More bumps , bruises and bites

But I am still alive....

I am thinking of copying my best friend and fellow blogger's side bar widget by featuring a picture of me from each week. Of course, Brandi's is cute and features her in an adorable outfit. Mine will be a variation on that.... It will be called "My current condition." I will display proudly all the new scrapes, bumps, bruises, lesions, lacerations and whatever other notable injuries I come by.

I have not decided what the purpose of this is... to prove how tough I am , or to inspire myself to be more careful (yeah right) , graceful (doubtful), or just simply document my stupidity. Hope it entertains.

This past weekend, I had a fire hooping performance at The Voodoo Lounge in Galveston. The set up to the place was pretty unique. The entire lounge was covered in Balinese decor. It had a media room lined with silk curtains, beaded pillows
and lanterns. There was some silly fantasy movie on with people skipping around in renaissance peasant clothes. Across the hall from the media room was another lounge room where the focus, I assume, is intended to be on people immediately in the room with you, given no tv with movies, sports etc., coupled by the fact that all sitting places greatly resemble a bed. A little reminds me of this place.

Aside from the lounge and media room, The Voodoo Lounge has your typical bar set up in one segment; stools and high tables leading to dance floor, outdoor tiki deck and restaurant. Last Saturday was especially packed. Turns out the owner, used to own the legendary Balinese Room before Hurricane Ike swallowed it. If you haven't heard about the Balinese room, you should read about it here. It boasts a rich history of illegal gambling; attracting patrons like the rat pack and headliners such as Peggy Lee and Frank Sinatra. The Voodoo Lounge reminds me a lot of its ancestor; a winding, compartmentalized hideaway, with a different theme and tone to each room. Aside from the mosquitoes, the outside tiki deck is a fun atmosphere. Giant orange and red canvas-like material above carves shapes reminiscent of sails. Underneath these sails is where I performed my fire show. Despite being surrounded by about 15 citronella tiki torches, I received 60 or so mosquito bites. And, like all gigs I perform on the cement... I earned two new pretty bruises. One for each knee! Also, a small scrape on my elbow, which is more annoying than painful considering it affects EVERYTHING I do. Want to rest my elbow on my desk... burn, place my arm on the center console ... sting, decide to scratch the bites next to it... bleed.

On the positive side, it looks like I will have a regular slot at the lounge a couple times each month. As sad as it is... I may need further convincing to go and get a performance pad to spare my knees. Seems it does not matter whether I'm on the ground or off... I am kicking my own ass.

That's Miss Secret Agent to you

Photo above by Shawn Welling

Yay. A new week. Pardon my enthusiasm... I'm suffering from a benadryl hangover and general exhaustion. In desperate attempt at 11:30 last night to pop two benadryl and get some sleep, I failed... and suceeded only at making myself a zombie for today.

The holiday weekend was nice, but it has come to my attention that I. am. tired. I am just plain tired of going out, tired of throwing parties, tired of attending parties, tired of being social. I suppose the heat of summer has something to do with this, not to mention the endless stream of random activities I find myself doing everyday.

So what nonsense did I get into this weekend....

Got asked sort of spur of the moment on Saturday to shoot a scene in a film. I had to laugh a little when the director asked me to come play "a sexy bond girl/FBI agent," fearing I'd make and instant parody out of the whole thing. My task was to slide down a rope and light a cigar of a fellow FBI agent after beckons me near by screaming "AGENT FULLER!!!!" Of course, I have learned to expect the unexpected with these things, and the special rope I was to slide down was nowhere to be found. Rope I was supposed to slide down:





So the director pulls out this massive industrial firehose as an alternative. Depiction of actual prop:



Let me tell you; firehoses are not meant for climbing. It was next to impossible to get a grip on the thing, given its diameter, stiffness and abrasiveness. Trying to climb it, I could have nearly clocked the actor playing the other FBI agent in the head with the aluminum (or steel or whatever it was) nozzle. Somehow though, I did not, as I climbed up out of the shot, just in time to hear my character's name called to slide down the hose, light his cigar and slither by out of the scene. Thank god. I really did not want a speaking part, but the director suggested I say something provacative to the agent before darting away. Now, I did all of this in black booty shorts, thigh high black boots and a black vest. My thumbs and inner thighs are in tip top shape. Scraped absolutely all to hell. I suppose I'll spare you that photo.

Please file your concerns with me and not Agent Fuller formally. I accept chocolate, whiskey and massages gladly.

Rainy Days

We have been having a stint of rainy days lately.
So now I am romanticizing over rain.









Hope it disappears by the 4th though... I'd like to enjoy the day outside.

Epic Weekend

This was a wildly productive weekend for me. It was a whirlwind of fun, pain, heat, wind and law breaking.

Friday was karaoke with friends, Saturday I had a silks photoshoot downtown over the Bayou. We set out around 4:00pm, the most sweltering part of the day to rig my silk from a bridge. My photographer buddy, Rad Sinyak, had previously scoped out what he thought might be a perfect location. Upon arriving we were greeted by a couple vagrants. One chimed " Oh wow ! See ! See! I told them you were a model when you walked up. Hey, wut u gonna do wit dat thing?" To which I answered, "Well I plan to climb it." The bums proceeded to ask a few other random questions (rightly so, I was invading their home)... I think they were fascinated but looking at me as if I'm from another planet.

Travis (my roommate/rigger/ all around awesome friend) took the initiative to walk up the sloping facade to the old railroad tracks. I watched him walk through what was clearly living quarters. From behind me I hear a bum say, "That's cool, just walk through my bedroom." My head snaps around and I apologise... blushing. Honestly, at that point , I was unsure if the group really were bums. They appeared clean, their clothes were normal... one donned a button up short sleeve shirt, sneakers and Vietnam Veterans hat. The other guy was fishing with his little boy. I'm still unclear on whether or not the man and his boy were homeless.

Travis begins to check the rigging points, every one of which made us nervous scaling a particular piece of old railroad had not been maintained in decades. We had to ix nay our plans to use track number one. Luckily, track number two, still very much in working order was just a few dozen years past the first. However, our best rigging points looked to be on the other side of the Bayou, the best path being directly through the Bum/Vet's bedroom. I gestured to the path through his room and he nodded mentioning that he had cut a foot hole for easier climbing. I made my way up through makeshift tools and utensils, surprisingly crisp, clean articles of clothing and sticks holding them. The photographer remained on the cement bank, by the water, looking hesitantly up at the situation. I knew he had no level of interest in treading through a hobo's makeshift shanty under a railroad bridge. After a few seconds, he relented and walked up the slope. We crossed the old track to the other side and found our way to a glorious, sturdy, new perfectly positioned railroad bridge. Victory! While the photographer, sets up the shot down below, I argue with Travis about the height and positioning whining, "There's just no way it's long enough!" He continues to work ,drops it down and proves to me that it is.

These images by photographer extraordinaire , Rad Sinyak.





The entire shoot, I wasn't much thinking of the alligators down below,the cement or more specifically, falling. I was waiting to hear the telltale signs of an approaching train or perhaps sirens. None of those misfortunes occurred and we finished up feeling pretty accomplished. I was dehydrated and exhausted so decided to take the first path up through the brush to the street that I saw. BIG MISTAKE. In a matter of 4 seconds I was covered head to toe in hundreds of the smallest prickliest sticker burns you can conceive. Smooth. Would have made a great picture. Wish I had snapped one of that. UPDATE **** Rad did take a picture after all! Here is that little gem...

I whine and laugh all the way to the car and stand behind a blanket Travis held stripping down completely to change under the interstate bridge downtown. Those bur covered tights and leotard are still sitting on my bedroom floor... Fishing out hundreds of tiny, painful burs has not yet seemed appealing.


After going back to the studio to shower and review a few pictures, Travis and I head over to my friend's warehouse just across the street. They were preparing for a party that evening held by the CCSD (Connoisseurs Club of Smoking and Drinking). Brilliant. They would be holding their annual lounge formal that evening. Looked like too much fun to pass up so we decided to attend. It had all the makings of a great party, boasting an open bar with liquor and cigars, great music , good lights and eclectic crowd . We stayed till 4, (stopped drinking at 1:30, chill out) and had an all around good time.





So did this chick.... she danced for 3 hours straight and hung out like this for a bit outside.


Sunday I had another amazing shoot with Shawn Welling. Just so happens he had a cord de lisse (circus rope) that I got to play with. We ventured out to the same location as Saturday, in hopes of rigging it up from the tracks. Alas, this time there was a train preventing our doing so. So we took a promenade under some interstate bridges and around the tail end of the train to scope out other locations. We found a tractor which proved to be a lot of fun and just as soon as we came to an alternate rigging location (plan B), the train started to move! Score.

So I rigged the cord up from the tracks and played around a bit. Dusk was coming so we relocated to a field positioned perfectly in front of an unobstructed downtown skyline view. I did some light fire spinning, mostly to get some photos, so no impressive tricks here but the video has an interestingly random story to it. (considering we really did not plan a thing) Just happened that Shawn had a rope from and old show, got lucky enough to take a walk and hop on a tractor, wasting just enough time for the train to leave just as we got to our desired rigging point. The video below documents this excursion of our daring endeavours downtown. :)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BJ7rOhWT7N4

Jim Henson may be dead...

But there is still a puppet master ruling behind the scenes.


All of this talk about “insulting the president/vice president and administration” got me to wondering. Has there been any precedent to a general undermining or speaking ill of the administration he serves? Either answer, yes or no, would be compelling. In my opinion, General McChrystal and his staff were right to question even criticize white house policies outlined in this controversial article. If a general feels his hands are tied to fight a war successfully, shouldn’t a patriot speak out? What’s this nonsense about “respecting the office?” It’s a good thing Nancy Pelosi, Hilary Clinton and Barack Obama “respected the office.”

If Pelosi can say things like :

"Bush is an incompetent leader. In fact, he's not a leader,'' Pelosi said. "He's a person who has no judgment, no experience and no knowledge of the subjects that he has to decide upon.''

Hilary Clinton can say:

"There has never been an administration, I don't believe, in our history more intent upon consolidating and abusing power to further their own agenda,"

And about Patraeus in 2007

"The reports that you provide to us really require the willing suspension of disbelief,"
She went on to criticize General Petraeus and Ambassador Ryan Crocker as "de facto spokesmen for a failed policy."

Barack Obama can say:

“Here’s what we know. The surge has not worked. And they said today, ‘Well, even in September, we’re going to need more time.’ So we’re going to kick this can all the way down to the next president, under the president’s plan.” 2007

Yet in 2010 decide to name the architect of the surge, General Patraeus to head up the War in Afghanistan saying:

“He has my full confidence and I am urging the Senate to confirm him for this new assignment as swiftly as possible.”

Funny… how things work out that way.
In case I haven’t made it apparent, I have no level of trust for politicians. Republican/ democrat/ libertarian. All habitually talk out of both sides of their mouths until it seems we are staring at a Capitol Hill and Whitehouse full villains transposed directly out of Batman.

Who’s to save Gotham city now, when the public is misled and political parties are an illusion?

5,6,7,8

Oh man…. I’m rusty. It’s been 5 whole years since I took a dance class… Sad coming from a dancer of 17 years. The last time I attempted attitude turns, pirouettes, etc. was when I lived in Dallas. I did a weekly lyrical jazz class at Texas Women’s University, which is by the way an amazing school for dance.
I can warm up with the best of em’. I’m not lacking in flexibility these days… I’m just not so used to the floor anymore. I recall always being a bit dizzy doing turns, but yesterday at the Houston Metropolitan Dance Company, I was brought to the brink of near certain vomit. Still, I think I made a valiant attempt to hold my own with the 17, 18 year olds in the class. The Met was just as I remembered it (I danced there as a kid).

The studio has this charming urban feel to it, ornamented by brick walls, high ceilings, chipping paint, and missing ceiling tiles with insulation falling out. The same dance posters still hang in the dressing and break rooms. This one being one of my favorites.



It has been more than ten years since I have been there. I wonder how many times I danced through the ghost of my former self. I am definitely out of practice and rusty, but it felt great to glide around on the floor again. With all the high flying I have been doing, I wanted to try my feet at sacheing at bit. Actual floor contact!
The instructor was kick ass. He had a cool choreographic style and impeccable taste in music. Back in the day(circa 1994-1999), every jazz class had to feature Janet Jackson in the warm-up and of course some Amber or some Paula. Seemed every class was required to play that housey techno crap and 90’s hip hop/ jazz featuring trumpets (for the record I loved it). So glad to see we have moved on from fog machines and rhinestones and big hair… Oh wait… yes… studs, French bobs, boobs emanating sparks (and fog) are much better!



Who remembers this tune?
Or this one

Jazz anthems of the 90’s.

See ya later...

This week a 10ft alligator was found on the feeder road (that’s frontage road for anyone outside of Houston) of the East Freeway. Poor gator was thirsty and desperate and figured he might find a baby pool, or a pool with a baby or maybe a standing water near a sewer… Anyhow, the gator’s search was fruitless and he ended up being snagged and euthanized by the game warden. Prior to his capture, he was surrounded by 6 or so squad cars against the curb and would not budge. All manners of photography, flashing lights, rubbernecking etcetera showered the gator before his eventual demise.
And here’s the kicker… the meat will be donated to the local homeless shelter. Wonder if they will make some gator jerky…. I WANT SOME GATOR JERKY!!!

As genius as I thought this conversion was… (donating the slain alligator meat to the homeless), apparently it’s quite common. When searching for the story on Google, I found that this is quite common practice in Florida.


Do they donate the skin to poor, needy young ladies who would like a new pair of boots or ottoman to rest said boots?