Thanks, Buddies.

Thanks, every last one of you, for a great birthday party!! I can speak for both Girl Hog and myself and say - - muchas gracias. And we love you. So there.

Ciao, buddies.
-Nina.

P.S. I'll try to get some photos up when I get my hands on some. I ended up taking only one picture the entire night. It didn't turn out at all, but it was funny - a friend who was at the Justin Timberlake sent a text with only one line. One fantastic line: I want to do him. Hee hee.

Thanks, Sex & the City.

It's over. I'm thirty.

Allow me to present my little emotional crisis, pictorally represented by the lovely and talented (and clearly sober) Girl Hog:

SHUT IT.

Shut it was running on loop through my brain. I didn't want to hear it.

For the two days (or ten) leading up to the big day, I'd been feeling sort of upset about turning thirty. At moments, more than sort of. It's not because I'm afraid by body will break down tomorrow, not because I'm frightened of wrinkles, not because I feel unaccomplished or oldmaid-ish, not even because I feel terribly old. I don't feel old. In fact, I think it's hilarious that I am now such a mature sounding age as thirty. Me? Seriously?

What it is is more of a general melancholy. I feel sad. It is almost exactly the same as when I come back from a great vacation. The "post-vacation blues," I've named it. I guess it comes from the same place: I can't ever go back and do that again, and that makes me sad. Of course there are more trips in the future, probably just as, or more, awesome than the last... but, I can't ever go back and do that again. The same thing, with the same people, with the same excitement and true emotional and personal reactions.

My twenties (at least the last five years of them) were like that great trip that is just- over. Like September in Europe, it all came and went so fast, I didn't even see it go by.





















LET'S ROCK.

Just as it always happens after the great vacation-induced woes, the blues dissipate after a few days. It's time to rock. I just have to get used to the idea and force myself out of my self-indulgence. I'm mostly there now, three days into thirty, looking forward instead of back.

Ya know- I do believe, though, there is a place for some reflection on time gone by, how ridiculously fast it flies away from us... and what it all means for the future. That's why I let myself ride it out and just be bummed out, if that's how I feel.

I've been told my at least seven hundred women in the last week that the thirties are the best time of your life (also seven hundred have told me forties... fifties), and I believe it. I'm ready to rock.

Ciao, buddies.
-Nina

P.S. There are some fantastic things about birthdays though...




















Muchas gracies to everyone who took me out to dinner, gave me fun, awesome gifts, wrote me lovely, heartfelt cards (KT - you really warmed my heart, made me grin and made me walk just a little taller), sent me texts, voicemails... and listened and encouraged while I whined on your shoulder. Thanks, buddies.

Et tu, buddies?

Like Paul Newman, Kerouac, the Rat Pack .... Ancient Rome is still cool.

Couple the inherent fascination and gangsta-coolness of Ancient Rome with HBO's unparalleled excellence in production, envelope-pushing and writing; and you have on your hands - - one badass show.















I LOVE IT. Welcome back, Rome.

It does not hurt that half the cast is naked, often.

P to the L to the US...













This, my friends, is Marc Antony. Who also seemingly prefers to be naked. Often.

Come on.

Wouldn't you love, just one time, at work (like Marc Antony), to say this:

"We shall mourn the man and burn the tyrant. And then, I shall serve out the rest of my term as council and then retire, quietly, to the provinces, where I will plow my fields and fuck my slaves. "

Ciao, buddies.
-Nina

Huh

I used to have this recurring dream, before it was replaced with my current something-ain't-right dream (typically a WWII style war scene with bombs falling out of the sky and people running everywhere- but in the here & now. I know, yikes.) in which the brakes go out on the car and I then race down a steep hill, a mountain, or even a skyscraper. There's never anything to do to stop it.

I used to wake up from those dreams feeling so... off. This dull, but persistent, feeling of unease would follow me around for days after one of those dreams.

I haven't had that same feeling for years - probably ten - until this last week, listening to our President give that "surge" speech, I felt the exact same anxious dread spread over my heart and brain until I had to just turn the channel.

Something ain't right.

Sorry, Buddy.

Shit!

I missed Elvis' birthday yesterday.



I realize that it may sound sarcastic when I talk about loving Elvis, but - I mean it. Love me, love my Elvis.

Honestly I'm a huge fan. This is something I really realized this year. Between the aforementioned, new Ipod-induced, rediscovery of my existing music collection, and the summer road trip the trip to Memphis & Graceland (see June 2006 archives), I have come to embrace the authentic appreciation and lifelong endearment I have for The King.




















It may not be hip to be a big Elvis fan in this day and age - but, whatever man, I'm not too cool for school. And I understand that there are buckets of reasons to consider the guy nothing more than a schmuck with a pretty face, wild hips and the voice of an angel (a sexy, sad, messed up angel), who pilfered the reign over rock-n-roll from others, packaged and sold his soul, and then let himself and his talent waste away into a punchline...

But, man, all of that is just so very sad. When the guy was young, pure and polite, and just loved music and his momma - when he would just open up his face and sing - well, it rips my heart out every time I hear it.




















And, good god, tell me that is not hot.

Ciao, buddies.
-Nina.

P.S. I heard this is the most requested photo from the National Archives.















It's funny because it's true.

Burgers are for hangovers.

As promised, here are more photographical representations of the mysterious, pre-Cabaret, your-life-and-mine-is-on-display-and-you-can't-stop-me, first half of 2006.

The Stryker Three make a rare public appearance together. Typically, we try not to go out all together, ya know, for the cats... in case something happens.

Saint Patrick's Day was really fun last year. Man, that seems like twenty years ago. It was gorgeous outside, warm and sunny even. We hit the St. Paul circuit & then ended up over in Minneapolis - at The Independent, of all places. Goofy. The details are fuzzy, but I do recall that I lost my special green scarf and by the end of the evening, I was wearing a helmet. Sounds like slang for something, but really - I just had a helmet on.

CHAMPAGNE SUMMER !

The inaugural kick-off to summer event in 2006 was "champagne summer," and, in case you don't recollect (even if you were there), we drank A LOT of champagne. All the champagne in the world, actually. On a 98 degree day. And when all the champagne in the world was gone, we all pin-balled ourselves down the street to the Brown Derby. Oh, good times.

How about the 2007 Stoned Olympics ?

Mel's Cabin 2006 was, as usual, fucking awesome. Man, we love that place, don't we? This year was my TENTH summer going there... unreal. Gosh, I guess that means I've been going there since I was 14. Love it.

Lookey-lou... more field trip to DC pics:

It's the Jefferson Monument - can't you tell? I think this was at the final, of hundreds, maybe thousands, of monuments we visited that day. The boys rested their barking dogs inside while the girls sat outside and administered some minor surgery, patching up heel blisters and bloody toes.

Girl Hog goes to Washington.

Nice little disturbing surprise Easter parade. You should have seen what they had done to the poor bunny. Really quite disgusting.

This was our dim sum experiment gone awry. It was all probably good, whatever it was, but NOT hangover food. Blech.

I think we're all trying to show off for Ben... none of us can even read.

I just love this fucking picture.

Apropos of nothing, this whole Keith Ellison swearing-in business is my favorite news story right now. I just giggled right out loud when I heard he was using a Koran of Thomas Jefferson's in the ceremonial swearing-in. Dude's got a pair.

And this Virgil Goode fool is an idiot. He's using this stupid shit to "strengthen" his case that we need to better control immigration to keep the scary Muslims out of our (white, Protestant) government. Hey, dipshit, Keith Ellison was born in Detroit.

Ciao, buddies.
-Nina

Bye, 2006. Miss you. Call Me.

Well, it's all over. Christmas, New Year's Eve, that weird week between them in which it seems half of the world's population just disappears. The roads are clear, the seating is immediate, the half-population still around only really wants to chat and eat.

It's all over. The big year of 2006 - the summer road trip, the quitting of the job, the Europe extravaganza, the new job, the thesis writing.... ok, it's not all over but, shut it, close enough. What a year, eh? My mind spins thinking about it, as if hearing a really crazy story that I can't fully get my head around. Some of it doesn't even feel like it happened to me...

St. Croix (US Virgin Islands, not western Wisconsin), D.C., Memphis, Louisville, Cleveland, Milwaukee, Croatia, Prague, Munich, Rome, Paris, Istanbul, London. Good lord. St. Patrick's Day, Champagne Summer, Mel's Cabin, shows, films, birthdays, dancing in the kitchen...


Some of my favorite pics from the first half of the year, before the birth of the Cabaret:

The happy little family in St. Croix. Right after we all blew through a bunch of cash at the casino.

Our 11th grade field trip to our nation's capitol.

Late night D.C. dirt angels.

Bubbles, bubbles at the Washington Monument.

God, this is almost enough to make a girl cry into her coffee a little.

MORE PHOTOS TO COME, fyi

I tried a couple of times to do a best-of 2006, in music, type entry, like Jason so nicely did, but I just can't do it. I just haven't had a big music year, at least not new music. Two reasons: 1) I've taken to really listening to a lot of talk radio these days. If you haven't yet - check out Stephanie Miller in the a.m. on Air America. And 2) I got an Ipod for christmas last year, and so found myself rather engrossed in my already existing library. I've been listening to albums I haven't for six years, which has been really fun.

But there were a few new releases this year I got into: The Decemberists, The Hold Steady, Neko Case, Bettie Serveert, Lily Allen, Gomez, Kasabian, Muse, Tapes 'n Tapes, The Submarines, Gnarls Barkley, Cat Power. And I actually really like Thom Yorke's Eraser, but it took me about five listens.

My favorite line of the year:

"Hey, citrus & liquor, I love it when you touch each other."
- The Hold Steady, Citrus


Okay, lovers, gotta run. I'm gonna give movies of 06 a shot. Maybe. And let me know what you loved, I'm curious.

Ciao, buddies.
-Nina.

P.S. Here's another great line, from the same Hold Steady song: "I've had kisses that make Judas seem sincere."