cheek to cheek

Last week we went to a small blues show at the local public library (please don't judge me for the overt nerdiness of that statement). It was an odd place for a concert. I'm a girl bound by rules, so it was hard for me to adjust to being noisy without fearing the librarian hush, finger to mouth, eyes scowling at me.

The crowd didn't seem to struggle with any of the same challenges. The demographics trended a bit older and funkier than me. We could have easily been mistaken for a convention of awful winter hats and ill-fitting jeans. But they all bopped and swayed to the music, unaware and without precept.

I noticed an awkward pre-teen girl on the other side of the room, her long legs stretching beyond her jeans, trying desperately to fit in her father's lap. Her head nestled against his shoulder while her gangly limbs failed to find a suitable landing. Two much smaller girls, maybe three years old danced at the back of the room with their dad, twirling, screeching, arms flailing. If the music paused, they stopped immediately in their tracks, confused and dismayed.

Suddenly I remember dancing with my dad, cheek-to-cheek in the living room to old blues and country western songs. We could cover any mistake in our steps with a spin to the other side of the room.

In the moment, it is so hard to notice how or when we evolve from these tiny girls, flitting around, to awkward, nervous things, to reserved appropriate adults and back to carefree, ugly hat-wearing fools.

planning

It has been a few days since I last posted, more than I feel comfortable with. I am, at all times, a planner and a perfectionist. This doesn't mean that I'm successful with all of my endeavors, and while we're being honest, my definition of success is pretty far-fetched. I do however, love to makes lists with occasional sketched renderings and attached magazine articles. This is all to say that I have lofty hopes for this blog and for myself.

I had originally planned, for a long time and in a very methodical manner, to make this blog mainly non-personal, information-based, dry and to the point. I quickly got bored; and if I'm bored, then you're probably bored. So, very early in the game, I'm going to glibly change the rules and not think twice about it.

zazucity will still be about Atlanta, about this city's struggles to find itself beneath miles of overly-widened streets, poorly-planned strip malls and the scattered, beautiful neighborhood and village oases. I am particularly interested in how urbanism and sustainability affects my life in a very detailed way, right down to the food I eat. So zazucity will explore the balance of growth in my city and my attempts at maintaining my own balance.

In the next couple of weeks, I'll try some different kinds of posts and I am foolishly welcoming any feedback you have to offer. You can leave comments on this site or reach me at zazucity[at]gmail[dot]com.

to begin

I want to begin with my general thoughts about communities, cities, my city and my intentions with this blog. This is the part where I woo the Internet masses with daises and lemonade on the front porch. A few weekends ago, we left the comfort of our in town Atlanta neighborhood, with myriad options for coffee, drinks and gourmet pet treats within walking distance, for the unruly and unpredictable hills of Tennessee. We packed up our low-emission, compact city car with camping gear to visit my sister at the intentional community where she lives. The community is generally billed as a haven for transgender or queer artists. This was a special weekend, the group was hosting an annual music festival. After traversing winding country roads with no signs and rocky, dry creek beds, we were welcomed with the unusual performance of "Oklohomo: How Musical Theatre Ruined My Gay Life." Men dressed as women, women dressed as men dressed as women and generally bizarre costumes. The protagonist told a woeful story of being ostracized from the gay musical theatre crowd and searching for a home and respite from the cold, harsh world. The outcast found a wandering group of queer and bedraggled minstrels. Cuddled around queer campfires, singing jubilant songs, newly founded friendships were formed and all was good. In our search to define ourselves, we pull from our experiences with comrades, friends and family to create our unique, complexly wonderful voice. This is how I see Atlanta, as a city with a deep, rich history, incredible diversity and potential to become a new kind of city in the south. With zazucity, I'll explore the facets of Atlanta's spurts and fits of urban growth as well as the moments of clarity and beauty and hopefully find my voice in the process.