In the Garage I was bleary-eyed and faded. My eyes could barely stay unstuck, as I peered through chinky tight lids and focused on the monitor. My mind was left in ruins, brain spores having squeezed out seed-thoughts, having sacrificed precious cells in order to reproduce ideas...
Archiving the secrets of the animators, I was comfortable in my drug haze. No one bothered me-- they let me be, they let me exist, I stayed in my cocoon.
I knew Dolly peripherally, that is to say, she was Dave's girl and they were real close-- they even looked alike, down to the eyeglasses and nervous grins. Pure souls, the both of them together. Enough to make you want to find a perfect stranger on the street and force them to fall in love with you...
Dolly sat down next to me and talked my ear into oblivion, and where this all came from is anyone's guess. She always eyed me with hunger, and it unsettled me, because she was Dave's girl and they were real close-- so close that she wasted no time in telling me, quite frankly, that she and Dave had run off to tie the knot a month prior.
I paid attention, twisting my head to give congratulations, to not appear rude, but there was so much to inventory, so many files to commit to some type of categorical system...
And she kept on talking and talking, singing as it were, reaffirming her bond with her man who was out of town presently, all the while staring at me whenever I made eye contact, trying to get a reaction, trying to unnerve me somehow, and it really surprised me, because normally this type of assumption on my part would be seen as massive ego milking, but what can you do when you ask nothing and still receive the whole gist of her rambling in such a short amount of time?
It was important that she tell me that she and Dave were wed, and maybe because everyone else already knew and she hadn't told me yet, or maybe she wanted to tell me all along, and either way I couldn't care any less than I already do... no offense, but this was peripheral, and I never had an inkling before today that I would need to keep track of these details...
I smiled and nodded. We smoked hashish. Dream state. Giddiness, laughs with a virtual stranger. Dolly is cute but mousy, gorgeous eyes framed in oppressive underglass, frayed hair and crooked smile belying vivacious laughter... I can see why Dave made her his own, and yet I have no idea why she is telling me any of this, anything, when she and I have never had so much as a ten-minute conversation on ANY given topic...
I get these vibes all the time, from women who have men on their arms-- they look at me with their predatory eyes and it's as if I were being stalked, staked out, checked out, patted down... it isn't animal allure, or chemistry, but fascination... what kind of creature is this, walking among men, but with a faraway mind and walls so firmly in place that they cannot be scaled nor deconstructed?
I have always known how to shine my intrigue but lately I am too lazy, and for some reason this comes up as she prattles on about true love, and how we all will find it. And I am not arguing this point at all, but she puts up a giggly resistance to my damning pessimism, because it is a refreshing kind of looking down, an insult wrapped in the skin of a grin, a putdown at my own expense as I sit in the front row and applaud...
She wants me to know what I missed out on but I maintain that I miss nothing when I am being creative, and even she admits that romance puts a crimp in her productivity, and I ask her what she does, and she shows me shiny jewels laced around her fingers...
I just don't get it-- why the attention? Why is she bugging me? Why? What did I do? Did she think that my occasional comments were an invitation? If so, what kind of invitation?
I will never understand the fairer sex, and they will never understand me, which is why they embrace men of action but come sauntering up to me when I want to be left alone, when they want sensitivity and to ask me what I am thinking about... and I feel like I'm the one who is trapped in a dead-end relationship, except I did nothing to instigate anything. These women just assume that I am there for their amusement, a constant in the fluid nature of existence, never-changing, never in transition or crisis, metastasized permanently.
Later on, another girl makes the assumption that I will play cards with her. She already had it in her agenda. Her man entertains the regulars and I am babysitting, in a strange way. I am minding someone else's store, without any inclination to run it myself. Leave it to the business-minded to keep the budget black, to make the gears run and float the boats... I am here only to pass the time, being used in a curious way that doesn't drain me, and if anything it exposes vulnerabilities that I'd rather not witness, thank you very much.
I am a mirror, onto which women project fantastic realities, none of them true.
Friday, October 29, 2004
Thursday, October 28, 2004
MOSH IT
When I'm not busy scouring my soul with a steel-wool pad, I'm usually writing about disposable pop culture.
Everyone's talking about this new "Mosh" video by Eminem. At least three blogs that I am linked to have posted something in reference to the video. I hadn't seen the video until I visited Hip Hop Music.com, but I had heard the song on the local rap radio station as a World Premiere sometime last week.
It's a good song. It's a good video. I guess everyone is amazed that Slim Shady can rhyme about things other than teen pop stars, celebrities he dislikes, and his ex-wife/baby's mama Kim.
But what I want to know is: What about "Lose It"?
That's right, I'm talking about the first single, off of the new album entitled Encore-- and let's thank God that Marshall Mathers III finally broke from that getting-to-be-annoying pattern of titling his albums in some way after himself or one of his wacky personas.
Everyone hated the single, because it's "dumb", "lame" or worse-- "wack". And so did I, upon first listen. But as time has gone by, and after having seen the video for that song as well as for "Mosh", I gotta say-- the "Lose It" single is better.
First off, let me get the obvious points out of the way: Yes, "Lose It" is a retread of every lead-off single Eminem has put out since "My Name Is...", including "Without Me", "Ain't Nuthin' But Music", and "The Real Slim Shady". I'm fine with that... and apparently, so is Eminem, who has gone on record in interviews noticing that strange phenomenon where the song that annoys him the most on the new album is always the song that the record label wants to put out as the single... and it always winds up being a million-plus seller.
This is nothing new. Anyone in a moderately successful band will tell you that the A & R people always have the worst tastes in music, and yet they also seem to know which songs will have the broadest appeal. In short, Murphy's Musical Law states that the stupidest song by any given perfomer is also their catchiest, which is great for marketing but terrible for art.
However, the success of inane singles like "Lose It" enables a capable artist like Eminem to create some truly outstanding material for the rest of the album, such as "Stan" off of The Marshall Mathers LP, or "Cleaning Out My Closet" on The Eminem Show. A song like "Mosh" is a much better rap song, and is more listenable than most of his lead-off singles, and even has some of the urgency that made "Lose Yourself" from the 8 Mile soundtrack such a crossover hit.
But "Lose It" is a funny motherfucking song.
In case y'all didn't get the joke, it's a parody of dance songs. The beat is tripped-out enough to rap over but silly enough to be tongue-in-cheek. The hook is fucking hysterical-- that line about "come on boy, shake that ass/ooops, I mean girl/girl girl girl..." is too funny for words.
If Weird Al Yankovic put this track out, it would be considered the best work he's done in years... and, perhaps, the only work he's done in years.
Eminem has done stylistic parodies before: On the Slim Shady LP, he opened one track with the words "This is my dance song", as an up-tempo beat skedaddled underneath his voice. Then, his first line was "My favorite color's red/like the bloodshed/from Kurt Cobain's head/when he shot himself dead..."
Yeah, some dance song.
On Marshall Mathers, he started a track with a similar invocation ("This is my love ballad") before launching into an ode to doing drugs. By playing with the notion of what a love ballad should be, Eminem used humor to drive his pro-narcotic point home in a way that wouldn't send the likes of Jerry Falwell into too much of a tizzy.
Ironically, it was the gay community that found the least amount of humor in Eminem's rhymes, and rightfully so: When he raps about gays, he can be downright vicious. His humorless side-- the side that gets exploited to full effect on "Mosh", by the way --tends to detract from the fact that, when he chooses to be, Eminem can be hilarious.
He even noted it in one song off of 8 Mile, where he spat one of the all-time best hip-hop quotable paragraphs:
There’s a certain mystique, when I speak
That you notice that’s sorta unique, cause you know its me
My poetries deep and I’m stillmatic, the way I flow to this beat
You can’t sit still, its like trying to smoke crack and go to sleep
I’m strapped, just know in any minute I could snap
I’m the equivalent of what would happen if Bush rapped
I bully these rappers so bad, lyrically
It aint even funny, I aint even hungry, it aint even money
You can’t pay me enough, for you to play me, its cock-a-many
You just aint zanney enough, to rock with shady
My noodle is cock-a-doodle, my clock’s coo-coo
I got screws loose, yeah the whole kitten kaboodle
I’m just brutal, its no rumor, I’m numero uno
Assume it, there’s no humor in it...
There's two main voices that Eminem raps with: His hardcore rapping voice, and his Slim Shady I-Just-Don't-Give-A-Fuck voice. When he's going off like in the lyrics above, or when he's dissing on Bush (like he did on The Eminem Show's "Square Dance", a track far superior to "Mosh" in many ways) or when he's beefing with Ja Rule via countless underground bootleg and mixtape recordings, Eminem is The Best Rapper Alive... and he's also insanely repetitive. And, like he said, "there's no humor in it"-- or, if there is, it's very sporadic.
I prefer his Slim Shady persona: He lets it loose in the singles, or with D-12 (remember that song "My Band", a song that can make "Lose It" seem like a subtle masterpiece?) or when he's trying to go to the craziest extreme to make a point. That's why I like that line about being the equivalent of Bush rapping-- talk about braggadoccio! You can't get any more hardcore than a line like that, which is NOT meant to be an endorsement of Bush in any way. If anything, it's a bigger indictment of just how corrupt Bush is than any of the lines in "Mosh".
Plus, when Eminem tries to be the hardcore rapper, he overdoes it a bit. This is probably due to being a white rapper who never got any respect until Dr. Dre signed him and made a ridiculous amount of money. I noted earlier that his homophobia is easier to take when he's doing the Slim Shady schtick. One great example of Eminem's anti-gay remarks getting too serious is "Marshall Mathers" off of the album of the same name. The way he utters the word "faggot" is too chilling and ugly to be laughed at; Eminem is seething on that track, taking pothshots at his enemies without the clever wink that the Slim Shady persona affords him. I mean, the hook of that song is "I'm just Marshall Mathers/I'm just a regular guy/I don't care what you think about me"-- he is speaking as his true self, and even if it is compelling, it's not always entertaining.
But, when he's rapping lines like "I'm sicker than Boy George/picturing Michael Jackson in little boy's drawers/shopping in toy stores," like he did on The Madd Rapper's LP a few years back... well, that's fucking funny as all fuck, as well as linguistically genius. And it makes his point in a clever manner, albeit a totally depraved-yet-clever manner.
Speaking of Michael Jackson, the King of Pop has publicly stated that he is pissed off at Eminem for the lyrics and video to "Lose It". Meanwhile, I doubt George W. Bush will EVER hear "Mosh" and make a comment, nor will he ever see the video. Of course, it's more important that Eminem's fan base hears "Mosh" and is influenced by their idol to go vote in less than a week, but how many of Eminem's current fans are even of voting age?
That's okay, though-- those same fans who have to wait until next election to vote can go to a house party in the meantime, and dance their ass off to a song like "Lose It", which doesn't take itself too seriously and will probably send the rest of the album to Number One in its first week.
Everyone's talking about this new "Mosh" video by Eminem. At least three blogs that I am linked to have posted something in reference to the video. I hadn't seen the video until I visited Hip Hop Music.com, but I had heard the song on the local rap radio station as a World Premiere sometime last week.
It's a good song. It's a good video. I guess everyone is amazed that Slim Shady can rhyme about things other than teen pop stars, celebrities he dislikes, and his ex-wife/baby's mama Kim.
But what I want to know is: What about "Lose It"?
That's right, I'm talking about the first single, off of the new album entitled Encore-- and let's thank God that Marshall Mathers III finally broke from that getting-to-be-annoying pattern of titling his albums in some way after himself or one of his wacky personas.
Everyone hated the single, because it's "dumb", "lame" or worse-- "wack". And so did I, upon first listen. But as time has gone by, and after having seen the video for that song as well as for "Mosh", I gotta say-- the "Lose It" single is better.
First off, let me get the obvious points out of the way: Yes, "Lose It" is a retread of every lead-off single Eminem has put out since "My Name Is...", including "Without Me", "Ain't Nuthin' But Music", and "The Real Slim Shady". I'm fine with that... and apparently, so is Eminem, who has gone on record in interviews noticing that strange phenomenon where the song that annoys him the most on the new album is always the song that the record label wants to put out as the single... and it always winds up being a million-plus seller.
This is nothing new. Anyone in a moderately successful band will tell you that the A & R people always have the worst tastes in music, and yet they also seem to know which songs will have the broadest appeal. In short, Murphy's Musical Law states that the stupidest song by any given perfomer is also their catchiest, which is great for marketing but terrible for art.
However, the success of inane singles like "Lose It" enables a capable artist like Eminem to create some truly outstanding material for the rest of the album, such as "Stan" off of The Marshall Mathers LP, or "Cleaning Out My Closet" on The Eminem Show. A song like "Mosh" is a much better rap song, and is more listenable than most of his lead-off singles, and even has some of the urgency that made "Lose Yourself" from the 8 Mile soundtrack such a crossover hit.
But "Lose It" is a funny motherfucking song.
In case y'all didn't get the joke, it's a parody of dance songs. The beat is tripped-out enough to rap over but silly enough to be tongue-in-cheek. The hook is fucking hysterical-- that line about "come on boy, shake that ass/ooops, I mean girl/girl girl girl..." is too funny for words.
If Weird Al Yankovic put this track out, it would be considered the best work he's done in years... and, perhaps, the only work he's done in years.
Eminem has done stylistic parodies before: On the Slim Shady LP, he opened one track with the words "This is my dance song", as an up-tempo beat skedaddled underneath his voice. Then, his first line was "My favorite color's red/like the bloodshed/from Kurt Cobain's head/when he shot himself dead..."
Yeah, some dance song.
On Marshall Mathers, he started a track with a similar invocation ("This is my love ballad") before launching into an ode to doing drugs. By playing with the notion of what a love ballad should be, Eminem used humor to drive his pro-narcotic point home in a way that wouldn't send the likes of Jerry Falwell into too much of a tizzy.
Ironically, it was the gay community that found the least amount of humor in Eminem's rhymes, and rightfully so: When he raps about gays, he can be downright vicious. His humorless side-- the side that gets exploited to full effect on "Mosh", by the way --tends to detract from the fact that, when he chooses to be, Eminem can be hilarious.
He even noted it in one song off of 8 Mile, where he spat one of the all-time best hip-hop quotable paragraphs:
There’s a certain mystique, when I speak
That you notice that’s sorta unique, cause you know its me
My poetries deep and I’m stillmatic, the way I flow to this beat
You can’t sit still, its like trying to smoke crack and go to sleep
I’m strapped, just know in any minute I could snap
I’m the equivalent of what would happen if Bush rapped
I bully these rappers so bad, lyrically
It aint even funny, I aint even hungry, it aint even money
You can’t pay me enough, for you to play me, its cock-a-many
You just aint zanney enough, to rock with shady
My noodle is cock-a-doodle, my clock’s coo-coo
I got screws loose, yeah the whole kitten kaboodle
I’m just brutal, its no rumor, I’m numero uno
Assume it, there’s no humor in it...
There's two main voices that Eminem raps with: His hardcore rapping voice, and his Slim Shady I-Just-Don't-Give-A-Fuck voice. When he's going off like in the lyrics above, or when he's dissing on Bush (like he did on The Eminem Show's "Square Dance", a track far superior to "Mosh" in many ways) or when he's beefing with Ja Rule via countless underground bootleg and mixtape recordings, Eminem is The Best Rapper Alive... and he's also insanely repetitive. And, like he said, "there's no humor in it"-- or, if there is, it's very sporadic.
I prefer his Slim Shady persona: He lets it loose in the singles, or with D-12 (remember that song "My Band", a song that can make "Lose It" seem like a subtle masterpiece?) or when he's trying to go to the craziest extreme to make a point. That's why I like that line about being the equivalent of Bush rapping-- talk about braggadoccio! You can't get any more hardcore than a line like that, which is NOT meant to be an endorsement of Bush in any way. If anything, it's a bigger indictment of just how corrupt Bush is than any of the lines in "Mosh".
Plus, when Eminem tries to be the hardcore rapper, he overdoes it a bit. This is probably due to being a white rapper who never got any respect until Dr. Dre signed him and made a ridiculous amount of money. I noted earlier that his homophobia is easier to take when he's doing the Slim Shady schtick. One great example of Eminem's anti-gay remarks getting too serious is "Marshall Mathers" off of the album of the same name. The way he utters the word "faggot" is too chilling and ugly to be laughed at; Eminem is seething on that track, taking pothshots at his enemies without the clever wink that the Slim Shady persona affords him. I mean, the hook of that song is "I'm just Marshall Mathers/I'm just a regular guy/I don't care what you think about me"-- he is speaking as his true self, and even if it is compelling, it's not always entertaining.
But, when he's rapping lines like "I'm sicker than Boy George/picturing Michael Jackson in little boy's drawers/shopping in toy stores," like he did on The Madd Rapper's LP a few years back... well, that's fucking funny as all fuck, as well as linguistically genius. And it makes his point in a clever manner, albeit a totally depraved-yet-clever manner.
Speaking of Michael Jackson, the King of Pop has publicly stated that he is pissed off at Eminem for the lyrics and video to "Lose It". Meanwhile, I doubt George W. Bush will EVER hear "Mosh" and make a comment, nor will he ever see the video. Of course, it's more important that Eminem's fan base hears "Mosh" and is influenced by their idol to go vote in less than a week, but how many of Eminem's current fans are even of voting age?
That's okay, though-- those same fans who have to wait until next election to vote can go to a house party in the meantime, and dance their ass off to a song like "Lose It", which doesn't take itself too seriously and will probably send the rest of the album to Number One in its first week.
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
WAITING FOR A FIX
"Hello, this is Eve's cel phone. Please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks."
BEEEP!
"Eve, this is James. Just lettin' you know I ain't goin' over to the Garage today. It's raining too hard. Plus, we don't have any retouches to do right now. So anyway-- oh wait, I got another call. Talk to you later."
CLICK!
"Hello?"
"Hey."
"Eve. I literally just left a message for you on your phone."
"Right on. I just saw your number and thought I missed your call. What's up?"
"Nada mucho. As you can probably tell, I'm not stepping one foot outside right now."
"I know-- it's pouring. I'm leaving Trader Joe's as we speak. It's like buckets."
"Well, drive safe. Anyway, yeah, so you have your therapy session, and I've got to rehearse with Funkin Pie, and there's no need to go to the Garage today. Tomorrow, we can hit it up, but for today-- it's best to give it a rest."
"Sure. That'll do."
"How was work?"
"Work was work. Did you get any sleep?"
"More than my share. I'm well-rested right now. Gotta keep sharp for tonight. Man, just playing music wears me out. It's great exercise, considering that I don't get any."
"Sitting in front of a computer all day can do that to you. Believe me, I know-- the dentist's office leaves me chained to the desk."
"Yeah, the bands keep me busy. I was in two last year, and I was even jamming with Chaleptimos for a while. You remember him, don't you?"
"Oh yeah... he smelled bad."
"Yeah, he didn't shower much."
"I just remember going to a toga party at his sister's house. Nothing but lesbians there."
"Is that right? When was this?"
"High school. End of high school, I think."
"Yeah, she used to have a crush on me. She was too young though. I met her when she was 13 or 14, and I was 17. She had Ozzy posters on one wall of her room, and Garfield posters on the opposite wall."
"Yeah, she was quite a character."
"But back to this teen lesbian toga party... so, what happened?"
(laughs) "Nothing happened."
"Sure. Nothing happened. Whatever you say."
"Stop being perverted."
"Was it like a slumber party? Did you play Truth or Dare?"
"It was innocent."
"Did you and Chaleptimos' sister have any... um, accidental experiences?"
"I'm changing the subject."
"But we were just getting started..."
"That year was pretty trippy for me. A lot of people I knew died that year."
"No one really died in my class. Then again, I went to school with a bunch of squares. Young Republicans and washed-out hippies. None of them had any balls. The underclasses had their share of dramas, or so I've heard."
"Yes, there was plenty of drama going around. One girl got decapitated in a car while she was on acid and speed. Her boyfriend was driving-- nothing happened to him. He went to prison for, like, life."
"Sad."
"Very sad."
"When I go back to the old neighborhood, I hear about people I grew up with dying... but not with my schoolmates. Except for one girl, who died of a disease. Other than that, no shocking news, really."
"I guess that's good."
"So anyway, when you were at that toga party, what were you wearing underneath?"
(laughs) "Stop it."
"Sorry. I can't help but ask."
"Let me call you back in five minutes. I just got home."
"I'll be here."
FIVE MINUTES LATER...
"Sorry about that. Had to put the groceries away."
"It's all good."
"Cel phones are handy, aren't they?"
"I hate 'em. I had one for a year, and it helped me out when I was job-hunting... but it got old quick. I owe, like, $300 on my last bill. But I keep the land line handy."
"I need to get a land line. I'm already over by 500 minutes."
"Oh shit! Not good."
"No, it's not. I just have to call the phone company. Then I don't have to worry, and I can talk to you for hours."
"Do it. It'll save you in the long run. Those cel companies can be bastards."
"I had a bill once, and I kept finding all these extra rip-off charges on it the whole way through. I must've tallied up to $200 in false charges. I made them take it off of my bill."
"That sucks."
"Yeah, it does... but it's not as bad as finding certain numbers on the bill, numbers that I didn't know about."
"Whose numbers?"
"Well... I found out Dick was calling this girl, Kelly. He must've called her and spoke to her for a grand total of three hours. I asked him about it, and he said it was nothing. But I started to keep track of the calls and what times they were made. I found out he was calling her when I wasn't around."
"Ouch."
"One time, at The Cheesecake Factory, I went to use the bathroom... and he called her when I was gone! Can you believe that?"
"Honestly? Yes, I can."
"What a dick... Well, needless to say, that was the beginning of the end. After that it all went downhill. That was a year ago."
"I see."
"I just hate that he lied to me. He didn't have to be such a pussy about it. He lied to me, and tried to convince me that I was nuts. But I knew. I gave him chances. I asked him to get over it, but he couldn't."
"Yeah... that sucks, being lied to. I know all about it. That's my biggest gripe in the whole world-- being lied to. After the whole thing with my family... I mean, I've never been the same. You know, long before I ever met you, I was a really different person."
"How so?"
"I was pretty conservative. I wanted to be a doctor or a lawyer. I had my whole life mapped out-- get a job, get a car, go to college, become a professional something, get the wife, the kids, the Volvo, the house in the suburbs... then I found out that I was living in a world of lies."
"You woke up."
"I was awakened. I fell out of The Matrix." (laughs)
"And you decided to become an artist."
"It was my only way to cope. Always has been. Even when I was trying to be the conformist, I knew that underneath it all was an artistic soul that wanted some recognition for his talents. But I didn't really focus on them until the divorce. Who knows what I'd be like, if my parents hadn't split up?"
"I don't know... scary to think of you in a suit, with a briefcase and all."
"You're telling me."
"I always thought you would've made a good lawyer. Or a teacher."
"Yeah, well... I like what I am now. It's better. I had to go through a lot to get to this point. I don't ever think it will be normal for me. Everybody else is destined for that crap, and that's fine-- for them. But me... I don't think I'll get married and have kids."
"Same here. Dick wanted to marry me. I kept saying no."
"Why?"
"Because, I didn't want to get married. I know, we spent nine years together..."
"Yeah, you're like common-law married."
"Yeah, well... He wouldn't get his shit together. His family kept badgering me about it. They wanted me to marry him. He wanted to marry me. I told him he needed to get better. He never did."
"Too bad. It's such a tempting idea. But I have issues, and they need to be resolved before I ever even think about bringing a kid into the equation, let alone having a monogamous relationship. I mean, I can do it. I just haven't met anyone who would make me want to stay. My last steady girlfriend, Jeanie-- I could've stayed with her, just for the sex. I know, it sounds shallow..."
"No, not really. I mean, in a way it is, but you're not the only one."
"What I mean, though, is that I thought about it. I thought that all I needed was to get laid every day and that would be fine. But there's more to it than that. I don't know any guys who are truly in love with their girls, with the exception of Paulie and Nona. They seem genuinely in love. Everyone else in there for the sex."
"That can go a long way."
"But not that far."
"No, not that far. But that's why I was with Dick-- he had a really huge cock, I must admit."
"I suppose that makes a difference."
"It did."
"But there must've been something else, right? I mean, that's all you two had in common?"
"That's it... well, I did like the feeling of waking up next to someone..."
"I hear that a lot, especially from girls. Flora, remember her? She told me that, three years into her marriage."
"How is she, by the way?"
"She divorced Fred. She left him a few days before 9/11. I know, because she called me and stayed with me for a day or two. I thought that the tragedy of 9/11 would send her back into his arms. Nope-- she was outta there. She'd had enough. I guess financial security and waking up next to someone didn't replace her basic needs. Eight years, gone. And I was totally against her getting married in the first place-- I almost didn't go to the ceremony. All my friends convinced me to go, and when I went I decided that I would be supportive, no matter what. Imagine how dumb I felt when she changed her tack."
"What about how she felt? Isn't that important?"
"That's my problem-- I can't put myself in her shoes. I lack empathy sometimes. You know me-- I have emotional problems."
"You can't tell people how to live, James."
"Oh, but I wish I could."
"Live and let live."
"I know... I just can't understand why people forfeit their own identities for other people. No one wants to be themselves-- they want to be part of another person. How sick is that?"
"I see what you mean."
"Back to what I was saying before... With Jeanie, I realized that it all came down to one thing: Was the good sex enough to keep me with her? I took a long cold hard look at us, and one day she was with her friends, talking and drinking. She was a bit of a lush. I'm a pothead, yeah, but she was a mean drunk. Anyway, she starts talking to her friends like I'm not there, and they're all talking about scanless shit they pulled. Jeanie ends up telling me how she fucked the fiancee of her best friend a day before their wedding."
"Nooooo..."
"Oh yeah. And when I asked her if she ever told her best friend about this indiscretion, she said, 'No, that would be hurtful to her!'"
"Oh my God..."
"That's when I knew we were through."
"Don't blame you."
"I would've been getting laid all the time, but at what price? I didn't trust her, I thought she would end up breaking my heart. So I called it all off, and she still hates me to this day. I try to keep my exes happy, but she wants nothing to do with me."
"You're probably better off."
"Probably? Try 'definitely!' But that's me-- I can't stand being lied to. I can understand why she did it-- young and stupid, the usual crap. And I could've forgiven her for that. I could've overlooked that. But she didn't seem to learn anything from it. It was a story to tell her friends, not a lesson to grow on. And I see it all the time-- guys who are in these loveless relationships, but they stick around because they're afraid that they can't get anyone better. Mikey, the guitarist from my last band, he used to brag about his girlfriend, but all he would talk about was how dirty she was in bed. She indulged his nastiest fantasies. One time he told all of us how she sucked his dick while he was taking a shit. After that, every time I saw her all I could think about was how she sucked his dick while he was taking a shit. And even though she is a nice girl, he did her no favors by painting her as a dirty slut behind her back. I mean... is that respect?"
"No, it's not."
"You're damn right it isn't!"
(laughs) "You sound so outraged!"
"I am. I was. Plus, I'm just too fucked in the head. About three or four years ago, I finally had a revelation about myself. I figured out that I was still chasing after Sophie."
"Who's Sophie?"
"She was my next-door neighbor when we were kids. She was my first love. We grew older but we also grew apart, and when the divorce happened I never saw her again. I was too ashamed to talk to her after that, and when we moved away I never said goodbye to her. And I guess I repressed her memory inside of me, but after that every relationship I was in was a half-assed attempt to rekindle that spark that I shared with Sophie. It didn't hit me full circle until I started dating Jeanie-- she was my next-door neighboor in Sherman Oaks. I realized that I was still looking for the girl next door, and I never found her again. I found you online easy, but Sophie is the one who got away."
"Wow, I never knew that."
"Neither did I. And now I'm dealing with it. I'm trying, Eve. I'm trying to let people live their lives. I'm trying to diffuse my anger. I'm trying to reclaim my life, but it's hard. I see so many people making dumb choices, and all I can do is let it go. The last four or five years, I've been trying to not attach myself to anything, but I still keep looking for Sophie. I keep sabotaging my chances with girls, because I know deep inside that I'll never be satisfied unless I see Sophie again."
"You can't do that. It'll drive you crazy."
"Maybe I should be in therapy along with you. By the way, don't you have to--"
"I'm in the lobby right now."
"Whoa! All this time, you were driving to the therapist?"
"After I dropped off the food? Yeah. She's still with another patient, so I have some time."
"Cool."
"She says I'm doing good. Making progress."
"That's what it's all about. Therapy. That's why I called you after all this time. I needed closure."
"Yeah, about all of that... You know, the Sharky stuff..."
"The Sharky stuff?"
"The Sharky stuff... We were just talking about being lied to, so I guess... basically... I knew why you were mad at me all this time. I didn't think it was that big of a deal, but instead it cost me your friendship for almost five years..."
"Yeah..."
"The last time we were speaking, Dick wouldn't even let me talk to you. That's because he never trusted me. You see... after I ran away from home, I kinda went wild. I was a bit of a slut."
"I know."
"You know?"
"What I mean is, I remember hearing you had left home, and my exact words to Sharky were: 'Man, she's going to go nuts. She's got a lot of catching up to do.'"
"Yes. I did. I caught up all right. I was on so many drugs, doing so many stupid things... Then I hit rock bottom, and the only person there was Dick. He didn't care what I'd done, he wasn't going to judge me."
"Of course not."
"But I was wrong. He never let me live it down. That's why he kept me on a short leash. He couldn't get over how bad I'd acted before I met him. There were all sorts of rumors, all sorts of stories, and Dick had heard them all, and he didn't want me to leave him. So I stayed loyal and faithful to him... and he ended up cheating on me. Anyway, the reason why I say all of this is because back then I thought you were going to judge me along with everyone else. And when you called me on it, I thought that what you wanted to hear was that it never happened. So that's what I said, and I regret it."
(pause)
"You realize, Eve, that it wasn't what you'd done that made me angry and hurt-- it was the fact that you lied about it. I already knew the truth-- I'm not that stupid. Most people are bad liars, and everyone who was in on this cover-up-- for that's what it was --couldn't lie straight. But I had to give you and Sharky the benefit of the doubt, because you two were the closest people to me. I had no real proof, but I knew in my gut. And then, when I was trying to get my life back together, and move on like everyone suggested, I end up in New York with A-Dogg spilling the beans about the whole thing... and he expected me to not get mad! Can you fucking believe the gall?"
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Go for it."
"Are you still mad?"
(long pause)
"Yes, I was still really mad about it, even after we talked again for the first time. But I put it out of my mind, because I'm trying, Eve. I'm trying to understand. I'm not as angry as I was, and every day I seem to be getting less bitter about it. Maybe this will be the first and last time we ever have to talk about it. I've been trying to move on, but it's hard when you are still friends with all of my friends. You're not an easy person to shake, in that respect. I just got so sick and tired of being mad at you. But I just wanted to know. I'm a curious person, Eve, and I've also heard worse news in my life than what you and Sharky did. And yet, no one wanted to own up to it. No one treated me like an adult, like I had a right to know."
"There wasn't much to tell anyway. The sex was bad."
"I don't care if the sex was bad or good or mediocre. All you had to do was tell me the truth. I could've been over this a long time ago. But it feels like no one wants me to be over this, even as they tell me to stop living in the past."
"I know..."
"I was denied my anger. How can I become an emotionally whole person when the people I love are denying me my emotions? I would've gotten mad, yes-- but I would've forgiven you. When it comes to lies, it's a sensitive thing for me. I've been lied to all of my life, and I certainly didn't expect it from you."
"Well... my therapist is ready to see me. But before I go, I'm giving you the opportunity to ask me anything you want to ask me about the whole thing. If there is one thing you really want to know, what is it?"
"When. I want to know when. I already knew what, where, and how. I figured those out on my own, and A-Dogg just confirmed it all. But when did it happen?"
"If you're concerned about whether or not I was faithful to you--"
"I already know that we were broken up when it happened. That's why I didn't care what you had done-- the lie was the biggest insult to me, not the fact that you did Sharky."
"Okay... well, it must have been before July of 1994, before the rape."
"After you left home?"
"After I left home."
"Not around the time of my 21st birthday, when you two were on acid at my gig?"
"No, not that night. Really, it wasn't that memorable, otherwise I'd have more details."
"That's all I wanted to know."
"Well, I'm sure there's something else you'd like to know."
"What is it?"
"I'm sorry. I really am sorry for lying to you."
(long long LONG pause)
"Thank you."
"Anyway, I have to go to therapy now..."
"You do that. Call me later, when you're done-- my rehearsal looks like it's been rained out. Even if I do decide to go, it won't be for some time. I'll be here."
"Okay."
"And tomorrow-- if you want to work more with Photoshop, you're more than welcome to come by the Garage."
"I will. Thanks."
"Take care."
"You too."
(CLICK)
**
Yesterday a radio DJ rhetorically asked if this was the year that all the curses would be lifted. He was referring to the Red Sox, as well as the Cincinnatti Bengals hosting (and winning) a Monday Night game for the first time in fifteen years.
But I think he was talking to me, about personal matters.
I can't tell you how it felt to hear those two words. They are words that I longed to hear for almost a decade. I never gave up on the possibility of ever hearing them. I felt the burden being lifted, the spell being broken. After all of the ups and downs, the lost friends and the retrieved connections, the bull sessions and the long talks, after all the baggage was jettisoned and everything was inventoried, it all boiled down to two words:
"I'm sorry."
That's all I wanted. I didn't want payback-- Karma handled that. I didn't want revenge, and besides-- the best revenge is living well. I didn't want to have her back, although there were lonely times when I would've gladly taken her back if she had appeared to me and asked me. No, all I wanted was to hear her acknowledge what she had done. That's all I ever want anyone to do: take responsibility for their actions, especially if they affect me.
She called me later, after the therapy was done. She joked that I was the topic of the session, although it doesn't matter at this point. None of that shit matters anymore, none of the rumors, the stories, the anecdotes, the gossip... It doesn't matter that she haunted me for years, even before I stopped talking to her. It doesn't matter that The Man Who Took My Place has been displaced and cast aside. It doesn't matter that I was right all along.
What matters is that I didn't give up on the truth.
It wasn't easy, and towards the end I had to give up something in exchange for this truth to be exposed. I had to bury the hatchet and stop being so vindictive. I had to lay down my arms and offer an olive branch. That was the only way, I eventually concluded, that I could set myself free.
We made plans to have a pancake dinner Friday night. I will see her tomorrow, and Thursday she has to go to class. Friday, after our dinner, I will go to rehearsal, and try to woo the fiddle player. I will play my bass, like I did about six hours ago at the Funkin Pie lockout studio, and I will look into the face of my future knowing that I have defeated another demon, and that another wound has fully healed with time and with care.
I drove to work, rain cascading down the windshield in front of me. It was like the tears of God and his angels. It was like the collective tears of a broken world, waiting for that fix. It was like the cleansing power of water, reigning o'er me and baptising me anew, wiping the slate clean, the scent of old dogs washed from the streets...
I have forgiven her, and now I can finally move on.
BEEEP!
"Eve, this is James. Just lettin' you know I ain't goin' over to the Garage today. It's raining too hard. Plus, we don't have any retouches to do right now. So anyway-- oh wait, I got another call. Talk to you later."
CLICK!
"Hello?"
"Hey."
"Eve. I literally just left a message for you on your phone."
"Right on. I just saw your number and thought I missed your call. What's up?"
"Nada mucho. As you can probably tell, I'm not stepping one foot outside right now."
"I know-- it's pouring. I'm leaving Trader Joe's as we speak. It's like buckets."
"Well, drive safe. Anyway, yeah, so you have your therapy session, and I've got to rehearse with Funkin Pie, and there's no need to go to the Garage today. Tomorrow, we can hit it up, but for today-- it's best to give it a rest."
"Sure. That'll do."
"How was work?"
"Work was work. Did you get any sleep?"
"More than my share. I'm well-rested right now. Gotta keep sharp for tonight. Man, just playing music wears me out. It's great exercise, considering that I don't get any."
"Sitting in front of a computer all day can do that to you. Believe me, I know-- the dentist's office leaves me chained to the desk."
"Yeah, the bands keep me busy. I was in two last year, and I was even jamming with Chaleptimos for a while. You remember him, don't you?"
"Oh yeah... he smelled bad."
"Yeah, he didn't shower much."
"I just remember going to a toga party at his sister's house. Nothing but lesbians there."
"Is that right? When was this?"
"High school. End of high school, I think."
"Yeah, she used to have a crush on me. She was too young though. I met her when she was 13 or 14, and I was 17. She had Ozzy posters on one wall of her room, and Garfield posters on the opposite wall."
"Yeah, she was quite a character."
"But back to this teen lesbian toga party... so, what happened?"
(laughs) "Nothing happened."
"Sure. Nothing happened. Whatever you say."
"Stop being perverted."
"Was it like a slumber party? Did you play Truth or Dare?"
"It was innocent."
"Did you and Chaleptimos' sister have any... um, accidental experiences?"
"I'm changing the subject."
"But we were just getting started..."
"That year was pretty trippy for me. A lot of people I knew died that year."
"No one really died in my class. Then again, I went to school with a bunch of squares. Young Republicans and washed-out hippies. None of them had any balls. The underclasses had their share of dramas, or so I've heard."
"Yes, there was plenty of drama going around. One girl got decapitated in a car while she was on acid and speed. Her boyfriend was driving-- nothing happened to him. He went to prison for, like, life."
"Sad."
"Very sad."
"When I go back to the old neighborhood, I hear about people I grew up with dying... but not with my schoolmates. Except for one girl, who died of a disease. Other than that, no shocking news, really."
"I guess that's good."
"So anyway, when you were at that toga party, what were you wearing underneath?"
(laughs) "Stop it."
"Sorry. I can't help but ask."
"Let me call you back in five minutes. I just got home."
"I'll be here."
FIVE MINUTES LATER...
"Sorry about that. Had to put the groceries away."
"It's all good."
"Cel phones are handy, aren't they?"
"I hate 'em. I had one for a year, and it helped me out when I was job-hunting... but it got old quick. I owe, like, $300 on my last bill. But I keep the land line handy."
"I need to get a land line. I'm already over by 500 minutes."
"Oh shit! Not good."
"No, it's not. I just have to call the phone company. Then I don't have to worry, and I can talk to you for hours."
"Do it. It'll save you in the long run. Those cel companies can be bastards."
"I had a bill once, and I kept finding all these extra rip-off charges on it the whole way through. I must've tallied up to $200 in false charges. I made them take it off of my bill."
"That sucks."
"Yeah, it does... but it's not as bad as finding certain numbers on the bill, numbers that I didn't know about."
"Whose numbers?"
"Well... I found out Dick was calling this girl, Kelly. He must've called her and spoke to her for a grand total of three hours. I asked him about it, and he said it was nothing. But I started to keep track of the calls and what times they were made. I found out he was calling her when I wasn't around."
"Ouch."
"One time, at The Cheesecake Factory, I went to use the bathroom... and he called her when I was gone! Can you believe that?"
"Honestly? Yes, I can."
"What a dick... Well, needless to say, that was the beginning of the end. After that it all went downhill. That was a year ago."
"I see."
"I just hate that he lied to me. He didn't have to be such a pussy about it. He lied to me, and tried to convince me that I was nuts. But I knew. I gave him chances. I asked him to get over it, but he couldn't."
"Yeah... that sucks, being lied to. I know all about it. That's my biggest gripe in the whole world-- being lied to. After the whole thing with my family... I mean, I've never been the same. You know, long before I ever met you, I was a really different person."
"How so?"
"I was pretty conservative. I wanted to be a doctor or a lawyer. I had my whole life mapped out-- get a job, get a car, go to college, become a professional something, get the wife, the kids, the Volvo, the house in the suburbs... then I found out that I was living in a world of lies."
"You woke up."
"I was awakened. I fell out of The Matrix." (laughs)
"And you decided to become an artist."
"It was my only way to cope. Always has been. Even when I was trying to be the conformist, I knew that underneath it all was an artistic soul that wanted some recognition for his talents. But I didn't really focus on them until the divorce. Who knows what I'd be like, if my parents hadn't split up?"
"I don't know... scary to think of you in a suit, with a briefcase and all."
"You're telling me."
"I always thought you would've made a good lawyer. Or a teacher."
"Yeah, well... I like what I am now. It's better. I had to go through a lot to get to this point. I don't ever think it will be normal for me. Everybody else is destined for that crap, and that's fine-- for them. But me... I don't think I'll get married and have kids."
"Same here. Dick wanted to marry me. I kept saying no."
"Why?"
"Because, I didn't want to get married. I know, we spent nine years together..."
"Yeah, you're like common-law married."
"Yeah, well... He wouldn't get his shit together. His family kept badgering me about it. They wanted me to marry him. He wanted to marry me. I told him he needed to get better. He never did."
"Too bad. It's such a tempting idea. But I have issues, and they need to be resolved before I ever even think about bringing a kid into the equation, let alone having a monogamous relationship. I mean, I can do it. I just haven't met anyone who would make me want to stay. My last steady girlfriend, Jeanie-- I could've stayed with her, just for the sex. I know, it sounds shallow..."
"No, not really. I mean, in a way it is, but you're not the only one."
"What I mean, though, is that I thought about it. I thought that all I needed was to get laid every day and that would be fine. But there's more to it than that. I don't know any guys who are truly in love with their girls, with the exception of Paulie and Nona. They seem genuinely in love. Everyone else in there for the sex."
"That can go a long way."
"But not that far."
"No, not that far. But that's why I was with Dick-- he had a really huge cock, I must admit."
"I suppose that makes a difference."
"It did."
"But there must've been something else, right? I mean, that's all you two had in common?"
"That's it... well, I did like the feeling of waking up next to someone..."
"I hear that a lot, especially from girls. Flora, remember her? She told me that, three years into her marriage."
"How is she, by the way?"
"She divorced Fred. She left him a few days before 9/11. I know, because she called me and stayed with me for a day or two. I thought that the tragedy of 9/11 would send her back into his arms. Nope-- she was outta there. She'd had enough. I guess financial security and waking up next to someone didn't replace her basic needs. Eight years, gone. And I was totally against her getting married in the first place-- I almost didn't go to the ceremony. All my friends convinced me to go, and when I went I decided that I would be supportive, no matter what. Imagine how dumb I felt when she changed her tack."
"What about how she felt? Isn't that important?"
"That's my problem-- I can't put myself in her shoes. I lack empathy sometimes. You know me-- I have emotional problems."
"You can't tell people how to live, James."
"Oh, but I wish I could."
"Live and let live."
"I know... I just can't understand why people forfeit their own identities for other people. No one wants to be themselves-- they want to be part of another person. How sick is that?"
"I see what you mean."
"Back to what I was saying before... With Jeanie, I realized that it all came down to one thing: Was the good sex enough to keep me with her? I took a long cold hard look at us, and one day she was with her friends, talking and drinking. She was a bit of a lush. I'm a pothead, yeah, but she was a mean drunk. Anyway, she starts talking to her friends like I'm not there, and they're all talking about scanless shit they pulled. Jeanie ends up telling me how she fucked the fiancee of her best friend a day before their wedding."
"Nooooo..."
"Oh yeah. And when I asked her if she ever told her best friend about this indiscretion, she said, 'No, that would be hurtful to her!'"
"Oh my God..."
"That's when I knew we were through."
"Don't blame you."
"I would've been getting laid all the time, but at what price? I didn't trust her, I thought she would end up breaking my heart. So I called it all off, and she still hates me to this day. I try to keep my exes happy, but she wants nothing to do with me."
"You're probably better off."
"Probably? Try 'definitely!' But that's me-- I can't stand being lied to. I can understand why she did it-- young and stupid, the usual crap. And I could've forgiven her for that. I could've overlooked that. But she didn't seem to learn anything from it. It was a story to tell her friends, not a lesson to grow on. And I see it all the time-- guys who are in these loveless relationships, but they stick around because they're afraid that they can't get anyone better. Mikey, the guitarist from my last band, he used to brag about his girlfriend, but all he would talk about was how dirty she was in bed. She indulged his nastiest fantasies. One time he told all of us how she sucked his dick while he was taking a shit. After that, every time I saw her all I could think about was how she sucked his dick while he was taking a shit. And even though she is a nice girl, he did her no favors by painting her as a dirty slut behind her back. I mean... is that respect?"
"No, it's not."
"You're damn right it isn't!"
(laughs) "You sound so outraged!"
"I am. I was. Plus, I'm just too fucked in the head. About three or four years ago, I finally had a revelation about myself. I figured out that I was still chasing after Sophie."
"Who's Sophie?"
"She was my next-door neighbor when we were kids. She was my first love. We grew older but we also grew apart, and when the divorce happened I never saw her again. I was too ashamed to talk to her after that, and when we moved away I never said goodbye to her. And I guess I repressed her memory inside of me, but after that every relationship I was in was a half-assed attempt to rekindle that spark that I shared with Sophie. It didn't hit me full circle until I started dating Jeanie-- she was my next-door neighboor in Sherman Oaks. I realized that I was still looking for the girl next door, and I never found her again. I found you online easy, but Sophie is the one who got away."
"Wow, I never knew that."
"Neither did I. And now I'm dealing with it. I'm trying, Eve. I'm trying to let people live their lives. I'm trying to diffuse my anger. I'm trying to reclaim my life, but it's hard. I see so many people making dumb choices, and all I can do is let it go. The last four or five years, I've been trying to not attach myself to anything, but I still keep looking for Sophie. I keep sabotaging my chances with girls, because I know deep inside that I'll never be satisfied unless I see Sophie again."
"You can't do that. It'll drive you crazy."
"Maybe I should be in therapy along with you. By the way, don't you have to--"
"I'm in the lobby right now."
"Whoa! All this time, you were driving to the therapist?"
"After I dropped off the food? Yeah. She's still with another patient, so I have some time."
"Cool."
"She says I'm doing good. Making progress."
"That's what it's all about. Therapy. That's why I called you after all this time. I needed closure."
"Yeah, about all of that... You know, the Sharky stuff..."
"The Sharky stuff?"
"The Sharky stuff... We were just talking about being lied to, so I guess... basically... I knew why you were mad at me all this time. I didn't think it was that big of a deal, but instead it cost me your friendship for almost five years..."
"Yeah..."
"The last time we were speaking, Dick wouldn't even let me talk to you. That's because he never trusted me. You see... after I ran away from home, I kinda went wild. I was a bit of a slut."
"I know."
"You know?"
"What I mean is, I remember hearing you had left home, and my exact words to Sharky were: 'Man, she's going to go nuts. She's got a lot of catching up to do.'"
"Yes. I did. I caught up all right. I was on so many drugs, doing so many stupid things... Then I hit rock bottom, and the only person there was Dick. He didn't care what I'd done, he wasn't going to judge me."
"Of course not."
"But I was wrong. He never let me live it down. That's why he kept me on a short leash. He couldn't get over how bad I'd acted before I met him. There were all sorts of rumors, all sorts of stories, and Dick had heard them all, and he didn't want me to leave him. So I stayed loyal and faithful to him... and he ended up cheating on me. Anyway, the reason why I say all of this is because back then I thought you were going to judge me along with everyone else. And when you called me on it, I thought that what you wanted to hear was that it never happened. So that's what I said, and I regret it."
(pause)
"You realize, Eve, that it wasn't what you'd done that made me angry and hurt-- it was the fact that you lied about it. I already knew the truth-- I'm not that stupid. Most people are bad liars, and everyone who was in on this cover-up-- for that's what it was --couldn't lie straight. But I had to give you and Sharky the benefit of the doubt, because you two were the closest people to me. I had no real proof, but I knew in my gut. And then, when I was trying to get my life back together, and move on like everyone suggested, I end up in New York with A-Dogg spilling the beans about the whole thing... and he expected me to not get mad! Can you fucking believe the gall?"
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Go for it."
"Are you still mad?"
(long pause)
"Yes, I was still really mad about it, even after we talked again for the first time. But I put it out of my mind, because I'm trying, Eve. I'm trying to understand. I'm not as angry as I was, and every day I seem to be getting less bitter about it. Maybe this will be the first and last time we ever have to talk about it. I've been trying to move on, but it's hard when you are still friends with all of my friends. You're not an easy person to shake, in that respect. I just got so sick and tired of being mad at you. But I just wanted to know. I'm a curious person, Eve, and I've also heard worse news in my life than what you and Sharky did. And yet, no one wanted to own up to it. No one treated me like an adult, like I had a right to know."
"There wasn't much to tell anyway. The sex was bad."
"I don't care if the sex was bad or good or mediocre. All you had to do was tell me the truth. I could've been over this a long time ago. But it feels like no one wants me to be over this, even as they tell me to stop living in the past."
"I know..."
"I was denied my anger. How can I become an emotionally whole person when the people I love are denying me my emotions? I would've gotten mad, yes-- but I would've forgiven you. When it comes to lies, it's a sensitive thing for me. I've been lied to all of my life, and I certainly didn't expect it from you."
"Well... my therapist is ready to see me. But before I go, I'm giving you the opportunity to ask me anything you want to ask me about the whole thing. If there is one thing you really want to know, what is it?"
"When. I want to know when. I already knew what, where, and how. I figured those out on my own, and A-Dogg just confirmed it all. But when did it happen?"
"If you're concerned about whether or not I was faithful to you--"
"I already know that we were broken up when it happened. That's why I didn't care what you had done-- the lie was the biggest insult to me, not the fact that you did Sharky."
"Okay... well, it must have been before July of 1994, before the rape."
"After you left home?"
"After I left home."
"Not around the time of my 21st birthday, when you two were on acid at my gig?"
"No, not that night. Really, it wasn't that memorable, otherwise I'd have more details."
"That's all I wanted to know."
"Well, I'm sure there's something else you'd like to know."
"What is it?"
"I'm sorry. I really am sorry for lying to you."
(long long LONG pause)
"Thank you."
"Anyway, I have to go to therapy now..."
"You do that. Call me later, when you're done-- my rehearsal looks like it's been rained out. Even if I do decide to go, it won't be for some time. I'll be here."
"Okay."
"And tomorrow-- if you want to work more with Photoshop, you're more than welcome to come by the Garage."
"I will. Thanks."
"Take care."
"You too."
(CLICK)
**
Yesterday a radio DJ rhetorically asked if this was the year that all the curses would be lifted. He was referring to the Red Sox, as well as the Cincinnatti Bengals hosting (and winning) a Monday Night game for the first time in fifteen years.
But I think he was talking to me, about personal matters.
I can't tell you how it felt to hear those two words. They are words that I longed to hear for almost a decade. I never gave up on the possibility of ever hearing them. I felt the burden being lifted, the spell being broken. After all of the ups and downs, the lost friends and the retrieved connections, the bull sessions and the long talks, after all the baggage was jettisoned and everything was inventoried, it all boiled down to two words:
"I'm sorry."
That's all I wanted. I didn't want payback-- Karma handled that. I didn't want revenge, and besides-- the best revenge is living well. I didn't want to have her back, although there were lonely times when I would've gladly taken her back if she had appeared to me and asked me. No, all I wanted was to hear her acknowledge what she had done. That's all I ever want anyone to do: take responsibility for their actions, especially if they affect me.
She called me later, after the therapy was done. She joked that I was the topic of the session, although it doesn't matter at this point. None of that shit matters anymore, none of the rumors, the stories, the anecdotes, the gossip... It doesn't matter that she haunted me for years, even before I stopped talking to her. It doesn't matter that The Man Who Took My Place has been displaced and cast aside. It doesn't matter that I was right all along.
What matters is that I didn't give up on the truth.
It wasn't easy, and towards the end I had to give up something in exchange for this truth to be exposed. I had to bury the hatchet and stop being so vindictive. I had to lay down my arms and offer an olive branch. That was the only way, I eventually concluded, that I could set myself free.
We made plans to have a pancake dinner Friday night. I will see her tomorrow, and Thursday she has to go to class. Friday, after our dinner, I will go to rehearsal, and try to woo the fiddle player. I will play my bass, like I did about six hours ago at the Funkin Pie lockout studio, and I will look into the face of my future knowing that I have defeated another demon, and that another wound has fully healed with time and with care.
I drove to work, rain cascading down the windshield in front of me. It was like the tears of God and his angels. It was like the collective tears of a broken world, waiting for that fix. It was like the cleansing power of water, reigning o'er me and baptising me anew, wiping the slate clean, the scent of old dogs washed from the streets...
I have forgiven her, and now I can finally move on.
Monday, October 25, 2004
HOW I SPENT MY WEEKEND
So I ended up blowing the coke money that old co-worker gave me. I intend to pay it back, but for now, it's gone. It just goes to show: you should never lend anyone coke money, for any reason.
Like I was really going to go out of my way and score coke... sheesh...
Friday night found me in Chinatown, riding along with Captain Capsule and his girlfriend. Peter and I were in the back seat, watching the relationship psychodrama unfold.
After dinner, it got ugly-- Capsule's girl doesn't smoke weed, so she sat in the car as we all enjoyed a spliff right outside the Full House restaurant. Then, Paulie kept refusing to let Capsule pass on the freeway on the way home. This resulted in Capsule's girl nagging at him for driving her car so recklessly. Capsule ended up losing his cool and yelling at her in harsh terms, in front of us.
"I mean, shit, baby, what am I, 16 years old with my learner's permit? You tell me I'm driving too slow, you tell me I'm driving too fast-- JUST GET OFF OF MY BACK, OKAY?"
I tried to ignore it all. KCRW was playing "River Euphrates" by The Pixies, and that song NEVER gets played on the radio. I was high as hell and just wanted to get back to my car in one piece.
The next day I traveled up to Lancaster. My mother turned 49 on Saturday. I bought her a special edition DVD of the movie Dirty Dancing. I sat with my stepdad and discussed the finer merits of Fahrenheit 911-- my stepdad was a Reservist who was asked to do a double tour and refused. He totally agreed with Michael Moore's points, especially when he interviewed the troops on the ground. After all, my stepdad was there, and he smelled more than just rats... more like chickenhawks.
We went to dinner at a sushi place, and then I saw The Last Samurai-- a Hollywood production, to be sure, but not as offensive as I thought it would be. Tom Cruise was fine-- this movie is an obvious "vehicle" for him, but he wasn't any worse than he normally is. The fight scenes are stellar-- the samurai were formdible warriors and you get the sense that they were feared by many.
I sent my condolences to one of my mother's friends, whose own mother had just passed away due to brain cancer. I didn't know Carol's mother for very long, but we got along famously, and she apparently thought I was an intelligent and well-mannered young man. The news of her passing made me somber for a spell.
I drove home, my tail lights on my car completely out. I kept out of the way of the highway patrol, maneuvering my car in front of other cars as much as possible. Last thing I need is to get pulled over for not having tail lights on my hooptie ride.
I made a pit stop at the Garage, bringing with me a PC monitor trhat I'd been given earlier in the day. Much hashish was smoked, easing my mind.
I got home around 3 in the morning and had a hardcore case of the munchies. So what did I do? I bought a pack of Pop Tarts from 7-11... and promptly ate all 8 of the tarts in the box! Suffice it to say, the next morning I was feeling iller than ever.
Down Low woke me up with a phone call at 10AM and invited me to breakfast. When he stopped by, he had a cute Polish girl in tow named Justina. He met her in Reno a while back, and was entertaining her while she visited L.A.
I instantly got the vibe that she was bored. When Down Low went to the bathroom, she opened up to me in the best broken English she could muster. Low most likely took her to the places he felt she should go, like Disneyland or the local bar, as opposed to asking her what she wanted to do. As I talked with her, I got the impression that she would've been just fine with hanging out and chatting.
When they came back to my apartment for a quick smoke, she instantly noticed certain things in my pad.
"Oh, you have kitty cat also?" she said, upon seeing Otis. I knew it was over from there-- she was sprung. Low didn't look too happy.
"And you have astrology book-- and a guitar!"
"Yeah," I said. "Low has a cat too... and a guitar also."
From the look on his face, it seemed that he didn't even think of those things. Low is one of those guys who thinks every girl wants to go to a club and spend all of his money. I could tell that she was the arty type, and arty girls are low maintenance, for sure. They are content to spend an evening indoors, discussing philosophy and politics over coffee and cigarettes.
When she went to the bathroom, I commented to Low, "She's hot. Nice work, bro."
"Yeah," he said, "But she's hot and cold."
No surprise there-- I think he only had one thing on his mind. Granted, she probably felt the same way at first, but there's only so far you can go with that before a girl craves something as simple as a conversation, even if there is a slight language barrier.
She was in the bathroom for an awful long time-- I thought she fell into the toilet.
Anna showed up as they were leaving-- Low had to drive the Polish girl to the airport to make her flight back to Poland. As I spoke with Anna, Low walked back in-- Justina had left her sunglasses in my bathroom, and he walked back in to retrieve them for her.
I don't know why, but I was flattered by that gesture. I'm sure she really left her sunglasses on accident, but I've had that happen to me enough to know that sometimes girls don't leave their sunglasses in a guy's bathroom "by accident", especially if they take a liking to you when they stepped into your apartment.
Oh well-- she's his chick, not mine. He's the one who found her.
They left, and Anna and I watched a rough cut of my animation DVD. Then we ventured out to Tower Records and discovered, while shopping for music, that the annual street fair in Sherman Oaks was going on. I drove around, found a key spot, and we spent about 45 minutes walking about, checking out the sights.
Anna revealed to me that she wished she could move back to L.A., that she missed the city that much. I felt for her-- I don't know why, but I just can't get sick of this city, even if everyone else does.
She showed me the spot on her back where her doctor scraped away a lesion that was turning into skin cancer. Seeing it kind of shook me up, because she's too young to be having these things to deal with, and it makes you think about your mortality and how much time you really have left on this planet.
We hit up The Iliad, and I scored on some prime books, including two volumes of Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey:
"I think somebody should come up with a way to breed a very large shrimp. That way, you could ride him, then, after you camped at night, you could eat him.
How about it, science?"
I also picked up Vineland by Thomas Pynchon, a writer I have yet to read; and The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie-- it's about time I read that one.
After I parted ways with the lovely Anna, I sat at home and watched TV. Around 6PM I received a call from Eve, and she had some better news: Eve's mother had arranged a meeting with Dick, Eve's ex, and she basically made Dick sign a form stating that he would leave Eve alone forever. Now, I don't know how binding that contract is, but seeing as Eve's mother is Italian and knows people from the old country, if you know what I mean, I think it's safe to assume that Dick will never bother Eve again.
I think Eve was trying to invite me over to her place for dinner. She announced it in a way that I've heard before, from other girls. However, just minutes before I got a call from the guys in Funkin Pie-- they were meeting later on, to rehearse. I'd already flaked on them the other night, when we all went out for Paulie's birthday. I agreed to meet them, and then Eve called, hinting at an Italian pasta dinner made with her bare hands. She didn't outright ask me, so I informed her that I had plans later on. The shift in her voice told me that she was getting ready to extend the invitation and thought better of it.
I had to politely decline. In a way, I was kind of glad-- I don't know what the vibe would've been like had I accepted the offer. I know the food would've been good, but... I think, for right now, it's best that the two of us take things at a slower pace than usual. It's all happening too fast, you know?
I met up with the guys from Funkin Pie, and we funked until midnight. I bassed out and blissed out and we grooved until we were sore. Then I drove home and took an hour-long nap before coming to work.
So that was my weekend.
How was yours?
Like I was really going to go out of my way and score coke... sheesh...
Friday night found me in Chinatown, riding along with Captain Capsule and his girlfriend. Peter and I were in the back seat, watching the relationship psychodrama unfold.
After dinner, it got ugly-- Capsule's girl doesn't smoke weed, so she sat in the car as we all enjoyed a spliff right outside the Full House restaurant. Then, Paulie kept refusing to let Capsule pass on the freeway on the way home. This resulted in Capsule's girl nagging at him for driving her car so recklessly. Capsule ended up losing his cool and yelling at her in harsh terms, in front of us.
"I mean, shit, baby, what am I, 16 years old with my learner's permit? You tell me I'm driving too slow, you tell me I'm driving too fast-- JUST GET OFF OF MY BACK, OKAY?"
I tried to ignore it all. KCRW was playing "River Euphrates" by The Pixies, and that song NEVER gets played on the radio. I was high as hell and just wanted to get back to my car in one piece.
The next day I traveled up to Lancaster. My mother turned 49 on Saturday. I bought her a special edition DVD of the movie Dirty Dancing. I sat with my stepdad and discussed the finer merits of Fahrenheit 911-- my stepdad was a Reservist who was asked to do a double tour and refused. He totally agreed with Michael Moore's points, especially when he interviewed the troops on the ground. After all, my stepdad was there, and he smelled more than just rats... more like chickenhawks.
We went to dinner at a sushi place, and then I saw The Last Samurai-- a Hollywood production, to be sure, but not as offensive as I thought it would be. Tom Cruise was fine-- this movie is an obvious "vehicle" for him, but he wasn't any worse than he normally is. The fight scenes are stellar-- the samurai were formdible warriors and you get the sense that they were feared by many.
I sent my condolences to one of my mother's friends, whose own mother had just passed away due to brain cancer. I didn't know Carol's mother for very long, but we got along famously, and she apparently thought I was an intelligent and well-mannered young man. The news of her passing made me somber for a spell.
I drove home, my tail lights on my car completely out. I kept out of the way of the highway patrol, maneuvering my car in front of other cars as much as possible. Last thing I need is to get pulled over for not having tail lights on my hooptie ride.
I made a pit stop at the Garage, bringing with me a PC monitor trhat I'd been given earlier in the day. Much hashish was smoked, easing my mind.
I got home around 3 in the morning and had a hardcore case of the munchies. So what did I do? I bought a pack of Pop Tarts from 7-11... and promptly ate all 8 of the tarts in the box! Suffice it to say, the next morning I was feeling iller than ever.
Down Low woke me up with a phone call at 10AM and invited me to breakfast. When he stopped by, he had a cute Polish girl in tow named Justina. He met her in Reno a while back, and was entertaining her while she visited L.A.
I instantly got the vibe that she was bored. When Down Low went to the bathroom, she opened up to me in the best broken English she could muster. Low most likely took her to the places he felt she should go, like Disneyland or the local bar, as opposed to asking her what she wanted to do. As I talked with her, I got the impression that she would've been just fine with hanging out and chatting.
When they came back to my apartment for a quick smoke, she instantly noticed certain things in my pad.
"Oh, you have kitty cat also?" she said, upon seeing Otis. I knew it was over from there-- she was sprung. Low didn't look too happy.
"And you have astrology book-- and a guitar!"
"Yeah," I said. "Low has a cat too... and a guitar also."
From the look on his face, it seemed that he didn't even think of those things. Low is one of those guys who thinks every girl wants to go to a club and spend all of his money. I could tell that she was the arty type, and arty girls are low maintenance, for sure. They are content to spend an evening indoors, discussing philosophy and politics over coffee and cigarettes.
When she went to the bathroom, I commented to Low, "She's hot. Nice work, bro."
"Yeah," he said, "But she's hot and cold."
No surprise there-- I think he only had one thing on his mind. Granted, she probably felt the same way at first, but there's only so far you can go with that before a girl craves something as simple as a conversation, even if there is a slight language barrier.
She was in the bathroom for an awful long time-- I thought she fell into the toilet.
Anna showed up as they were leaving-- Low had to drive the Polish girl to the airport to make her flight back to Poland. As I spoke with Anna, Low walked back in-- Justina had left her sunglasses in my bathroom, and he walked back in to retrieve them for her.
I don't know why, but I was flattered by that gesture. I'm sure she really left her sunglasses on accident, but I've had that happen to me enough to know that sometimes girls don't leave their sunglasses in a guy's bathroom "by accident", especially if they take a liking to you when they stepped into your apartment.
Oh well-- she's his chick, not mine. He's the one who found her.
They left, and Anna and I watched a rough cut of my animation DVD. Then we ventured out to Tower Records and discovered, while shopping for music, that the annual street fair in Sherman Oaks was going on. I drove around, found a key spot, and we spent about 45 minutes walking about, checking out the sights.
Anna revealed to me that she wished she could move back to L.A., that she missed the city that much. I felt for her-- I don't know why, but I just can't get sick of this city, even if everyone else does.
She showed me the spot on her back where her doctor scraped away a lesion that was turning into skin cancer. Seeing it kind of shook me up, because she's too young to be having these things to deal with, and it makes you think about your mortality and how much time you really have left on this planet.
We hit up The Iliad, and I scored on some prime books, including two volumes of Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey:
"I think somebody should come up with a way to breed a very large shrimp. That way, you could ride him, then, after you camped at night, you could eat him.
How about it, science?"
I also picked up Vineland by Thomas Pynchon, a writer I have yet to read; and The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie-- it's about time I read that one.
After I parted ways with the lovely Anna, I sat at home and watched TV. Around 6PM I received a call from Eve, and she had some better news: Eve's mother had arranged a meeting with Dick, Eve's ex, and she basically made Dick sign a form stating that he would leave Eve alone forever. Now, I don't know how binding that contract is, but seeing as Eve's mother is Italian and knows people from the old country, if you know what I mean, I think it's safe to assume that Dick will never bother Eve again.
I think Eve was trying to invite me over to her place for dinner. She announced it in a way that I've heard before, from other girls. However, just minutes before I got a call from the guys in Funkin Pie-- they were meeting later on, to rehearse. I'd already flaked on them the other night, when we all went out for Paulie's birthday. I agreed to meet them, and then Eve called, hinting at an Italian pasta dinner made with her bare hands. She didn't outright ask me, so I informed her that I had plans later on. The shift in her voice told me that she was getting ready to extend the invitation and thought better of it.
I had to politely decline. In a way, I was kind of glad-- I don't know what the vibe would've been like had I accepted the offer. I know the food would've been good, but... I think, for right now, it's best that the two of us take things at a slower pace than usual. It's all happening too fast, you know?
I met up with the guys from Funkin Pie, and we funked until midnight. I bassed out and blissed out and we grooved until we were sore. Then I drove home and took an hour-long nap before coming to work.
So that was my weekend.
How was yours?
Friday, October 22, 2004
THE CURSE OF THE PRETTY GIRL
Man...
I was sort of long overdue for one of my patented piss-and-vinegar tirades. But last night's post was closer to fire-and-brimstone-- even I have to cringe upon re-reading it.
But it's how I felt, and I don't take any of it back. That doesn't mean that I don't feel differently, and that's the thing: right now I'm feeling much better about the whole shebang.
Halfway through the post I knew that, after some food and some sleep and some deep breaths, I'd be calm again. Reflective, perhaps. It comes and goes. I keep my emotions strapped to the operating table of my soul, and then all of a sudden (like Boris Karloff in full monster regalia) I break free from the shackles and go on a rampage so naked that John Ashcroft wants to cover it up.
I'm sorry if anyone took exception to the harsh vibe. But I don't believe in holding back my emotions when I write. Sometimes I probably should, but (to quote from Todd Solondz' movie Storytelling) once it's written down, it all becomes fiction.
Thanks for the comments, by the way. I know, I equate silence with death when it comes to feedback. I'm trying to not let that get to me as much. A while back, I realized that commenting is cool but (for me) it can also turn into a variation on that classic standby, the crank call. When I would go around to other sites, especially conservative "pundits" and the like, I found myself relishing the opportunity to stir up shit a little too much for my own good. It became unhealthy. I stopped, or at least I've lessened my obnoxiousness a shade. Now if I can only do the same about my nicotine habit, I'd be golden.
**
I got home and slept a blissful sleep, like a tired child done with his tantrum. I had dreams, but they weren't coherent enough to recall. I woke up occasionally, and laid in my bed thinking about the past week, and what I had planned for the rest of the year. I thought about Eve. I thought about how cavalier she was when telling me the gory details. It's as if she expects this shit to happen to her all the time. Knowing her as long as I have, she has been victimized and brutalized left and right. It's the Curse of the Pretty Girl-- she is trapped by qualities that she really has no control over.
She didn't cry or break down. She was so candid. She said it was no big deal. I can't get my head around that, but at least I could tell she meant it. As heavy as her words were, she was being honest. And I appreciate that. She didn't have to tell me as quickly as she did. I didn't ask, because it isn't my place to ask her to bare her soul like that.
I'm really in no position to tell her that she's making bad choices. I mean, I have friends who no doubt wonder why I never went to college and made myself into something more respectable. I've heard the speeches about wasted potential, and there is some truth to them in the sense that I could be further along than I already am if only I'd fly straight and stop dreaming so much. I'm sure that it frustrates some people in my life to no end when I document and glamorize the squalor of a certain type of American living.
If I don't recognize my peers' assessments of me, then how can anyone else accept my assessment of them?
I woke up officially at 4 in the afternoon. I got a call from an old co-worker, inquiring as to whether I could procure some cocaine. Yes, cocaine. I don't do cocaine, and I don't know anyone who deals it. But the guy was insistent, and he kept telling me it was "for some girl I know" but that means that it's either for him or he wants to get with some girl who likes sugar boogers. He seemed sure that I was just being coy, trying to keep it "low pro"-- it didn't help that I had scored him weed and E in the past.
I'll hold on to the money, on the off chance that someone I know actually has some coke to sell. But I think this guy's going to be getting a refund, because really-- I don't even know how much a bag goes for nowadays.
Anyway, talking about cocaine reminded me to call Eve. I didn't want to call her at work, so I showered and shaved, ate food and listened to some vinyl on my new turntable. I smoked a cigarette. The ire from twelve hours before was dissipated, a faded blue-jean memory. God, I was so worked up yesterday.
I remembered back to ten years ago, to the year. Eve had been assaulted in the summer of 1994... or was it 1996? It was a long time ago, but I'm sure she hasn't gone a day without remembering it. Feeling powerless, I unnecessarily heaped tons of guilt upon myself for not being there when I thought she needed me. Granted, we were already broken up by then, but I still made myself feel bad, because I didn't know how else to deal with the news.
This time, I don't feel as guilty. I feel bad, but I don't feel like I failed her somehow. This happened while I was out of the picture, with the man she was in love with for almost a decade. I had no bearing on this. It was her situation, one that she helped to foster until it got out of control. My reaction to this latest bit of violence committed against her was natural, but now that I'm feeling a bit more even I can see that, however bad it sucks what happened to her, there's nothing I can do to reverse the process. The only thing I can do is let her know that I am trying to understand it all.
"Sorry my phone died. I have a cheapie land line here. It won't bug out on me."
She laughed. "It's all good."
"I gotta give you props for being so forthright. I knew that you would tell me in your own sweet time, but I didn't know it would be so soon. Thank you for opening up to me with all of that."
"Thanks for listening," she said.
Just like with my mom and her decision to handle things with less malice than she was entitled to, I can't cast judgement on what Eve decides to do. She joked that she might buy herself a gun, but then she also scolded me when I inferred that Dick had better watch his step if I'm anywhere in the vicinity.
"I don't want anyone else getting involved," she said. "This is my mess to clean up."
"Yeah, well, we're practically neighbors," I replied. "Don't be afraid to call if it's life or death, okay?"
On the whole, we had a lighthearted conversation, and afterward I felt even better than I was already starting to feel. She had to go to a class, and I had to go catalog several dozen audio CDs pertaining to the animation over at the Garage.
I guess I wouldn't get so bent out of shape when someone I give a damn about gets temporarily squashed by the cruelty of human nature, if I could just remember to live and let live. But sometimes I feel like Eve isn't the only one afflicted by the Curse of the Pretty Girl. I think it rubs off on other people, especially if they get too close. Sometimes it drives other people mad, but I think I'm finally building up a slight tolerance to it. It's an overwhelming cloud to have hanging over one's head, but I have gotten better at weathering the emotional storms that come with this desperate living that we call existence. Not much better, but better nonetheless.
I was sort of long overdue for one of my patented piss-and-vinegar tirades. But last night's post was closer to fire-and-brimstone-- even I have to cringe upon re-reading it.
But it's how I felt, and I don't take any of it back. That doesn't mean that I don't feel differently, and that's the thing: right now I'm feeling much better about the whole shebang.
Halfway through the post I knew that, after some food and some sleep and some deep breaths, I'd be calm again. Reflective, perhaps. It comes and goes. I keep my emotions strapped to the operating table of my soul, and then all of a sudden (like Boris Karloff in full monster regalia) I break free from the shackles and go on a rampage so naked that John Ashcroft wants to cover it up.
I'm sorry if anyone took exception to the harsh vibe. But I don't believe in holding back my emotions when I write. Sometimes I probably should, but (to quote from Todd Solondz' movie Storytelling) once it's written down, it all becomes fiction.
Thanks for the comments, by the way. I know, I equate silence with death when it comes to feedback. I'm trying to not let that get to me as much. A while back, I realized that commenting is cool but (for me) it can also turn into a variation on that classic standby, the crank call. When I would go around to other sites, especially conservative "pundits" and the like, I found myself relishing the opportunity to stir up shit a little too much for my own good. It became unhealthy. I stopped, or at least I've lessened my obnoxiousness a shade. Now if I can only do the same about my nicotine habit, I'd be golden.
**
I got home and slept a blissful sleep, like a tired child done with his tantrum. I had dreams, but they weren't coherent enough to recall. I woke up occasionally, and laid in my bed thinking about the past week, and what I had planned for the rest of the year. I thought about Eve. I thought about how cavalier she was when telling me the gory details. It's as if she expects this shit to happen to her all the time. Knowing her as long as I have, she has been victimized and brutalized left and right. It's the Curse of the Pretty Girl-- she is trapped by qualities that she really has no control over.
She didn't cry or break down. She was so candid. She said it was no big deal. I can't get my head around that, but at least I could tell she meant it. As heavy as her words were, she was being honest. And I appreciate that. She didn't have to tell me as quickly as she did. I didn't ask, because it isn't my place to ask her to bare her soul like that.
I'm really in no position to tell her that she's making bad choices. I mean, I have friends who no doubt wonder why I never went to college and made myself into something more respectable. I've heard the speeches about wasted potential, and there is some truth to them in the sense that I could be further along than I already am if only I'd fly straight and stop dreaming so much. I'm sure that it frustrates some people in my life to no end when I document and glamorize the squalor of a certain type of American living.
If I don't recognize my peers' assessments of me, then how can anyone else accept my assessment of them?
I woke up officially at 4 in the afternoon. I got a call from an old co-worker, inquiring as to whether I could procure some cocaine. Yes, cocaine. I don't do cocaine, and I don't know anyone who deals it. But the guy was insistent, and he kept telling me it was "for some girl I know" but that means that it's either for him or he wants to get with some girl who likes sugar boogers. He seemed sure that I was just being coy, trying to keep it "low pro"-- it didn't help that I had scored him weed and E in the past.
I'll hold on to the money, on the off chance that someone I know actually has some coke to sell. But I think this guy's going to be getting a refund, because really-- I don't even know how much a bag goes for nowadays.
Anyway, talking about cocaine reminded me to call Eve. I didn't want to call her at work, so I showered and shaved, ate food and listened to some vinyl on my new turntable. I smoked a cigarette. The ire from twelve hours before was dissipated, a faded blue-jean memory. God, I was so worked up yesterday.
I remembered back to ten years ago, to the year. Eve had been assaulted in the summer of 1994... or was it 1996? It was a long time ago, but I'm sure she hasn't gone a day without remembering it. Feeling powerless, I unnecessarily heaped tons of guilt upon myself for not being there when I thought she needed me. Granted, we were already broken up by then, but I still made myself feel bad, because I didn't know how else to deal with the news.
This time, I don't feel as guilty. I feel bad, but I don't feel like I failed her somehow. This happened while I was out of the picture, with the man she was in love with for almost a decade. I had no bearing on this. It was her situation, one that she helped to foster until it got out of control. My reaction to this latest bit of violence committed against her was natural, but now that I'm feeling a bit more even I can see that, however bad it sucks what happened to her, there's nothing I can do to reverse the process. The only thing I can do is let her know that I am trying to understand it all.
"Sorry my phone died. I have a cheapie land line here. It won't bug out on me."
She laughed. "It's all good."
"I gotta give you props for being so forthright. I knew that you would tell me in your own sweet time, but I didn't know it would be so soon. Thank you for opening up to me with all of that."
"Thanks for listening," she said.
Just like with my mom and her decision to handle things with less malice than she was entitled to, I can't cast judgement on what Eve decides to do. She joked that she might buy herself a gun, but then she also scolded me when I inferred that Dick had better watch his step if I'm anywhere in the vicinity.
"I don't want anyone else getting involved," she said. "This is my mess to clean up."
"Yeah, well, we're practically neighbors," I replied. "Don't be afraid to call if it's life or death, okay?"
On the whole, we had a lighthearted conversation, and afterward I felt even better than I was already starting to feel. She had to go to a class, and I had to go catalog several dozen audio CDs pertaining to the animation over at the Garage.
I guess I wouldn't get so bent out of shape when someone I give a damn about gets temporarily squashed by the cruelty of human nature, if I could just remember to live and let live. But sometimes I feel like Eve isn't the only one afflicted by the Curse of the Pretty Girl. I think it rubs off on other people, especially if they get too close. Sometimes it drives other people mad, but I think I'm finally building up a slight tolerance to it. It's an overwhelming cloud to have hanging over one's head, but I have gotten better at weathering the emotional storms that come with this desperate living that we call existence. Not much better, but better nonetheless.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
WHY BOTHER?
I ask you: why do I even bother?
I write a blog. No one reads it. Why do I even bother? What do I hope to gain?
Please excuse my pessimism. I apologize-- it's just that I've gotten used to watching smart people make stupid choices; I've become enured to good people with deep flaws making horrible decisions, whether it be commitment to loveless marriages out of insecurity, tolerating abuse because of lack of self-esteem, or giving in to impulses that leave them weak and confused.
My only prayer to God, if he even exists, is that he quickly and thoroughly destroy this infernal disease-ridden world, that he incinerate his creation with the speed with which he rendered it possible. If it means that I have to go along with it, then so be it-- a small price to pay for balancing the universe.
I don't know what to say anymore. I am speechless. I am without any hope. And why? Because I cannot begin to understand why some people do the things they do. It makes no sense to me at all. It is difficult for me to find the beauty when all I am witness to is the ugliness.
My experience has made me cynical, nihilistic. But what is there to believe in? Love? Don't make me laugh-- it doesn't exist. People respond to their primal urges, their ape-like fears, their hard-wired behavioral patterns... they do not respond to reason, to logic, to rationale thought. Instead, they subscribe to the darkest reservoirs of their heart's pathetic desires. They love out of fear, which is not love at all-- it is submission. They create their own miseries, they wallow in their own inadequacies.
It's all a fucking fraud. Don't tell me that I'm wrong, because even you, with your hand wrapped lovingly in your partner's, with your head in the clouds giddy due to the elation that comes with closing your mind, know deep in your heart that I am speaking an undeniable truth: there is no love, only sickness.
What else to believe in? Justice? In a country like ours, where an illiterate, alcoholic frat boy is crowned President, despite the wishes of the governing people? Where the same dysfunctional rich kid can order your fathers, brothers, sons and daughters to die in the desert sun so that his lackeys can line their pockets? Is this the justice that you speak of? All I see is brutality. All I see is tyranny. And all I sense is that people want to be taken out of one box and locked inside another.
Maybe there's a belief in Liberty then? What Liberty? The liberty to oppress others, to impose our wills upon them until they heed our calls? There is no Liberty, nor is there Fraternity. There is only personal greed and self-delusion.
Yeah, you can say that I've had it up to HERE. You could safely say that.
I ask you: why do I bother?
Six hours ago, I sat with Eve in the Garage, smoking a cigarette. We were taking a break. She was checking her cel phone messages. Then, she asked me for a smoke. She paused for effect, then said to me:
"What would you say if you were with someone for nine years, and then broke up with them, only to have them harass you until you got a restraining order on them, which they violated by breaking into your brother's house and vandalizing his stuff? And what would you say if you knew you had the evidence to put him away and make your brother happy, the same brother who is willing to disown his own sister if she doesn't call the police and report what this guy has done?"
I felt a headache coming on. So this is it, I thought to myself. This is the night. She has chosen to tell me the whole ugly story much sooner than I expected. And I'm not prepared.
My guard had been let down. All the work, the celebrating of Paulie's birthday, the reconnecting on neutral terms had worn down my resistance. I figured it would be okay to show a little humanity. I was still cautious and wary, but I figured that it would be a long time before she and I had to sit down and get things off of our chests.
Paulie had to go have dinner with his folks, so we left the Garage early. Eve and I agreed to go to IHOP, eat some breakfast, and talk. Big fucking mistake on my part.
We sat down. I ordered the same breakfast that I always order: two scrambled eggs, two strips of bacon, wheat toast, hash browns, and a cup of coffee. Eve ordered pumpkin pancakes.
She told me more details: how The Man Who Took My Place beat her mercilessly for three hours, which resulted in the restraining order; how she didn't press any charges against him; how he continues to violate the restraining order and stalk her; how all she has to do is call the cops and they'll have a case; and how hard it is for her to do that.
I was speechless. I couldn't believe my ears. I didn't know what to say to all of that being dumped on me in one fell swoop. I shook my head, I closed my eyes. I didn't say anything-- at this point, nothing I say matters. It all rests with her, and she is confused and scared and wounded.
She probably doesn't think that I understand the pain she is going through, but I do. I know what it is like to love someone who has repeatedly done you wrong. My relationship with my father is like that-- he taught me right from wrong, and instilled a strong work ethic in me, and a sense of morality... but he also molested several of my preteen cousins for years on end, and even after he was finally exposed for the hypocrite he was, my mother didn't send him to jail where a child molester like him would be cell-meat in 60 seconds.
I never understood why she spared him that fate. I mean, she still hates him, for what he did, for what a scumbag he has been. But she didn't deliver the death blow-- she didn't put him away, she didn't send him up the river. Even the mother of one of my cousins, my very own aunt-- she didn't throw the book at him, and it was HER DAUGHTER that he tried to rape, when she was only 8 years old.
When I got into that fight with him last year, I was unleashing the rage of over a decade of pain and heartache. Every punch I landed was for a person he had wronged, for the family that he destroyed through his sick actions, for the times when he beat me mercilessly and I was unable to defend myself. When I had him in that headlock, I probably would've snapped his head from his neck, had not my stepmother and stepsister intervened.
When I was 19 and living with my father, I would sometimes go into his room and load his rifle. I would stand at the foot of his bed as he slept, and I would pray to God for the courage to pull the trigger and end that motherfucker's life right then and there. I would've served my time for my crime, if it meant that I could be free of his curse. I was ready to throw my life away for a moment of symbolic freedom.
That's what no one understands about me-- I have lived in that dark place of the mind, that dank cellar of hatred and anger. I lived there for a long time. There was no light in that cellar, there was no hope. There was only the wish for death and destruction. I wanted to burn down the world around me, because it was useless and rotting from the inside. I found no values worth keeping, no ideas worth preserving.
Even though I no longer live in that dark place, it still lives inside of me. And when Eve told me about what that Dick had done to her, I remembered how I saw that fucking weasel on the bus about a month ago. And I remember that I saw him too late, and that I felt stupid for not noticing him on the bus before he got off at his stop. I used to run into him all the time, when I worked at the other radio network. He was afraid of me-- he thought I was going to kick his ass. It used to make me laugh, how he would cross the street when he saw me coming around the corner.
As she related these things to me, all I could think about was how, if I'd known then what I know now, I would've beaten that kid to within an inch of his life. In broad daylight. It wouldn't make any difference to me. And I know that, if I should run into him again, he doesn't stand a fucking chance.
But that's just my feelings towards him. I haven't even dealt with how disappointed I am in Eve for being so weak. And at the same time, I understand why she doesn't want to have him locked up-- it's like those abused wives on shows like COPS. Their husbands beat them black-and-blue, but when the police show up they defend their men to the very end. The cops can't do anything about it except to issue a warning. It's a waste of time for the cops, and it is just another chapter in the continuing evidence of humanity's pointlessness.
I told myself that I wasn't going to judge her. And for the most part, I kept my judgements to myself. But that meant long, drawn-out silences at the table, as I weighed the things she had just told me in my own mind. I told myself that I would only listen, that I wouldn't give any advice. But eventually I ended up telling her that she should side with her family, because you just don't go against family.
She knows I'm right, but she feels sympathy for this twerp who beat her to a pulp. And yet, when I offered to pay for breakfast, she didn't want to take my money-- she said to me, "I don't need your pity."
Okay, Eve-- you don't want my pity? Then you will not get it. Maybe this is the wake-up call I needed. I mean, I'm glad that I made a choice to try and mend things between us, but my original goal was to eventually exorcise her from my life. And if she is still making BONEHEADED decisions like this, then it won't be long before we are Even Steven, and I can forget that I ever got mixed up with a person who would allow this to happen to themselves.
It breaks my soul to hear this shit. It leaves me with a foul taste in my mouth. It confirms every horrible notion about this life that I have ever entertained. It leaves me unable to sleep, on the verge of tears, pounding the steering wheel as I drive. It deprives me of the hope that I hold onto, the hope that someday human beings will transcend this putrid state of affairs and start using their HEADS instead of thinking with their inefficient hearts, their distorted emotions.
Of course, I am venting, and rightfully so. But I know that, once I calm down and re-examine the situation, there will be some sort of balance. I am just out-of-control right now, and my own emotions are running wild. But even in this state, I can find some sort of a bright side.
For one thing: thank God they never had kids. Procreating between these two would've been a bad, bad mistake.
Another thing: she is making an effort to pick herself up from the bootstraps. She did eventually leave him, and she is doing her best to pick up the pieces of her broken life.
One last thing: when we are working together, she is happy.
Those are the only things that are keeping me sane at this point.
The past four years have been a drag, because whether it's someone like Eve or Monique or Mary Jane or Holly or any girl that I've encountered, I am constantly faced with the problem of how to help someone who doesn't want my help. And the only way for me to survive it all is to just not care. I will listen, and I will not judge... but to ask me to care is asking way too much. Why should I care, when all these women ever do is allow me to build them up, so that they can run into the arms of "the one they love" and let him tear them down?
I am right to not care. But when I mean "not care", I mean it in the sense that I feel no obligation to save them. They don't want my help-- they're very adamant about that. Eventually, I come to realize that it's their life, not mine. I can sleep at night, knowing that I have no duty towards these women, who are drowning in their own shallow depths, locked in prisons of their own devise (as Jim Morrison once sang)...
It leaves me in the curious role of the witness to a crime. I watch them drown, and I don't throw them a lifesaver, because they would only throw it back at me and claim that they don't need a man to help them. From what I see, they only need a man to hurt them.
After we ate, I went home, and I couldn't get her words out of my head. I called her up on the phone, and we talked, but my cordless phone has been running low on juice, so our conversation was interrupted. And it's just as well-- after the bombshells she dropped on me last night, I think I might need a break from her. The work on the animation is winding down, so I will use the free time to cultivate more positive relationships in my life.
You see, there are some good things to look forward to, and they have to do with finding people who aren't stubborn. For every girl like Eve, who thinks they know what they are doing but doesn't have the slightest fucking clue, there is someone like Beth who listens to what I have to say and appreciates my input. Then there is the possibility of meeting new people, such as the fiddle player in my band... of course, the minute she shows signs of being just like all the others (i.e. fucked in the head) I can always extract myself from the mess.
That's what I did with Holly, ultimately. I never got too close. It hurt a bit when she left, but I am happier for having left her alone. And that's what I have to do with Eve-- I have to leave her alone. It's her life, not mine.
I wouldn't sacrifice my happiness for anything nowadays. It was a long, hard road that I traveled to get this far, and no one-- I repeat, NO ONE --is going to derail my progress.
Maybe the rest of the world is content to be miserable and sad, but I'm not. I'm too angry and bitter to give in to this "poor me" bullshit. I know better. I follow my own advice, even if others don't, and that's all I can expect now, isn't it?
I ask you one last time: why do I even bother?
Answer: because I'm not a quitter. Never was, never will. And if I'm the only person walking down this path, so be it. I can do it alone, because I've done it before. I pity those who cannot bear to do it by themselves. And yet, I cannot stop for them as they careen into oblivion. I've tried that-- it doesn't work.
Everyone around me is co-dependent. We live alone, we die alone, so why do we live our lives in denial of this?
I said it before, and I'll say it again: it's a broken world, and everyone needs a fix.
I know how to fix me, and only me. Is that selfish? You bet it is, but in my case, it's about time. I've wasted too much time on people who will never get it right. I can't wait for people to use their brains and do the right thing-- my time is precious, and I don't have any to spare to anyone.
Man, I wish she hadn't told me all of that. Why did she tell me? What did she expect me to do? Would she listen if I berated her? Would she listen if I kissed her ass?
It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore, no matter how you slice it.
It's all useless. It's all a fraud, an illusion. It doesn't mean anything.
Nothing at all.
I write a blog. No one reads it. Why do I even bother? What do I hope to gain?
Please excuse my pessimism. I apologize-- it's just that I've gotten used to watching smart people make stupid choices; I've become enured to good people with deep flaws making horrible decisions, whether it be commitment to loveless marriages out of insecurity, tolerating abuse because of lack of self-esteem, or giving in to impulses that leave them weak and confused.
My only prayer to God, if he even exists, is that he quickly and thoroughly destroy this infernal disease-ridden world, that he incinerate his creation with the speed with which he rendered it possible. If it means that I have to go along with it, then so be it-- a small price to pay for balancing the universe.
I don't know what to say anymore. I am speechless. I am without any hope. And why? Because I cannot begin to understand why some people do the things they do. It makes no sense to me at all. It is difficult for me to find the beauty when all I am witness to is the ugliness.
My experience has made me cynical, nihilistic. But what is there to believe in? Love? Don't make me laugh-- it doesn't exist. People respond to their primal urges, their ape-like fears, their hard-wired behavioral patterns... they do not respond to reason, to logic, to rationale thought. Instead, they subscribe to the darkest reservoirs of their heart's pathetic desires. They love out of fear, which is not love at all-- it is submission. They create their own miseries, they wallow in their own inadequacies.
It's all a fucking fraud. Don't tell me that I'm wrong, because even you, with your hand wrapped lovingly in your partner's, with your head in the clouds giddy due to the elation that comes with closing your mind, know deep in your heart that I am speaking an undeniable truth: there is no love, only sickness.
What else to believe in? Justice? In a country like ours, where an illiterate, alcoholic frat boy is crowned President, despite the wishes of the governing people? Where the same dysfunctional rich kid can order your fathers, brothers, sons and daughters to die in the desert sun so that his lackeys can line their pockets? Is this the justice that you speak of? All I see is brutality. All I see is tyranny. And all I sense is that people want to be taken out of one box and locked inside another.
Maybe there's a belief in Liberty then? What Liberty? The liberty to oppress others, to impose our wills upon them until they heed our calls? There is no Liberty, nor is there Fraternity. There is only personal greed and self-delusion.
Yeah, you can say that I've had it up to HERE. You could safely say that.
I ask you: why do I bother?
Six hours ago, I sat with Eve in the Garage, smoking a cigarette. We were taking a break. She was checking her cel phone messages. Then, she asked me for a smoke. She paused for effect, then said to me:
"What would you say if you were with someone for nine years, and then broke up with them, only to have them harass you until you got a restraining order on them, which they violated by breaking into your brother's house and vandalizing his stuff? And what would you say if you knew you had the evidence to put him away and make your brother happy, the same brother who is willing to disown his own sister if she doesn't call the police and report what this guy has done?"
I felt a headache coming on. So this is it, I thought to myself. This is the night. She has chosen to tell me the whole ugly story much sooner than I expected. And I'm not prepared.
My guard had been let down. All the work, the celebrating of Paulie's birthday, the reconnecting on neutral terms had worn down my resistance. I figured it would be okay to show a little humanity. I was still cautious and wary, but I figured that it would be a long time before she and I had to sit down and get things off of our chests.
Paulie had to go have dinner with his folks, so we left the Garage early. Eve and I agreed to go to IHOP, eat some breakfast, and talk. Big fucking mistake on my part.
We sat down. I ordered the same breakfast that I always order: two scrambled eggs, two strips of bacon, wheat toast, hash browns, and a cup of coffee. Eve ordered pumpkin pancakes.
She told me more details: how The Man Who Took My Place beat her mercilessly for three hours, which resulted in the restraining order; how she didn't press any charges against him; how he continues to violate the restraining order and stalk her; how all she has to do is call the cops and they'll have a case; and how hard it is for her to do that.
I was speechless. I couldn't believe my ears. I didn't know what to say to all of that being dumped on me in one fell swoop. I shook my head, I closed my eyes. I didn't say anything-- at this point, nothing I say matters. It all rests with her, and she is confused and scared and wounded.
She probably doesn't think that I understand the pain she is going through, but I do. I know what it is like to love someone who has repeatedly done you wrong. My relationship with my father is like that-- he taught me right from wrong, and instilled a strong work ethic in me, and a sense of morality... but he also molested several of my preteen cousins for years on end, and even after he was finally exposed for the hypocrite he was, my mother didn't send him to jail where a child molester like him would be cell-meat in 60 seconds.
I never understood why she spared him that fate. I mean, she still hates him, for what he did, for what a scumbag he has been. But she didn't deliver the death blow-- she didn't put him away, she didn't send him up the river. Even the mother of one of my cousins, my very own aunt-- she didn't throw the book at him, and it was HER DAUGHTER that he tried to rape, when she was only 8 years old.
When I got into that fight with him last year, I was unleashing the rage of over a decade of pain and heartache. Every punch I landed was for a person he had wronged, for the family that he destroyed through his sick actions, for the times when he beat me mercilessly and I was unable to defend myself. When I had him in that headlock, I probably would've snapped his head from his neck, had not my stepmother and stepsister intervened.
When I was 19 and living with my father, I would sometimes go into his room and load his rifle. I would stand at the foot of his bed as he slept, and I would pray to God for the courage to pull the trigger and end that motherfucker's life right then and there. I would've served my time for my crime, if it meant that I could be free of his curse. I was ready to throw my life away for a moment of symbolic freedom.
That's what no one understands about me-- I have lived in that dark place of the mind, that dank cellar of hatred and anger. I lived there for a long time. There was no light in that cellar, there was no hope. There was only the wish for death and destruction. I wanted to burn down the world around me, because it was useless and rotting from the inside. I found no values worth keeping, no ideas worth preserving.
Even though I no longer live in that dark place, it still lives inside of me. And when Eve told me about what that Dick had done to her, I remembered how I saw that fucking weasel on the bus about a month ago. And I remember that I saw him too late, and that I felt stupid for not noticing him on the bus before he got off at his stop. I used to run into him all the time, when I worked at the other radio network. He was afraid of me-- he thought I was going to kick his ass. It used to make me laugh, how he would cross the street when he saw me coming around the corner.
As she related these things to me, all I could think about was how, if I'd known then what I know now, I would've beaten that kid to within an inch of his life. In broad daylight. It wouldn't make any difference to me. And I know that, if I should run into him again, he doesn't stand a fucking chance.
But that's just my feelings towards him. I haven't even dealt with how disappointed I am in Eve for being so weak. And at the same time, I understand why she doesn't want to have him locked up-- it's like those abused wives on shows like COPS. Their husbands beat them black-and-blue, but when the police show up they defend their men to the very end. The cops can't do anything about it except to issue a warning. It's a waste of time for the cops, and it is just another chapter in the continuing evidence of humanity's pointlessness.
I told myself that I wasn't going to judge her. And for the most part, I kept my judgements to myself. But that meant long, drawn-out silences at the table, as I weighed the things she had just told me in my own mind. I told myself that I would only listen, that I wouldn't give any advice. But eventually I ended up telling her that she should side with her family, because you just don't go against family.
She knows I'm right, but she feels sympathy for this twerp who beat her to a pulp. And yet, when I offered to pay for breakfast, she didn't want to take my money-- she said to me, "I don't need your pity."
Okay, Eve-- you don't want my pity? Then you will not get it. Maybe this is the wake-up call I needed. I mean, I'm glad that I made a choice to try and mend things between us, but my original goal was to eventually exorcise her from my life. And if she is still making BONEHEADED decisions like this, then it won't be long before we are Even Steven, and I can forget that I ever got mixed up with a person who would allow this to happen to themselves.
It breaks my soul to hear this shit. It leaves me with a foul taste in my mouth. It confirms every horrible notion about this life that I have ever entertained. It leaves me unable to sleep, on the verge of tears, pounding the steering wheel as I drive. It deprives me of the hope that I hold onto, the hope that someday human beings will transcend this putrid state of affairs and start using their HEADS instead of thinking with their inefficient hearts, their distorted emotions.
Of course, I am venting, and rightfully so. But I know that, once I calm down and re-examine the situation, there will be some sort of balance. I am just out-of-control right now, and my own emotions are running wild. But even in this state, I can find some sort of a bright side.
For one thing: thank God they never had kids. Procreating between these two would've been a bad, bad mistake.
Another thing: she is making an effort to pick herself up from the bootstraps. She did eventually leave him, and she is doing her best to pick up the pieces of her broken life.
One last thing: when we are working together, she is happy.
Those are the only things that are keeping me sane at this point.
The past four years have been a drag, because whether it's someone like Eve or Monique or Mary Jane or Holly or any girl that I've encountered, I am constantly faced with the problem of how to help someone who doesn't want my help. And the only way for me to survive it all is to just not care. I will listen, and I will not judge... but to ask me to care is asking way too much. Why should I care, when all these women ever do is allow me to build them up, so that they can run into the arms of "the one they love" and let him tear them down?
I am right to not care. But when I mean "not care", I mean it in the sense that I feel no obligation to save them. They don't want my help-- they're very adamant about that. Eventually, I come to realize that it's their life, not mine. I can sleep at night, knowing that I have no duty towards these women, who are drowning in their own shallow depths, locked in prisons of their own devise (as Jim Morrison once sang)...
It leaves me in the curious role of the witness to a crime. I watch them drown, and I don't throw them a lifesaver, because they would only throw it back at me and claim that they don't need a man to help them. From what I see, they only need a man to hurt them.
After we ate, I went home, and I couldn't get her words out of my head. I called her up on the phone, and we talked, but my cordless phone has been running low on juice, so our conversation was interrupted. And it's just as well-- after the bombshells she dropped on me last night, I think I might need a break from her. The work on the animation is winding down, so I will use the free time to cultivate more positive relationships in my life.
You see, there are some good things to look forward to, and they have to do with finding people who aren't stubborn. For every girl like Eve, who thinks they know what they are doing but doesn't have the slightest fucking clue, there is someone like Beth who listens to what I have to say and appreciates my input. Then there is the possibility of meeting new people, such as the fiddle player in my band... of course, the minute she shows signs of being just like all the others (i.e. fucked in the head) I can always extract myself from the mess.
That's what I did with Holly, ultimately. I never got too close. It hurt a bit when she left, but I am happier for having left her alone. And that's what I have to do with Eve-- I have to leave her alone. It's her life, not mine.
I wouldn't sacrifice my happiness for anything nowadays. It was a long, hard road that I traveled to get this far, and no one-- I repeat, NO ONE --is going to derail my progress.
Maybe the rest of the world is content to be miserable and sad, but I'm not. I'm too angry and bitter to give in to this "poor me" bullshit. I know better. I follow my own advice, even if others don't, and that's all I can expect now, isn't it?
I ask you one last time: why do I even bother?
Answer: because I'm not a quitter. Never was, never will. And if I'm the only person walking down this path, so be it. I can do it alone, because I've done it before. I pity those who cannot bear to do it by themselves. And yet, I cannot stop for them as they careen into oblivion. I've tried that-- it doesn't work.
Everyone around me is co-dependent. We live alone, we die alone, so why do we live our lives in denial of this?
I said it before, and I'll say it again: it's a broken world, and everyone needs a fix.
I know how to fix me, and only me. Is that selfish? You bet it is, but in my case, it's about time. I've wasted too much time on people who will never get it right. I can't wait for people to use their brains and do the right thing-- my time is precious, and I don't have any to spare to anyone.
Man, I wish she hadn't told me all of that. Why did she tell me? What did she expect me to do? Would she listen if I berated her? Would she listen if I kissed her ass?
It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore, no matter how you slice it.
It's all useless. It's all a fraud, an illusion. It doesn't mean anything.
Nothing at all.
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
PURPLE PAULIE'S BIRTHDAY
(NOTE: Anyone can comment on this blog now-- I removed the restrictions)
The rain has been pouring down on Los Angeles in tremendous torrents. It hasn't been like this since last February. It's as if God and his angelic legions are all taking a huge piss on us.
I got bent out of shape over petty bullshit again. Road rage-- people in L.A. temporarily forget their driving skills when the slightest drop of rain descends from the smog-ridden sky. And I am left to deal with people who don't signal before they switch lanes; old ladies who should be driving in the L.A. River and NOT on the streets; and those special souls who wait until every car in the opposite lane FOR AT LEAST TWO CITY BLOCKS has passed before they make that arduous left turn...
I had to fax some papers. I went to the Library and had to use the computer, so I could print up copies of the docs I wanted to fax. I had to wait half an hour before I could log on. I had $5 in my wallet and nothing more, and it cost me $1.50 to print 9 pages of documents. I had to buy one of those lame-ass "print cards" that Kinko's used to have a monopoly on. Then, I asked the librarian if they had a fax machine.
Can you fucking believe that the Public Library in Burbank didn't have a fax machine?
I drove all over, in the shitty God-piss rain, unti I found a fax place. $4 to fax 4 out of the 9 docs-- and of course, I only had $3.50 on me.
I drove home, feeling defeated, cold, and wet. It was 1pm, and I was cranky from lack of sleep and being up all night, editing traffic reports in Spanish.
I slept.
Around 4PM the phone rang. I got out of bed to answer it. They asked for Mark.
"Wrong fucking number." I hung up.
Half an hour after that, the phone rang again.
"Did I wake you?" Eve asked.
"No," I said, telling a half-truth.
"I'm sorry if I seemed bitchy last night, before I left."
There she goes again, I thought to myself. Eve had a bad habit of inventing incidents over which she should apologize.
"Didn't notice."
I informed her that it was Paulie's birthday. She wanted to come along for the celebrations but didn't want to invite herself. I told her it was all good. She had a therapy session around 8PM, which would last an hour. I told her to call me at the Garage when she was done.
I then received a call from Beth, who had returned from Pacifica a few months back. This was the first time she called me since she'd arrived back in town. We had a heartfelt conversation, and I told her not to be a stranger. She lives a few blocks away from me, so I told her to drop by anytime. Talking to her cheered me up somehow.
Pulling up to the Garage, the rain got more intense, pouring and pouring and pouring like a waiter who doesn't know what the word "when" means. I entered the Garage and saw Paulie levitating a small UFO a few feet above his head.
"Is that the model Travis made yesterday?" I asked.
"No, something Nona bought me at the mall." Paulie looked like a big kid, squeezing the trigger between his excited grip. The UFO spurted upwards, flashing red-and-bue lights alternating, rotating.
"Dope," I said. I couldn't take my eyes off of it.
We smoked some potent hashish to celebrate Paulie's birthday. Real shit, too. None of that "hash oil" that regularly makes the rounds in hash-starved Southern California. My lungs felt like collapsing.
By the time Eve showed up, there was a small crowd of people waiting to drive out to Burbank, where we were treating Paulie to dinner at Hooter's. Yes, Hooters. Never been there before.
I showed Eve some more Photoshop tricks. We collaborated on drawing up a triple beam scale, using the Shape tool and the Paint Bucket tool. I also told her to draw a mock police sketch for a future document, possibly to be scanned into the Mac.
We all took to our cars and made the mad dash to Hooter's. My visibility was extremely bad, and I kept my car behind Paulie's truck at all times. Ten foot tall waves of mutilation on either side of me pounded away at my windows.
Wanna know a secret about Hooter's girls? They double up their bras. Some of the girls have genuinely big racks, but the ones who are on the small side pad their chests or use two or more bras to achieve the proper tit effect.
I almost died laughing when one Hooter girl, still in the process of training, showed up at my table with my drink. "One lemonade... who ordered the lemonade?"
We all looked at each other, wondering the same thing.
The girl who was training her quietly added, "It's a Sierra Mist, not a lemonade."
"Oh," the ditz replied. "It sure LOOKS like a lemonade!" And she giggled and bounced out of my sight.
Thank God for stupid blondes...
Glenn Foxx, an artist and friend of Paulie's, showed up. I'd been itching to meet the man-- he has a very distinct style. I've posted links to his site before, and maybe I will permanently link him, now that I can say that I know him personally. Paulie told him about the animation-- I wonder what his reaction will be when he sees it. I value what an established artist has to say.
I couldn't take my eyes off of all the tits and ass around me. Eve kept looking over at me, laughing. I guess I was being too obvious with my leering and ogling. Nona asked me if I thought any of the girls were attractive. I told her that they probably don't look as hot when they're out of uniform, although I was developing a slow and steady crush on the ditsy blonde who mistook my Sierra Mist for a lemonade. She was just so brazenly dumb that I was enamored of her.
Speaking of dumb females-- a stupid and drunk girl and her friends kept being obnoxious, screaming out annoying asides and generally acting like college never ended. Paulie, not to be outdone, kept yelping "PANTIES!" in a girlish voice every time she passed us. I had to hide my head under the table to keep from laughing out loud.
Eve proposed a toast. "To Paulie," she said, and we all toasted. Peter didn't have his glass, though-- the waitress had taken it back for a refill. He used the salsa dish as a substitute.
Instead of driving back to the Garage, I drove home. I was in the neighborhood, so why not? When I got in, I decided to call Eve, to make sure she got home safely.
"Yes, I got home fine," she said immediately. Even though she acted like she resented being checked up on, I knew she wanted to talk.
It's so surreal, how only two weeks ago I had no idea what she was doing or where she was... and now, we talk almost daily, exchanging ideas on art, making jokes, and trying to make it all work.
"It was fun tonight. All of us, sitting at the table, like we were all teenagers again."
"That's 'cause we're young at heart," I said.
"But we're not kids anymore. We're adults now."
I noticed the solemn tone of her voice. "You said it."
"We make a good team, you and I," she said. "We work well together, don't we?"
"I know," I said. "We do."
She brought up an interesting fact: I met her when she was 15 and I was 18. She was a Freshman, I was a Senior. Now, she is 27 and I am 30.
"I've known you for about half of my life," she said to me.
"Whoa..." I replied. "When you put it THAT way..."
"Isn't it odd? You're the only person I've known for that long. It trips me out."
Knowing Eve as I do, that's her way of saying "Thank you for not totally giving up on me."
Half of her life, I thought. Wow. It's been that long, hasn't it? 12 years, going on 13. She was my date to the prom. She was my consolation when I broke up with Vera. She was the girl who used to cross her eyes in class in order to make me laugh.
She was the pain in my heart for the past five years...
Her mother, whom I considered to be one of the coolest and wisest women I'd ever met, once told me that I was Eve's first love, and that a woman always holds her first love in a different light above all the others. I didn't know what she meant at the time, but I think I know now.
The conversation turned to the Hooter's girls. I revealed that I was not a breast man. I also shared an observance, that guys will forgive a woman with an ugly face if her breasts are enormous.
"I know what you mean. I have a friend named Holly-- she's a double of me, I swear. Looks just like me..."
A girl named Holly who looks like Eve? "You don't say?"
"...and she has this big, ghetto-sized booty... and her man is ALL OVER HER because of that junk in her pa-dunk-a-dunk."
"Guys-- we're funny like that. I mean, take Ellen for example. She's nice, but she's not my type. I've seen prettier. But the guys at the Garage... just because she has big knockers, they give her attention like she's a four-star general!"
"I don't have a type," Eve said. "I mean, it has nothing to do with physical attributes. It has to do with whether they are a little off or not."
"Off?"
"You know... not all there? A bit loony? That's what I'm attracted to, I guess. It seems to be the common factor."
"I see..."
"Well, anyway, I'll let you get some sleep. God, I don't see how you can do it. Going to work at 3AM? Man, it sounds painful."
"You know me-- the less sleep, the better. So, I'll see you at the Garage tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Call me if you're going to be late."
"You got it. Goodnight."
I grabbed about an hour of sleep before the alarm clock woke me up. As I dressed myself, the rain kept on pounding on my window, like a ghost from the past, or a banshee who portended a grim fortune.
That was how we celebrated Purple Paulie's 34th birthday.
The rain has been pouring down on Los Angeles in tremendous torrents. It hasn't been like this since last February. It's as if God and his angelic legions are all taking a huge piss on us.
I got bent out of shape over petty bullshit again. Road rage-- people in L.A. temporarily forget their driving skills when the slightest drop of rain descends from the smog-ridden sky. And I am left to deal with people who don't signal before they switch lanes; old ladies who should be driving in the L.A. River and NOT on the streets; and those special souls who wait until every car in the opposite lane FOR AT LEAST TWO CITY BLOCKS has passed before they make that arduous left turn...
I had to fax some papers. I went to the Library and had to use the computer, so I could print up copies of the docs I wanted to fax. I had to wait half an hour before I could log on. I had $5 in my wallet and nothing more, and it cost me $1.50 to print 9 pages of documents. I had to buy one of those lame-ass "print cards" that Kinko's used to have a monopoly on. Then, I asked the librarian if they had a fax machine.
Can you fucking believe that the Public Library in Burbank didn't have a fax machine?
I drove all over, in the shitty God-piss rain, unti I found a fax place. $4 to fax 4 out of the 9 docs-- and of course, I only had $3.50 on me.
I drove home, feeling defeated, cold, and wet. It was 1pm, and I was cranky from lack of sleep and being up all night, editing traffic reports in Spanish.
I slept.
Around 4PM the phone rang. I got out of bed to answer it. They asked for Mark.
"Wrong fucking number." I hung up.
Half an hour after that, the phone rang again.
"Did I wake you?" Eve asked.
"No," I said, telling a half-truth.
"I'm sorry if I seemed bitchy last night, before I left."
There she goes again, I thought to myself. Eve had a bad habit of inventing incidents over which she should apologize.
"Didn't notice."
I informed her that it was Paulie's birthday. She wanted to come along for the celebrations but didn't want to invite herself. I told her it was all good. She had a therapy session around 8PM, which would last an hour. I told her to call me at the Garage when she was done.
I then received a call from Beth, who had returned from Pacifica a few months back. This was the first time she called me since she'd arrived back in town. We had a heartfelt conversation, and I told her not to be a stranger. She lives a few blocks away from me, so I told her to drop by anytime. Talking to her cheered me up somehow.
Pulling up to the Garage, the rain got more intense, pouring and pouring and pouring like a waiter who doesn't know what the word "when" means. I entered the Garage and saw Paulie levitating a small UFO a few feet above his head.
"Is that the model Travis made yesterday?" I asked.
"No, something Nona bought me at the mall." Paulie looked like a big kid, squeezing the trigger between his excited grip. The UFO spurted upwards, flashing red-and-bue lights alternating, rotating.
"Dope," I said. I couldn't take my eyes off of it.
We smoked some potent hashish to celebrate Paulie's birthday. Real shit, too. None of that "hash oil" that regularly makes the rounds in hash-starved Southern California. My lungs felt like collapsing.
By the time Eve showed up, there was a small crowd of people waiting to drive out to Burbank, where we were treating Paulie to dinner at Hooter's. Yes, Hooters. Never been there before.
I showed Eve some more Photoshop tricks. We collaborated on drawing up a triple beam scale, using the Shape tool and the Paint Bucket tool. I also told her to draw a mock police sketch for a future document, possibly to be scanned into the Mac.
We all took to our cars and made the mad dash to Hooter's. My visibility was extremely bad, and I kept my car behind Paulie's truck at all times. Ten foot tall waves of mutilation on either side of me pounded away at my windows.
Wanna know a secret about Hooter's girls? They double up their bras. Some of the girls have genuinely big racks, but the ones who are on the small side pad their chests or use two or more bras to achieve the proper tit effect.
I almost died laughing when one Hooter girl, still in the process of training, showed up at my table with my drink. "One lemonade... who ordered the lemonade?"
We all looked at each other, wondering the same thing.
The girl who was training her quietly added, "It's a Sierra Mist, not a lemonade."
"Oh," the ditz replied. "It sure LOOKS like a lemonade!" And she giggled and bounced out of my sight.
Thank God for stupid blondes...
Glenn Foxx, an artist and friend of Paulie's, showed up. I'd been itching to meet the man-- he has a very distinct style. I've posted links to his site before, and maybe I will permanently link him, now that I can say that I know him personally. Paulie told him about the animation-- I wonder what his reaction will be when he sees it. I value what an established artist has to say.
I couldn't take my eyes off of all the tits and ass around me. Eve kept looking over at me, laughing. I guess I was being too obvious with my leering and ogling. Nona asked me if I thought any of the girls were attractive. I told her that they probably don't look as hot when they're out of uniform, although I was developing a slow and steady crush on the ditsy blonde who mistook my Sierra Mist for a lemonade. She was just so brazenly dumb that I was enamored of her.
Speaking of dumb females-- a stupid and drunk girl and her friends kept being obnoxious, screaming out annoying asides and generally acting like college never ended. Paulie, not to be outdone, kept yelping "PANTIES!" in a girlish voice every time she passed us. I had to hide my head under the table to keep from laughing out loud.
Eve proposed a toast. "To Paulie," she said, and we all toasted. Peter didn't have his glass, though-- the waitress had taken it back for a refill. He used the salsa dish as a substitute.
Instead of driving back to the Garage, I drove home. I was in the neighborhood, so why not? When I got in, I decided to call Eve, to make sure she got home safely.
"Yes, I got home fine," she said immediately. Even though she acted like she resented being checked up on, I knew she wanted to talk.
It's so surreal, how only two weeks ago I had no idea what she was doing or where she was... and now, we talk almost daily, exchanging ideas on art, making jokes, and trying to make it all work.
"It was fun tonight. All of us, sitting at the table, like we were all teenagers again."
"That's 'cause we're young at heart," I said.
"But we're not kids anymore. We're adults now."
I noticed the solemn tone of her voice. "You said it."
"We make a good team, you and I," she said. "We work well together, don't we?"
"I know," I said. "We do."
She brought up an interesting fact: I met her when she was 15 and I was 18. She was a Freshman, I was a Senior. Now, she is 27 and I am 30.
"I've known you for about half of my life," she said to me.
"Whoa..." I replied. "When you put it THAT way..."
"Isn't it odd? You're the only person I've known for that long. It trips me out."
Knowing Eve as I do, that's her way of saying "Thank you for not totally giving up on me."
Half of her life, I thought. Wow. It's been that long, hasn't it? 12 years, going on 13. She was my date to the prom. She was my consolation when I broke up with Vera. She was the girl who used to cross her eyes in class in order to make me laugh.
She was the pain in my heart for the past five years...
Her mother, whom I considered to be one of the coolest and wisest women I'd ever met, once told me that I was Eve's first love, and that a woman always holds her first love in a different light above all the others. I didn't know what she meant at the time, but I think I know now.
The conversation turned to the Hooter's girls. I revealed that I was not a breast man. I also shared an observance, that guys will forgive a woman with an ugly face if her breasts are enormous.
"I know what you mean. I have a friend named Holly-- she's a double of me, I swear. Looks just like me..."
A girl named Holly who looks like Eve? "You don't say?"
"...and she has this big, ghetto-sized booty... and her man is ALL OVER HER because of that junk in her pa-dunk-a-dunk."
"Guys-- we're funny like that. I mean, take Ellen for example. She's nice, but she's not my type. I've seen prettier. But the guys at the Garage... just because she has big knockers, they give her attention like she's a four-star general!"
"I don't have a type," Eve said. "I mean, it has nothing to do with physical attributes. It has to do with whether they are a little off or not."
"Off?"
"You know... not all there? A bit loony? That's what I'm attracted to, I guess. It seems to be the common factor."
"I see..."
"Well, anyway, I'll let you get some sleep. God, I don't see how you can do it. Going to work at 3AM? Man, it sounds painful."
"You know me-- the less sleep, the better. So, I'll see you at the Garage tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Call me if you're going to be late."
"You got it. Goodnight."
I grabbed about an hour of sleep before the alarm clock woke me up. As I dressed myself, the rain kept on pounding on my window, like a ghost from the past, or a banshee who portended a grim fortune.
That was how we celebrated Purple Paulie's 34th birthday.
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
GREAT BEATLES RECORDS
FOR NO ONE
Man, I had a bitchin' blog for this song, but the computer had a shit-fit and didn't post it. First time in a while that has happened to me, not counting the loss of my Archives.
Of course, you all know what it feels like when you lose a good post. It kind of feels like breaking up with a lover, in a sense: you keep thinking of all the things you wrote and how great it was, and now you realize you have nothing.
Your day breaks
Your mind aches
You find that all her words of kindness linger on
when she no longer needs you
Paul McCartney gets on my nerves. He writes songs like "Hello Goodbye" and expects them to be profound. Sure, they were instant Number Ones, but they were pap.
What's even more infuriating, however, is that he occasionally managed to write some extraordinarily great music, such as "For No One", songs with an emotional depth that I expect from John Lennon.
I once read an article in a humor magazine that asked "What's Your Beatle Sign?" If treated like astrological sun signs, consider me a John with a George rising. Maybe Ringo is my moon sign. I don't think I have any Paul in my chart.
But "For No One" makes up for all of that, the finest break-up song that a man can write, an underrated track on an overrated album like Revolver, reminiscent of what it actually feels like to part ways with a significant other.
The lyrics go on about remembering sentiments that were spoken to each other:
There will be times
when all the things she said
will fill your head
You won't forget her
Paul is singing to the man, who has really fucked things up royally. It seems like it's the man's fault, not the woman's. She can't stand the man anymore-- she doesn't feel like she recognizes him anymore:
She said that long ago
she knew someone
but now he's gone
She doesn't need him
It reminds me of that song "Torn", made popular by Natalie Imbruglia but actually written by a woman named Anne Previn, when she was part of a band called Ednaswap-- now they are known as Annetenna.
There's that line in "Torn" -- I prefer Anne's, and not Natalie's, version-- that goes: "You couldn't be that man that I adored/You don't seem to know or seem to care what your heart is for..." It echoes this composition very much so.
Then there's that lovely French horn solo that caps off the end of the second verse: desolate, muted, despairing...
I mentioned "Hello Goodbye" because Paul basically ripped himself off, taking the main verse of "For No One" and popping it up to create the chorus for the travesty that is "Hello Goodbye", which was yet another Number One hit for the Cute Beatle. But "For No One" is the better song.
It is the more emotional song, the more meaningful song. It was written after Paul broke up with Jane Asher, an actress he met at the height of Beatlemania. Paul was very enamored of her and her family, and spent many hours with them, eating dinner and listening to records. He rarely ever spent any time with John, George and Ringo outside of their band duties, and when he split with her he probably felt even more isolated than usual, because his bandmates had already become accustomed to his absence.
The Ashers influenced Paul's musical direction, getting him hooked on the kind of old-time records that his musically-gifted father used to play, the kind of stuff that Paul ended up incorporating into songs like "Honey Pie", "Martha My Dear", "Your Mother Should Know" and "When I'm Sixty-Four".
I'm sure Paul went into a mild depression following the break-up. Jane probably handled it better, but not by much.
You want her
You need her
And yet you don't believe her
when she says 'our love is dead'
You think she needs you
I imagine that he looked into her tear-stained eyes and saw that she had had enough of his ways. Paul can be annoying, I would guess, what with being a left-handed bass player and all.
And there's no one on the track, except for Paul's piano, Ringo's trap kit, and a session horn player. John and george were probably out getting high and playing with expensive toys when Paul did this one.
Yes, Paul gets on my nerves. And he must've gotten on a lot of people's nerves. And what's more-- he probably was sensitive enough to realize this, and wrote a song like "For No One" to show that, indeed, he knew how insufferable he could be.
Next time you have it out with your lover, put this platter on and sink into a comfy chair... especially if you are a man and your woman is fed up with your narcissism.
Man, I had a bitchin' blog for this song, but the computer had a shit-fit and didn't post it. First time in a while that has happened to me, not counting the loss of my Archives.
Of course, you all know what it feels like when you lose a good post. It kind of feels like breaking up with a lover, in a sense: you keep thinking of all the things you wrote and how great it was, and now you realize you have nothing.
Your day breaks
Your mind aches
You find that all her words of kindness linger on
when she no longer needs you
Paul McCartney gets on my nerves. He writes songs like "Hello Goodbye" and expects them to be profound. Sure, they were instant Number Ones, but they were pap.
What's even more infuriating, however, is that he occasionally managed to write some extraordinarily great music, such as "For No One", songs with an emotional depth that I expect from John Lennon.
I once read an article in a humor magazine that asked "What's Your Beatle Sign?" If treated like astrological sun signs, consider me a John with a George rising. Maybe Ringo is my moon sign. I don't think I have any Paul in my chart.
But "For No One" makes up for all of that, the finest break-up song that a man can write, an underrated track on an overrated album like Revolver, reminiscent of what it actually feels like to part ways with a significant other.
The lyrics go on about remembering sentiments that were spoken to each other:
There will be times
when all the things she said
will fill your head
You won't forget her
Paul is singing to the man, who has really fucked things up royally. It seems like it's the man's fault, not the woman's. She can't stand the man anymore-- she doesn't feel like she recognizes him anymore:
She said that long ago
she knew someone
but now he's gone
She doesn't need him
It reminds me of that song "Torn", made popular by Natalie Imbruglia but actually written by a woman named Anne Previn, when she was part of a band called Ednaswap-- now they are known as Annetenna.
There's that line in "Torn" -- I prefer Anne's, and not Natalie's, version-- that goes: "You couldn't be that man that I adored/You don't seem to know or seem to care what your heart is for..." It echoes this composition very much so.
Then there's that lovely French horn solo that caps off the end of the second verse: desolate, muted, despairing...
I mentioned "Hello Goodbye" because Paul basically ripped himself off, taking the main verse of "For No One" and popping it up to create the chorus for the travesty that is "Hello Goodbye", which was yet another Number One hit for the Cute Beatle. But "For No One" is the better song.
It is the more emotional song, the more meaningful song. It was written after Paul broke up with Jane Asher, an actress he met at the height of Beatlemania. Paul was very enamored of her and her family, and spent many hours with them, eating dinner and listening to records. He rarely ever spent any time with John, George and Ringo outside of their band duties, and when he split with her he probably felt even more isolated than usual, because his bandmates had already become accustomed to his absence.
The Ashers influenced Paul's musical direction, getting him hooked on the kind of old-time records that his musically-gifted father used to play, the kind of stuff that Paul ended up incorporating into songs like "Honey Pie", "Martha My Dear", "Your Mother Should Know" and "When I'm Sixty-Four".
I'm sure Paul went into a mild depression following the break-up. Jane probably handled it better, but not by much.
You want her
You need her
And yet you don't believe her
when she says 'our love is dead'
You think she needs you
I imagine that he looked into her tear-stained eyes and saw that she had had enough of his ways. Paul can be annoying, I would guess, what with being a left-handed bass player and all.
And there's no one on the track, except for Paul's piano, Ringo's trap kit, and a session horn player. John and george were probably out getting high and playing with expensive toys when Paul did this one.
Yes, Paul gets on my nerves. And he must've gotten on a lot of people's nerves. And what's more-- he probably was sensitive enough to realize this, and wrote a song like "For No One" to show that, indeed, he knew how insufferable he could be.
Next time you have it out with your lover, put this platter on and sink into a comfy chair... especially if you are a man and your woman is fed up with your narcissism.
THE BEST DEFENSE
I sat there, in the Garage, retouching more scenes for the animation. A few feet away, a sculptor named Travis was carving a UFO out of styrofoam. Various hangers-on and associates filled the Garage, some staying after arriving, some leaving after having stayed a while.
Eve walked in and sat down with me. Immediately she wanted to get going. I put her on the PC, and watched her work. She was picking up the program functions rapidly. You don't need to be an artist to learn Photoshop, but it helps.
There were times when my guard slipped-- a shared laugh, a sly glance, the accidental touching of hands, things of that nature. Every time I felt my wall being deconstructed, I put it right back up. This is business, after all.
I think I was doing all right, keeping the focus on creative work. We were concentrating on something other than ourselves. Eve took notes, added suggestions, watched me as I plotted ways to get the effects I wanted.
At one point, she alluded to how things were hectic in her life. Being naturally inquisitive, I started asking questions. "How was work?" "How's your brother doing?" After a while I stopped asking questions-- I could get started on a roll, and I don't think I am ready to get into all of that with her.
She said that she appreciated having a place to go, where she can lose herself in art and not have to think about the various dramas in her life. I thought better of asking anything further. Instead, I showed her how to crop jpegs and how to use the Paint Bucket feature.
She made a reference to her high school prom. I had to remind her that I saw her that night-- she showed up with her brother, dressed outrageously in Victorian garb, her hair a Medusa-like web of curls and magenta locks. I was at Sharky's at the time, sort of living there for the summer, in between apartments.
I mentioned Sharky's name-- she didn't say anything. I changed the subject. I didn't intend to bring him up, but I didn't elaborate on anything either. I wasn't looking to start a fight. At this point, I don't care if she ever tells me anything about herself, past or present. It only serves to complicate things.
Travis finished the foam model, and Eve and I marvelled at his artistry. Travis left with a smile on his face, a beer in his gut, some pot smoke in his brain, and a cigarette dangling from his lips.
Ellen showed up, asking me if I'd seen Peter, who had promised her a CD filled with music software. Eve and Ellen know each other by proxy-- one of Ellen's friends is part of the cast of the TV pilot Eve is working on... small world, eh?
We had a blast, working on the retouches. I let her work some magic, then came back and brainstormed some ideas. She drew a homicidal dentist that we might make into a character for a future episode. I liked it. She asked me if I was just paying her lip service, and I reminded her that I never pull punches when it comes to being honest about artistic matters.
It feels good to know that we are friends again. Having a creative project to collaborate on puts us both at ease. We can be in the same room together, and share the warm vibe, without getting carried away. Our chemistry is obvious, but unacknowledged.
I mean, it beats not knowing where she is and what she is doing. Even though I don't want to get too deep, I feel a slight relief knowing that she is there, and that I can still talk to her about things like how to draw shadows or what colors would look best on a character.
I felt pangs of jealousy when some of the guys who frequent the Garage made their obligatory overtures. Some of these guys will hit on anything with breasts. In Eve's case, being as attractive as she is, I almost expect it to happen as soon as she walks in the door. She can't help it.
Baby Bird (so named because he expects to be fed by Paulie every time he comes through) made a clumsy introduction, walking over to me to say 'goodbye' and then looking at Eve and saying, "Goodbye, pretty computer girl."
"Nice to meet you," she said.
"Actually, we haven't been introduced."
I rolled my eyes. I can't help it. I'm not worried about a guy like Baby Bird making moves, though. However, if he asked her out on a date, I really couldn't get upset either.
I still don't know what's up with Eve and her previous dude, and I'm not asking, but I think it's safe to say that she is no longer with him. He never let her do anything that she wanted to do, and she kowtowed to his whims because she felt like she had to. I don't think that guy would be happy knowing that his girl was spending hours at the Garage with her ex-boyfriend. So, by deductive reasoning, I conclude that she is single again.
And, if she meets some guy and falls for him, I guess she is able to do that. And there wouldn't be anything I could do to stop her from doing that. So I guess I have to come to terms with that possibility. It makes no sense to pretend that it isn't possible.
I'm a fool, of course, so if it got down to that, if she met some guy and fell head over heels and ran off with him, I guess I would have to be able to handle that. And as long as I keep myself on the right track-- not getting too personal, not assuming that things will be kosher --I can avoid the inevitable hurt that would accompany such a decision on her part.
This is tougher than I ever thought it would be.
Luckily, it was Paulie's birthday, and I was able to use that as a way to distract myself from any emotions that stirred in me while sitting there with Eve, working on dirty cartoons.
Around midnight, she got up to leave. I said 'goodbye' and told her to be safe. It wasn't what I wanted to say, but what I want to say doesn't make anything better. What I want to say would only make things worse.
Actually, I don't even know what I want to say. I just have this feeling that I should be saying something. But since I have no idea what it is, I guess keeping my big mouth shut is the best defense.
I just want to cut through all of the bullshit, but I'm afraid of what will happen if I force the issue. I'd rather wade forever through the formalities, if it means that I don't have to expose my vulnerable side again. I'm just not strong enough to handle that right now, and I suspect that she is in the same boat.
I just want to do the right thing. I just want her to know that I care, but I also don't want to run her off or scare her away or smother her with suffocating attentiveness. It's just going to have to be this way, for a while, until something comes along to sway or tilt the balance.
Ladies, I have a question: if you have ever reconnected with an ex-boyfriend, what was the most awkward thing about the experience? Did the guy come off as too desperate? Too aloof? Did he remind you of all the reasons why you broke up with him? Or did he bring back sweet memories of happier times?
Is it possible to be friends with someone you once loved?
I need to know, because right now I'm not sure if I can do it.
Eve walked in and sat down with me. Immediately she wanted to get going. I put her on the PC, and watched her work. She was picking up the program functions rapidly. You don't need to be an artist to learn Photoshop, but it helps.
There were times when my guard slipped-- a shared laugh, a sly glance, the accidental touching of hands, things of that nature. Every time I felt my wall being deconstructed, I put it right back up. This is business, after all.
I think I was doing all right, keeping the focus on creative work. We were concentrating on something other than ourselves. Eve took notes, added suggestions, watched me as I plotted ways to get the effects I wanted.
At one point, she alluded to how things were hectic in her life. Being naturally inquisitive, I started asking questions. "How was work?" "How's your brother doing?" After a while I stopped asking questions-- I could get started on a roll, and I don't think I am ready to get into all of that with her.
She said that she appreciated having a place to go, where she can lose herself in art and not have to think about the various dramas in her life. I thought better of asking anything further. Instead, I showed her how to crop jpegs and how to use the Paint Bucket feature.
She made a reference to her high school prom. I had to remind her that I saw her that night-- she showed up with her brother, dressed outrageously in Victorian garb, her hair a Medusa-like web of curls and magenta locks. I was at Sharky's at the time, sort of living there for the summer, in between apartments.
I mentioned Sharky's name-- she didn't say anything. I changed the subject. I didn't intend to bring him up, but I didn't elaborate on anything either. I wasn't looking to start a fight. At this point, I don't care if she ever tells me anything about herself, past or present. It only serves to complicate things.
Travis finished the foam model, and Eve and I marvelled at his artistry. Travis left with a smile on his face, a beer in his gut, some pot smoke in his brain, and a cigarette dangling from his lips.
Ellen showed up, asking me if I'd seen Peter, who had promised her a CD filled with music software. Eve and Ellen know each other by proxy-- one of Ellen's friends is part of the cast of the TV pilot Eve is working on... small world, eh?
We had a blast, working on the retouches. I let her work some magic, then came back and brainstormed some ideas. She drew a homicidal dentist that we might make into a character for a future episode. I liked it. She asked me if I was just paying her lip service, and I reminded her that I never pull punches when it comes to being honest about artistic matters.
It feels good to know that we are friends again. Having a creative project to collaborate on puts us both at ease. We can be in the same room together, and share the warm vibe, without getting carried away. Our chemistry is obvious, but unacknowledged.
I mean, it beats not knowing where she is and what she is doing. Even though I don't want to get too deep, I feel a slight relief knowing that she is there, and that I can still talk to her about things like how to draw shadows or what colors would look best on a character.
I felt pangs of jealousy when some of the guys who frequent the Garage made their obligatory overtures. Some of these guys will hit on anything with breasts. In Eve's case, being as attractive as she is, I almost expect it to happen as soon as she walks in the door. She can't help it.
Baby Bird (so named because he expects to be fed by Paulie every time he comes through) made a clumsy introduction, walking over to me to say 'goodbye' and then looking at Eve and saying, "Goodbye, pretty computer girl."
"Nice to meet you," she said.
"Actually, we haven't been introduced."
I rolled my eyes. I can't help it. I'm not worried about a guy like Baby Bird making moves, though. However, if he asked her out on a date, I really couldn't get upset either.
I still don't know what's up with Eve and her previous dude, and I'm not asking, but I think it's safe to say that she is no longer with him. He never let her do anything that she wanted to do, and she kowtowed to his whims because she felt like she had to. I don't think that guy would be happy knowing that his girl was spending hours at the Garage with her ex-boyfriend. So, by deductive reasoning, I conclude that she is single again.
And, if she meets some guy and falls for him, I guess she is able to do that. And there wouldn't be anything I could do to stop her from doing that. So I guess I have to come to terms with that possibility. It makes no sense to pretend that it isn't possible.
I'm a fool, of course, so if it got down to that, if she met some guy and fell head over heels and ran off with him, I guess I would have to be able to handle that. And as long as I keep myself on the right track-- not getting too personal, not assuming that things will be kosher --I can avoid the inevitable hurt that would accompany such a decision on her part.
This is tougher than I ever thought it would be.
Luckily, it was Paulie's birthday, and I was able to use that as a way to distract myself from any emotions that stirred in me while sitting there with Eve, working on dirty cartoons.
Around midnight, she got up to leave. I said 'goodbye' and told her to be safe. It wasn't what I wanted to say, but what I want to say doesn't make anything better. What I want to say would only make things worse.
Actually, I don't even know what I want to say. I just have this feeling that I should be saying something. But since I have no idea what it is, I guess keeping my big mouth shut is the best defense.
I just want to cut through all of the bullshit, but I'm afraid of what will happen if I force the issue. I'd rather wade forever through the formalities, if it means that I don't have to expose my vulnerable side again. I'm just not strong enough to handle that right now, and I suspect that she is in the same boat.
I just want to do the right thing. I just want her to know that I care, but I also don't want to run her off or scare her away or smother her with suffocating attentiveness. It's just going to have to be this way, for a while, until something comes along to sway or tilt the balance.
Ladies, I have a question: if you have ever reconnected with an ex-boyfriend, what was the most awkward thing about the experience? Did the guy come off as too desperate? Too aloof? Did he remind you of all the reasons why you broke up with him? Or did he bring back sweet memories of happier times?
Is it possible to be friends with someone you once loved?
I need to know, because right now I'm not sure if I can do it.
Monday, October 18, 2004
GREAT BEATLES RECORDS
NORWEGIAN WOOD (THIS BIRD HAS FLOWN)
"Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)" is one of my all-time favorite Beatles songs.
The story behind it is that John Lennon wrote this song after one of his many many many many MANY flings he had as a Beatle. He was married to Cynthia, Julian's mum, at the time, and didn't want her to know (as if she didn't know) how much tail he was getting. So they sanitized this song, making it less scandalous than originally written.
But Lennon gives it away in the first line: "I once had a girl/or should I say, she once had me..." As a teenager, I thought he meant it in the way that a girl can have a hold on you, but I realize now that he meant it in one particular way.
The title has many interpretations. Norwegian Wood is cheap pine and, according to Paul McCartney, the phrase "Norwegian wood" was code for the kinds of groupies who had cheap wood paneling on the walls of their flats. But I've also heard that the title was a pun on the phrase "knowing she would"-- a willing groupie ready to have a Beatle ravish her at the drop of a dime.
Some people say Norwegian Wood is slang for pot, but I'm not so sure.
There's much debate about the lyrics as well. The last line ("So I lit a fire/isn't it good/Norwegian Wood") is supposed to be a reference to arson. According to McCartney's version of the story, in the song the man (Lennon) is put off by the woman, who teases him by ordering him to sleep in the bathtub. This means he won't be getting any, so in the morning, as revenge, he sets the place on fire.
I don't buy that one, for the simple fact that, in the actual lyrics, Lennon and McCartney sing:
She told me she worked in the morning and started to laugh
I told her I didn't and crawled off to sleep in the bath
I always took it to mean that the woman assumed they were sleeping together, and made a not-too-funny joke about having to get up early the next day. Lennon's revenge on the girl for making such an assumption is to deny her the opportunity to sleep with him-- he'd rather doze off in the tub than indulge her. That was his revenge, as I saw it, not some lame allusion to pyromania that is totally out of the song's context.
I sometimes wonder about Paul McCartney-- he said in a recent interview that "Got To Get You Into My Life" was about pot. Oh really? Well, I listened to that song a few times over the weekend, and I defy ANYONE to find one line in that song that alludes to marijuana. Seriously-- there is NOTHING in the lyrics to that song that would give the average listener even an inkling of drug innuendo. If it truly is a song about smoking dope, then maybe Lennon/McCartney weren't the great songwriters everyone made them out to be after all.
I'd like to think that they liked fucking with people's heads. I mean, they were the fucking Beatles-- they could do whatever they wanted. They were Kings.
Lennon could've had an affair right in front of Cynthia and I doubt she would've minded. What did she expect? She was married to the biggest rock star on the planet-- did she really think that John was being faithful as thousands of screaming nymphets threw themselves at him?
Who knows who or what "Norwegian Wood" is really about? Maybe it's about a girl that John knew before he became a famous Beatle. Maybe it's a made-up scenario altogether, or the anecdote of a drinking buddy, or based on a weird, pot-influenced dream.
All I know is, that song meant something to me as a teen. It was the first love song I'd ever heard where the singer was not bragging about a sexual conquest-- in fact, the singer was bragging about NOT getting laid. And the lighting of a fire at the song's end could've been a cigarette or a joint, for all we know. I assumed it was a fireplace that he was lighting, frankly.
The sitar part and the melody sealed the deal. It was one of the first songs I ever learned to play on the guitar. To this day, the riff (whenever I hear it) sends chills down my spine.
TOMORROW: "For No One"
"Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)" is one of my all-time favorite Beatles songs.
The story behind it is that John Lennon wrote this song after one of his many many many many MANY flings he had as a Beatle. He was married to Cynthia, Julian's mum, at the time, and didn't want her to know (as if she didn't know) how much tail he was getting. So they sanitized this song, making it less scandalous than originally written.
But Lennon gives it away in the first line: "I once had a girl/or should I say, she once had me..." As a teenager, I thought he meant it in the way that a girl can have a hold on you, but I realize now that he meant it in one particular way.
The title has many interpretations. Norwegian Wood is cheap pine and, according to Paul McCartney, the phrase "Norwegian wood" was code for the kinds of groupies who had cheap wood paneling on the walls of their flats. But I've also heard that the title was a pun on the phrase "knowing she would"-- a willing groupie ready to have a Beatle ravish her at the drop of a dime.
Some people say Norwegian Wood is slang for pot, but I'm not so sure.
There's much debate about the lyrics as well. The last line ("So I lit a fire/isn't it good/Norwegian Wood") is supposed to be a reference to arson. According to McCartney's version of the story, in the song the man (Lennon) is put off by the woman, who teases him by ordering him to sleep in the bathtub. This means he won't be getting any, so in the morning, as revenge, he sets the place on fire.
I don't buy that one, for the simple fact that, in the actual lyrics, Lennon and McCartney sing:
She told me she worked in the morning and started to laugh
I told her I didn't and crawled off to sleep in the bath
I always took it to mean that the woman assumed they were sleeping together, and made a not-too-funny joke about having to get up early the next day. Lennon's revenge on the girl for making such an assumption is to deny her the opportunity to sleep with him-- he'd rather doze off in the tub than indulge her. That was his revenge, as I saw it, not some lame allusion to pyromania that is totally out of the song's context.
I sometimes wonder about Paul McCartney-- he said in a recent interview that "Got To Get You Into My Life" was about pot. Oh really? Well, I listened to that song a few times over the weekend, and I defy ANYONE to find one line in that song that alludes to marijuana. Seriously-- there is NOTHING in the lyrics to that song that would give the average listener even an inkling of drug innuendo. If it truly is a song about smoking dope, then maybe Lennon/McCartney weren't the great songwriters everyone made them out to be after all.
I'd like to think that they liked fucking with people's heads. I mean, they were the fucking Beatles-- they could do whatever they wanted. They were Kings.
Lennon could've had an affair right in front of Cynthia and I doubt she would've minded. What did she expect? She was married to the biggest rock star on the planet-- did she really think that John was being faithful as thousands of screaming nymphets threw themselves at him?
Who knows who or what "Norwegian Wood" is really about? Maybe it's about a girl that John knew before he became a famous Beatle. Maybe it's a made-up scenario altogether, or the anecdote of a drinking buddy, or based on a weird, pot-influenced dream.
All I know is, that song meant something to me as a teen. It was the first love song I'd ever heard where the singer was not bragging about a sexual conquest-- in fact, the singer was bragging about NOT getting laid. And the lighting of a fire at the song's end could've been a cigarette or a joint, for all we know. I assumed it was a fireplace that he was lighting, frankly.
The sitar part and the melody sealed the deal. It was one of the first songs I ever learned to play on the guitar. To this day, the riff (whenever I hear it) sends chills down my spine.
TOMORROW: "For No One"
PETTY
After two years and half a million words lost to the cyberwind, I think I finally know two things about blogging:
1. What kind of blog I am writing here,
2. What kinds of blogs I like to read...
The answer to Number One is related to the answer to Number Two.
1. I thought I was writing about life in general, about the new urban myths and the post-9/11 heartaches, about trivial issues juxtaposed with the weighty columns of history, about art and literature and the contents of garbage cans... but now I realize that I'm just writing about my own little life, and the petty dramas that I magnify into epic struggles between polar opposites.
2. My favorite blogs are written by women, and include the salacious details of their love lives, as well as petty dramas wrought large to magnify the epic struggles between polar opposites.
What's more: I think my blog falls into the same category of blogs that I like reading. There's nothing of real importance here for anyone else-- it's all for me. On this blog, I don't write to entertain anyone. I write because that's what I do, whether anyone reads it or not. After two years of doing this, I've managed to write about my life in a comfortable manner, because there are many things that I don't care to keep hidden. I mean, what's the use of writing if I'm not telling you the kinds of things that most people would never iterate out loud?
I don't know if I can continue calling what I write 'pataphysical. I mean, I think my perspective is 'pataphysical, but I don't explore what that really means... which is just as well, because neither did Jarry, and he invented 'pataphysics. At least, Jarry never let on that 'pataphysics was really a bunch of hooey, which is why I love it.
Anyway, so I met up with Eve over at the Garage. This was a watershed moment, in that I hadn't seen her in almost five years. How would I react? Would I get mad? Lose my cool? Act a fool?
She was waiting in her car as I pulled up. Paulie hadn't arrived. There was one of Paulie' friends standing in front, leaning on his ten-speed bicycle. He had on riding gear and was eating Thai food from the take-out box.
I talked with this person first. His name is Phil, and he is an albino black... or rather, an African-American whose skin is "white" but still retains African-American features. He looks European more than anything. I've seen pics of albino blacks, and maybe that was a bad description: Phil is more of a half-breed anyway, because only one parent is black. His skin is as white as an Anglo-Saxon, though.
After chatting with Phil, I walked over to Eve's car. She looked pretty much the same, but noticeably skinnier. I worried for a moment, wondered if she was still doing speed. I know she's been a vegetarian for over a decade, but I didn't know what her deal with the meth was at this point.
There's a lot of things that I don't know about Eve right now, and that's probably a good thing. I am not asking her any personal questions. I just don't care to hear it right now. As far as I can guess, she is no longer with Dick, The Man Who Took My Place (if I hadn't deleted my Archives, I could link you to that ancient post), and is going to therapy, and has been working at the place where I contacted her for at least four years.
That's all I know. For now, it's all I want to know.
I could tell she was apprehensive. She knows that I haven't been very happy with her, as evidenced from my self-imposed five-year exile. But I just don't have the energy to read her the Riot Act.
Paulie showed up, and I got to business, telling her what we were aiming for, showing her an almost-finished version of the cartoon, getting her feedback on the whole thing. She was impressed; she wanted in. I told her to sit down at the computer and show me what she had.
In half an hour, she'd drawn (using the mouse) a Disney-esque chihuahua in Photoshop, without ever having used the program prior. It was fully colored and realized. She asked a lot of questions, mostly related to how the program works. I showed her a few things I'd learned over time, courtesy of Peter. And Peter was gracious enough to show Eve some things as I left them to work out the details.
I told her that she should stop by the Garage whenever she could, to get some time on the computer. She doesn't have a computer at home, and her work computer is strictly for work.
By the time she left, I was feeling a bit more relaxed, less guarded. But it's strictly business. We kept the small talk to a minimum. I don't want to know how the family is doing, how her brother is doing, how her mom is doing; I don't want to hear about her sister, who was a little girl when I last saw her; I don't want to know what her dad has been doing since he retired.
I don't want to know any of that.
It's not like she didn't try to open the dialogue up a bit. She made references to in-jokes, things that only the two of us would know. She wanted to see where my mind was at. I didn't let anything pass through me-- one of the virtues of being such an aloof armchair psychoanalyst is that I know when I've given off some telltale sign of my true emotions. I can feel it if I let an unchecked emotion slip into a visible grimace or a furrowed brow. I am hypersensitive to such things.
I didn't let anything show.
Saturday night, the rain came down like gangbusters. Eve left early, to get home incident-free (she can't drive in the rain for shit). I stayed at the Garage until late, then drove home and crawled into bed. KRTH 101 was playing The Beatles, from A to Z, all weekend long, and I fell asleep with the sounds of the Fab Four gently rocking my ears.
Sunday morning, I called a number of people. No one seemed to be home. No one returned my calls. My only plans were to go to Ellen's house and drop some bass tracks on that ass. Other than that, I was suddenly saddled with a grip of free time. Not even Paulie was heard from, and I even thought that I had forgotten to pay my phone bill for a moment.
Then I got a call, and it was from Eve. I had wanted to call her, but I decided that, at this point in the game (and let's not delude ourselves here-- it IS a game) I would not call her unless it was urgently necessary. This is so that I keep my sanity about me, and for no other reason.
She called me to ask if she could come in Monday. I said that it would be fine. She asked about a Photoshop tutorial book that Peter had promised. I told her he had it, and would produce it on Monday. I told her I would call her when I was en route to the Garage, approximately around the time she would be getting off from work.
Eve was the only person who called me on Sunday, other than Holly Golightly, who telephoned me while I was at Ellen's place and left a voice mail. I wondered, later on in the evening as I watched the Yankees/Red Sox game go into extra innings, if the fact that Paulie didn't call me up even to check up on me had anything to do with Eve's appearance at the Garage.
It seems to me that the reason why I haven't "gotten over" Eve is that no one else in my circle of friends has gotten over her either. She's on everyone else's mind just as much as she was on mine. Paulie never stopped talking to her, and I really got sick and resentful of the whole "keep 'em separated" vibe I was getting from everyone. I'm not stupid-- when someone tells me not to show up at the Garage for another hour, I know that it means that a certain person is there, a person that everyone assumes I don't want to see.
I guess it's just an instinct to not want to pair people in the same space, if they have any differences that need to be mended. But it's also hypocritical, if you ask me, to talk about how I should "get over" someone, only to find that the someone I need to get over is still everybody else's friend.
In other words, why does everybody else get to be "cool" with Eve? I'm not asking people to pick sides-- I just think it's peculiar that my friends want to keep us apart "because someone might make a scene"... since when has anyone in my circle of friends wanted to avoid a scene? They LOOK FORWARD to causing scenes between people! Why is my situation any different?
It was fun to see the shocked look on people's faces when they saw Eve and I... in the same room... actually talking to each other! Oh, the horror! It was an image that went against everybody's preconceived notions. She's my ex-- I'm supposed to hate her, right? She did me wrong, and everybody covered it up, and everybody still talks about it except when I'm around... and now they are forced to deal with their social cowardice.
Like I stated in an earlier post, they probably think that I am going down a familiar route, that I'm setting myself up for another catastrophe. Everyone thinks they know what's best for me, and (as usual) they are wrong.
You see, I'm in love with the fiddle player in Ellen's band.
That's my latest crush. We rehearse Thursday, and I can't wait for the day to come. She is incredibly beautiful, talented,... and probably has a boyfriend, or is married, or is otherwise taken.
I saw her at the last rehearsal, and I got really shy when she came in late. I didn't say anything to her-- I didn't get a proper introduction because I ducked out to have a smoke at the crucial moment. But I couldn't take my eyes off of her when we were rehearsing. And I couldn't think of anything to say to her, not even a simple "nice fiddle"...
She's the one who has my heart in a bind right now, not Eve. I want to be friends with Eve, to shut up the gossippers and prove the naysayers wrong. But I also want to move on with my life, and the only way to do that is to pick the terms by which I choose to live.
And if that means that people are uncomfortable with my new alliance with Eve, then maybe they should've thought of that when they were playing along with this high-school baby game, trying to have their cakes and eat them too. Did they ever think about how awkward it made me feel, knowing that they still kept contact with my ex when I wasn't around? No, they didn't. They just figured that I didn't want to see her, and they might've been partially right... but then again, they never asked me my feelings. How could they know what's in my heart without asking?
None of my so-called friends ever figured that she and I would make peace, and the looks on their faces say it all.
Now, they can't talk behind our backs about our situation. Now, it is out in the open, and everyone has to do their whispering in plain view.
I don't have time for these types of games anymore. High school is long gone, but unfortunately the mentality lives on.
1. What kind of blog I am writing here,
2. What kinds of blogs I like to read...
The answer to Number One is related to the answer to Number Two.
1. I thought I was writing about life in general, about the new urban myths and the post-9/11 heartaches, about trivial issues juxtaposed with the weighty columns of history, about art and literature and the contents of garbage cans... but now I realize that I'm just writing about my own little life, and the petty dramas that I magnify into epic struggles between polar opposites.
2. My favorite blogs are written by women, and include the salacious details of their love lives, as well as petty dramas wrought large to magnify the epic struggles between polar opposites.
What's more: I think my blog falls into the same category of blogs that I like reading. There's nothing of real importance here for anyone else-- it's all for me. On this blog, I don't write to entertain anyone. I write because that's what I do, whether anyone reads it or not. After two years of doing this, I've managed to write about my life in a comfortable manner, because there are many things that I don't care to keep hidden. I mean, what's the use of writing if I'm not telling you the kinds of things that most people would never iterate out loud?
I don't know if I can continue calling what I write 'pataphysical. I mean, I think my perspective is 'pataphysical, but I don't explore what that really means... which is just as well, because neither did Jarry, and he invented 'pataphysics. At least, Jarry never let on that 'pataphysics was really a bunch of hooey, which is why I love it.
Anyway, so I met up with Eve over at the Garage. This was a watershed moment, in that I hadn't seen her in almost five years. How would I react? Would I get mad? Lose my cool? Act a fool?
She was waiting in her car as I pulled up. Paulie hadn't arrived. There was one of Paulie' friends standing in front, leaning on his ten-speed bicycle. He had on riding gear and was eating Thai food from the take-out box.
I talked with this person first. His name is Phil, and he is an albino black... or rather, an African-American whose skin is "white" but still retains African-American features. He looks European more than anything. I've seen pics of albino blacks, and maybe that was a bad description: Phil is more of a half-breed anyway, because only one parent is black. His skin is as white as an Anglo-Saxon, though.
After chatting with Phil, I walked over to Eve's car. She looked pretty much the same, but noticeably skinnier. I worried for a moment, wondered if she was still doing speed. I know she's been a vegetarian for over a decade, but I didn't know what her deal with the meth was at this point.
There's a lot of things that I don't know about Eve right now, and that's probably a good thing. I am not asking her any personal questions. I just don't care to hear it right now. As far as I can guess, she is no longer with Dick, The Man Who Took My Place (if I hadn't deleted my Archives, I could link you to that ancient post), and is going to therapy, and has been working at the place where I contacted her for at least four years.
That's all I know. For now, it's all I want to know.
I could tell she was apprehensive. She knows that I haven't been very happy with her, as evidenced from my self-imposed five-year exile. But I just don't have the energy to read her the Riot Act.
Paulie showed up, and I got to business, telling her what we were aiming for, showing her an almost-finished version of the cartoon, getting her feedback on the whole thing. She was impressed; she wanted in. I told her to sit down at the computer and show me what she had.
In half an hour, she'd drawn (using the mouse) a Disney-esque chihuahua in Photoshop, without ever having used the program prior. It was fully colored and realized. She asked a lot of questions, mostly related to how the program works. I showed her a few things I'd learned over time, courtesy of Peter. And Peter was gracious enough to show Eve some things as I left them to work out the details.
I told her that she should stop by the Garage whenever she could, to get some time on the computer. She doesn't have a computer at home, and her work computer is strictly for work.
By the time she left, I was feeling a bit more relaxed, less guarded. But it's strictly business. We kept the small talk to a minimum. I don't want to know how the family is doing, how her brother is doing, how her mom is doing; I don't want to hear about her sister, who was a little girl when I last saw her; I don't want to know what her dad has been doing since he retired.
I don't want to know any of that.
It's not like she didn't try to open the dialogue up a bit. She made references to in-jokes, things that only the two of us would know. She wanted to see where my mind was at. I didn't let anything pass through me-- one of the virtues of being such an aloof armchair psychoanalyst is that I know when I've given off some telltale sign of my true emotions. I can feel it if I let an unchecked emotion slip into a visible grimace or a furrowed brow. I am hypersensitive to such things.
I didn't let anything show.
Saturday night, the rain came down like gangbusters. Eve left early, to get home incident-free (she can't drive in the rain for shit). I stayed at the Garage until late, then drove home and crawled into bed. KRTH 101 was playing The Beatles, from A to Z, all weekend long, and I fell asleep with the sounds of the Fab Four gently rocking my ears.
Sunday morning, I called a number of people. No one seemed to be home. No one returned my calls. My only plans were to go to Ellen's house and drop some bass tracks on that ass. Other than that, I was suddenly saddled with a grip of free time. Not even Paulie was heard from, and I even thought that I had forgotten to pay my phone bill for a moment.
Then I got a call, and it was from Eve. I had wanted to call her, but I decided that, at this point in the game (and let's not delude ourselves here-- it IS a game) I would not call her unless it was urgently necessary. This is so that I keep my sanity about me, and for no other reason.
She called me to ask if she could come in Monday. I said that it would be fine. She asked about a Photoshop tutorial book that Peter had promised. I told her he had it, and would produce it on Monday. I told her I would call her when I was en route to the Garage, approximately around the time she would be getting off from work.
Eve was the only person who called me on Sunday, other than Holly Golightly, who telephoned me while I was at Ellen's place and left a voice mail. I wondered, later on in the evening as I watched the Yankees/Red Sox game go into extra innings, if the fact that Paulie didn't call me up even to check up on me had anything to do with Eve's appearance at the Garage.
It seems to me that the reason why I haven't "gotten over" Eve is that no one else in my circle of friends has gotten over her either. She's on everyone else's mind just as much as she was on mine. Paulie never stopped talking to her, and I really got sick and resentful of the whole "keep 'em separated" vibe I was getting from everyone. I'm not stupid-- when someone tells me not to show up at the Garage for another hour, I know that it means that a certain person is there, a person that everyone assumes I don't want to see.
I guess it's just an instinct to not want to pair people in the same space, if they have any differences that need to be mended. But it's also hypocritical, if you ask me, to talk about how I should "get over" someone, only to find that the someone I need to get over is still everybody else's friend.
In other words, why does everybody else get to be "cool" with Eve? I'm not asking people to pick sides-- I just think it's peculiar that my friends want to keep us apart "because someone might make a scene"... since when has anyone in my circle of friends wanted to avoid a scene? They LOOK FORWARD to causing scenes between people! Why is my situation any different?
It was fun to see the shocked look on people's faces when they saw Eve and I... in the same room... actually talking to each other! Oh, the horror! It was an image that went against everybody's preconceived notions. She's my ex-- I'm supposed to hate her, right? She did me wrong, and everybody covered it up, and everybody still talks about it except when I'm around... and now they are forced to deal with their social cowardice.
Like I stated in an earlier post, they probably think that I am going down a familiar route, that I'm setting myself up for another catastrophe. Everyone thinks they know what's best for me, and (as usual) they are wrong.
You see, I'm in love with the fiddle player in Ellen's band.
That's my latest crush. We rehearse Thursday, and I can't wait for the day to come. She is incredibly beautiful, talented,... and probably has a boyfriend, or is married, or is otherwise taken.
I saw her at the last rehearsal, and I got really shy when she came in late. I didn't say anything to her-- I didn't get a proper introduction because I ducked out to have a smoke at the crucial moment. But I couldn't take my eyes off of her when we were rehearsing. And I couldn't think of anything to say to her, not even a simple "nice fiddle"...
She's the one who has my heart in a bind right now, not Eve. I want to be friends with Eve, to shut up the gossippers and prove the naysayers wrong. But I also want to move on with my life, and the only way to do that is to pick the terms by which I choose to live.
And if that means that people are uncomfortable with my new alliance with Eve, then maybe they should've thought of that when they were playing along with this high-school baby game, trying to have their cakes and eat them too. Did they ever think about how awkward it made me feel, knowing that they still kept contact with my ex when I wasn't around? No, they didn't. They just figured that I didn't want to see her, and they might've been partially right... but then again, they never asked me my feelings. How could they know what's in my heart without asking?
None of my so-called friends ever figured that she and I would make peace, and the looks on their faces say it all.
Now, they can't talk behind our backs about our situation. Now, it is out in the open, and everyone has to do their whispering in plain view.
I don't have time for these types of games anymore. High school is long gone, but unfortunately the mentality lives on.
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