trying to sing not like I've heard the song sung by others (or myself) before. (Linda Ronstadt's belted-out version of that song is woven into the fiber of my very being. As are so many of her covers of songs.)


We recorded on May 24th. My first real day in the studio on a project of my very own. Guided by my wonderful, talented, patient friend Jim Ruberto, who produced, played lap steel on "Can't Help It" and sang and played guitar on "Nothing."
I really hope he had fun singing. He should do more of it.


Of all the truly cool things that came out of wedding singing, including getting to know and love the boys in the band and seeing some of the most amazing views of Colorado (the ones people pay for, at least), it's my friendship and with Jimmie that I count as one of the high prizes.

Putting this in a safe place

I keep coming across opportunities to refer friends to this excerpt from Anne Lamott's Traveling Mercies and it finally occured to me to just stick it here so I never have to look for it again.

Carolyn Myss, the medical intuitive who writes and lectures about why people don't heal, flew to Russia a few years ago to give some lectures. Everything that could go wrong did - flights were canceled or overbooked, connections missed, her reserved room at the hotel given to someone else.

She kept trying to be a good sport, but finally, two mornings later, on the train to her conference on healing, she began to whine at the man sitting beside her about how infuriating her journey had been thus far.

It turned out that this man worked for the Dalai Lama.

And he said – gently - that they believe when a lot of things start going wrong all at once, it is to protect something big and lovely that is trying to get itself born - and that this something needs for you to be distracted so that it can be born as perfectly as possible.

ahhh... I love Anne Lamott for bringing this into my life.