Variations on a theme

(Tonight I'm listening to the new Seu Jorge album, dubbed Cru. You know Seu Jorge, the guy who covered all those Bowie songs in the Life Aquatic? Turns out his own stuff is awesome too.)

Today as I was practicing my flameco steps on the way to the dumpster (this is typical. I subconsciously begin practicing my flamenco claps or beats in many places: waiting for the elevator, cooking broccoli, brushing my teeth, even when I drum my fingers on my steering wheel. It's a sickness I think. Flamencoitis. Wait a minute. That sounds too sexy to be a disease.) ANYWAY, I was thinking about the new steps we learned on Sunday, and I realized that each dance has a basic rhythm, but each coupla (don't dock me points for my inability to spell in Spanish just yet) requires that you knock out this beat with different steps or claps.

For example, a rhythm that goes bump!-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-bump!-bump! could be done entirely by the feet, or with the feet and a knee slap, or mostly with claps plus a uno tiempo (literally a step where your feet come down at the same time). OK, so maybe it's not EXACTLY variations on a theme, but for the purposes of this blog, I'm going to forget my perscriptivist tendencies and go with a little descriptivism.

So then I started thinking, like I do, you know, about life. And how my life seems to be about variations on a theme. Here are a few:

1. Fall in love with completely inaccessible men (i.e., the Baker).
2. Perfection is the only way to happiness (i.e. I hate myself when I can't keep my room clean).
3. Something will always go wrong (i.e. I feel like my cats are going to die and my apt is going to burn down when I'm out having fun).

It's so easy to keep creating variations on these themes. It's less easy to create entirely new ones. Think about how all-encompassing a theme is in a novel. How many papers you had to write about just one theme, and how once you figured out the theme was present, it was impossible not to find a million things that fit right into that theme. Looking at the list now, they all seem to look like weird birthmarks I don't want to admit exist. It's like I know they're silly, I know they're not a part of who I want to be, but deep down, I believe them. And I wonder if writers just put in themes inadvertently. Like they create these characters, and these characters interact, and then there is a story, and OOPS, there are themes there too. And I suppose I wonder how active I've been in creating my themes. Because it seems as though, if we're all writing our own stories, then surely we have control over the literary devices.

But do we have the option? To change a theme, even after 250 pages?

I started to write this last thursday...

(Tonight our audio selection is music from the Buena Vista Social Club soundtrack. This is particularly appropriate, because I just got back from my first Latin Burlesque dance class. It was hot.)

I have a lot to write about. And since I like everything in chronological order, let's just rewind a little.

ZBWEREBWERBWEBNEEWEWEEZEEWE. (That's the sound of rewinding).

Sept. 30:

Yay! Today I am a quarter of a century old. I had an amazing day today. I began the day with jazz and tap. I then proceeded to the mall to do some happy birthday to myself shopping. I bought a dress at the first store I went to, but was so sick of the mall by then that I couldn't bring myself to do any further shopping. After going home to fix myself a little birthday dinner, I got ready for the Bowling Karaoke Birthdaytastic celebration. I have to admit, I was a bit nervous about this party, because last year's rollerskating shortstop extravaganza was so excellent. Mr. Prickles and I were sharing the celebration, so a we amassed a big list of people that we hoped would come. When we first got to the bowling alley, there were about four people there from our party, besides us. We had estimated and paid for 30. Crap, crap and triple crap I thought, no one is going to come. Of course, I was absolutely wrong. Our party guests started multiplying like kids with new calculators. We had to keep adding more lanes, and more lanes, until we had 10 lanes of simulatneous bowling action. I had three strikes in the first game, but people kept handing me drinks, so it was all downhill from there. After a few games and some minor ass kicking, we floated to the bowling alley bar, where they had karaoke. We karaoke'd up a storm, my friends, yes. I have to say it was HUGELY impressed by neighbor, Professor Puffiefro. He killed his songs (which at this late date, I cannot remember). Thalex sang my favorite Thalex karaoke song, Suffragette City. I sang Magic Man, which was a stretch for me, but I was, well, a large percentage alcohol, so it was fine. After about an hour of karaoke, Mr. and Mrs. Prickles took a lot of the crew back to their house for cake and chats. Mrs. Prickles baked a supberb cake, half of which was white cake with white frosting (mr. prickles is weird -- that's his favorite. I sort of love him for that though.), and the other half of which was chocolate. Extremely yummy.

There's a second part to this birthday story, that I almost hate to admit. Better to get it out though, yep. My neighbor, we'll call him the Baker (he bakes bread a lot), was very flirty the whole night. This did NOT help the little crush I've been harboring. He offered to wait up for me and make me a birthday martini after I got home. I figured he'd forget, and I was tired anyways, so when I got home from mr. and mrs. prickles, I was quite surprised to find his door open. We drank and talked until 6 in the morning. And nothing happened. Nothing. Which was good, for the sake of living a normal life in my apartment building.

And that's that.

Fast forward two weeks.

ZEEBEZEEBEBEBEBEZZZEEEESESSSEE. (May I present, the sound of fast forwarding).