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November, 2012:

Finally. A Reason to Party in Sacramento

As I was accidentally flushing my $100 Fitbit down the toilet, I thought - gee, Sacramento and I share something in common: we can’t have nice things.

Yes, I’ve been bitching and moaning about Sacramento for a long time. And pretty much doing nothing about it. Apparently, I expect “them” to do something about it. And I’m enabled by the fact that sometimes, someone does.

Remember when I bemoaned our sports arena gracing the name of a fraudulent magic bracelet maker? The world mocked us. This company did not pay their bills for such a privilege, yet still enjoyed the free advertising because the arena owners allegedly couldn’t afford to take the sign down. And TV and radio people were still calling it Power Balance Pavillion - GAHHH!! Australians called it “Placebo Pavillion” and “Snake Oil Arena”. Finally, blessedly, another company came along and saved us from ourselves. Thank you, Sleep Train!

And remember that time I came back from New York singing the praises of food trucks and how cool they were and why doesn’t Sacramento have them? Since then, a movement began (even though city ordinances continue to virtually outlaw them) and now we’ve got food trucks growing on trees.

I even whined about how Sacramento didn’t have a blogging community and it eventually occurred to me and another blogger to start it ourselves and now we have Sacramento Bloggers.

So you see, sit on your ass and complain about something long enough and somebody else fixes it. Well, except for the Sacramento Bloggers. I did help fix that.

I’ve been to some faboo big parties in my day, none of which occurred in Sacramento. Until this past weekend.

Which means that somebody has done something about that, too. And it wasn’t me. Because my job is primarily kvetching. I’m a kvetcher.

Enter, Reason To Party, an organization that throws “parties with a purpose”. I was invited to cover this recent gala event at the Elks Tower to benefit the Verge Center for the Arts.

So, what was so great about this party? Well, if you’d sit still for one lousy minute, I’ll tell you: It was the closest thing to a “cool city” party, I’ve ever seen here in this red-headed stepchild of a city.

dance core collective, sacramento, reason to partyWhen you entered the lobby to check-in, members of Core Dance Collective were strewn about, moving around, silently dancing, posing. Like animated decorations. I felt like I wasn’t supposed to talk to them. And they were everywhere: in the lobby, on the stairs, in the ballroom, adding color and raising the coolness factor.

A VIP ticket gave you access to a champagne reception on the 14th floor in the ironically-named Rail Bridge Cellars Penthouse Lounge and Wine Tasting Room. And more dancers. I think there were like, 147 of them.

penthouse lounge, elks tower, railbridge wine, sacramento

The Penthouse Lounge

The Verge Center provided a couple installations for the party, one of which was interactive where you stood behind a glass wall with cutouts for your head and your images were projected onto a screen on another far wall in the ballroom.

Verge Center, Sacramento, Reason to Party

That’s Amy, of Limit Reached, on the left, who came with me to the gala event.

And there was this room with circles of straw or hay or something where masked women tiptoed in circles.

art installation, reason to party

And Wrings, a local band I’ve never heard before but totally enjoyed, performed for more than 400 guests.

wrings, reason to party, sacramento

That’s right, they sold 400 tickets. Who does that? To me, it’s a sign that they are definitely on to something.

dance core collective, sacramentoAs stated on their website, Reason to Party is a “movement to make philanthropy fun, cool and accessible”. They “design unique events to raise funds, inspire awareness of worthy causes, and cultivate future philanthropic leaders”.

That last part means helping to grow young philanthropists. And I’m pretty sure I was old enough to be nearly everyone’s mother. So many young people there, all dressed up and donating their dollars, supporting local culture…it’s enough to bring a tear to this cynic’s eye. That is, if I were a crying person. Which I’m not. But that’s another blog post.

Until recently, Sacramento partied like it was 1999. But now that young people don’t even get that reference, they might very well take over this city and make it chic, man.

elks tower ballroom, sacramentoThe Reason to Party staff are primarily young, native Sacramentans who seem to have a passion to change this town into something hip (trendy? phat? I don’t know, what are the kids saying these days? Groovy? Are they saying groovy?). And instead of blowing this popsicle stand, I may have to stick around now and watch it happen. (Link to Reason to Party Facebook Page).

 

dance core collective, reason to party, sacramento

I told you they were everywhere. I think I got one stuck on my sleeve and accidentally brought it home with me.

By the way, if you’re floating down the aquaduct in an innertube and you see a Fitbit engraved with “This belongs to Klutz McKluttzerstein”, could you grab it for me? There’s a reward.

 

 

Hostess’ Twinkie the Kid Proclaims: “I’m Not Dead Yet”

When Hostess Brands, makers of Twinkies, Ding Dongs and Ho-Hos, shut its doors on Friday after an unresolvable strike, Twinkie the Kid was discovered face down in an alley of dumpsters amidst rotten fish and day old bread.

Twinkie the Kid

Twinkie the Kid, before the shut down.

The Kid, formerly known as Harold Blumenspiegel, was accosted by the media and probed for his reaction to the day’s events and what he thought his future held.

“I’m not dead yet,” he slurred. “With a shelfph-life of forty-seven years, how could I poshblee be dead?” He then began to babble incoherently and passed out into a pile of stale Wonder Bread crusts.

“This is just a travesty,” said Gladys Blumenspegel, Twinkie the Kid’s mother when interviewed on the Baked Goods Network News program, “Afternoon Delights”.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do, said tear-sogged Mrs. Blumenspiegel. “Harold supported three wives, twenty-six children, and God knows how many great-grandchildren, those poor little cream puffs. It breaks my heart to know that people in the world will be Twinkie-starved.

But the Kid says differently. A disturbed, but slightly more coherent Kid held a press conference from the dumpster-ridden, pastry wrapper-laden alley where he was originally discovered today by reporters.

He sat in his own crumbs, cowboy hat askew, propped up against a rusty dumpster and delivered his own announcement to the world that the Twinkie wasn’t going anywhere.

“500 million Twinkies were sold last year, my friends,” said the Kid. “The American people will not tolerate an outright stoppage. This kind of clear demand for my delicious cakes will result in a bidding war among investors to purchase me and my cream-filled goodness.”

Not everyone agrees. Opportunists, like Fruit Pie the Magician and Chauncey Choco-dile, were seen lurking nearby in trench coats and selling Twinkie-related merchandise at extortionist prices touting them as “limited collectibles”.

“He’s a dead man,” said Fruit Pie, his eyes shifting about nervously as he patted his pockets. “And it’s about time, that cocky cowboy has had it easy for way too long. He was a one-trick pony. I came in eight different flavors. Where was the love for me all those years? Why are all the microphones getting shoved in HIS greasy face? Say, wanna buy a Twinkie watch? I can get you a good price. I got this baby for our 40th anniversary.”

After the Kid said he’d take questions during the press conference, one reporter asked him, “Do you have plans to bring your co-mascots with you where ever you go? Is this the demise of Ding Dongs and Ho Hos?”

“I don’t know about those guys,” the Kid said. “It’s a bread eat bread world out there. Every man for himself, you know what I mean?”

Neither King Ding Dong nor Happy Ho Ho could be reached for comment.

I Voted: A Polling Station Review

When was the last time you really hunkered down and dug into a juicy squirrel pot pie? You know, the ones you get at the Parks & Rec Snack Shop where they are really fresh. Like, baked that very morning, off-the-tree fresh? With that lightly toasted Kings Hawaiian bun and cranberry mayonnaise? Makes your mouth water just thinking about it, doesn’t it? Well, it makes SOMETHING water, that’s for sure.

vote signAnyway, that’s not why I called you here today. No, today I want to tell you how this last Tuesday was a first for me in that I’ve never voted on Election Day before. I mean, I’ve voted a time or two (literally), but never at an actual polling station.

That’s right, this apathetic voter has previously voted exclusively by mail or as the government pejoritavely puts it: “absentee”. As in, you weren’t actually THERE, so we will count your votes LAST so that you won’t feel like you are part of the process.

So this year with my barely-read Official Voter Information Guide in hand, I went to the polls.

Our polling station’s voter incentive program kicks ass. Sometimes, it’s a celebrity appearance, or a really cool toy, but this time they had pies for the first 100 people to show up. Or something like that.

polling place 100 feet

Man, I couldn’t wait to get in there and line up with my fellow Americans and exercise my rights. Standing shoulder to shoulder with my neighbors and poke a chad or two.

votin poll booths

So the check-in guy hands me my ballot in a manila folder marked “super top secret ballot holder” or whatever and I say, “Uh, I’ve never done this before.” And this guy looked at me like he didn’t know what it meant for a middle-aged English-speaking white woman to utter such words.

“In person, I mean.”

The young man just kept staring. I was waiting for him to hand me my chad poker, or give me more instructions, and I opened up the folder to see a chad-less ballot. GASP! Oh no! It was more like a Scan-Tron-like, fill-in-the-bubble thingie.

This was a disaster of terrifying proportions. Like a girl who dreams of her big wedding day with overblown romantic expectations, I had always imagined my first time to be special. I fully expected poking to be involved. Instead, my new mission was to stay inside the lines. I had not prepared for this.

However, I am not without mindful resources. Adapt or die, I always say. I bucked up and did what I always do when confronted with unfamiliar situations: ask a bunch of stupid questions.

“So what do I use to fill in the bubbles with?”, I asked.

The woman next to him waved a pen in the air, but wouldn’t give it to me.

“Uhhhh, do you have those in the stations?”

Seriously, I can’t believe how stupid I get sometimes. Of course they had them in the stations. Where else would they be? Jeez.

My already blown chadpoking dreams deteriorated even further when another woman directed me away from the polling booths to a desk.

A desk!

polling booth

And not just a desk, but a small corner of a desk because of some stupid machinery sitting on it.

Booo! Hissss!!!!

Now, when I am at a restaurant I have no problem asking for a booth when they start leading me to a table in the middle of the room with a centerpiece that takes up the whole table so you can’t actually eat off it. But I have this childhood-instilled fear of authority and so I sat down and pouted like a child facing the corner with her back to the class who’s in trouble for asking the teacher stupid questions.

And another thing! Where were my privacy curtains? Didn’t they use to have those, too? What’s this world coming to, for Pete’s sakes?

Then there was the woman in front of me in the ballot scanning line who voted for two people for President and was sent back to the principal’s office to be scolded and given another ballot. Ha Ha! What a dummy. Yet they let her have a booth. Life is so unfair sometimes.

I waited outside for my husband to emerge from the polling place and enjoyed the scenery of the park-like setting, or as I like to call it, “Duck Butt Pond”.

voting sticker duck butt

I slapped that sticker on with pride and drove around town to show it off before heading home because I never had a “I Voted” sticker before.

voting sticker marg

What, is it upside down? Did I put it on the wrong side? I put it on the wrong side didn’t I? Gawd, how embarrassing. I’m a newbie, get off my back. At least I voted.

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You can’t.

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After chilling for 39 hours in the fridge…

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