Trish Choate

Contra dancing crazy

2008-02-21T17:04:50Z

It's documented here in this blog that I've made an attempt to salsa. Let me be clear.
I haven't given up on learning to salsa dance. I've just recognized that it will take a greater committment of time, energy and embarrassment than I am perhaps capable of now.
However, I have stumbled upon -- quite literally -- another form of dance.
Contra dancing -- or country dancing -- is so easy that even I, three-left-feet Choate, can do it.

]]> I went to a church contra dance in D.C., and, in a single night, learned enough basics that I could get down and boogie or "hey" or "chain" or whatever.
For the uninitiated, contra dancing is social dancing that involves dancing in long lines although there was a dance or two that involved forming circles, stepping forward, kicking one leg and yelling "hoo!" or something like that.
Even better, contra dancing is like aerobics with a series of partners. I sweated to a band called Contra Mantra and followed the movements as spelled out by the caller.
So, yes, it's a lot like square dancing in Texas, but it's not.
The only drawback was a shortage of males. But I did learn to lead.
It's hard to switch back to following, but not impossible.
Like many pursuits in the D.C. area, contra dancing has its own culture, organizations, etc.
But the best thing about it: It's fun.
The next best thing. It's known to draw an "older crowd." In a city of twentysomethings and thirtysomethings, that's not so bad for a ---tysomething.
I may even have found my next contra dancing destination.

Blindly Building MySpace

2007-12-26T18:28:17Z

"The Simpsons" had it right on when it comes to showing how the younger generation helps old foggies over 30 navigate the Web.
Marge tries to find a little info about a family-oriented topic while Lisa and Bart peer impatiently over her shoulder and bark commands to their slow-surfing mother. She accidentally orders an appliance and gets no info.
Finally she relinquishes the mouse to Homer.
He finds the info with one click.
I've had shockingly similiar experiences with my daughter.

]]> The twentysomething was helping me navigate MySpace on Christmas Eve.
"Click there! No, there!" she said.
I clicked in what appeared to be slow motion to her but was frantic and harried to me.
"OK, scroll over. Down more. More. OK, there. No, don't scroll down anymore. Go back."
Somehow even with a master's degree and years of experience in the professional world, my IQ had plummeted on MySpace.
"Gosh, I had to tell you everything," she said.
Luckily, she likes me because I'm her mom.
So she stuck out the grueling process of shifting my profile from sunflowers to an Andy Warhol daisy design with coding that allows me to do more things.
The change was crucial because I couldn't post an important picture of James Blunt on my page.
First, she had tutored me in RockYou.com, a photo-sharing site. So it's no surprise her patience hard worn a little thin.
But it was all worth it when I successfully posted the pic of Blunty, proof that even a mature woman can learn that newfangled computer stuff.

Jason Stratham with hair

2007-12-07T16:53:19Z

Jason Stratham's cueball head has been another weapon in his tough-guy acting arsenal.
The dome, bottomed by a stubbly chin, helped make us believe he was tough enough to smash through a few layers of brick if necessary and use the cueball to do it.
But as I consider going to see "Revolver," I have to decide if I want to see Stratham with hair.
It just seems wrong.

]]> On the other hand, it's not unattractive by any means.
And I'm quite intrigued.
I must know: Is it real?!?
I am the daughter of a barber, and many times I'd be watching an epidsode of "Mannix" or whatever, and he'd proclaim: "That's a hairpiece."
This radically altered my perception of the world even though the comb-over and then the shaved head rapidly replaced the hairpiece for most men -- with exceptions like Ted Danson.
So I'm peering at Stratham's publicity stills for Guy Ritchie's new movie, and I'm wondering:
Is it real?
No, can't be.
Wait a minute. Could it be?
I may have to go to the movie just to decide whether or not this hair thing works for Stratham and just how much of it is his.
Oh yeah, and it could be a good movie.

Alamo Elementary School Days

2007-11-28T18:01:57Z

My first experiences with what I'll call organized education -- unorganized being my mom reading "Fifty Famous Fairy Tales" before naptime -- was at Alamo Elementary School.
It was a fairly tough school with playground fights and classroom warfare regularly featured.
My math experiences there weren't the best, but I'm pleased the school is getting kudos for math.

]]> "Texas Monthly" named it as one of the 800 "Best Public Schools in Texas," according to today's article by Ann Work in the Times Record News.
But I can pinpoint the exact time that math went off the rails for me at Alamo.
It was third-grade algebra -- granted, more than 30 years ago.
The teacher was a sweet, well-meaning woman who wore bright red lipstick, corkscrew curls and thick polyester dresses.
The class was a beast that blasted spitballs, paper airplanes, notes and chaos at any and all opportunities.
The teacher just couldn't control us.
It got so bad that students loudly carried on conversations while she was trying to explain concepts.
I remember feeling sorry for her and even trying to listen.
At some point, I gave up and started carrying on the conversations, too, like little girls will do at the slightest opportunity.
Downstairs was the classroom of Mrs. S, a frightening teacher who taught those considered incorrigible.
She was getting close to retirement and never smiled. She ruled with fear, but she ruled.
I remember seeing her smile one day -- a big grin that changed her whole face, and the bottom fell out of my world briefly. I never imagined she actually could smile.
Rumors started circulating that if we didn't straighten up, we were going to get Mrs. S.
Well, we didn't straighten up. Eventually, the school administration stepped in and changed our teacher.
But it was too late for me and algebra.
Years later, I managed to wring a "C" out of college algebra and was thrilled.
But the school gave me other things, in spite of the dicey atmosphere.
I had an English teacher, Mrs. Maxi, who drilled us in sentence diagramming. This did me more good than anything else in learning how to use correct grammer and understand the English language. It might not always show in the harried world of newspaper writing, but that's what good editors are for, right?
Another English teacher handed out a list of "great books." Pretty soon, I was plowing through "Tale of Two Cities" and "The Three Muskateers." I probably didn't understand all of those books, but I did read them.
Mr. Hathaway's history classes drew me in like never before. He told the most interesting stories about that previous boring thing -- history.
He also explained to the class that he used to be a mechanic, but he went to college and got his teaching degree. At the time, it was pretty unusual for anyone over 30 to go to college for the first time or go back to school.
Thus, the idea was born that a person could be mobile and didn't have to settle for whatever life seemed to be dishing out at the moment.
I also made two best friends there who I still consider some of the best friends I've ever had. One of them left me a message on my cell phone yesterday that she'd just moved.
She doesn't do a bad job of keeping in touch after more than 30 years.
Ann Work's story in today's newspaper notes that 92 percent of Alamo students are economically disadvantaged.
I don't know if I and my three siblings fit into that category.
But we certainly weren't economically advantaged at the house on the corner of Elizabeth and Harrison.
Still, we got a decent education at Alamo overall, and it's good to know the school is dedicated today to giving youngsters something that everyone should have no matter what economic category he fits into:a shot at a good education.

Was "No Country for Old Men" Texas Country?

2007-11-26T23:44:45Z

How many times have we seen films that supposedly took place in Texas with little or no sense of what the state is actually like?
On top of that, actors' attempts at Texas accents are usually pretty heinous.
But "No Country for Old Men" scored some points in at least one of those categories.

]]> The movie is based on a book by Cormac McCarthy.
The book is partly a chilling study of a crazy-scary hit man who's like a force of nature, showing about as much mercy as a tornado tearing through Texas.
He is a hit man, that's true, but he seems overdedicated to his work.
The movie stars Tommy Lee Jones (a native Texas son), so I guess we can't fault his accent.
But some of the other actors seem to go too far.
On a drive up from Texas recently, the folks in Arkansas, Tennessee and southern Virginia sounded like they had much bigger southern accents than anyone born and reared in Texas.
Also, it seems that -- outside of the sheriff's wife and the wife of one of the main characters -- women in Texas back in the late 70s or early 80s (when the movie was set) had no idea what the 18-hour bra could do for them.
Overall, the people in the movie were almost caricatures of real Texans.
I apologize in advance if I'm hurting anyone's feelings, but the Coen brothers really shook the ugly tree during casting -- with some exceptions.
A man from San Angelo played and looked his part -- a friendly chicken farmer -- just about right.
Richard Jackson said in this story in the San Angelo Standard-Times that it was filmed in Marfa.
And the landscape in the movie has the wide open, wind-whipped feel of a desert-like West Texas.
So thank goodness for that.
The urban scenes involving low-rent hotel rooms were convincingly Texas, too, although I'm not sure if they were actually filmed there. But I think I stayed at a hotel that looked just like the ones in the movie back when I was a kid.
In general, the movie has an eerie scariness that's almost as spare and unadorned as the book. You don't realize how quiet it is or how you've been gritting your teeth until somebody starts shooting or what have you.
They call it a thriller, but it's within spitting distance of being a slasher horror movie.
What saves it is that leanness that doesn't exaggerate or try too hard to say what it's got to say.
Instead, it's an elegant, dusty tale captured on film.

The Guy in High Heels

2007-10-01T18:03:31Z

Dupont Circle was thrumming with life -- and drums -- Sunday afternoon.
The day was beautiful, drawing out a crowd to perch on benches and sit on the steps around the fountain in the circle for some people watching.
I took a short cut through the park and almost stumbled across a person wearing a long, black dress with sparkly decorations and a nice pair of strappy black spikes.

]]> The person turned around.
"Hi," he said.
I certainly said hi back since a friendly face can be rare in the city.
He was a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair and a stubbly growth of beard.
After I walked past him, it sunk in that I had been exchanging pleasantries with a man wearing a snazzy black dress, sexy heels and no makeup, wig -- nothing like that.
So I turned around to take a second look.
Among other things, Dupont Circle is known as an enclave for the gay and transgender community. Some sort of protest was going on around the fountain, complete with skilled drum playing, rainbow signs and constant announcements that I couldn't quite make out.
I think I got the picture though.
The guy in high heels swayed over to talk to another guy, and I felt a small pang of jealousy.
He could walk better in spikes than I ever could.
I looked down at my flat, ballet-style shoes, sighed and trudged off.

Immigration: It's Alive

2007-06-26T22:39:46Z

The immigration reform bill came back to life officially at 12:16 p.m. today.
Senators voted 64-35 to proceed with considering the bill.
Sen. Edward Kennedy, D-Mass., trumpeted success.
"I’ve been in Congress for more than 40 years and immigration reforms are always controversial," Kennedy said in a media release. "But Congress is expected to muster the political will to get it done. And today, I’m proud to say that we did. Today’s vote is a major step forward for Congress, and for the country. "

]]> Kennedy is one of the bill's main architects.
One of the bill's main opponents, Sen. John Cornyn, R-Texas, seemed to be prepping for a fight this afternoon.
Both he and his senior counterpart, Sen. Kay Bailey Hutchison, R-Texas, voted against moving forward with the bill.
"We're going to offer some amendments and see what happens," Cornyn said.
What amendments?
"Well, there's 24 on the list that the grand bargainers have apparently agreed upon," he said. "It's 361 pages long, and no one has read it yet. So I think that's where we ought to start. We need to read it to understand what's in it."
He hopes amendments will improve the bill.
As is, the "flawed" bill has "serious loopholes," that "strike at the heart of America’s national security," he said in a media statement.
Hutchison will offer an amendment right off the bat that would be an improvement, Cornyn said.
Her “return home” amendment is co-sponsored by Tennessee Republicans Sen. Bob Corker and Sen. Lamar Alexander, she said in a media release. It would require adult illegal immigrants to go back to their country within two years of receiving a secure identification, also known as a temporary “Z” visa.
Will Hutchison's amendment be enough to win his vote?
"There's other concerns I have besides that," he said.
A vote on cutting off debate to go ahead and vote on the bill itself is expected Thursday.

Jefferson Awards laud hard-working volunteers

2007-06-19T17:39:15Z

Petrolia resident Jena Fleming will be among the 81 "unsung heros" honored tonight in big ol' Washington, D.C., for their volunteer efforts.
How's this small-town girl and her husband Marty handling the big city?
Check Wednesday's Times Record News in print or online to find out.

]]> Fleming is the local winner of the Jefferson Award, an honor for volunteerism and public service.
She has volunteered more than 14 years in Petrolia schools, raising money for band trips and scholarships, serving on the Parent Teacher Organization and generally gettin' 'er done.
She and husband Marty will go to a fancy fala dinner at the East Hall in Union Station.
They'll have the chance to rub elbows with luminaries such as Chicago Mayor Richard Daley, Katheleen Kennedy Townsend -- daughter of Robert and Ethel Kennedy, and "Guiding Light" stars Michelle Ray Smith (aka Ava Peralta) and Elizabeth Keifer (aka C. Blake Thorpe Marler).

Salsa Verde: El Conejo

2007-06-15T17:41:22Z

Salsa superman Mike gave me a quick lesson early in the evening at La Tabaq.
What did I learn?
I stink up the place when it comes to salsa, but Mike's a good teacher.

]]> "Don't hop!" he said sternly. "Your upper body should not move."
I wasn't sure what was moving, but I knew my feet weren't moving like they should be.
He showed me how to do some hip arm movements and patiently worked with me for one song.
It wouldn't be long until I met a rabbit that far out-hopped me.

Salsa Verde

2007-06-12T19:21:40Z

It seemed like a good idea. Go learn to salsa dance.
How easy could it be?
Well, it could be real hard and real embarrassing, especially on D.C.'s salsa dance scene.

]]> My first excursion was an eye-opening experience.
I was to hoof it with co-worker "W" and a few of her guy friends who were salsa types.
It was the opening night for La Tabaq, a tapas-leaning restaurant on U Street.
But for a small fee, I could gain entrance with W as part of the DC Salsa Meetup Group. See http://salsa.meetup.com/162/
Over dinner at another restaurant with a more reasonably-priced menu, her friend Mike explained that he was well-schooled in salsa and had danced professionally.
Over on the dance floor, I got a good idea of just what that meant.
Mike morphed from a nice-looking, nice-seeming guy to salsa superman right before my eyes.
I watched him and W twist, turn, do some fancy footwork and generally show off successfully.
Ay caramba!
My turn couldn't come slow enough.

Goodbye, Jack

2007-05-02T23:21:55Z

Winter was like a wound that wouldn't heal in D.C.
Just when you thought it was over, a blanket of snow fell on the city.

]]> I saw more snow this winter than just about any other time in my life, and I got tired of it real quick.
You see, when it snows in D.C., people just keep going. In Wichita Falls, white stuff with even a hint of ice means shuttin' 'er down, barricading yourself inside with a supply of stick-to-your ribs food and cowering on the couch with the remote.
In D.C., snow means leaving earlier to get to work, wrapping up in a scarf, hat, gloves, long coat, long underwear, a shirt, another shirt and pants. Next comes the trudge to the bus stop at the corner of M and 27th where the wind howls extra special long and loud.
The walk home -- in the dark, of course -- brings chills and the sight of a city encrusted with snow growing dirtier with each passing car.
But sometimes, the D.C. winter means the magical sight of a blanket of white thrown over everything, making the buildings and street look clean and frosting the monuments.
Then, finally, it's goodbye, Jack Frost.
Spring in D.C., that's a different animal altogether.
I've never seen so many flowers. Crazy blooms of fuschia, light pink and red cling to trees and bushes.
A storm of petals drifts down to line sidewalks and driveways like pink snow. Scarlet tulips salute the sun, a splash of lemon yellow in their centers. Impatiens flow along flowerbeds, and green spills over everywhere.
Couples lounge on blankets around the Dupont Circle fountain, a 12-piece jazz band fills the gentle air with music, and D.C. comes alive.
It's not the same as seeing the bluebonnets, paint brushes and other wildflowers lining the roads in Jack County or just outside of Wichita Falls.
But it'll do for now .

Wake Up, Little Suzy

2007-03-01T18:35:55Z

The reporter by me yesterday settled down in his chair, almost wedged into the corner of the crowded conference room where the brand new House Subcommittee on Horticulture and Organic Agriculture was having its debut hearing.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw the reporter's chin drop to his chest. Soon, he was softly snoring.

]]> Make no mistake. I'm not picking on the guy. The room was crowded, and the reporters' table was situated sideways to the action.
The action was subcommittee members grilling Chuck Conners, USDA deputy secretary. It was hard to hear. We were elbow to elbow at the table, and it was 10 a.m., maybe not enough time for the caffeine to have set in.
I almost didn't get into the hearing, and my arrival caused my table mates no small inconvenience. The guy next to me shifted into the very corner seat, perhaps putting the action even further out of his line of vision and hearing.
During the proceedings, his head dropped intermittently, and the soft snores began. Then he would wake up as if never asleep, ask me to pass a note or what the name of a subcommittee member was.
I admired his flexibility, but I couldn't help but wonder, was he from the Washington Post?
The Associated Press? The Dallas Morning News?
There was no way to tell without being obvious, and the atmosphere wasn't conducive to talking among ourselves.
Curiousity burning, I left the hearing room, vowing to attend the subcommittee's next meeting in hopes of finding out who Little Suzy is.
And, no, I didn't sleep a wink in there.

Is "Ghost Rider" really Texan?

2007-02-27T18:38:58Z

A scrubby pasture with a dusty rut of a path running through it. Bluebonnets poking out of the ground. And cattle lowing somewhere or other.
Ahhh, what a sight for sore, Texas-deprived eyes.
Wait a minute.
Those bluebonnets don't look like the right color.
And hold on.
What's that big ol' tree doing growing in a pasture? Shouldn't it be a twisted mesquite?
The tears in my eyes dried up as I began to wonder, just how genuinely Texan is the movie "Ghost Rider," y'all?

]]> The flick made some pretty darn good stabs at it.
For one thing, the accents of the Texan characters weren't too bad. Nicolas Cage got it right most of the time as Johnny Blaze, except when he seeped into hokiness, telling Eva Mendez's character, Roxanne, something like "run along home now."
First of all, people in Texas -- in the 42 years I was there -- don't say stuff like that much.
Second of all, men in Texas know better than to give their woman marching orders. They don't like sleeping on couches or eating TV dinners eight days a week.
And those bluebonnets were too light blue. The bluebonnet is so dark as to be almost purple. Maybe them flars weren't supposed to be bluebonnets but another bluebonnet-like blossom.
That big tree growing up out of a hill (a hill!) on the prarie where Roxanne and Johnny pitch woo and plan their futures didn't seem right either.
However, I must take into account that I'm from the part of Texas where hills are a rarity and big trees were planted by somebody. To be true to my part of the world, the tree would be a mesquite, and the hill wouldn't be a hill.
It was a bar scene that cemented the authenticity of the movie's Texasicity.
The wooden shack-like structure rises up out of the night and is surrounded by wicked-looking motorcycles. Inside the bar, it looks like neither broom, mop nor Pledge have had free reign.
Rickety tables and sufficiently scruffy characters populate the place.
The drinking establishment quickly brought to mind two such enterprises back in Wichita Falls, the old Bar-L and the P-2 -- a.k.a. the Duece.
I could just about taste a red draw.
That, my friends, is pure Texas.
Every director with a movie supposedly set in Texas needs to drink a red draw at a beat-up table outside in Wichita Falls, surrounded by motorcycle riders, cowboys, suit-and-tie renegades and other lovers of that Lone Star beverage, the red draw.
Run along now, and get you a sip.

Above, Below, a Northern thing?

2007-02-27T18:22:59Z

Wind slapped and grabbed at my too-short coat as I stood there, considering the question a stranger on Q Street had just posed.

]]> "Is P Street above or below this street?" the young man said.
My first impulse was to say, neither. The sky is above, and the ground is below. In between is a lot of cold wind.
I realized that answer probably wouldn't be welcome. So I shifted my entire view of the universe from North Texas to Georgetown in D.C. to try to understand what he meant. I usually get along in D.C. the same way I did in North Texas, which is to ask directions from the first person I saw.
So I probably had a lot in common with my questioner, but I hadn't heard this above and below stuff before.
I realized we were actually standing on a hill, so maybe that had something to do with his alternate view of the universe.
"P Street is right down there," I said, pointing while I tacked a southernism into the sentence --"right."
"OK, thanks," he said.
He then walked "below" Q Street to P Street, about one-fourth of a block away.
I, too, walked down the hill, trudging "below" Q Street to a side entrance to my apartment building.
I had my own question: Was this "above" and "below" view of the world a northern thing?

"Perfume" or Something Stinks

2007-02-07T20:35:13Z

The movie was ruined for me before I even sat down to watch it, but I didn't know it.

]]> "Perfume: The Story of a Murderer" looked pretty juicy in the previews. It seemed like it would be worth going to just because Dustin Hoffman was in it with his suitably big nose.
Plus, I'd just finished reading the book of the same name by Patrick Suskind. The novel was enthralling, repellant and fascinating at the same time.
"Perfume" the book was translated from the German, so I'm not sure if it was Suskind's intention, but the style was old-fashioned without being unreadable.
In other words, it wasn't like grabbing good ol' Dickens and then realizing that you were going to have to invest some time and serious brainpower to follow the story. Well, worth it, of course.
Instead, the style of "Perfume" was part of the ambiance that sweeps the reader along.
The anti-hero is a wierd character who at first evokes pity and then fear.
His sniffer is an ubernose, and what he lacks in basic human skills, he has in aroma savvy.
But it's that lack of basic skills -- or basic humanity, really -- that ends up defining Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, the French dude with the amazing schnoz.
The story is set in all the filth and insanity of 18th Century France, giving readers a quick lesson in the ickiness and lack of sanitary conditions in that period.
It seems perfume was one of the things that made life bearable in all that stink.
Having devoured the book over a weekend, I set out the next weekend to go to the discount show at the E Street Cinema in D.C.'s Chinatown.
What a waste.
The movie pretty slavishly followed the book, leaving out a lot, of course.
That turned the experience into a stinkin' bore.
So what's the lesson learned from this and from the aforementioned "The Painted Veil" experience?
Go see the movie, and then read the book.
The book will always be more detailed, for one thing, and you'll have the experience of getting inside an author's head. For another, the movie might be radically different as in "The Painted Veil."
If so, then you've hit gold.