We're All Channeling the Phantom, We Just Don't Know it Yet

Ate the first wild strawberries of the season on a hike this morning with my beloved husband. Enjoyed our small son's first very cinéma vérité "film short" about cops and robbers, called, "Timothy Jepson and the Chase". Looking forward to channeling some family members who have passed on for my clients today. It's a week of readings, mind-body-spirit herbal consultations, a photoshoot with Cape Cod musician Denya LeVine, writing about the sacred feminine, and I'm topping it off with Pandora's Jukebox streaming online at womr.org this Sunday night from 9 to midnight. Another night of smokin' hot vinyl.

I'm a very happy woman. I enjoyed dancing at the closing party for the Provincetown International Film Festival. Happily, unknown forces of the universe and my subsequent pushiness allowed me to take a more active role in the evening, than as planned. Although, being an assistant is pretty dignified, more so with a French accent. Sadly, the background noise made it impossible for me to be an effective co-host. There was in fact a full second delay, between what was said in the mic and what was heard on the sound system. Couldn't hear what DJ Matty Dread was saying two feet away from me, let alone hear what I was saying. I found no sweet spot on the mic, and there was too much distortion. Makes me appreciate the sound clarity at The Station even more. Reverb is disorienting, but the delay is worse. I have dealt with bad reverb before in what I found to be more painful situations. Sound wise, this is what the ghosts of the Titanic must have felt like, when they discovered their instruments were harder to play underwater, and from a disembodied vantage point.

PIFF is such a wonderful festival, because it underscores documentaries, non-commercial enterprises, the work of female directors, and honors the spectrum of sexuality. Cape Cod has impressed me so much with its salt-of-the-earth attitude. There were also many gorgeous women and men there. Which was nice! Moving from Los Angeles, I've found it absolutely refreshing and emotionally cathartic on the deepest of levels. Should have been more schmoozey with all of the lovely folks kind folks, but in a way I'm a music geek who just loves to dance. Didn't even think to get one photo of me there. Perhaps, my extrasensory perception has its handicaps, because to me it seemed like everyone and their (dead) mother and spirit guide were there. Let's face it, gay spirit guides are even chattier. And, perhaps more significantly, I gotta dance! Another thing I can blame my father for. [Side note: (He left his PHD-in-Philosophy track at Oxford shortly after receiving his MS, even though his professors were EXCITED, ENTHUSIASTIC about him taking residence as professor there. Why, you ask? So he could pursue an education in ballet, of course! Gotta Dance! I could blame his first encounter with those crazy marijuana cigarettes, but I blame Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire. Please, someone teach me to tap dance, because most of the time I feel like a tap-dancing fool anyway.]