I'm standing in line with my groceries. I decide I can't wait to eat my Starbursts and open the bag. Inside are mini packs. I rip one open: two candies, each individually wrapped. I now have a handful of trash, and the lady behind me (who's a close stander) keeps leaning in, with her breath hitting my arm, to see what I'm doing.  Ugh! I instantly wish I had on a sweater so I wouldn't feel her warm air on me, and I think: Are we so afraid as people that we need to wrap ourselves up like the overdone candy packaging? Unless you're married, in a relationship (I'm not talking about sex) or have kids, you probably don't have regular physical contact with anyone.  I have this one guy-friend (artist/musician/poet/could be a model) who I always look forward to seeing. He gives great hugs, platonic hugs, comfort sharing hugs, feels so good hugs.  It's the best. Almost like dancing. I dare you to hug, dance with, nudge, bump knees at the movies or (heaven forbid) tickle someone else. Make sure it's someone you know, and don't be creepy. This is in the name of necessary fun physical contact. Ready, set, touch.

Wednesday, Dec. 1

Hell's Kitchen's WHITE TRASH NIGHT with INDIE ROCKER BOY. I had the supreme pleasure of chatting up JONNY SKOLLFUK before the show.  Both he and his drummer assured me that they were going to "play great stuff and then some Christmas stuff, but our way and then some more kick-ass stuff." Naturally, I'm thrilled at this carefully thought out Christmas show delivering screaming guitar fashion and gnarly teeth gnashing. "SILENT NIGHT" was SEX PISTOLS, "SANTA CLAUS IS COMING TO TOWN" became SEPULTRA. Then, oddly, we received a 75-second speed metal version of Duran Duran's "Hungry Like The Wolf" as requested by DAVE FROM WHO CARES. Indie and I flared our devil horns, bumped into each other and others and practiced our rocker stance, proper head banging and the cool way to yell out "woo-hoo" after particularly killer songs.

Thursday, Dec. 2

REGAN LANE'S last singer-songwriter night at THE SWISS was a mellow, laid-back night. JAIME WYATT and guitarist KYONG KIM (Post Stardom Depression) performed a beautiful set. My ears wanted more.  SMOOTH voted JEREMY HOOG as the loudest, most passionate acoustic singer-songwriter in history. Smooth and I became immediately inspired by ACID JAZZ/HOUSE MUSIC on C89.5 FM and set out to find more.  Inspiration fizzles with realization: not one stinky place in all of Tacoma and surrounding areas plays acid jazz. We vote Jazzbones' balcony as the place best suited to have it. (Hint, hint)

Friday, Dec. 3

Let me preface by saying, what we did this night should never be attempted alone. Warning finished, let me tell you about Smooth and my EAST PACIFIC AVENUE TOUR de FORCE.  Holy crap, lots of people with bad teeth.

We started off nice enough, yum-yums at GARI OF SUSHI. I knocked over my saki onto the menu, and Smooth poured it back in. (Waste not; want not.) Straight down Pacific Avenue to COWGIRL UP, which is not a total country joint, so don't let the name fool you. It's crammed with peeps who formerly drove to Drake's and Taboo. Now they just stay put in their neck o' the woods (pun intended). We didn't make it through the whole three minutes of the "Electric Slide" before hitting the door. LADY LUCK was bumping to        BROKEN TRAIL, playing country favorites. Folks danced and danced, including HAPPY LONG-HAIRED GUY WITH A BLOW-UP DOLL. I will admit I'm totally infatuated with country dancing, intricate steps and all. Maybe the twirling got me. A long, white-bearded man sauntered in and sat next to us at the bar (he looked like what Santa would look like in regular clothes). Turns out former fireman Ron moonlighted as a line-dancing instructor. SANTA MAN RON taught me the two-step basics till my cheeks hurt from grinning and his feet hurt from my missteps. After quick stops at the SILVER DOLLAR PUB (TIM HALL rocked the nasty dancers), BULLSEYE LOUNGE (no dude, Smooth didn't steal that purse), GLORIA'S (dancing on the bar top at 1 a.m.) and lastly THE FLYING BOOT (damn you for turning off the karaoke machine before 1:30 a.m.), I'd honestly say we had our fill of what East Pierce County offers. I am bummed though; we never got to belt out "Love Shack."