Celipalooza
Well then! My second blog has come a little too long after my first. That was not at all my intent, however a combination of familial obligations, a packed work schedule and a few nights of my world famous killer headaches conspired to keep me from writing. Alas, here I am! Back and ready to type my little heart out.
I returned this morning from a trip to see my friend Celina in Northern California; said friend has sold the home she purchased in the small city of Woodland years ago and now has plans to travel the world for an undetermined amount of time (in her words, "until the money runs out"). Given the uncertainty of when many of us will see her next, a motley crew of Celi's friends was assembled for a grand farewell. We travelled from all over to partake in "Celipalooza," a weekend of debauchery and good natured frivolity in not only Woodland but Davis as well. UC Davis being the alma mater of a few folks in this circle of friends, it was a trip down memory lane for some, and a chance to make memories for the rest. Oh, and the theme for the weekend: the 90s. We were a big heaping pile of neon hats, printed pants, pagers, troll dolls, backwards dressing, flannel and light-up kicks with some Motown Philly on the side. Picture THAT walking up and down the streets of Davis. Need a visual? Keep reading, I shan't disappoint.
Now, this motley crew I speak of... I'm not entirely sure that there are words to describe the dynamic and overall energy that this group embodies. We are a melting pot of personalities that run the gamut but share a certain je ne sais quoi. I suppose you could call it a lust for life, a carpe-diem, balls-to-the-wall, we-don't-need-no-water-let-the-mutha-f*cka-burn type of quality. As soon as I get an invite, I instinctively wonder when I last had a tetanus shot then hurry to amass several bottles of water, some penicillin and an alibi. You just never know!
Par example: dinner turning into several very competitive rounds of flip cup...a guy lighting votive candles on Celi's patio preparing to do a tarot card reading... back and forth trips to the same bar twice in one night... Wicky Wacky Woos and an entire box of glow stick bracelets... a 1am photo-shoot in a red phone booth and then with a mosaic parakeet... three people-sized dents in an innocent by-standing bush... someone sipping ranch from pizza slice via straw... a Swiss watch seemingly lost but found in a more distant bush... a guy hanging from the attic then becoming a human lampshade... bowling in 90s couture on the UC Davis campus... narrowly avoiding the Death Star... rocking mock piercings all over our faces... choking down a disgusting concoction known as a Four Loko... staircase photoshoots... setting out to fly a kite... posting aforementioned kite for sale online when the wind let us down... bare chests and clavicles (awwww snap!) blackouts of a non-alcoholic nature and a heartwarming camaraderie as a result... bringing My So Called Life and Baywatch to a local dive bar...learning we are indeed not the only fans of 90s music... ghetto chick fights and Harlem shakes... playing with Hot Wheels at 2am... angry drill sergeant yoga with the garden snake and lazy baby poses... reviewing all the photos and hilarious videos, and farewells with a promise to reunite soon... in short: love, laughter, life.
I'm sure it goes without saying that I had many a reason to smile (and shake my head, and wince at my bruises) when I boarded the plane back to my beloved 619, so I got out the ol' iPad mid-flight and decided to record all I could remember of this weekend. As I started writing what I thought would be just a comedic walk down short-term-memory lane, I found myself becoming a tad introspective. I got to thinking how I've only known most of Team 90s for two or three years at the very most; several I've known but a year and others for months or even just these 72 hours. Each is a friend of a friend, and through that friend we each became friends. None of it feels new or awkward, its like its been there all along. Together we embark on these crazy, ridiculous adventures that to most onlookers are probably annoying as all hell. We're in your face and in your ear (and bushes) whether you like it or not, and the beauty of it all (at least from where I'm standing) is that I find myself caring less and less about what people think in the process. Yes, we're annoying, we're obnoxious, we're loud, we're shameless, but we're living. We're making the most of the time we've been given and demand to make it as remarkable and (mostly) unforgettable as possible. The real world will always be waiting with bills, politics, headaches, and disconcerting news headlines. So gather your friends, tell those friends to bring their friends; travel the world, toss back a Wicky and celebrate. Take pictures, be spontaneous; revel in your own personal version of escapism, and live.
I returned this morning from a trip to see my friend Celina in Northern California; said friend has sold the home she purchased in the small city of Woodland years ago and now has plans to travel the world for an undetermined amount of time (in her words, "until the money runs out"). Given the uncertainty of when many of us will see her next, a motley crew of Celi's friends was assembled for a grand farewell. We travelled from all over to partake in "Celipalooza," a weekend of debauchery and good natured frivolity in not only Woodland but Davis as well. UC Davis being the alma mater of a few folks in this circle of friends, it was a trip down memory lane for some, and a chance to make memories for the rest. Oh, and the theme for the weekend: the 90s. We were a big heaping pile of neon hats, printed pants, pagers, troll dolls, backwards dressing, flannel and light-up kicks with some Motown Philly on the side. Picture THAT walking up and down the streets of Davis. Need a visual? Keep reading, I shan't disappoint.
Now, this motley crew I speak of... I'm not entirely sure that there are words to describe the dynamic and overall energy that this group embodies. We are a melting pot of personalities that run the gamut but share a certain je ne sais quoi. I suppose you could call it a lust for life, a carpe-diem, balls-to-the-wall, we-don't-need-no-water-let-the-mutha-f*cka-burn type of quality. As soon as I get an invite, I instinctively wonder when I last had a tetanus shot then hurry to amass several bottles of water, some penicillin and an alibi. You just never know!
Par example: dinner turning into several very competitive rounds of flip cup...a guy lighting votive candles on Celi's patio preparing to do a tarot card reading... back and forth trips to the same bar twice in one night... Wicky Wacky Woos and an entire box of glow stick bracelets... a 1am photo-shoot in a red phone booth and then with a mosaic parakeet... three people-sized dents in an innocent by-standing bush... someone sipping ranch from pizza slice via straw... a Swiss watch seemingly lost but found in a more distant bush... a guy hanging from the attic then becoming a human lampshade... bowling in 90s couture on the UC Davis campus... narrowly avoiding the Death Star... rocking mock piercings all over our faces... choking down a disgusting concoction known as a Four Loko... staircase photoshoots... setting out to fly a kite... posting aforementioned kite for sale online when the wind let us down... bare chests and clavicles (awwww snap!) blackouts of a non-alcoholic nature and a heartwarming camaraderie as a result... bringing My So Called Life and Baywatch to a local dive bar...learning we are indeed not the only fans of 90s music... ghetto chick fights and Harlem shakes... playing with Hot Wheels at 2am... angry drill sergeant yoga with the garden snake and lazy baby poses... reviewing all the photos and hilarious videos, and farewells with a promise to reunite soon... in short: love, laughter, life.
I'm sure it goes without saying that I had many a reason to smile (and shake my head, and wince at my bruises) when I boarded the plane back to my beloved 619, so I got out the ol' iPad mid-flight and decided to record all I could remember of this weekend. As I started writing what I thought would be just a comedic walk down short-term-memory lane, I found myself becoming a tad introspective. I got to thinking how I've only known most of Team 90s for two or three years at the very most; several I've known but a year and others for months or even just these 72 hours. Each is a friend of a friend, and through that friend we each became friends. None of it feels new or awkward, its like its been there all along. Together we embark on these crazy, ridiculous adventures that to most onlookers are probably annoying as all hell. We're in your face and in your ear (and bushes) whether you like it or not, and the beauty of it all (at least from where I'm standing) is that I find myself caring less and less about what people think in the process. Yes, we're annoying, we're obnoxious, we're loud, we're shameless, but we're living. We're making the most of the time we've been given and demand to make it as remarkable and (mostly) unforgettable as possible. The real world will always be waiting with bills, politics, headaches, and disconcerting news headlines. So gather your friends, tell those friends to bring their friends; travel the world, toss back a Wicky and celebrate. Take pictures, be spontaneous; revel in your own personal version of escapism, and live.