We drove out of the desert
She complained that her chest hurt
I was draped in my dress shirt with time invested
sublime and blessed
Testy and tense
I had no last defense for my guard being so vast and immense
everything between she and me is past tense
In that sense, we have moved on
but here we are together attempting to improve upon
the mini-legacy we left
I light a cigarette and render myself out of breath
That's how life is out West
where the grudges outlast the outfits
where palpitation exists within the bliss of a misfit
We spanned districts in our machine
a forboding of evil mixed with a dream scene
that the two of us concocted
We talked it up and we bought it
because we got it bad
because we thought it up and brought it up every chance we had
Every mental dance we tried was a fad
a temporary respite from fear in spite of our cheers
to the contrary
Our energies are more than complimentary
--they are almost necessary...
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Monday, November 29, 2004
"THE CATCH"
Before I tell you about my holiday weekend, let me issue a challenge.
You call yourself a blogger? Yeah, right. I can outblog the whole lot of you. I can outblog you with my eyes closed. I can blog more in one post than some people do in a whole week.
You say you're busy, you say you're life is too complicated right now to allow you to blog. Notice how people throw in the towel when their life becomes "too busy"-- THAT'S THE TIME WHEN YOU SHOULD BE BLOGGING THE MOST, YOU DUNCE!
Pussies.
I say, if you can't take the heat then stay out of the kitchen. Give up your blog right now-- delete that motherfucker and go on and live your pathetic life, the one that you deem too good to detail online. The sad fact is, you don't deserve a blog. It's wasted on the likes of you.
Shit, or get off of the pot. I dare you. But what's worse: none of you will rise to my challenge. You just don't have it in you. So stop pretending you are a writer and trash your blog right now. You make the rest of us prolific motherfuckers look bad.
Hell, I accidentally deleted two years' worth of blogs, and still kept it up. Half a million words? I piss on that. You can take your National Novel Writing Month bullshit and shove it up your ass, for all I care. What makes you think you have a whole novel in you, if you don't even have a paragraph for the day?
Spare yourself the indignity, as soon as possible.
I'm not here to encourage you-- I'm here to get under your skin.
*/*
The night before Thanksgiving, I went out on the town with Down Low and KD Long. We ate sushi at Shiki in Studio City, then made our way over to The Chimney Sweep, a bar I used to frequent when I was a full-time Sherman Loc. We were getting tossed when Low came back to our table, holding the change from the tenner I lent him.
He gave me a One and two Twos. Yes, a pair of two dollar bills. How rare is that? Very. And if you read my post about Dick and how he lifted some two dollar bills out of Eve's glove compartment, then you will know what this meant to me last Wednesday-- this was proof that Dick had been at the Sweep, and also a hint of where I might be able to find this prick, should he test me in the future.
I told Low and Long about the whole situation. They knew Eve back in high school, but Long had never known that she and I once dated. They both told me that Dick, if he is really stalking Eve like I know he is, would most likely kill me if he had the chance. These two guys used to be friends with Dick until he tried to set them up with bad drug deals.
"I hear you," I said, downing my 7 & 7, "but it looks to me like I have the advantage right now."
I was more correct than I thought: the next day, right before my older brother picked me up in front of my apartment, Low called me from his own brother's cel phone and informed me that he saw Dick standing by the Coldwater Canyon on-ramp of the 101, panhandling. Low said he was 100% positive that it was Dick, and he was standing with some barely-legal blonde girl by his side.
That told me all I needed to know. Yes, he may be desperate and consumed with mania, but he won't last long if he has to beg for money, and he certainly isn't going to get anything over on me in the state he's in.
I eventually told Eve about these details, and I think it reassured her of a few things. She felt a little safer.
Thanksgiving dinner was satisfying and drama-free: my stepfather is currently reading The Catcher In The Rye for the first time ever; my mother cooked up the best fixins under the sun; my older brother was hungover from attending my uncle's 50th birthday party, one that I was supposed to attend but lost track of time; my younger brothers were hanging out with their friends, and my sister was making the rounds with her baby's daddy; she brought my niece and nephew, and I had some quality time with the tykes, throwing the boy in the air, giving the girl bear hugs and kisses...
My older brother told me to watch out for this Dick character, but he also told me that I was wise to not go out and start shit myself. He said he had my back if I needed any help, but I told him that it probably won't be necessary.
Then my sister and her dude drove me to my dad's place, where I watched movies and ate more food before passing out from too much holiday turkey. Later on, he gave me a ride home. When I got back to my place, I called some friends to see if anyone was stirring, but no one was around. I finally got a hold of Sharky and had a long talk with him, telling him that, as far as I was concerned, the issue over Eve was buried for good. Now that I am back in her life, all is forgiven. He seemed startled to hear me say it, but at the same time I think he was relieved.
The next morning, Eve called me up and asked me if we were still on for making a trip out to Glamis, where Purple Paulie and the whole crew were camping. After a few phone calls and some arrangements, we grabbed a 2004 Ford Explorer from the hook-up at Avis and packed our gear. Eve had to borrow a tent from her mother, which gave me an opportunity to say 'hello' to her family for the first time in almost a decade. They remembered me alright, and they were happy to see me with Eve. They always liked me.
We were on the road by the afternoon, excited to be on a road trip, our very first together. Hanging out with Eve as of late has provided us with many such firsts, and we were amazed at how smoothly things were going. Even after we hit a snag of traffic on the 10 East, we were still in high spirits.
By nightfall, we were in the town of Brawley, miles away from the Mexican border, minutes away from the Glamis sand dunes. We found the camp and set up our tent. We drank some beers and smoked some weed inside of the deluxe trailer Paulie had purchased last year... sure, it wasn't anything like roughing it, but then again you can't argue with comfort.
We watched the entire area turn into something from Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, a nightmare vision of motorized America, reeking of fuel and bursting the night-sky open with fireworks. Quads, dirt bikes, ATVs, trucks, dune buggies, Confederate flags, Skull & Bones flags, checkered flags, souvenir tees, endorsement-brand hats, big and shiny desert toys... these are the people who voted for Bush, and this is their playground.
Amid the rednecks, we were videotaping the carnage and the pandemonium. There was a full moon in the sky, illuminating the chaos. The night was filled with the sounds of engines revving, motors squealing, gears buzzing and shifting.
Eve and I tried to sleep but we kept being awakened by the hum of power generators, or the train that moaned past us, or the early morning riders who were too tweaked-out to give it a rest. Instead, we started making out in the comfort of our tent. It got very passionate, but since I hadn't planned on getting this hot and heavy (I didn't bring any condoms with me) we eventually had to cool down.
We woke up around 9am and ate breakfast before going out to the drag races. The Explorer got stuck in some soft sand, with Paulie behind the wheel trying to see just how much power the truck possessed. Friendly riders stopped by and helped us dig the truck out, and we were once again on our merry way.
We saw at least five accidents on Oldsmobile Hill, which was more than I expected to see. One guy was even airlifted out of the dunes via helicopter. The biggest hill was swarming with mechanized insects, flitting about here and there, making piercing buzzing sounds. Then we went back to camp, and Eve and I took a nap before getting our gear ready for the trip home.
We had only planned a day trip, but I could tell that Eve had a taste of what Glamis was all about and wanted more. I promised her that, if we ever came out here again, we'd rent some bikes and do some more off-roading. She said she would like that.
As the night drew nearer, Paulie drove us out to Boardmanville, to the most redneck bar I'd ever had the strange pleasure of stepping foot inside. Covering the entire outside of the bar were hundreds, if not thousands, of graffittied dollar bills. You write your name on the bill and staple it to any open part of the outside that you can find. Next to where Paulie and Nona had posted their bill two years ago, I decided to add my own. But instead of a one, I used one of the two dollar bills I had received at the Chimney Sweep. I wrote mine and Eve's names on it with a black Sharpie. When she saw what I was doing, Eve said:
"God, you should burn the other one!"
I looked at her and smiled. She is done with Dick. She may still feel something for him-- who wouldn't, after almost a decade? Overall, though, I think she knows that she is done with him, and her words were proof of that.
We paid some visits to the Vendor Row, where we were mooned by a drunk guy in the passenger seat of a Hummer. Ironically, Eve was using my camera to catch a shot of the full moon up in the sky, and was shocked when she turned to see this guy's ass hanging out of the window. A moon for a moon-- how funny is that?
After a last-minute tour of Vendor Row, with all the souvenirs and products for sale, we loaded up the truck and made our getaway. Paulie and his friends were going to stay until Monday, and we thanked them for their hospitality right before we left. We gave them the rest of our water bottles and beer supply.
Eve and I made it home around midnight, after cleaning up the truck and unloading Eve's gear at her apartment. We took the rental back and headed for my place.
"Are you coming in?" I asked her.
"Well, I really should get home," she said, "but then I have to inflate my air mattress, and it's going to be so cold at my place... okay, I'll come inside."
We opened a bottle of chardonnay without the aid of a wine key-- we ended up pushing the cork inside the bottle, White-Trash style. After being out in those dunes, even an African would feel like White Trash after a while.
We got drunk and watched more X-Files DVDs. I was polishing off the wine, prompting Eve to remark, "Wow-- I really am making you a lush, aren't I?"
I swigged another glass and looked at her with hunger. I wanted her, and it was a shame that I was getting liquored up to make my move, but if I didn't then my natural shyness would intervene.
When we finally made love, it was groundbreaking, for lack of a better word. We'd been down this road before, traveled this territory many times, but it had been some time since the last coupling (my estimation: June of 1995) and the both of us had learned quite a few things since then. She almost broke me in half with her fury, and I pounded into her like I was holding a grudge. Her asthma kept her from continuing any further, and we took a break and resumed later on.
Afterwards, I had my cigarette, and she put her clothes back on. She laughed at my insistence on staying naked for the rest of the night.
In the morning, she left to go take care of her apartment. She called me up an hour later to inform me that the rug we used as a doormat back in Glamis had caught fire because I had left it on her heater grate when we dropped off the gear. She had come home just in time to put the fire out, but then she had to clean the grate and air the place out. I apologized for my bad.
I slept all day, waking up around 5pm to clean up my own apartment. I got high and listened to the music of George Harrison (who died three years ago this week) on the radio. Then, Eve called me and announced she was going to cook potatoes with a large salad. We went shopping, grabbed the necessary items, and came home to prepare.
I did my laundry as she baked the potatoes. I felt a strange pang of domesticity as I folded my clothes, with Eve opening cans of kidney beans in the kitchen. Then there were the echoes of certain things she said to me over the course of our weekend...
"I'm going to change your eating habits, if it's the last thing I do."
"We should travel more. How about going up north after Christmas?"
"I'm making us a salad, because we've been eating so badly this past week."
"I hope you like the veggies I bought. I alos brought you your favorite-- Honey Nut Cheerios... and some granola bars, even though you don't like them."
I had to reply to that last one. "I like granola bars. I ate one in Glamis."
"Yeah, but you made faces..." She laughed.
She wants to change me.
Normally, that kind of talk and those kinds of gestures scare me, they make me feel like my individuality is being threatened. But this time, there was security in her words, a warmth to her sentiments that I found endearing. Rather than try to resist her gifts to me, I embraced them. I let her shower me with affection. I wasn't afraid anymore. It felt nice to know that she thinks enough of me to want to tailor and groom me. She really wanted me to like what she made for dinner, especially since last week she had a bum night and ruined the potatoes au graten. We ended up ordering pizza that time, but her latest dinner was tasty beyond belief. She knows how to win over a man's heart-- through the belly, of course!
I praised her cooking prowess without sounding like I was overdoing it. The proof was in how fast I cleaned my plate. We laid down together and watched that Adam Sandler movie 50 First Dates (her choice) while my cat Otis curled up between us and purred to his heart's content. No making out this time-- we were both still reeling from our passionate encounter the night before. I was a bit sore, to tell the truth-- she really worked me pretty good, but I reciprocated in kind.
Instead, we held each other, and when the movie was over and she was ready to go home, I kissed her on the lips, no tongue. She smiled as if caught off guard, a blushing schoolgirl who couldn't believe her luck. I was grinning like an idiot, with a stomach full of love and a heart that swelled beyond my ribcage.
Yes, I know what it looks like, what it sounds like, what it appears to be... and all I can do is just not expect too much. I don't want to get carried away. I don't want to put undue pressure on her. I don't want this vibe to end.
I will see her on Tuesday, perhaps Wednesday, but I will call her tomorrow regardless of when I see her again. I will call her and tell her that I am thinking of her without actually saying those words. I will imply it through the tenor of my voice, in the frequency of my timbre... I don't need to say it, because it is self-evident.
She loves me and I love her.
Who knows what the rest of this year will bring? Things are not completely settled, because there is the issue of Dick, and there is the issue of what we are going to call ourselves. Is she my girlfriend again? Is she a 'friend with benefits'? Does she know that she loves me? Am I in love with her or do I just love her?
I'm not going to worry about those things. I'm just going to keep doing what I've been doing, which is to try and make her happy. At this point, that's all I'm really good at, and I can't complain at all.
I'm still waiting for "the Catch", but something tells me that there is no "catch"... there is nothing hidden, there is no secret agenda. We are just happy being around each other, and it just seems to get better as time goes on.
Nope, can't complain at all these days...
You call yourself a blogger? Yeah, right. I can outblog the whole lot of you. I can outblog you with my eyes closed. I can blog more in one post than some people do in a whole week.
You say you're busy, you say you're life is too complicated right now to allow you to blog. Notice how people throw in the towel when their life becomes "too busy"-- THAT'S THE TIME WHEN YOU SHOULD BE BLOGGING THE MOST, YOU DUNCE!
Pussies.
I say, if you can't take the heat then stay out of the kitchen. Give up your blog right now-- delete that motherfucker and go on and live your pathetic life, the one that you deem too good to detail online. The sad fact is, you don't deserve a blog. It's wasted on the likes of you.
Shit, or get off of the pot. I dare you. But what's worse: none of you will rise to my challenge. You just don't have it in you. So stop pretending you are a writer and trash your blog right now. You make the rest of us prolific motherfuckers look bad.
Hell, I accidentally deleted two years' worth of blogs, and still kept it up. Half a million words? I piss on that. You can take your National Novel Writing Month bullshit and shove it up your ass, for all I care. What makes you think you have a whole novel in you, if you don't even have a paragraph for the day?
Spare yourself the indignity, as soon as possible.
I'm not here to encourage you-- I'm here to get under your skin.
*/*
The night before Thanksgiving, I went out on the town with Down Low and KD Long. We ate sushi at Shiki in Studio City, then made our way over to The Chimney Sweep, a bar I used to frequent when I was a full-time Sherman Loc. We were getting tossed when Low came back to our table, holding the change from the tenner I lent him.
He gave me a One and two Twos. Yes, a pair of two dollar bills. How rare is that? Very. And if you read my post about Dick and how he lifted some two dollar bills out of Eve's glove compartment, then you will know what this meant to me last Wednesday-- this was proof that Dick had been at the Sweep, and also a hint of where I might be able to find this prick, should he test me in the future.
I told Low and Long about the whole situation. They knew Eve back in high school, but Long had never known that she and I once dated. They both told me that Dick, if he is really stalking Eve like I know he is, would most likely kill me if he had the chance. These two guys used to be friends with Dick until he tried to set them up with bad drug deals.
"I hear you," I said, downing my 7 & 7, "but it looks to me like I have the advantage right now."
I was more correct than I thought: the next day, right before my older brother picked me up in front of my apartment, Low called me from his own brother's cel phone and informed me that he saw Dick standing by the Coldwater Canyon on-ramp of the 101, panhandling. Low said he was 100% positive that it was Dick, and he was standing with some barely-legal blonde girl by his side.
That told me all I needed to know. Yes, he may be desperate and consumed with mania, but he won't last long if he has to beg for money, and he certainly isn't going to get anything over on me in the state he's in.
I eventually told Eve about these details, and I think it reassured her of a few things. She felt a little safer.
Thanksgiving dinner was satisfying and drama-free: my stepfather is currently reading The Catcher In The Rye for the first time ever; my mother cooked up the best fixins under the sun; my older brother was hungover from attending my uncle's 50th birthday party, one that I was supposed to attend but lost track of time; my younger brothers were hanging out with their friends, and my sister was making the rounds with her baby's daddy; she brought my niece and nephew, and I had some quality time with the tykes, throwing the boy in the air, giving the girl bear hugs and kisses...
My older brother told me to watch out for this Dick character, but he also told me that I was wise to not go out and start shit myself. He said he had my back if I needed any help, but I told him that it probably won't be necessary.
Then my sister and her dude drove me to my dad's place, where I watched movies and ate more food before passing out from too much holiday turkey. Later on, he gave me a ride home. When I got back to my place, I called some friends to see if anyone was stirring, but no one was around. I finally got a hold of Sharky and had a long talk with him, telling him that, as far as I was concerned, the issue over Eve was buried for good. Now that I am back in her life, all is forgiven. He seemed startled to hear me say it, but at the same time I think he was relieved.
The next morning, Eve called me up and asked me if we were still on for making a trip out to Glamis, where Purple Paulie and the whole crew were camping. After a few phone calls and some arrangements, we grabbed a 2004 Ford Explorer from the hook-up at Avis and packed our gear. Eve had to borrow a tent from her mother, which gave me an opportunity to say 'hello' to her family for the first time in almost a decade. They remembered me alright, and they were happy to see me with Eve. They always liked me.
We were on the road by the afternoon, excited to be on a road trip, our very first together. Hanging out with Eve as of late has provided us with many such firsts, and we were amazed at how smoothly things were going. Even after we hit a snag of traffic on the 10 East, we were still in high spirits.
By nightfall, we were in the town of Brawley, miles away from the Mexican border, minutes away from the Glamis sand dunes. We found the camp and set up our tent. We drank some beers and smoked some weed inside of the deluxe trailer Paulie had purchased last year... sure, it wasn't anything like roughing it, but then again you can't argue with comfort.
We watched the entire area turn into something from Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, a nightmare vision of motorized America, reeking of fuel and bursting the night-sky open with fireworks. Quads, dirt bikes, ATVs, trucks, dune buggies, Confederate flags, Skull & Bones flags, checkered flags, souvenir tees, endorsement-brand hats, big and shiny desert toys... these are the people who voted for Bush, and this is their playground.
Amid the rednecks, we were videotaping the carnage and the pandemonium. There was a full moon in the sky, illuminating the chaos. The night was filled with the sounds of engines revving, motors squealing, gears buzzing and shifting.
Eve and I tried to sleep but we kept being awakened by the hum of power generators, or the train that moaned past us, or the early morning riders who were too tweaked-out to give it a rest. Instead, we started making out in the comfort of our tent. It got very passionate, but since I hadn't planned on getting this hot and heavy (I didn't bring any condoms with me) we eventually had to cool down.
We woke up around 9am and ate breakfast before going out to the drag races. The Explorer got stuck in some soft sand, with Paulie behind the wheel trying to see just how much power the truck possessed. Friendly riders stopped by and helped us dig the truck out, and we were once again on our merry way.
We saw at least five accidents on Oldsmobile Hill, which was more than I expected to see. One guy was even airlifted out of the dunes via helicopter. The biggest hill was swarming with mechanized insects, flitting about here and there, making piercing buzzing sounds. Then we went back to camp, and Eve and I took a nap before getting our gear ready for the trip home.
We had only planned a day trip, but I could tell that Eve had a taste of what Glamis was all about and wanted more. I promised her that, if we ever came out here again, we'd rent some bikes and do some more off-roading. She said she would like that.
As the night drew nearer, Paulie drove us out to Boardmanville, to the most redneck bar I'd ever had the strange pleasure of stepping foot inside. Covering the entire outside of the bar were hundreds, if not thousands, of graffittied dollar bills. You write your name on the bill and staple it to any open part of the outside that you can find. Next to where Paulie and Nona had posted their bill two years ago, I decided to add my own. But instead of a one, I used one of the two dollar bills I had received at the Chimney Sweep. I wrote mine and Eve's names on it with a black Sharpie. When she saw what I was doing, Eve said:
"God, you should burn the other one!"
I looked at her and smiled. She is done with Dick. She may still feel something for him-- who wouldn't, after almost a decade? Overall, though, I think she knows that she is done with him, and her words were proof of that.
We paid some visits to the Vendor Row, where we were mooned by a drunk guy in the passenger seat of a Hummer. Ironically, Eve was using my camera to catch a shot of the full moon up in the sky, and was shocked when she turned to see this guy's ass hanging out of the window. A moon for a moon-- how funny is that?
After a last-minute tour of Vendor Row, with all the souvenirs and products for sale, we loaded up the truck and made our getaway. Paulie and his friends were going to stay until Monday, and we thanked them for their hospitality right before we left. We gave them the rest of our water bottles and beer supply.
Eve and I made it home around midnight, after cleaning up the truck and unloading Eve's gear at her apartment. We took the rental back and headed for my place.
"Are you coming in?" I asked her.
"Well, I really should get home," she said, "but then I have to inflate my air mattress, and it's going to be so cold at my place... okay, I'll come inside."
We opened a bottle of chardonnay without the aid of a wine key-- we ended up pushing the cork inside the bottle, White-Trash style. After being out in those dunes, even an African would feel like White Trash after a while.
We got drunk and watched more X-Files DVDs. I was polishing off the wine, prompting Eve to remark, "Wow-- I really am making you a lush, aren't I?"
I swigged another glass and looked at her with hunger. I wanted her, and it was a shame that I was getting liquored up to make my move, but if I didn't then my natural shyness would intervene.
When we finally made love, it was groundbreaking, for lack of a better word. We'd been down this road before, traveled this territory many times, but it had been some time since the last coupling (my estimation: June of 1995) and the both of us had learned quite a few things since then. She almost broke me in half with her fury, and I pounded into her like I was holding a grudge. Her asthma kept her from continuing any further, and we took a break and resumed later on.
Afterwards, I had my cigarette, and she put her clothes back on. She laughed at my insistence on staying naked for the rest of the night.
In the morning, she left to go take care of her apartment. She called me up an hour later to inform me that the rug we used as a doormat back in Glamis had caught fire because I had left it on her heater grate when we dropped off the gear. She had come home just in time to put the fire out, but then she had to clean the grate and air the place out. I apologized for my bad.
I slept all day, waking up around 5pm to clean up my own apartment. I got high and listened to the music of George Harrison (who died three years ago this week) on the radio. Then, Eve called me and announced she was going to cook potatoes with a large salad. We went shopping, grabbed the necessary items, and came home to prepare.
I did my laundry as she baked the potatoes. I felt a strange pang of domesticity as I folded my clothes, with Eve opening cans of kidney beans in the kitchen. Then there were the echoes of certain things she said to me over the course of our weekend...
"I'm going to change your eating habits, if it's the last thing I do."
"We should travel more. How about going up north after Christmas?"
"I'm making us a salad, because we've been eating so badly this past week."
"I hope you like the veggies I bought. I alos brought you your favorite-- Honey Nut Cheerios... and some granola bars, even though you don't like them."
I had to reply to that last one. "I like granola bars. I ate one in Glamis."
"Yeah, but you made faces..." She laughed.
She wants to change me.
Normally, that kind of talk and those kinds of gestures scare me, they make me feel like my individuality is being threatened. But this time, there was security in her words, a warmth to her sentiments that I found endearing. Rather than try to resist her gifts to me, I embraced them. I let her shower me with affection. I wasn't afraid anymore. It felt nice to know that she thinks enough of me to want to tailor and groom me. She really wanted me to like what she made for dinner, especially since last week she had a bum night and ruined the potatoes au graten. We ended up ordering pizza that time, but her latest dinner was tasty beyond belief. She knows how to win over a man's heart-- through the belly, of course!
I praised her cooking prowess without sounding like I was overdoing it. The proof was in how fast I cleaned my plate. We laid down together and watched that Adam Sandler movie 50 First Dates (her choice) while my cat Otis curled up between us and purred to his heart's content. No making out this time-- we were both still reeling from our passionate encounter the night before. I was a bit sore, to tell the truth-- she really worked me pretty good, but I reciprocated in kind.
Instead, we held each other, and when the movie was over and she was ready to go home, I kissed her on the lips, no tongue. She smiled as if caught off guard, a blushing schoolgirl who couldn't believe her luck. I was grinning like an idiot, with a stomach full of love and a heart that swelled beyond my ribcage.
Yes, I know what it looks like, what it sounds like, what it appears to be... and all I can do is just not expect too much. I don't want to get carried away. I don't want to put undue pressure on her. I don't want this vibe to end.
I will see her on Tuesday, perhaps Wednesday, but I will call her tomorrow regardless of when I see her again. I will call her and tell her that I am thinking of her without actually saying those words. I will imply it through the tenor of my voice, in the frequency of my timbre... I don't need to say it, because it is self-evident.
She loves me and I love her.
Who knows what the rest of this year will bring? Things are not completely settled, because there is the issue of Dick, and there is the issue of what we are going to call ourselves. Is she my girlfriend again? Is she a 'friend with benefits'? Does she know that she loves me? Am I in love with her or do I just love her?
I'm not going to worry about those things. I'm just going to keep doing what I've been doing, which is to try and make her happy. At this point, that's all I'm really good at, and I can't complain at all.
I'm still waiting for "the Catch", but something tells me that there is no "catch"... there is nothing hidden, there is no secret agenda. We are just happy being around each other, and it just seems to get better as time goes on.
Nope, can't complain at all these days...
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
REAL-LIFE MOVIES
As I write this, Eve is sleeping in my bed, trying to get some shuteye before she goes into work in the morning. She will lock the door for me when she leaves, and she will probably spend tomorrow night at my place as well.
I know, my life has been this weird soap opera as of late, and of course it ends up dominating my blogs, but you don't even know the half. If I had the time to include all of the random aspects of my existence, it would either bore you to tears or make you wonder if I ever get any sleep.
I apologize if all I've been writing about is Eve, but it's the center ring of my circus life right now. I could probably turn this whole ordeal into a screenplay, along the lines of Sleeping With The Enemy or the second half of Something Wild. Lord knows we don't need another stalker movie, but guess what my life is beginning to resemble right now.
She and I met up at my place, had some drinks, and decided that we needed to go see a movie. We found a showing for The Incredibles at 8pm in Burbank.
First, we stopped off at Eve's place and she grabbed her overcoat-- it's been colder than a mug out here.
We ate a pre-movie meal at P.F. Chang's, where she ordered me a Kamikaze and a 7 & 7. She is on a mission to make me a drunk, mostly because she doesn't like to drink alone. I used to think she was trying to get me drunk for immoral purposes, but now I've come to realize that she is drinking to escape her worries, and needs an accomplice. She also knows about my allergy to some alcohols, and so I take it as easy as I can.
Still, those two concoctions did a number on me, and by the time we were in the theater, she and I were giddily buzzed and enjoying the movie. I highly recommend The Incredibles as a form of entertainment-- the animation is startlingly good, and it's funny and tender and well-made.
We left the theater bounding, with Eve insisting that I piggy-back on her while taking the escalator down. I tried, but she was too tipsy to hold my weight.
It was all fun and games until we got back to the car.
Sitting on the roof of her car was a can of auto body wax that had been inside her car when we parked. The driver-side door was open, and her glove compartment's contents had been removed and neatly placed on the passenger-side seat.
We don't know how he got into the car. Eve swears that she didn't leave the door unlocked, and she is sure he doesn't have a spare key... but there were no signs of forced entry, and he only took a few dollars. The stereo and any other valuables were untouched, which rules out the obvious suspicion of plain thievery by an unknown party.
Inside her car, she had papers with her new address on it, but Eve suspects that Dick has already known where she lives for some time. If he followed us to the theater, it was because he was waiting for her outside her apartment. I didn't see anybody when we had been there earlier, but he could've been sitting in someone's car, parked on the street.
I am sure that he doesn't know where I live, but if he did then I don't think he would be stupid enough to bring it to me... not unless he wanted to step into a world of shit.
I told Eve, "Just say the word and he's gone." She doesn't want me to do anything against him, because then Dick would retaliate against her, not me. He wouldn't try anything with me, she says, but who knows what he'd do to Eve or her family if I made some type of aggressive move? I keep telling Eve that I myself wouldn't have to lift a finger-- I hate putting it this way, but I know people from the old neighborhood who would take care of a guy like Dick in a heartbeat, no questions asked. But it might cause more grief than good if I get involved, even though I have no fear of this guy.
I took a cab to the bus station and let Eve get some sleep. Tomorrow, I will start making some phone calls of my own. On Thursday, I will see my older brother and ask him what he would do in a situation like this. My brother was once a gangster but has since improved his life through hard work and a loving marriage... still, he would have some advice for me, and I would most likely listen to what he had to say on the matter.
I'm not trying to be Eve's hero, but I can't stand seeing her go from happy and carefree to paranoid and stressed-out in the span of a few minutes. Dick's stalking is bordering on some form of emotional terrorism, and Eve has to constantly look over her shoulder and watch where she is going. And if there's anything I can do to help, I will.
She kept apologizing to me, saying that she didn't want to drag me into this.
"Eve," I said, smiling, "don't be afraid for me... you should be worried about you. I'm worried for you too, which is why I am here. As long as you are near me, he won't try shit. If he does, he's going to get more than he bargained for, I'll tell you that right now."
I'm not trying to be some tough, macho dude here-- I just know that a guy like Dick would have to gather up some formidable forces if he wanted to put a scare into me. And if it comes down to that, then he is outmatched by the forces I can conjure on my side. I abhor violence, and I never instigate beefs like this, but if I have to defend myself then I will. And Dick already hates me, so if I am a target then so be it. I won't lose any sleep over it.
Eve asked me if I was carrying a weapon on me before I left the apartment. I laughed.
"I'll use my keys, if I have to," I said.
"Be careful," she said.
"You too," I said, as I walked out the door to catch my cab.
It's funny-- a year ago, I was so mad at her that I couldn't even bring myself to look at her if I saw her on the street, and now here I am, reassuring her that everything will be just fine as she nestles in my bed. It's strange how a year can change so much in your life. It's like I was granted a wish that I had made, only to be saddled with the attendant baggage.
Be careful what you ask for, you just might get it.
Anyway, I hope all of you have a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday. I think Eve and I are going to rent a car and go drive down to Glamis with Paulie and friends. We need to get out of town for a spell, and after the both of us pay our familial respects on Thursday, we're going to hit the road. Wish us luck. And I wish all of you the best of luck as well.
PEACE
I know, my life has been this weird soap opera as of late, and of course it ends up dominating my blogs, but you don't even know the half. If I had the time to include all of the random aspects of my existence, it would either bore you to tears or make you wonder if I ever get any sleep.
I apologize if all I've been writing about is Eve, but it's the center ring of my circus life right now. I could probably turn this whole ordeal into a screenplay, along the lines of Sleeping With The Enemy or the second half of Something Wild. Lord knows we don't need another stalker movie, but guess what my life is beginning to resemble right now.
She and I met up at my place, had some drinks, and decided that we needed to go see a movie. We found a showing for The Incredibles at 8pm in Burbank.
First, we stopped off at Eve's place and she grabbed her overcoat-- it's been colder than a mug out here.
We ate a pre-movie meal at P.F. Chang's, where she ordered me a Kamikaze and a 7 & 7. She is on a mission to make me a drunk, mostly because she doesn't like to drink alone. I used to think she was trying to get me drunk for immoral purposes, but now I've come to realize that she is drinking to escape her worries, and needs an accomplice. She also knows about my allergy to some alcohols, and so I take it as easy as I can.
Still, those two concoctions did a number on me, and by the time we were in the theater, she and I were giddily buzzed and enjoying the movie. I highly recommend The Incredibles as a form of entertainment-- the animation is startlingly good, and it's funny and tender and well-made.
We left the theater bounding, with Eve insisting that I piggy-back on her while taking the escalator down. I tried, but she was too tipsy to hold my weight.
It was all fun and games until we got back to the car.
Sitting on the roof of her car was a can of auto body wax that had been inside her car when we parked. The driver-side door was open, and her glove compartment's contents had been removed and neatly placed on the passenger-side seat.
We don't know how he got into the car. Eve swears that she didn't leave the door unlocked, and she is sure he doesn't have a spare key... but there were no signs of forced entry, and he only took a few dollars. The stereo and any other valuables were untouched, which rules out the obvious suspicion of plain thievery by an unknown party.
Inside her car, she had papers with her new address on it, but Eve suspects that Dick has already known where she lives for some time. If he followed us to the theater, it was because he was waiting for her outside her apartment. I didn't see anybody when we had been there earlier, but he could've been sitting in someone's car, parked on the street.
I am sure that he doesn't know where I live, but if he did then I don't think he would be stupid enough to bring it to me... not unless he wanted to step into a world of shit.
I told Eve, "Just say the word and he's gone." She doesn't want me to do anything against him, because then Dick would retaliate against her, not me. He wouldn't try anything with me, she says, but who knows what he'd do to Eve or her family if I made some type of aggressive move? I keep telling Eve that I myself wouldn't have to lift a finger-- I hate putting it this way, but I know people from the old neighborhood who would take care of a guy like Dick in a heartbeat, no questions asked. But it might cause more grief than good if I get involved, even though I have no fear of this guy.
I took a cab to the bus station and let Eve get some sleep. Tomorrow, I will start making some phone calls of my own. On Thursday, I will see my older brother and ask him what he would do in a situation like this. My brother was once a gangster but has since improved his life through hard work and a loving marriage... still, he would have some advice for me, and I would most likely listen to what he had to say on the matter.
I'm not trying to be Eve's hero, but I can't stand seeing her go from happy and carefree to paranoid and stressed-out in the span of a few minutes. Dick's stalking is bordering on some form of emotional terrorism, and Eve has to constantly look over her shoulder and watch where she is going. And if there's anything I can do to help, I will.
She kept apologizing to me, saying that she didn't want to drag me into this.
"Eve," I said, smiling, "don't be afraid for me... you should be worried about you. I'm worried for you too, which is why I am here. As long as you are near me, he won't try shit. If he does, he's going to get more than he bargained for, I'll tell you that right now."
I'm not trying to be some tough, macho dude here-- I just know that a guy like Dick would have to gather up some formidable forces if he wanted to put a scare into me. And if it comes down to that, then he is outmatched by the forces I can conjure on my side. I abhor violence, and I never instigate beefs like this, but if I have to defend myself then I will. And Dick already hates me, so if I am a target then so be it. I won't lose any sleep over it.
Eve asked me if I was carrying a weapon on me before I left the apartment. I laughed.
"I'll use my keys, if I have to," I said.
"Be careful," she said.
"You too," I said, as I walked out the door to catch my cab.
It's funny-- a year ago, I was so mad at her that I couldn't even bring myself to look at her if I saw her on the street, and now here I am, reassuring her that everything will be just fine as she nestles in my bed. It's strange how a year can change so much in your life. It's like I was granted a wish that I had made, only to be saddled with the attendant baggage.
Be careful what you ask for, you just might get it.
Anyway, I hope all of you have a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday. I think Eve and I are going to rent a car and go drive down to Glamis with Paulie and friends. We need to get out of town for a spell, and after the both of us pay our familial respects on Thursday, we're going to hit the road. Wish us luck. And I wish all of you the best of luck as well.
PEACE
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
REFLECTIONS FROM THE DEPRESSED HOUR
No one at The Garage-- they're all in Glamis, past The Salton Sea and bordering on Mexico, in the desert.
Eve had a therapy session, and would most likely be too emotionally drained to hang out.
I got off of work and took care of some business: paid my insurance, grabbed some groceries... I got home around 3pm and I went to sleep.
I got seven hours, the most I've had in some time. I will be going back to a regular schedule probably by the end of this year. I can hack it until then. Besides, this is a short week.
I woke up around 10pm. Eve had called around 9pm and left a message, wondering what I was up to. As much as I wanted to see her, it was best that we both got some sleep. She was late to work a few times on account of me, and I don't want her to get fired. I will see her tomorrow, when we both have the time.
I also received a call from Flora, my dear old friend from high school-- then again, they're all good friends from high school, aren't they?
I've been mad at Flora, because she got married right after graduation and it meant that the teen years were over and we were all adults now, and I have this thing against marriage, and I just thought she was compromising herself... but I got over that. No, what I was recently mad about was how she got a divorce eight years later, around the time of 9/11, and I thought she was giving up on something good.
I also felt like she was forcing me to support the exact opposite of what I had been previously supporting. I wanted to be able to say "I told you so."
I realize, now, that she didn't want to stay in an unhappy marriage. Far be it from me to cast judgement. But I did, and it was due to my lack of understanding. Flora never told me how bad things got with Fred. He was very self-destructive, and she felt herself loving him less and less.
If she had adhered to my view of things, right now she'd be so gutted of life, thanks to being tied down to a man she no longer loved. She did what she had to do, and I miss her terribly but my stupid pride has been in the way.
All this business with Eve has made me see how pigheaded I can be. So I called Flora when I got home, then I slept, and when I woke up she had left a message for me. I called her up, and we talked until I had to go to work.
Flora was surprised to hear me tell her that I had been upset. She really had no clue, I'd hidden it very well. I'm a master at that sort of thing. Don't bother trying to read me, you won't figure anything out that I don't want you to know.
I apologized for it, and she said it was okay. Then, I confided to her about Eve. Flora knows all about Eve and me; in fact, she kind of introduced me to Eve during the high school production of Big River that our Theater Arts class put on in my Senior year.
Flora was an incredible artist, who designed the lovingly-detailed river mural that was part of the set of the Tom Sawyer adaptation. I helped her paint here and there, and that's when I first laid eyes on Eve, who made it a point to walk up to me and shake my hand.
Flora was also the first person to ever get me high. I wonder if she regrets it. She shouldn't-- it set my soul free in many ways, even as it enslaved it in others.
Flora, who is a Pisces, told me to not be afraid to show my feelings. I told her that my feelings show through in my actions: just being there for Eve, giving her my time, my attention, trying to help her think about other things, not trying to save her but rather trying to create a diversion that she can escape into momentarily, a place where she can feel safe... that's how I tell a girl that I love her.
But, Flora added, it wouldn't hurt if I showed a little more. At least I would know where I stood with her. I told Flora about my sloppy drunk kiss, and how I didn't feel as bad for doing that because I was buzzing, and of course Flora laughed and told me I was being silly.
We talked for a spell about our particular friendship, how I always want to tell Flora how to live her life, how it infuriates me that she doesn't listen to me... and how, deep down inside, I find that to be the center of her appeal. I confessed that I kind of like complaining about her, because it makes me feel like I am a solid, steady force in Flora's life. But really, it's just me trying to front like I am that way, when really the things she says and does affect me much more than I let on.
I have a lot of walls set up, to keep out the hurt, to block the pain, to deflect the anguish. I am trying to avoid certain aspects of my life, and it's not healthy. For example, I already admit that, during a specific time of day (anywhere from an hour before noon to a quarter after) I get very depressed and reflective. I am trying to deal with that effectively.
It was wonderful to talk to Flora again. But I also felt a bit sad, when she told me about Fred and how much of a downhill spiral he is in. There's been a theme as of late-- female friends escaping bad relationships, only to be harassed and stalked. Flora and Eve are two good examples, but a third example ran into me yesterday morning, during the Depressed Hour, when I was getting off of work, ready to run some errands.
I saw a girl named Alison (is it coincidence that I quoted from the Elvis Costello song of the same name not too long ago?) walking down Ventura Boulevard. Alison used to be my next-door neighbor, and she was the boyfriend of a guy we all knew as "Son". They were both from Queens, New York, and had known each other for years-- they grew up together, really.
Alison was apprehensive to see me, and wasn't sure whose side I was on. She was much closer to my friend Down low, who was very tight with Son and also harbored a secret crush on Alison. When the couple broke up, Low was torn between loyalty to his friend and attraction to Alison. He never made a move, but Alison had called Low not long ago, asking for a favor that she never got back to him regarding.
So it was kismet that I saw Alison on the street. I told her to call Low, and she said it was hard for her because Son was making her life miserable, even though he was back in New York. She didn't know if we could understand her situation.
"Alison," I said, "I do know. Right now, my ex is dealing with her last boyfriend, who is doing the same thing if not worse. Believe me, Low and I both understand. Call him up, he wants to see you."
Alison smiled. "Thanks, James. It was good to see you."
"I'll see you around, I'm sure."
Alison and Son had been together for twelve years. You'd think that, after all that time, she would've just stayed with him. But no, Son didn't do enough to warrant her staying with him, especially since he had a double standard concerning fidelity. And when he lost her, he did what most men seem to be doing nowadays: he went crazy with rage, and started acting like a dickhead.
I'm glad I've never acted like a dickhead with an ex. The closest I got was back in high school, with the infamous Amy Coates. I kicked that habit real quick.
I was beginning to lose hope, my faith in women was starting to wane. It seemed like they were all ready to just take up with the next available guy, instead of pursuing their own dreams. Maybe I ruled them out too quickly, maybe I didn't give them enough credit... now it seems like they're all breaking the shackles that bound them, and moving on to truer happiness, the kind that they deserve, the kind that is avaliable to them if only they are brave enough to leave the men who hold them back.
That's all I ever wanted my female friends to do: live up to their potential. They are all beautiful and talented and intelligent, and they shouldn't have to settle for less.
Eve had a therapy session, and would most likely be too emotionally drained to hang out.
I got off of work and took care of some business: paid my insurance, grabbed some groceries... I got home around 3pm and I went to sleep.
I got seven hours, the most I've had in some time. I will be going back to a regular schedule probably by the end of this year. I can hack it until then. Besides, this is a short week.
I woke up around 10pm. Eve had called around 9pm and left a message, wondering what I was up to. As much as I wanted to see her, it was best that we both got some sleep. She was late to work a few times on account of me, and I don't want her to get fired. I will see her tomorrow, when we both have the time.
I also received a call from Flora, my dear old friend from high school-- then again, they're all good friends from high school, aren't they?
I've been mad at Flora, because she got married right after graduation and it meant that the teen years were over and we were all adults now, and I have this thing against marriage, and I just thought she was compromising herself... but I got over that. No, what I was recently mad about was how she got a divorce eight years later, around the time of 9/11, and I thought she was giving up on something good.
I also felt like she was forcing me to support the exact opposite of what I had been previously supporting. I wanted to be able to say "I told you so."
I realize, now, that she didn't want to stay in an unhappy marriage. Far be it from me to cast judgement. But I did, and it was due to my lack of understanding. Flora never told me how bad things got with Fred. He was very self-destructive, and she felt herself loving him less and less.
If she had adhered to my view of things, right now she'd be so gutted of life, thanks to being tied down to a man she no longer loved. She did what she had to do, and I miss her terribly but my stupid pride has been in the way.
All this business with Eve has made me see how pigheaded I can be. So I called Flora when I got home, then I slept, and when I woke up she had left a message for me. I called her up, and we talked until I had to go to work.
Flora was surprised to hear me tell her that I had been upset. She really had no clue, I'd hidden it very well. I'm a master at that sort of thing. Don't bother trying to read me, you won't figure anything out that I don't want you to know.
I apologized for it, and she said it was okay. Then, I confided to her about Eve. Flora knows all about Eve and me; in fact, she kind of introduced me to Eve during the high school production of Big River that our Theater Arts class put on in my Senior year.
Flora was an incredible artist, who designed the lovingly-detailed river mural that was part of the set of the Tom Sawyer adaptation. I helped her paint here and there, and that's when I first laid eyes on Eve, who made it a point to walk up to me and shake my hand.
Flora was also the first person to ever get me high. I wonder if she regrets it. She shouldn't-- it set my soul free in many ways, even as it enslaved it in others.
Flora, who is a Pisces, told me to not be afraid to show my feelings. I told her that my feelings show through in my actions: just being there for Eve, giving her my time, my attention, trying to help her think about other things, not trying to save her but rather trying to create a diversion that she can escape into momentarily, a place where she can feel safe... that's how I tell a girl that I love her.
But, Flora added, it wouldn't hurt if I showed a little more. At least I would know where I stood with her. I told Flora about my sloppy drunk kiss, and how I didn't feel as bad for doing that because I was buzzing, and of course Flora laughed and told me I was being silly.
We talked for a spell about our particular friendship, how I always want to tell Flora how to live her life, how it infuriates me that she doesn't listen to me... and how, deep down inside, I find that to be the center of her appeal. I confessed that I kind of like complaining about her, because it makes me feel like I am a solid, steady force in Flora's life. But really, it's just me trying to front like I am that way, when really the things she says and does affect me much more than I let on.
I have a lot of walls set up, to keep out the hurt, to block the pain, to deflect the anguish. I am trying to avoid certain aspects of my life, and it's not healthy. For example, I already admit that, during a specific time of day (anywhere from an hour before noon to a quarter after) I get very depressed and reflective. I am trying to deal with that effectively.
It was wonderful to talk to Flora again. But I also felt a bit sad, when she told me about Fred and how much of a downhill spiral he is in. There's been a theme as of late-- female friends escaping bad relationships, only to be harassed and stalked. Flora and Eve are two good examples, but a third example ran into me yesterday morning, during the Depressed Hour, when I was getting off of work, ready to run some errands.
I saw a girl named Alison (is it coincidence that I quoted from the Elvis Costello song of the same name not too long ago?) walking down Ventura Boulevard. Alison used to be my next-door neighbor, and she was the boyfriend of a guy we all knew as "Son". They were both from Queens, New York, and had known each other for years-- they grew up together, really.
Alison was apprehensive to see me, and wasn't sure whose side I was on. She was much closer to my friend Down low, who was very tight with Son and also harbored a secret crush on Alison. When the couple broke up, Low was torn between loyalty to his friend and attraction to Alison. He never made a move, but Alison had called Low not long ago, asking for a favor that she never got back to him regarding.
So it was kismet that I saw Alison on the street. I told her to call Low, and she said it was hard for her because Son was making her life miserable, even though he was back in New York. She didn't know if we could understand her situation.
"Alison," I said, "I do know. Right now, my ex is dealing with her last boyfriend, who is doing the same thing if not worse. Believe me, Low and I both understand. Call him up, he wants to see you."
Alison smiled. "Thanks, James. It was good to see you."
"I'll see you around, I'm sure."
Alison and Son had been together for twelve years. You'd think that, after all that time, she would've just stayed with him. But no, Son didn't do enough to warrant her staying with him, especially since he had a double standard concerning fidelity. And when he lost her, he did what most men seem to be doing nowadays: he went crazy with rage, and started acting like a dickhead.
I'm glad I've never acted like a dickhead with an ex. The closest I got was back in high school, with the infamous Amy Coates. I kicked that habit real quick.
I was beginning to lose hope, my faith in women was starting to wane. It seemed like they were all ready to just take up with the next available guy, instead of pursuing their own dreams. Maybe I ruled them out too quickly, maybe I didn't give them enough credit... now it seems like they're all breaking the shackles that bound them, and moving on to truer happiness, the kind that they deserve, the kind that is avaliable to them if only they are brave enough to leave the men who hold them back.
That's all I ever wanted my female friends to do: live up to their potential. They are all beautiful and talented and intelligent, and they shouldn't have to settle for less.
Monday, November 22, 2004
WEEKEND
Confusion...
Friday night-- she and I continued the drill, the retro-courtship. My tolerance for spirits ever-rising, we laid down together and squirmed in the warmth of our bodies touching. I was tipsy, so I felt no shame as I kissed her on the lips, my emotions unguarded and unchecked, unrestrained, unable to hold myself back, like I normally do, and she kissed me back, and then she put her hand on my mouth to calm me down, her way of saying yes but not now...
There was some slight reassurance, a certainty in knowing that she wanted it just as much, but I know that she is not ready, and Saturday morning I realized that neither am I, I'm still hiding behind booze to make declarations of my heart and soul, I'm still foisting it off on being out of my mind on drugs or on the bottle, instead of owning up to my feelings and going out on a limb and saying "Fuck it, I want you, and what's wrong with that?"
We fell asleep in each other's arms, but I had to get up and go into my own bed, I have problems sharing my sleeping space with others, I am so used to sleeping alone, and I toss and turn, and I snore, and it isn't fair to whomever shares my bed with me...
I went to practice, and one of the members wasn't there-- she had her reasons for not showing. Hung over and listless, the rehearsal took forever to get through, and my mind was not on the prize at all...
Saturday night-- an evening spent with married friends, drinking wine and playing board games to avoid the downpour of end-of-autumn rain, but first: a strange request from a friend of Ben, the rhytm guitarist from Deja Vu. I dropped off a copy of the animation to Ben, who works in Hollywood as a CGI artist when he's not rocking out, and his companion asked me if I would like to work on her upcoming project. I told her to call me. She was sounded like she was serious, but only time will tell...
The manager of the Lamplighter restaurant, a true weasel, acted snide until he realized that none of us posed any harm, and then he spent half an hour trying to atone for his predatory rudeness. I paid it all no mind.
Eve looked at me differently, she couldn't believe I'd been offered a job, she couldn't comprehend how things seemed to happen for me randomly, almost as if they were premeditated, pre-planned... then we made it to our married friends' home and stayed until the dawn. She drove me home, and she did not stay-- she had to be up early to attend to a family gathering.
But she was back Sunday evening, cooking me potatoes and curling up next to me, slinking beside me on the futon, competing with my cat for attention, falling asleep on me, and the emotions of the past weekend had me in near tears, trying my hardest to take it all in, to understand how torn I am between utter love and cautious intimacy... I seek not to hurt again, to hurt any longer... it's all up to her, she's the one who has just left a nine-year relationship with Mr. Wrong, she's the one who has to make the call, I'm just here being me, as I always am, as I always will be, the girls are always different but I am the same, always looking for the one that I let get away years ago, the one I will never find again, no matter how many substitutes I employ, no matter what I do or say, they are not her, none of them are ever her, no matter what books they have read or what songs they know by heart, I long for the one who left me when I was innocent and broken...
I don't want sex but I do, I don't want to care but I do, I don't want but I need, but I don't, but I do... one minute I want to live with Eve forever, the next minute I think of how I hurt her, and how all of the women that I surround myself with can never soothe my pain, they can only make my aches temporary, they can only be short-lived escape valves for me...
I, in turn, provide some form of escape for them: Eve can forget the bad bad world outside of her window and take solace in me, in the fact that Dick would never dare come up to me despite his murderous rage against me; others have come to me for many things-- protection, money (what little I have), books and ideas, or maybe just to keep them company... I oblige them all, for what would my life be without their validation?
I'm being torn in several different directions, all at the same time, and I tell you-- it's killing me slightly.
But sometimes it is a joyous killing, especially those moments when I throw caution to the wind and forget about my sense of repose, my coolness, my need to be stonefaced and emotion-free...
Help me, I'm drowning, it feels like my lungs are filling with water...
Friday night-- she and I continued the drill, the retro-courtship. My tolerance for spirits ever-rising, we laid down together and squirmed in the warmth of our bodies touching. I was tipsy, so I felt no shame as I kissed her on the lips, my emotions unguarded and unchecked, unrestrained, unable to hold myself back, like I normally do, and she kissed me back, and then she put her hand on my mouth to calm me down, her way of saying yes but not now...
There was some slight reassurance, a certainty in knowing that she wanted it just as much, but I know that she is not ready, and Saturday morning I realized that neither am I, I'm still hiding behind booze to make declarations of my heart and soul, I'm still foisting it off on being out of my mind on drugs or on the bottle, instead of owning up to my feelings and going out on a limb and saying "Fuck it, I want you, and what's wrong with that?"
We fell asleep in each other's arms, but I had to get up and go into my own bed, I have problems sharing my sleeping space with others, I am so used to sleeping alone, and I toss and turn, and I snore, and it isn't fair to whomever shares my bed with me...
I went to practice, and one of the members wasn't there-- she had her reasons for not showing. Hung over and listless, the rehearsal took forever to get through, and my mind was not on the prize at all...
Saturday night-- an evening spent with married friends, drinking wine and playing board games to avoid the downpour of end-of-autumn rain, but first: a strange request from a friend of Ben, the rhytm guitarist from Deja Vu. I dropped off a copy of the animation to Ben, who works in Hollywood as a CGI artist when he's not rocking out, and his companion asked me if I would like to work on her upcoming project. I told her to call me. She was sounded like she was serious, but only time will tell...
The manager of the Lamplighter restaurant, a true weasel, acted snide until he realized that none of us posed any harm, and then he spent half an hour trying to atone for his predatory rudeness. I paid it all no mind.
Eve looked at me differently, she couldn't believe I'd been offered a job, she couldn't comprehend how things seemed to happen for me randomly, almost as if they were premeditated, pre-planned... then we made it to our married friends' home and stayed until the dawn. She drove me home, and she did not stay-- she had to be up early to attend to a family gathering.
But she was back Sunday evening, cooking me potatoes and curling up next to me, slinking beside me on the futon, competing with my cat for attention, falling asleep on me, and the emotions of the past weekend had me in near tears, trying my hardest to take it all in, to understand how torn I am between utter love and cautious intimacy... I seek not to hurt again, to hurt any longer... it's all up to her, she's the one who has just left a nine-year relationship with Mr. Wrong, she's the one who has to make the call, I'm just here being me, as I always am, as I always will be, the girls are always different but I am the same, always looking for the one that I let get away years ago, the one I will never find again, no matter how many substitutes I employ, no matter what I do or say, they are not her, none of them are ever her, no matter what books they have read or what songs they know by heart, I long for the one who left me when I was innocent and broken...
I don't want sex but I do, I don't want to care but I do, I don't want but I need, but I don't, but I do... one minute I want to live with Eve forever, the next minute I think of how I hurt her, and how all of the women that I surround myself with can never soothe my pain, they can only make my aches temporary, they can only be short-lived escape valves for me...
I, in turn, provide some form of escape for them: Eve can forget the bad bad world outside of her window and take solace in me, in the fact that Dick would never dare come up to me despite his murderous rage against me; others have come to me for many things-- protection, money (what little I have), books and ideas, or maybe just to keep them company... I oblige them all, for what would my life be without their validation?
I'm being torn in several different directions, all at the same time, and I tell you-- it's killing me slightly.
But sometimes it is a joyous killing, especially those moments when I throw caution to the wind and forget about my sense of repose, my coolness, my need to be stonefaced and emotion-free...
Help me, I'm drowning, it feels like my lungs are filling with water...
Friday, November 19, 2004
HATRED
Eve and I were driving home from Jerry's Deli last night, both of us wondering why I am hated so.
She brought it up. It all stemmed from her ex-boyfriend Dick's latest stunt: showing up at her acting class, even though she has a restraining order against him.
I have offered many times to go up to the dumb kid and talk to him, but Eve insists that, in the state he is in, it would only make things worse. I asked her how it was so.
"He hates you, James," she said, as she drove me to work. "He really, really hates you."
"I know he hates me," I asked. "But why?"
"Why does anyone hate anyone?" she asked aloud.
"You know, it's funny-- I never get a straight answer on that one. I know that I've been hated at various points in my life by certain individuals, but I never knew what the reason was. It always seems to change, from person to person."
"My dad hated you," Eve said. "Because you were Mexican."
"Yeah, but that's not really a good reason," I said. "That's the easy route-- hating someone for their race. Plus, your father didn't mind Tai [the guy Eve dated immediately after me] and he was half-black..."
"True," she said. "I guess I don't know why my dad hated you."
"I think I might know why-- because I was messing around with his daughter, that's why."
"I feel bad," she said. "I don't want Dick to do anything to hurt you."
I laughed. "You've got to be kidding, Eve. I mean, I know he's all fucked in the head right now, but that guy has always been afraid of me. I never have feared him, and he's lucky that I'm a mellow guy, because if anyone ever had a reason to hate someone else, it was me towards him. I never stepped to him in a hostile way, whenever we'd pass each other on the street, and yet he thought I was trying to jump him or something."
"All I know is, he hated anything that had to do with my life before him. You are a part of that, and so being as insecure as he is, he quickly held a grudge against you."
"I'm used to it by now," I said. "There's always someone who just doesn't like me, for whatever reason. If I had a nickle..."
"I know," she said, almost laughing. "You are always the one that people hate, aren't you? I wonder why it is..."
"Have you ever hated me?" I asked her.
"No, but you have annoyed me in the past. That's not the same as hatred, though."
"I know I can be irritating, but I never have been able to figure out why some people just hate me like there's no tomorrow."
Eve paused, then asked me, "Have you ever hated me?"
"I wanted to, once upon a time," I replied, as honestly as I could, "but I just couldn't do it."
I thought long and hard about the instances of outright hatred that I have encountered in my life. Ironically, the Number One cause for most hatred in the world-- race -- has never been much of a factor for me. A lot of people have no idea what kind of mutt I am, and if they ever hated on me for being a minority mix, they never said it to my face.
In matters related to race, I've received the most flak from my own peoples: Mexicans dislike the fact that I don't speak Spanish, while the Japanese consider my mixed blood an anathema. But whites and Jews have been relatively good to me-- even the racist ones. Blacks are 50-50 with me, while other races just don't give a damn who I am.
I get a lot of women hating me for various reasons. Prominent among their complaints is that I am a misogynist or a chauvinist. Of course, I do nothing to alleviate their worries, but then again I know in my heart that I am far from a sexist, so once again these reasons for hating me seem silly and superficial to me.
Occasionally, I get a girl who might hate me because she secretly likes me, but I'm terrible at divining those kinds of intentions. I think it's egotistical of me to assume that a girl likes me if she is acting hostile towards me. I take things on their face value, and if a woman hates me, I don't care what the reason is-- she just hates me, and I know to stay out of her way.
If there has to be a common reason for a woman hating me, it's most likely because I dated her best friend, and she is being protective of her, having heard the "horror stories" first-hand.
Guys hate me for whatever reasons they can come up with, but the Survey Says that it usually has to do with women. Nine times out of ten, a guy hates me because (1) I was once intimate with his girlfriend a long time ago, (2) he fears that I might steal her away from him, or (3) he thinks I'm trying to make him look bad in front of his girl. You don't know how many explanations I've had to give to jealous boyfriends, laying out my platonic terms to them, in order to get them to stop trying to mad-dog me non-stop.
I'm rarely ever hated for my political beliefs, because my style of argument hinges on my smart-ass, wise-acre delivery. Being online is a different story-- the lack of context adds fuel to the fire, to be sure, but even then I usually only get a rise out of someone, which is not the same as all-out hatred. The fact that I don't get mad is probably more irritating than anything that comes out of my mouth.
The one quality of mine that I am positive stirs up the shit is my arrogance. I can be downright smug, and it doesn't help that I know how to push people's buttons effectively. This is the sociopathic part of me having a go, detaching itself from my decency and decorum to wreak mischievious havoc on some poor literal-minded shlub who doesn't realize that I'm just fucking with his/her head. That I don't get bothered by my conscience-less attempts to make people mad only goes to show that I have a lot of growing up to do.
Here's a short list of people who have hated me, and their reasons for doing so:
Charles "Mac" Chong: He and I worked together at the old radio network, and we had our eyes on that girl Mary Jane whom I used to be crazy over. I had no idea he was after her, and when I would talk to him about how I tried to get her number or whatever, he seemed disinterested, almost bored. One day, out of frustration, I said I was through trying to hook up with her, and then later on she finally came around to giving me her phone number. The next time I saw Mac, I told him how I was back on the case, and he got all pissed off. "I thought you said you were through with her," he practically yelled. That's when I knew he was into her, and to tell the truth he had no reason to be mad at me-- he should've been more honest about his feelings for her. I would've understood if he saw me as a threat, and I may have even stepped aside to let him take a shot at her.
Anyway, he ended up making her feel awkward by barging into her office and demanding to know what was going on between me and her. She was so freaked out that she stopped talking to me for a week. I couldn't get an answer out of her, and Mac wasn't talking either. He seemed to be happy about the silent treatment I was receiving from Mary Jane, which was the tip-off for me-- I knew he'd done something but I had no proof.
Well, I found the proof by sheer accident, when he logged off the company computer one day and forgot to erase his e-mail password. I know, it was a shitty thing to do, but I opened his e-mail account, and lo and behold-- I found a series of messages to her, harassing her about me. I never told him what I discovered; instead, I wrote Mary Jane a letter, telling her to not listen to a word Mac had to say about me. She started speaking to me again, and after that Mac and I were less than friends.
Last I heard from him, he moved to Seattle.
Rob Kramer: Rob was the boyfriend of a platonic friend of mine, a girl named Wendy Adelson. I met her when I was living in Valencia during the summer before my Junior year of high school. At the time, I was seeing a girl named Vera, and I was faithful to her. Despite our obvious chemistry (and the fact that my mother totally adored Wendy), she and I never hooked up.
I moved back into the Valley when school resumed, and Wendy and I would occasionally make plans to see each other. She started seeing a guy named Rob Kramer shortly after school began, and when her birthday rolled around in January (she was an Aquarius like me) I was invited to a party at her house. She wanted me to meet her new man, and I was more than happy to oblige her.
What I didn't know was that Rob was sure that she and I had been a couple, judging from the way she talked to him about me. He was nervous about my staying the night in her guest room. When I finally met him, he tried to be nice, but eventually the alcohol started to speak to him. He ended up cornering me in the backyard, with a bunch of his friends in tow, asking me what my connection to Wendy was; I laughed and told him not to worry. After realizing what a dipshit he was being, he relaxed and apologized for his possessiveness. We ended up getting along after that.
However, Wendy broke up with the guy after six months, because he was jealous of every single guy in her life. I was just the one he confronted about it.
Mark Bradley: The VP of Technology at the old radio network, Bradley and I never got along. He was (and still is) an overbearing prick, with the kind of face that would fit perfectly on the villain in any National Lampoon/John Hughes movie set in high school or college. He had a thick Texas drawl, and didn't respect anyone who didn't have a college degree, even if they were knowledgable about all the systems in the Network Operations Center.
We waged a mini-war of words during which I found my weekend studio hours cut back and some of the shows I used to engineer taken away from me. He was always trying to break my balls, and I must admit that I threw back an equal amount of hate at him, going so far as to tell him to shut up one night when he was trying to figure out what I'd done on a show that went out over the air. When I left for home later on, I was positive that I would be fired. Instead, he took away my extra hours to teach me a lesson.
I still have a healthy contempt for him, and he for me. We crossed paths in Tower Records recently, and he saw me and took the long way around one of the aisles. I smirked at him and nodded, making it known that I did indeed see him. I'm sure that, after I was laid off, he was wary of what I might do as "retaliation", but I really can't waste my time thinking about things like that. Besides, the best revenge is living well, I always say.
I have more, but those are the three that pop into my head immediately when I think of haters I've had the displeasure of dealing with; I guess I have that kind of face that makes people mad, or maybe it's the lack of concern for all things conventional. Maybe I remind people of someone who did them wrong once in their lives. I really can't sit here and think what it is about me that makes people mad, so I'll just say that it's because I act like a jerk sometimes.
However, I've never been a jerk to Dick. He just hates me because... no reason. I never did or said anything to him directly that would make him hate me. And, even though I'd like to belt him in the gut for hurting Eve, she has asked me to refrain from any drama. All that means, to me, is that I won't egg him on, but if that little weasel ever brings it to me, he's going to get it back in spades. I won't instigate anything, but I will defend myself if necessary.
If he's smart, he'll leave my ass out of this. He doesn't want it with me.
Before we reached my work, Eve recalled a moment when all of our paths intersected, some time ago. Since Dick worked at the Italian restaurant across the street from the radio network, I'd occasionally see him with Eve and it would make me a little bit angry, but not enough to do anything about it. I held no beef against Dick, I was just peeved about how Eve was revolving her entire life around him.
Anyway, one day I was crossing the street, and I heard a car honking. I turned to look, and saw that it was Eve, driving with Dick sitting shotgun. She was yelling at the top of her lungs at the car in front of her, who was taking a long time to make a right turn at the busy intersection of Sepulveda and Ventura.
I had to laugh, because I was the reason that the car was taking a longtime to turn right. He had to wait for me to cross before he could go.
I made eye contact with Eve and Dick, and I quickly turned away, smirking like the cat who caught the canary. I didn't look back to see her reaction.
Eve told me that she had laughed as well, realizing how ridiculous she was being. This didn't make Dick too happy at the time. But then again, who cares what he thinks, then or now? He had his chance, and now he's making a mess of it all. And he probably hates me more than ever, while I feel nothing but sorry for him.
Eve doesn't hate him, but she is tired of him terrorizing her. I'm getting tired of it too, but it's up to her to take the necessary actions. She can call the cops anytime, but she is trying to give him a bit of slack because, even though she no longer loves him, she still cares. And even though Dick never let Eve communicate with me due to his jealousy, I figure I will not interfere with her relationship with him. I will not make a demand that she stop caring for him, because I'm not like that. Yes, Dick didn't afford me the same opportunity, but that's him-- he's petty and hateful and he's going to have to hit rock bottom before he starts getting a clue.
All I care about is that Eve is happy and safe, and so far I think I'm doing an okay job of it.
She brought it up. It all stemmed from her ex-boyfriend Dick's latest stunt: showing up at her acting class, even though she has a restraining order against him.
I have offered many times to go up to the dumb kid and talk to him, but Eve insists that, in the state he is in, it would only make things worse. I asked her how it was so.
"He hates you, James," she said, as she drove me to work. "He really, really hates you."
"I know he hates me," I asked. "But why?"
"Why does anyone hate anyone?" she asked aloud.
"You know, it's funny-- I never get a straight answer on that one. I know that I've been hated at various points in my life by certain individuals, but I never knew what the reason was. It always seems to change, from person to person."
"My dad hated you," Eve said. "Because you were Mexican."
"Yeah, but that's not really a good reason," I said. "That's the easy route-- hating someone for their race. Plus, your father didn't mind Tai [the guy Eve dated immediately after me] and he was half-black..."
"True," she said. "I guess I don't know why my dad hated you."
"I think I might know why-- because I was messing around with his daughter, that's why."
"I feel bad," she said. "I don't want Dick to do anything to hurt you."
I laughed. "You've got to be kidding, Eve. I mean, I know he's all fucked in the head right now, but that guy has always been afraid of me. I never have feared him, and he's lucky that I'm a mellow guy, because if anyone ever had a reason to hate someone else, it was me towards him. I never stepped to him in a hostile way, whenever we'd pass each other on the street, and yet he thought I was trying to jump him or something."
"All I know is, he hated anything that had to do with my life before him. You are a part of that, and so being as insecure as he is, he quickly held a grudge against you."
"I'm used to it by now," I said. "There's always someone who just doesn't like me, for whatever reason. If I had a nickle..."
"I know," she said, almost laughing. "You are always the one that people hate, aren't you? I wonder why it is..."
"Have you ever hated me?" I asked her.
"No, but you have annoyed me in the past. That's not the same as hatred, though."
"I know I can be irritating, but I never have been able to figure out why some people just hate me like there's no tomorrow."
Eve paused, then asked me, "Have you ever hated me?"
"I wanted to, once upon a time," I replied, as honestly as I could, "but I just couldn't do it."
I thought long and hard about the instances of outright hatred that I have encountered in my life. Ironically, the Number One cause for most hatred in the world-- race -- has never been much of a factor for me. A lot of people have no idea what kind of mutt I am, and if they ever hated on me for being a minority mix, they never said it to my face.
In matters related to race, I've received the most flak from my own peoples: Mexicans dislike the fact that I don't speak Spanish, while the Japanese consider my mixed blood an anathema. But whites and Jews have been relatively good to me-- even the racist ones. Blacks are 50-50 with me, while other races just don't give a damn who I am.
I get a lot of women hating me for various reasons. Prominent among their complaints is that I am a misogynist or a chauvinist. Of course, I do nothing to alleviate their worries, but then again I know in my heart that I am far from a sexist, so once again these reasons for hating me seem silly and superficial to me.
Occasionally, I get a girl who might hate me because she secretly likes me, but I'm terrible at divining those kinds of intentions. I think it's egotistical of me to assume that a girl likes me if she is acting hostile towards me. I take things on their face value, and if a woman hates me, I don't care what the reason is-- she just hates me, and I know to stay out of her way.
If there has to be a common reason for a woman hating me, it's most likely because I dated her best friend, and she is being protective of her, having heard the "horror stories" first-hand.
Guys hate me for whatever reasons they can come up with, but the Survey Says that it usually has to do with women. Nine times out of ten, a guy hates me because (1) I was once intimate with his girlfriend a long time ago, (2) he fears that I might steal her away from him, or (3) he thinks I'm trying to make him look bad in front of his girl. You don't know how many explanations I've had to give to jealous boyfriends, laying out my platonic terms to them, in order to get them to stop trying to mad-dog me non-stop.
I'm rarely ever hated for my political beliefs, because my style of argument hinges on my smart-ass, wise-acre delivery. Being online is a different story-- the lack of context adds fuel to the fire, to be sure, but even then I usually only get a rise out of someone, which is not the same as all-out hatred. The fact that I don't get mad is probably more irritating than anything that comes out of my mouth.
The one quality of mine that I am positive stirs up the shit is my arrogance. I can be downright smug, and it doesn't help that I know how to push people's buttons effectively. This is the sociopathic part of me having a go, detaching itself from my decency and decorum to wreak mischievious havoc on some poor literal-minded shlub who doesn't realize that I'm just fucking with his/her head. That I don't get bothered by my conscience-less attempts to make people mad only goes to show that I have a lot of growing up to do.
Here's a short list of people who have hated me, and their reasons for doing so:
Charles "Mac" Chong: He and I worked together at the old radio network, and we had our eyes on that girl Mary Jane whom I used to be crazy over. I had no idea he was after her, and when I would talk to him about how I tried to get her number or whatever, he seemed disinterested, almost bored. One day, out of frustration, I said I was through trying to hook up with her, and then later on she finally came around to giving me her phone number. The next time I saw Mac, I told him how I was back on the case, and he got all pissed off. "I thought you said you were through with her," he practically yelled. That's when I knew he was into her, and to tell the truth he had no reason to be mad at me-- he should've been more honest about his feelings for her. I would've understood if he saw me as a threat, and I may have even stepped aside to let him take a shot at her.
Anyway, he ended up making her feel awkward by barging into her office and demanding to know what was going on between me and her. She was so freaked out that she stopped talking to me for a week. I couldn't get an answer out of her, and Mac wasn't talking either. He seemed to be happy about the silent treatment I was receiving from Mary Jane, which was the tip-off for me-- I knew he'd done something but I had no proof.
Well, I found the proof by sheer accident, when he logged off the company computer one day and forgot to erase his e-mail password. I know, it was a shitty thing to do, but I opened his e-mail account, and lo and behold-- I found a series of messages to her, harassing her about me. I never told him what I discovered; instead, I wrote Mary Jane a letter, telling her to not listen to a word Mac had to say about me. She started speaking to me again, and after that Mac and I were less than friends.
Last I heard from him, he moved to Seattle.
Rob Kramer: Rob was the boyfriend of a platonic friend of mine, a girl named Wendy Adelson. I met her when I was living in Valencia during the summer before my Junior year of high school. At the time, I was seeing a girl named Vera, and I was faithful to her. Despite our obvious chemistry (and the fact that my mother totally adored Wendy), she and I never hooked up.
I moved back into the Valley when school resumed, and Wendy and I would occasionally make plans to see each other. She started seeing a guy named Rob Kramer shortly after school began, and when her birthday rolled around in January (she was an Aquarius like me) I was invited to a party at her house. She wanted me to meet her new man, and I was more than happy to oblige her.
What I didn't know was that Rob was sure that she and I had been a couple, judging from the way she talked to him about me. He was nervous about my staying the night in her guest room. When I finally met him, he tried to be nice, but eventually the alcohol started to speak to him. He ended up cornering me in the backyard, with a bunch of his friends in tow, asking me what my connection to Wendy was; I laughed and told him not to worry. After realizing what a dipshit he was being, he relaxed and apologized for his possessiveness. We ended up getting along after that.
However, Wendy broke up with the guy after six months, because he was jealous of every single guy in her life. I was just the one he confronted about it.
Mark Bradley: The VP of Technology at the old radio network, Bradley and I never got along. He was (and still is) an overbearing prick, with the kind of face that would fit perfectly on the villain in any National Lampoon/John Hughes movie set in high school or college. He had a thick Texas drawl, and didn't respect anyone who didn't have a college degree, even if they were knowledgable about all the systems in the Network Operations Center.
We waged a mini-war of words during which I found my weekend studio hours cut back and some of the shows I used to engineer taken away from me. He was always trying to break my balls, and I must admit that I threw back an equal amount of hate at him, going so far as to tell him to shut up one night when he was trying to figure out what I'd done on a show that went out over the air. When I left for home later on, I was positive that I would be fired. Instead, he took away my extra hours to teach me a lesson.
I still have a healthy contempt for him, and he for me. We crossed paths in Tower Records recently, and he saw me and took the long way around one of the aisles. I smirked at him and nodded, making it known that I did indeed see him. I'm sure that, after I was laid off, he was wary of what I might do as "retaliation", but I really can't waste my time thinking about things like that. Besides, the best revenge is living well, I always say.
I have more, but those are the three that pop into my head immediately when I think of haters I've had the displeasure of dealing with; I guess I have that kind of face that makes people mad, or maybe it's the lack of concern for all things conventional. Maybe I remind people of someone who did them wrong once in their lives. I really can't sit here and think what it is about me that makes people mad, so I'll just say that it's because I act like a jerk sometimes.
However, I've never been a jerk to Dick. He just hates me because... no reason. I never did or said anything to him directly that would make him hate me. And, even though I'd like to belt him in the gut for hurting Eve, she has asked me to refrain from any drama. All that means, to me, is that I won't egg him on, but if that little weasel ever brings it to me, he's going to get it back in spades. I won't instigate anything, but I will defend myself if necessary.
If he's smart, he'll leave my ass out of this. He doesn't want it with me.
Before we reached my work, Eve recalled a moment when all of our paths intersected, some time ago. Since Dick worked at the Italian restaurant across the street from the radio network, I'd occasionally see him with Eve and it would make me a little bit angry, but not enough to do anything about it. I held no beef against Dick, I was just peeved about how Eve was revolving her entire life around him.
Anyway, one day I was crossing the street, and I heard a car honking. I turned to look, and saw that it was Eve, driving with Dick sitting shotgun. She was yelling at the top of her lungs at the car in front of her, who was taking a long time to make a right turn at the busy intersection of Sepulveda and Ventura.
I had to laugh, because I was the reason that the car was taking a longtime to turn right. He had to wait for me to cross before he could go.
I made eye contact with Eve and Dick, and I quickly turned away, smirking like the cat who caught the canary. I didn't look back to see her reaction.
Eve told me that she had laughed as well, realizing how ridiculous she was being. This didn't make Dick too happy at the time. But then again, who cares what he thinks, then or now? He had his chance, and now he's making a mess of it all. And he probably hates me more than ever, while I feel nothing but sorry for him.
Eve doesn't hate him, but she is tired of him terrorizing her. I'm getting tired of it too, but it's up to her to take the necessary actions. She can call the cops anytime, but she is trying to give him a bit of slack because, even though she no longer loves him, she still cares. And even though Dick never let Eve communicate with me due to his jealousy, I figure I will not interfere with her relationship with him. I will not make a demand that she stop caring for him, because I'm not like that. Yes, Dick didn't afford me the same opportunity, but that's him-- he's petty and hateful and he's going to have to hit rock bottom before he starts getting a clue.
All I care about is that Eve is happy and safe, and so far I think I'm doing an okay job of it.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
MY AIM IS TRUE
I must have been more tired yesterday than I thought-- I didn't realize that I posted that bonus blog three times.
This graveyard shift is killing me slowly. Today, before I leave work, I'm going to make some inquiries. I have a feeling that I will have to endure this at least until the end of the year, when the guy who normally does this shift is done with school and can change his schedule back.
With the car gone, it's been a bitch. Today, I got off of work and took a bus to the Metro Rail, the L.A. subway. From there, I took another bus straight to my front door. I went to sleep almost immediately, and slept so soundly that I reneged on my agreement to meet Eve at her work at 5:30.
I woke up at 6pm, rested but momentarily jarred, thinking that it was 4am or something like that, thinking that I was late for work. I knew I was late for something. I called Eve as soon as I could.
"Hey, where were you? I thought you were going to meet me at work."
"I know, I'm sorry. I fell asleep and didn't set an alarm."
"I called you at 5, and left a message," she said.
"You did? I didn't even hear it. I must've been out like a fuckin' light."
"Yeah, I bet. Anyway, I just got home."
"Just now?" Eve doesn't live that far away from her work. "Why so late?"
"I was driving around for an hour, in circles."
"Oh," I said. "Dick was following you again?"
"Don't know. He started calling me from a pay phone in the area. I decided that I was going to take the long way home, just to play it safe. But I wasn't sure if it was you or him."
"I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry."
"It's all good. It's better that you didn't show up. He was probably across the street. Who knows what he would have done to retaliate, if he'd seen you?"
"True... but the whole reason why I was supposed to meet you at work was so that you wouldn't feel unsafe."
"He probably would've caused a scene. It's better this way."
"Well, if you don't want to be alone, I'm here, Eve."
She came by, with more dinner items, more beer, more X-Files DVDs. We sat around, smoked, enjoyed ourselves as we joked around, and tried to take our minds off of her situation.
Just so you know: it is really no bother to me to keep her company as she tries to scrape the residue of the past decade off of her shoes. Even if I didn't have an enormous amount of love for her, I would do it. For my female friends, when it comes to guy trouble I am always on their side. And lately, it seems like Eve is not the only one with guy troubles.
Katie, the fiddle player, was dumped by her longtime boyfriend en route to a rehearsal; my friend Flora, who left her husband of eight years a few days before 9/11, is still dealing with a man in denial of the facts; even Eve's mother, who remarried in 2002, saw her marriage hit the rocks when her new husband tried to put himself between her and Eve's sister.
The male ego cannot let certain things go. It's one thing to lose your house, your job, your friends, and your fortune, but when a man loses his woman he may as well lose his mind. I know from experience. The only difference is, I didn't go crazy and start stalking my girlfriends.
I have too much sympathy for the plight of the modern woman. She is expected to be successful but also subservient, independent but also deferring, worldly yet chaste. Men have unrealistic expectations for their women, and it causes women great stress.
I agree with what John Lennon once sang: "Woman is the Nigger of the World." We make her paint her face and dance.
Many of you have commented on this blog about this whole Eve thing, but I also know that some of you have probably read this and held your tongue. You are most likely shaking your heads and predicting disaster. I can see why you would take such a stance-- it seems fraught with doom, the whole enterprise. That possibility is not lost on me.
The way I see it is: Eve and I have always been attracted to each other, but what's going on right now is more of a closeness forged by our respective situations than anything else. I needed to close things out with her. She doesn't want to be alone right now, not with Dick dogging her at every turn.
We are using each other, really.
I was really close tonight. I could've made a move and I might have gotten something out of it, if that's what I was looking for. We were lying down on my futon, arms around each other, her hair in my face, Otis the cat reclining next to me and vibing off of our body heat...
I weighed my options: I had to be at work, and she offered to drive me, but we were both falling asleep. Eve didn't get a good night's sleep the night before, thanks to me, and I felt bad. So, despite the obvious direction we were headed in, I went out of my way to accomodate her.
"Hey, if you want to take a nap, go sleep in my bed. I'll kick it out here while you get a little rest." I didn't want to share the bed with her, because otherwise we wouldn't have gotten any shut-eye. We can reserve bed-sharing for a night when neither of us have to wake up early to go to work, like this upcoming weekend.
She set her cel phone alarm for 2am and stole off into my room. I watched that new dance show on late-night TV and smoked a cigarette. I kept thinking of the words to a song by Elvis Costello...
Oh, it's so funny to be seeing you after so long, girl
And with the way you look, I understand that you were not impressed
But I heard you let that little friend of mine
Take off your party dress
I'm not gonna get too sentimental
Like those other sticky valentines
'Cause I don't know if you are loving some body
I only know it isn't mine
It bears noting that I sang this song to Eve when we were first becoming friends in high school. One day somebody brought a guitar to school, and when it was discovered that I could play I was asked to perform by all of my friends in the Theater Arts class. They requested The Beatles, The Smiths, The Cure, and then someone asked me if there was any particular song that I'd like to sing.
I wasn't always an Elvis Costello fan. The advent of the '90's saw me discovering what a terrific songwriter he is. And having just bought the My Aim Is True album on vinyl that year (1992, for those who must know) I decided to sing the song from which Costello took his debut album's title.
Alison, I know this world is killing you
Oh, Alison, my aim is true
Well, I see you've got a husband now
Did he leave your pretty fingers lying in the wedding cake?
You used to hold him right in your hand
I bet he took all that he could take
Sometimes I wish that I could stop you from talking
When I hear the silly things that you say
I think somebody better put out the big light
'Cause I can't stand to see you this way
As I laid on my couch in my living room, I thought about those words, that music, Elvis' voice... I thought about how prophetic that song was, for Eve and I. Here were are, years after the fact, and suddenly the sentiments of that song do more than echo-- they comment almost precisely on everything that has happened between us, and they sum up how I feel, very prettily, very succinctly.
Alison, I know this world is killing you
Oh, Alison, my aim is true
My aim is true
My aim is true
My aim is true
My aim is true
My aim is true
My aim is true
My aim is true
My aim is true...
I managed to get an hour of sleep before waking up on my own and getting ready. I put all of Eve's refrigerator items into a box. I packed up her DVDs and rounded up my own things as well. I jumped in the shower, and when I got out I had five minutes to spare before her alarm went off.
I leaned over her in the bed and kissed her on the cheek.
She drove me to work, and I thanked her for being so kind. She responded by thanking me for letting her crash at my pad. I told her to think nothing of it, that I would do it for her anytime she needed it. I was still feeling bad about not showing up at her work at 5:30. Lord knows, if I'd seen Dick across the street, maybe I would've lost it and made a scene, but I still felt bad for not coming through like I said I would.
Sorry, folks, but it isn't as cut-and-dried as one would think. I wish it could be as simple as just jumping into the sack and professing our love for each other, but I know what I'm doing. I'm taking it easy, I'm taking my time, but I'm also trying to make progress. And if you ask me, going from no communication whatsoever to what we have now, in the span of a month or two, is a lot of progress.
Like the song says, my aim is true. It's all so real, it can be overhwhelming... but I still manage to hit the targets every time.
This graveyard shift is killing me slowly. Today, before I leave work, I'm going to make some inquiries. I have a feeling that I will have to endure this at least until the end of the year, when the guy who normally does this shift is done with school and can change his schedule back.
With the car gone, it's been a bitch. Today, I got off of work and took a bus to the Metro Rail, the L.A. subway. From there, I took another bus straight to my front door. I went to sleep almost immediately, and slept so soundly that I reneged on my agreement to meet Eve at her work at 5:30.
I woke up at 6pm, rested but momentarily jarred, thinking that it was 4am or something like that, thinking that I was late for work. I knew I was late for something. I called Eve as soon as I could.
"Hey, where were you? I thought you were going to meet me at work."
"I know, I'm sorry. I fell asleep and didn't set an alarm."
"I called you at 5, and left a message," she said.
"You did? I didn't even hear it. I must've been out like a fuckin' light."
"Yeah, I bet. Anyway, I just got home."
"Just now?" Eve doesn't live that far away from her work. "Why so late?"
"I was driving around for an hour, in circles."
"Oh," I said. "Dick was following you again?"
"Don't know. He started calling me from a pay phone in the area. I decided that I was going to take the long way home, just to play it safe. But I wasn't sure if it was you or him."
"I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry."
"It's all good. It's better that you didn't show up. He was probably across the street. Who knows what he would have done to retaliate, if he'd seen you?"
"True... but the whole reason why I was supposed to meet you at work was so that you wouldn't feel unsafe."
"He probably would've caused a scene. It's better this way."
"Well, if you don't want to be alone, I'm here, Eve."
She came by, with more dinner items, more beer, more X-Files DVDs. We sat around, smoked, enjoyed ourselves as we joked around, and tried to take our minds off of her situation.
Just so you know: it is really no bother to me to keep her company as she tries to scrape the residue of the past decade off of her shoes. Even if I didn't have an enormous amount of love for her, I would do it. For my female friends, when it comes to guy trouble I am always on their side. And lately, it seems like Eve is not the only one with guy troubles.
Katie, the fiddle player, was dumped by her longtime boyfriend en route to a rehearsal; my friend Flora, who left her husband of eight years a few days before 9/11, is still dealing with a man in denial of the facts; even Eve's mother, who remarried in 2002, saw her marriage hit the rocks when her new husband tried to put himself between her and Eve's sister.
The male ego cannot let certain things go. It's one thing to lose your house, your job, your friends, and your fortune, but when a man loses his woman he may as well lose his mind. I know from experience. The only difference is, I didn't go crazy and start stalking my girlfriends.
I have too much sympathy for the plight of the modern woman. She is expected to be successful but also subservient, independent but also deferring, worldly yet chaste. Men have unrealistic expectations for their women, and it causes women great stress.
I agree with what John Lennon once sang: "Woman is the Nigger of the World." We make her paint her face and dance.
Many of you have commented on this blog about this whole Eve thing, but I also know that some of you have probably read this and held your tongue. You are most likely shaking your heads and predicting disaster. I can see why you would take such a stance-- it seems fraught with doom, the whole enterprise. That possibility is not lost on me.
The way I see it is: Eve and I have always been attracted to each other, but what's going on right now is more of a closeness forged by our respective situations than anything else. I needed to close things out with her. She doesn't want to be alone right now, not with Dick dogging her at every turn.
We are using each other, really.
I was really close tonight. I could've made a move and I might have gotten something out of it, if that's what I was looking for. We were lying down on my futon, arms around each other, her hair in my face, Otis the cat reclining next to me and vibing off of our body heat...
I weighed my options: I had to be at work, and she offered to drive me, but we were both falling asleep. Eve didn't get a good night's sleep the night before, thanks to me, and I felt bad. So, despite the obvious direction we were headed in, I went out of my way to accomodate her.
"Hey, if you want to take a nap, go sleep in my bed. I'll kick it out here while you get a little rest." I didn't want to share the bed with her, because otherwise we wouldn't have gotten any shut-eye. We can reserve bed-sharing for a night when neither of us have to wake up early to go to work, like this upcoming weekend.
She set her cel phone alarm for 2am and stole off into my room. I watched that new dance show on late-night TV and smoked a cigarette. I kept thinking of the words to a song by Elvis Costello...
Oh, it's so funny to be seeing you after so long, girl
And with the way you look, I understand that you were not impressed
But I heard you let that little friend of mine
Take off your party dress
I'm not gonna get too sentimental
Like those other sticky valentines
'Cause I don't know if you are loving some body
I only know it isn't mine
It bears noting that I sang this song to Eve when we were first becoming friends in high school. One day somebody brought a guitar to school, and when it was discovered that I could play I was asked to perform by all of my friends in the Theater Arts class. They requested The Beatles, The Smiths, The Cure, and then someone asked me if there was any particular song that I'd like to sing.
I wasn't always an Elvis Costello fan. The advent of the '90's saw me discovering what a terrific songwriter he is. And having just bought the My Aim Is True album on vinyl that year (1992, for those who must know) I decided to sing the song from which Costello took his debut album's title.
Alison, I know this world is killing you
Oh, Alison, my aim is true
Well, I see you've got a husband now
Did he leave your pretty fingers lying in the wedding cake?
You used to hold him right in your hand
I bet he took all that he could take
Sometimes I wish that I could stop you from talking
When I hear the silly things that you say
I think somebody better put out the big light
'Cause I can't stand to see you this way
As I laid on my couch in my living room, I thought about those words, that music, Elvis' voice... I thought about how prophetic that song was, for Eve and I. Here were are, years after the fact, and suddenly the sentiments of that song do more than echo-- they comment almost precisely on everything that has happened between us, and they sum up how I feel, very prettily, very succinctly.
Alison, I know this world is killing you
Oh, Alison, my aim is true
My aim is true
My aim is true
My aim is true
My aim is true
My aim is true
My aim is true
My aim is true
My aim is true...
I managed to get an hour of sleep before waking up on my own and getting ready. I put all of Eve's refrigerator items into a box. I packed up her DVDs and rounded up my own things as well. I jumped in the shower, and when I got out I had five minutes to spare before her alarm went off.
I leaned over her in the bed and kissed her on the cheek.
She drove me to work, and I thanked her for being so kind. She responded by thanking me for letting her crash at my pad. I told her to think nothing of it, that I would do it for her anytime she needed it. I was still feeling bad about not showing up at her work at 5:30. Lord knows, if I'd seen Dick across the street, maybe I would've lost it and made a scene, but I still felt bad for not coming through like I said I would.
Sorry, folks, but it isn't as cut-and-dried as one would think. I wish it could be as simple as just jumping into the sack and professing our love for each other, but I know what I'm doing. I'm taking it easy, I'm taking my time, but I'm also trying to make progress. And if you ask me, going from no communication whatsoever to what we have now, in the span of a month or two, is a lot of progress.
Like the song says, my aim is true. It's all so real, it can be overhwhelming... but I still manage to hit the targets every time.
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
bonus blog
I have come to realize that I never change. Inside, I am still the same person. I may melow out with age, or calm down with time, and my hair might change styles and my clothes will change fashions, but inside I feel like I am the same person I've always been.
I'm a Joker.
I'm a Trivia Buff.
I'm a Closet Geek.
I'm hipper than Hipper-Than-Thou.
I'm a simultaneous Rebel and Conformist.
I'm a hopeless romantic.
I am a steely-eyed nihilist.
I am a contradiction.
I'm like a stepping razor, better watch my sides-- I'm dangerous, so dangerous...
Anyway, ask anyone who knows me well-- I stay the same. Small details change, but the Big Picture stays exactly as it was from the very start.
That's all I wanted to say.
I'm a Joker.
I'm a Trivia Buff.
I'm a Closet Geek.
I'm hipper than Hipper-Than-Thou.
I'm a simultaneous Rebel and Conformist.
I'm a hopeless romantic.
I am a steely-eyed nihilist.
I am a contradiction.
I'm like a stepping razor, better watch my sides-- I'm dangerous, so dangerous...
Anyway, ask anyone who knows me well-- I stay the same. Small details change, but the Big Picture stays exactly as it was from the very start.
That's all I wanted to say.
SO WHAT AM I LEARNING?
I am learning not to ask any questions.
She was late to the Garage, and I knew why. I'd called her cel, and the mailbox was full. Many messages, all from the same source. Whenever it gets like that, I know why.
Flustered she arrived, head down and apologetic. She apologizes for everything. I no longer say "it's okay" because I'm not even sure what "okay" means anymore.
After we worked, I took a smoke break. She called her brother. I overheard her mentioning that she'd been followed by a cab. I didn't say anything.
I am learning to accept what is given to me freely.
She told me everything at dinner. She picked up the bill, even though I pushed a tenner her way. "I probably make more money than you," she said, but I know it's her way of saying "Thank you for not leaving me by myself to stew over this."
We were driving to her place but I thought she'd said we were going to mine. When I told her to turn left, she said, "Oh, you want to go to your place? Okay." We watched Aladdin on DVD as swirling whirpools of pot smoke shimmied in the lamplight. Otis, who is doing fine now, curled up on my lap and let me pet his gentle fur.
She didn't even ask me-- she just dropped me off at work. I didn't ask her to do it-- once again, her way of showing appreciation.
I walked in to work, grateful in my own way.
I am learning to judge less and listen more.
She regaled me with tales of doing body shots off the cleavage of a drunk stranger in New Orleans; she told me about drinking rum and flashing men in the hot tub during Oktoberfest (while partying with her mother, no less!); she recalled a story about smoking PCP with some guy that she and her boyfriend-at-the-time met at a 7-11 in North Hollywood; she reminisced about friends she had to lose, and enemeies she wished she hadn't made...
Not too long ago, these revelations would've made me turn pale. But now I see them as proofs of living a full life. I can't fault her for wanting to push it to the limit, wanting to have a good time. She never whored herself out or went too far, and she tells the stories with pride and enjoyment.
Plus, I know that she has a lot to prove. She thinks that I need to be impressed. But she doesn't know that what really impresses me is how she keeps on going, despite the bullshit.
I am learning to be patient.
I barked some orders at her today when we were working. Sometimes I push her off of the console and show her how to do something. Other times, I let her sweat it out. She gets frustrated, and I calmly show her what she is overlooking. When I provide the answer in a clear, concise manner, she calms down, and gets centered. As long as I am centered, she is centered. When I am off-center, she spirals out of control. But I know for a fact that I can live off-center. She thinks that she can, but I suspect it takes a greater toll on her than it does on me.
I don't apologize for my bossiness. She is the same way, when she is working with others and must train them. She expects nothing less from me. I expect her to go above and beyond what is expected of her. This keeps her sane, at least for now. She could come undone at any minute, what with phantom taxis trailing behind her as she makes her way home, where she doesn't want to be found.
I am learning to be myself again.
During dinner, when she vented about how she wished he would just leave her alone, I sat there in deep thought. I thought about what a mess she was in, and how nothing I could do or say would make a difference. It was just one of those things that she would have to weather, if she was serious about not throwing the book at him. She knew what she had to do, and if she didn't want to do it then there was no way to force her.
She looked at me and said, "Look, there's nothing you can do about it, so please don't think that you can..."
I interrupted. "I'm not thinking about what I can do," I said. I sipped my coffee. "Believe me, I'm not thinking about that."
I changed the subject and cracked jokes about our jubilantly gay waiter. I know who he is because when I lived across the street with Jessica, she and I would stop in all the time and eat and get served by this flaming Latino who had a crush on Bro Man. Every time I go in there he always asks me about Bro Man, and I laugh whenever he does. He cheered us up, with his fey ways.
As we got up to leave, I thought to myself, "See? There is something I can do about it..."
I am learning how to read the signs.
As we watched Aladdin, she turned to me and said, "You know what we need to do?"
"No, what?"
"We need to take this movie over to my house, in the daytime, and watch it on my big screen HDTV. But with your sound system."
"Yeah, your TV and my sound system would be a great match, wouldn't it?"
"It would be awesome, dude," she said, finishing her cigarette.
"What are you doing Saturday?" I asked.
"I guess we already know, don't we?"
No, I don't, I thought to myself. Then, I thought some more, and suddenly I said to myself, Yes, I DO know...
Like I said before, we'll see how all of this pans out.
She was late to the Garage, and I knew why. I'd called her cel, and the mailbox was full. Many messages, all from the same source. Whenever it gets like that, I know why.
Flustered she arrived, head down and apologetic. She apologizes for everything. I no longer say "it's okay" because I'm not even sure what "okay" means anymore.
After we worked, I took a smoke break. She called her brother. I overheard her mentioning that she'd been followed by a cab. I didn't say anything.
I am learning to accept what is given to me freely.
She told me everything at dinner. She picked up the bill, even though I pushed a tenner her way. "I probably make more money than you," she said, but I know it's her way of saying "Thank you for not leaving me by myself to stew over this."
We were driving to her place but I thought she'd said we were going to mine. When I told her to turn left, she said, "Oh, you want to go to your place? Okay." We watched Aladdin on DVD as swirling whirpools of pot smoke shimmied in the lamplight. Otis, who is doing fine now, curled up on my lap and let me pet his gentle fur.
She didn't even ask me-- she just dropped me off at work. I didn't ask her to do it-- once again, her way of showing appreciation.
I walked in to work, grateful in my own way.
I am learning to judge less and listen more.
She regaled me with tales of doing body shots off the cleavage of a drunk stranger in New Orleans; she told me about drinking rum and flashing men in the hot tub during Oktoberfest (while partying with her mother, no less!); she recalled a story about smoking PCP with some guy that she and her boyfriend-at-the-time met at a 7-11 in North Hollywood; she reminisced about friends she had to lose, and enemeies she wished she hadn't made...
Not too long ago, these revelations would've made me turn pale. But now I see them as proofs of living a full life. I can't fault her for wanting to push it to the limit, wanting to have a good time. She never whored herself out or went too far, and she tells the stories with pride and enjoyment.
Plus, I know that she has a lot to prove. She thinks that I need to be impressed. But she doesn't know that what really impresses me is how she keeps on going, despite the bullshit.
I am learning to be patient.
I barked some orders at her today when we were working. Sometimes I push her off of the console and show her how to do something. Other times, I let her sweat it out. She gets frustrated, and I calmly show her what she is overlooking. When I provide the answer in a clear, concise manner, she calms down, and gets centered. As long as I am centered, she is centered. When I am off-center, she spirals out of control. But I know for a fact that I can live off-center. She thinks that she can, but I suspect it takes a greater toll on her than it does on me.
I don't apologize for my bossiness. She is the same way, when she is working with others and must train them. She expects nothing less from me. I expect her to go above and beyond what is expected of her. This keeps her sane, at least for now. She could come undone at any minute, what with phantom taxis trailing behind her as she makes her way home, where she doesn't want to be found.
I am learning to be myself again.
During dinner, when she vented about how she wished he would just leave her alone, I sat there in deep thought. I thought about what a mess she was in, and how nothing I could do or say would make a difference. It was just one of those things that she would have to weather, if she was serious about not throwing the book at him. She knew what she had to do, and if she didn't want to do it then there was no way to force her.
She looked at me and said, "Look, there's nothing you can do about it, so please don't think that you can..."
I interrupted. "I'm not thinking about what I can do," I said. I sipped my coffee. "Believe me, I'm not thinking about that."
I changed the subject and cracked jokes about our jubilantly gay waiter. I know who he is because when I lived across the street with Jessica, she and I would stop in all the time and eat and get served by this flaming Latino who had a crush on Bro Man. Every time I go in there he always asks me about Bro Man, and I laugh whenever he does. He cheered us up, with his fey ways.
As we got up to leave, I thought to myself, "See? There is something I can do about it..."
I am learning how to read the signs.
As we watched Aladdin, she turned to me and said, "You know what we need to do?"
"No, what?"
"We need to take this movie over to my house, in the daytime, and watch it on my big screen HDTV. But with your sound system."
"Yeah, your TV and my sound system would be a great match, wouldn't it?"
"It would be awesome, dude," she said, finishing her cigarette.
"What are you doing Saturday?" I asked.
"I guess we already know, don't we?"
No, I don't, I thought to myself. Then, I thought some more, and suddenly I said to myself, Yes, I DO know...
Like I said before, we'll see how all of this pans out.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
THE NATURE OF THE BLOG
I want to take a break from navel-gazing to talk about writing online.
One thing that blogging has done for my writing is that it has helped me to be economical. I can get to the gist briskly, whereas when I was writing in notebooks I tended to go off on superfluous tangents. Believe it or not, I have a tighter rein on my words with the blog.
However, blogging is tailor-made for the first-person narrative, and so my attempts to do prose or fiction seem to fall flat. I am never really satisfied with how the fictional stories come out when I post them. Granted, I haven't tried to do that much since I deleted the old Archive, but that's because the first-person post is a given in the (blech) blog-o-sphere. It's like a preset-- built-in, hard-wired to the very core of blogging. In fiction, it seems like a sin to merely write from the first-person, an indulgence on the part of the author; With blogging, it's a sin NOT to use the first-person.
Thus, I feel that I've become a terser writer but at the cost of perspective-- if I can marry the leanness with something like, say, the third-person narrative (the traditional story framework of most fiction: "John Doe walked to the door" as opposed to "I walked to the door") then maybe it will all have been worth it.
As a result of my blogging, I have completely abandoned notebook writing, which is a cause of concern for me but also a logical leap.
Another thing: With blogging, pretty much everything is a first draft. Sometimes I rewrite, but it's usually to correct spelling errors or phrase things in a clearer fashion-- editing, really. The only occasion that truly warrants a total rewrite is when you have labored over a post and consequently lost it in cyberspace-- this happens all to often with computers. When's the last time a steno notepad crashed on you?
I also notice that, although I get pretty candid, I am not always forthcoming. That is to say, I seem like I'm showing you more but really I'm showing you less. I reveal personal details and scenarios that might make others blush or feel icky, but it's not even close to what I'd really like to write. There's a freedom that comes with writing for oneself instead of for an audience. I'd like to get more ribald, more controversial, but I risk alienating the precious core of readers I have managed to corral this far.
I know that I could write anything, no matter how embarrassing or negative or twisted. Whether I should actually click on that "publish" icon, though, is another thing.
If I know that someone in particular reads my blog, I have a tendency to not mention them as much. And if I do, I try to be respectful. Unfortunately, that takes away from some of the power of the writing-- there might be an unflattering detail that needs to be emphasized, but my fear of offending or embarrassing my online friends makes me docile. No one likes to read personal shit about themselves in a forum like the Internet, but I want to be as candid as possible. It's a tightrope wire that I have never really had to walk until I started blogging.
Before blogging, I wrote about others without fear, and if they ended up wanting to read what I wrote, there was always a feeling of apprehension, as if I were handing them a weapon by which to off themselves. On the other hand, blogging forces the details to be public, and I must be very selective. I might go into detail about Eve, for example, but what I've told you about her is stuff that I think she would be okay with the rest of the world knowing. And I've made sure to fictionalize enough of it to ensure that I am not invading her privacy. But isn't it already an invasion of privacy, to base this character on someone I know in real life?
Somneone e-mailed me once and asked me if I was afraid that certain people would read my blog and what I said about them. I answered no, because (1) the people who I write the most about definitely do not go online, not even for e-mail (2) everyone who knows me knows that I'm a writer, and that I take situations from real life and add on to them, and (3) I haven't revealed anything on this blog that would make someone feel betrayed. I have not broken promises to keep secrets, I have not violated any vows or oaths of silence.
And yet, I have revealed things about myself that most people avoid talking about. That's because I'm weird like that, and I made a decision long ago that I would always dissect myself the most when it came to writing about real people. That should explain why I tend to obsess and rant and ramble on about certain themes in my life-- it's done out of a lack of external material that I'd feel comfortable with savaging and pillaging.
I use a razor when I write about others, but I wield the surgical scalpel when I'm being solipsistic. My first-person narrative style is like reconstructive plastic surgery, performed more as a necessity than a service.
In short, it's just a different set of rules. Blogging has limits and allowances that are sometimes at odds with the way I normally write, but that's a good thing. I need to be able to adapt my style so that it's not so stale. But blogging tends to drill it into you, because of the fact that once you click "publish" IT'S OUT THERE, and even if you have the option of deleting it, you will probably end up writing something similar further down the line until you are self-programmed to not write deletable posts in the first place.
It's a sort of conditioning. Over time my writing has slightly transformed. And I risk being pigeonholed by this new style that is emerging from me. I don't want to be trapped by the nature of the blog.
I take writing very seriously, but not enough to get my shit together and start trying to get a publisher to notice my work. Blogging helps me to fulfill this pipe dream, where I imagine that everyone in the world is reading my words and sighing pleasantly. The reality may be far from that, but that's what writing for a perceived audience does to you-- it eggs you on to find something that will fill the DEMAND.
In my case, there is little demand, compared to people who are famous for their blogs. But that's all good as well, because even though I am being selective now, it's nothing compared to how selective I'd have to be if my blog were hugely popular.
So I'm enjoying it now, while I can.
Tomorrow, I will resume the self-absorbed tirades and hackery. Thank you for your time.
One thing that blogging has done for my writing is that it has helped me to be economical. I can get to the gist briskly, whereas when I was writing in notebooks I tended to go off on superfluous tangents. Believe it or not, I have a tighter rein on my words with the blog.
However, blogging is tailor-made for the first-person narrative, and so my attempts to do prose or fiction seem to fall flat. I am never really satisfied with how the fictional stories come out when I post them. Granted, I haven't tried to do that much since I deleted the old Archive, but that's because the first-person post is a given in the (blech) blog-o-sphere. It's like a preset-- built-in, hard-wired to the very core of blogging. In fiction, it seems like a sin to merely write from the first-person, an indulgence on the part of the author; With blogging, it's a sin NOT to use the first-person.
Thus, I feel that I've become a terser writer but at the cost of perspective-- if I can marry the leanness with something like, say, the third-person narrative (the traditional story framework of most fiction: "John Doe walked to the door" as opposed to "I walked to the door") then maybe it will all have been worth it.
As a result of my blogging, I have completely abandoned notebook writing, which is a cause of concern for me but also a logical leap.
Another thing: With blogging, pretty much everything is a first draft. Sometimes I rewrite, but it's usually to correct spelling errors or phrase things in a clearer fashion-- editing, really. The only occasion that truly warrants a total rewrite is when you have labored over a post and consequently lost it in cyberspace-- this happens all to often with computers. When's the last time a steno notepad crashed on you?
I also notice that, although I get pretty candid, I am not always forthcoming. That is to say, I seem like I'm showing you more but really I'm showing you less. I reveal personal details and scenarios that might make others blush or feel icky, but it's not even close to what I'd really like to write. There's a freedom that comes with writing for oneself instead of for an audience. I'd like to get more ribald, more controversial, but I risk alienating the precious core of readers I have managed to corral this far.
I know that I could write anything, no matter how embarrassing or negative or twisted. Whether I should actually click on that "publish" icon, though, is another thing.
If I know that someone in particular reads my blog, I have a tendency to not mention them as much. And if I do, I try to be respectful. Unfortunately, that takes away from some of the power of the writing-- there might be an unflattering detail that needs to be emphasized, but my fear of offending or embarrassing my online friends makes me docile. No one likes to read personal shit about themselves in a forum like the Internet, but I want to be as candid as possible. It's a tightrope wire that I have never really had to walk until I started blogging.
Before blogging, I wrote about others without fear, and if they ended up wanting to read what I wrote, there was always a feeling of apprehension, as if I were handing them a weapon by which to off themselves. On the other hand, blogging forces the details to be public, and I must be very selective. I might go into detail about Eve, for example, but what I've told you about her is stuff that I think she would be okay with the rest of the world knowing. And I've made sure to fictionalize enough of it to ensure that I am not invading her privacy. But isn't it already an invasion of privacy, to base this character on someone I know in real life?
Somneone e-mailed me once and asked me if I was afraid that certain people would read my blog and what I said about them. I answered no, because (1) the people who I write the most about definitely do not go online, not even for e-mail (2) everyone who knows me knows that I'm a writer, and that I take situations from real life and add on to them, and (3) I haven't revealed anything on this blog that would make someone feel betrayed. I have not broken promises to keep secrets, I have not violated any vows or oaths of silence.
And yet, I have revealed things about myself that most people avoid talking about. That's because I'm weird like that, and I made a decision long ago that I would always dissect myself the most when it came to writing about real people. That should explain why I tend to obsess and rant and ramble on about certain themes in my life-- it's done out of a lack of external material that I'd feel comfortable with savaging and pillaging.
I use a razor when I write about others, but I wield the surgical scalpel when I'm being solipsistic. My first-person narrative style is like reconstructive plastic surgery, performed more as a necessity than a service.
In short, it's just a different set of rules. Blogging has limits and allowances that are sometimes at odds with the way I normally write, but that's a good thing. I need to be able to adapt my style so that it's not so stale. But blogging tends to drill it into you, because of the fact that once you click "publish" IT'S OUT THERE, and even if you have the option of deleting it, you will probably end up writing something similar further down the line until you are self-programmed to not write deletable posts in the first place.
It's a sort of conditioning. Over time my writing has slightly transformed. And I risk being pigeonholed by this new style that is emerging from me. I don't want to be trapped by the nature of the blog.
I take writing very seriously, but not enough to get my shit together and start trying to get a publisher to notice my work. Blogging helps me to fulfill this pipe dream, where I imagine that everyone in the world is reading my words and sighing pleasantly. The reality may be far from that, but that's what writing for a perceived audience does to you-- it eggs you on to find something that will fill the DEMAND.
In my case, there is little demand, compared to people who are famous for their blogs. But that's all good as well, because even though I am being selective now, it's nothing compared to how selective I'd have to be if my blog were hugely popular.
So I'm enjoying it now, while I can.
Tomorrow, I will resume the self-absorbed tirades and hackery. Thank you for your time.
Monday, November 15, 2004
RESCUE
My streak of bad luck continues, with my 1985 Chevy Citation II eating shit on the 14 North around 4pm on Sunday.
I was on my way to my niece's 5th birthday party in Lancaster. It was a Chuck E. Cheese party, and I'm really pissed off at missing it. But even more than that, I am now back to square one as far as transportation goes. Looks like I'll be adding more posts to the En Mass blog in the next week or so.
I crossed the freeway to get to the call box and get a tow truck out to me. When the tow truck driver arrived, I mentioned my flight across the center divider to him and he asked me if I valued my life. I laughed. "Evidently not," I replied.
He towed my car to a gas station on the corner of Soledad and Sand Canyons, halfway between Valencia and Acton... in other words, in the middle of nowhere. I gave the tow truck my last bit of money, and I don't have a cel phone, so all I had to make do with was my calling card.
Nobody was around-- my mom's side of the family had their cel phones turned off while they were at the party; my dad and his wife were at Bible Study; and Eve, whom I had plans with later on, was out shopping. I got a hold of Paulie, and he said he'd come out and get me as soon as he was done pulling his trailer out of the driveway. I ended up getting a hold of Down Low, who said he was "down" to pick me up. However, I got a hold of Eve eventually and told Down Low that, while I appreciated his being "down", his car was just as fucked up as mine, and that he didn't have to come out now that I had Eve on her way. I also called Paulie and told him not to worry about me.
We'd made plans to eat dinner, watch The Simpsons season premiere, and then watch Season Six of The X Files on DVD. She was out getting the goods for dinner when she finally got my call. She dropped the groceries and headed out my way immediately.
I've come to realize a lot of things about Eve lately, things that I should've known back in the day when we were together. For one, I've always known her to be ready to help out at the drop of a hat, but I never let her help me. I was always telling her "thanks, but no thanks" because I felt like I was imposing on her. But now I've come to realize that she likes to help out. She enjoys giving of herself, especially if it's for someone she gives a damn about. I never let her have a chance to help me back in the early days, because of my pride.
She picked me up in less than half an hour, and we were on our way back to my apartment when she brought up something I had said Friday night, when all of us went out to Chinatown to celebrate the check for animation copyright getting cashed. After dinner, I ended up at her place, where we smoked lots of pot, watched Big Trouble In Little China on DVD, and stayed up until 6 in the morning, talking and laughing.
At one point, I brought up the fact that I am never sure if my friends would ever be able to "drop everything" to come to my aid. She told me to close my eyes and put myself in the situation of someone needing to be rescued. I did. When I opened them, she looked at me and said, "See? You are that person, James. All I ever see is that everyone around you wants you to do better, and you need to recognize that. They are there for you."
As we drove to my place, she said, "Funny how life works, isn't it?"
I had to agree. "I thought about what you'd said the other night as I waited for you to show up. It really hit me hard. It also helped me to center myself, so that I wouldn't get frustrated."
"I think you are learning a lot of things today," she said.
She dropped me off and went back to the grocery store, while I aired out my apartment-- before I left, I had fumigated the pad to rid it of fleas. My cat Otis is due out of the hospital, and I wanted to make sure that he didn't end up sucked dry by bloodsucking insects again.
Eve showed up and cooked me a delicious macaroni and cheese dinner, with a side of spinach and the biggest bread loaf we'd ever seen. I watched her cook for me and felt a swelling of great pride, as well as great love. She was doing this for me. She was shelling out the money for the food, in addition to picking my ass up and saving our evening, and now she was preparing it, all the while apologizing for what she perceived as "making a mess" in my kitchen.
Instead of trying to take control of the situation, I let her do her thing. It was a graceful, beautiful thing to behold. Watching someone cook is like watching an artist paint, or listening to a musician play-- you notice the nuances, the variations, the special ingredients and secrets that go into any labor of love.
She brought a 12-pack of Newcastle, and after the day I had I definitely needed a drink. Of course, I became loose and talkative, showing more of my emotions than I normally do. We laughed ourselves silly as we watched The Simpsons, and I used the commercial breaks to run out and change the loads of laundry-- I had to wash all of the blankets I'd used to cover up things in my apartment during the fumigation.
I raced back inside with a fresh blanket, warm from the dryer heat. I draped myself in it, and she laughed. I told her to jump inside with me, to share the warmth. She loved it. We sat in the blanket, sipping Newcastles, smoking cigarettes, and watching episodes of The X Files that I had never seen before.
Friday night, she and I stayed up until the dawn. I had to leave and go home to meet someone in regards to certain "things" I had procured on their behalf. I know, though, that had I stayed any longer, she and I would've probably let ourselves go. The vibe was right, but I was still feeling hard-to-get, like I needed more convincing before I could slip back into that role with her.
So as we watched the X Files DVD, I felt my defenses falling to the wayside, even more than on Friday. We were laying together, laughing drunkenly, reminiscing about how crazy we were back in the day. We remembered some remarkable episodes, like the time she and I were walking and she flicked a lit cigarette up in the air... and it landed on the street, perpendicular to the ground! I've re-told that story to countless others since, and no one ever believed me. I told them I had a witness, but to no avail. Thus, her remembrance of that one-in-a-million event reassured me that I wasn't crazy, that it had happened, and that I wasn't the only one who'd witnessed this.
I started to realize that the one thing I had been missing for the past five years was her friendship. Eve and I were once close friends, and we shared a lot between us. It hadn't been lost, even with all the drama and hurt. I felt like we were teenagers again, being silly and cracking up at everything around us.
I was smiling from ear to ear.
She even drove me to the bus stop, to catch an early morning ride to work. She would've driven me all the way to work, but I felt like she'd done enough for me already.
And so I sit here, wondering what the future holds for us. Last night seemed so right, so real, and for the first time in a long time I am not dwelling on the fucked-up shit. It's easy to dwell on the fucked-up shit, because it happens so often, and it can really make you feel like a turd. But then there are those moments, with good friends with whom you share a detailed history, when it all makes sense.
The fac that I had to wait over ten years for a moment like this should make me bitter, but I also feel like we've both grown in exponential ways since that time. She had to go through her lessons, I've had to go through mine. We have met up once again, to discover that we are still the same at the core, but more mature and more willing to let the other in.
We're not playing any games.
And so I sit here, with the smell of hair still in the air, with the things she said to me reverberating in my head, and the hours we spent watching old TV shows seeming like too short of a time. I felt like I could've stayed there with her for another all-nighter. She and I were giddy from the excitement of reacquainting ourselves with each other.
I think the next time we get drunk and hang out, there will be more. I'm no good when I'm drunk-- I get bold, I get brave, I gain liquid courage... I don't have any expectations, because it's been such a blast to reconnect with her. Will there be dark times up ahead? Of course-- with everyone, there are dark times to handle. The real question is: Can we weather it together?
I don't know the answer to that one, but it's all right-- what's more important is that she and I are friends again, like nothing ever happened. I have no more beef, no more grudges, and apparently she never had any with me to begin with-- her issues with me had to do with her own insecurities, her need to prove herself to me at every turn, her anger at the well-intentioned-but-callous things I said during our relationship.
This week will be interesting: Already she has offered to drive me where I need to go, and I think I have no choice but to take her up on that offer. I have to make it up to her somehow, I have to reciprocate and make it less one-sided. But then again, my lack of judgement towards the way she lived her life for the past decade might be my biggest and best gift to her, the one thing that I can bestow upon her that means just as much (if not more) than her sweet gestures of loyalty.
Life is weird, surreal, twisted and topsy-turvy. It never seems to change for me-- always a crisis, always a situation, always something that I feel needs to be written about or made into music or drawn... My life is a blank canvas upon which I paint with the colors of existence, drawing from the palette of experience.
I really don't know what I'm going to do, especially since I am still thinking about Katie, who called me when I was out to see when our next rehearsal was going to be. It is all up in the air. I feel like I am juggling several different objects in my hands, and some of them have dropped to the floor but yet I keep on juggling the other items, in an attempt to soldier on and not let the gravity of mishandled priorities keep me from my rhythm, my pace.
When I get off of work, the fact that my car is dead will hit me, and drag me back to reality. Until that moment comes, I'm on a high that required no drugs (she left her pot at home and I smoked all of mine yesterday morning) and just a little bit of concession from the both of us.
We'll see how this all pans out.
I was on my way to my niece's 5th birthday party in Lancaster. It was a Chuck E. Cheese party, and I'm really pissed off at missing it. But even more than that, I am now back to square one as far as transportation goes. Looks like I'll be adding more posts to the En Mass blog in the next week or so.
I crossed the freeway to get to the call box and get a tow truck out to me. When the tow truck driver arrived, I mentioned my flight across the center divider to him and he asked me if I valued my life. I laughed. "Evidently not," I replied.
He towed my car to a gas station on the corner of Soledad and Sand Canyons, halfway between Valencia and Acton... in other words, in the middle of nowhere. I gave the tow truck my last bit of money, and I don't have a cel phone, so all I had to make do with was my calling card.
Nobody was around-- my mom's side of the family had their cel phones turned off while they were at the party; my dad and his wife were at Bible Study; and Eve, whom I had plans with later on, was out shopping. I got a hold of Paulie, and he said he'd come out and get me as soon as he was done pulling his trailer out of the driveway. I ended up getting a hold of Down Low, who said he was "down" to pick me up. However, I got a hold of Eve eventually and told Down Low that, while I appreciated his being "down", his car was just as fucked up as mine, and that he didn't have to come out now that I had Eve on her way. I also called Paulie and told him not to worry about me.
We'd made plans to eat dinner, watch The Simpsons season premiere, and then watch Season Six of The X Files on DVD. She was out getting the goods for dinner when she finally got my call. She dropped the groceries and headed out my way immediately.
I've come to realize a lot of things about Eve lately, things that I should've known back in the day when we were together. For one, I've always known her to be ready to help out at the drop of a hat, but I never let her help me. I was always telling her "thanks, but no thanks" because I felt like I was imposing on her. But now I've come to realize that she likes to help out. She enjoys giving of herself, especially if it's for someone she gives a damn about. I never let her have a chance to help me back in the early days, because of my pride.
She picked me up in less than half an hour, and we were on our way back to my apartment when she brought up something I had said Friday night, when all of us went out to Chinatown to celebrate the check for animation copyright getting cashed. After dinner, I ended up at her place, where we smoked lots of pot, watched Big Trouble In Little China on DVD, and stayed up until 6 in the morning, talking and laughing.
At one point, I brought up the fact that I am never sure if my friends would ever be able to "drop everything" to come to my aid. She told me to close my eyes and put myself in the situation of someone needing to be rescued. I did. When I opened them, she looked at me and said, "See? You are that person, James. All I ever see is that everyone around you wants you to do better, and you need to recognize that. They are there for you."
As we drove to my place, she said, "Funny how life works, isn't it?"
I had to agree. "I thought about what you'd said the other night as I waited for you to show up. It really hit me hard. It also helped me to center myself, so that I wouldn't get frustrated."
"I think you are learning a lot of things today," she said.
She dropped me off and went back to the grocery store, while I aired out my apartment-- before I left, I had fumigated the pad to rid it of fleas. My cat Otis is due out of the hospital, and I wanted to make sure that he didn't end up sucked dry by bloodsucking insects again.
Eve showed up and cooked me a delicious macaroni and cheese dinner, with a side of spinach and the biggest bread loaf we'd ever seen. I watched her cook for me and felt a swelling of great pride, as well as great love. She was doing this for me. She was shelling out the money for the food, in addition to picking my ass up and saving our evening, and now she was preparing it, all the while apologizing for what she perceived as "making a mess" in my kitchen.
Instead of trying to take control of the situation, I let her do her thing. It was a graceful, beautiful thing to behold. Watching someone cook is like watching an artist paint, or listening to a musician play-- you notice the nuances, the variations, the special ingredients and secrets that go into any labor of love.
She brought a 12-pack of Newcastle, and after the day I had I definitely needed a drink. Of course, I became loose and talkative, showing more of my emotions than I normally do. We laughed ourselves silly as we watched The Simpsons, and I used the commercial breaks to run out and change the loads of laundry-- I had to wash all of the blankets I'd used to cover up things in my apartment during the fumigation.
I raced back inside with a fresh blanket, warm from the dryer heat. I draped myself in it, and she laughed. I told her to jump inside with me, to share the warmth. She loved it. We sat in the blanket, sipping Newcastles, smoking cigarettes, and watching episodes of The X Files that I had never seen before.
Friday night, she and I stayed up until the dawn. I had to leave and go home to meet someone in regards to certain "things" I had procured on their behalf. I know, though, that had I stayed any longer, she and I would've probably let ourselves go. The vibe was right, but I was still feeling hard-to-get, like I needed more convincing before I could slip back into that role with her.
So as we watched the X Files DVD, I felt my defenses falling to the wayside, even more than on Friday. We were laying together, laughing drunkenly, reminiscing about how crazy we were back in the day. We remembered some remarkable episodes, like the time she and I were walking and she flicked a lit cigarette up in the air... and it landed on the street, perpendicular to the ground! I've re-told that story to countless others since, and no one ever believed me. I told them I had a witness, but to no avail. Thus, her remembrance of that one-in-a-million event reassured me that I wasn't crazy, that it had happened, and that I wasn't the only one who'd witnessed this.
I started to realize that the one thing I had been missing for the past five years was her friendship. Eve and I were once close friends, and we shared a lot between us. It hadn't been lost, even with all the drama and hurt. I felt like we were teenagers again, being silly and cracking up at everything around us.
I was smiling from ear to ear.
She even drove me to the bus stop, to catch an early morning ride to work. She would've driven me all the way to work, but I felt like she'd done enough for me already.
And so I sit here, wondering what the future holds for us. Last night seemed so right, so real, and for the first time in a long time I am not dwelling on the fucked-up shit. It's easy to dwell on the fucked-up shit, because it happens so often, and it can really make you feel like a turd. But then there are those moments, with good friends with whom you share a detailed history, when it all makes sense.
The fac that I had to wait over ten years for a moment like this should make me bitter, but I also feel like we've both grown in exponential ways since that time. She had to go through her lessons, I've had to go through mine. We have met up once again, to discover that we are still the same at the core, but more mature and more willing to let the other in.
We're not playing any games.
And so I sit here, with the smell of hair still in the air, with the things she said to me reverberating in my head, and the hours we spent watching old TV shows seeming like too short of a time. I felt like I could've stayed there with her for another all-nighter. She and I were giddy from the excitement of reacquainting ourselves with each other.
I think the next time we get drunk and hang out, there will be more. I'm no good when I'm drunk-- I get bold, I get brave, I gain liquid courage... I don't have any expectations, because it's been such a blast to reconnect with her. Will there be dark times up ahead? Of course-- with everyone, there are dark times to handle. The real question is: Can we weather it together?
I don't know the answer to that one, but it's all right-- what's more important is that she and I are friends again, like nothing ever happened. I have no more beef, no more grudges, and apparently she never had any with me to begin with-- her issues with me had to do with her own insecurities, her need to prove herself to me at every turn, her anger at the well-intentioned-but-callous things I said during our relationship.
This week will be interesting: Already she has offered to drive me where I need to go, and I think I have no choice but to take her up on that offer. I have to make it up to her somehow, I have to reciprocate and make it less one-sided. But then again, my lack of judgement towards the way she lived her life for the past decade might be my biggest and best gift to her, the one thing that I can bestow upon her that means just as much (if not more) than her sweet gestures of loyalty.
Life is weird, surreal, twisted and topsy-turvy. It never seems to change for me-- always a crisis, always a situation, always something that I feel needs to be written about or made into music or drawn... My life is a blank canvas upon which I paint with the colors of existence, drawing from the palette of experience.
I really don't know what I'm going to do, especially since I am still thinking about Katie, who called me when I was out to see when our next rehearsal was going to be. It is all up in the air. I feel like I am juggling several different objects in my hands, and some of them have dropped to the floor but yet I keep on juggling the other items, in an attempt to soldier on and not let the gravity of mishandled priorities keep me from my rhythm, my pace.
When I get off of work, the fact that my car is dead will hit me, and drag me back to reality. Until that moment comes, I'm on a high that required no drugs (she left her pot at home and I smoked all of mine yesterday morning) and just a little bit of concession from the both of us.
We'll see how this all pans out.
Friday, November 12, 2004
ONLINE PARTY
Blogging for me lately has been like a party where I keep falling into different conversations with different sets and combinations of people and never settle on any one group with which to permanently bond.
I pick up readers, I lose readers. People who used to comment all the time no longer leave comments, yet have the time to leave them on other blogs-- this is akin to looking across the room and seeing someone at the party that you were having a conversation with as they are talking to someone else with whom they are having more apparent fun.
Likewise, as the party progresses, I find new people to talk to, to listen to, to fellowship with... this is like finding new comments on my blog or in my e-mail, and appreciating the gesture.
And then, of course, at every party there are the friends that you brought with you, who always seem to come back to you at some point to compare notes. They are absent for a spell, but they always make their way back to you, just for an update.
Like most parties I attend, there I am, stirring up shit and offending people with my steadfast insistence that I am right and they are wrong. However, online arguing is vastly different from doing it in real life. For one thing, most people say things online that they would NEVER dare say in the flesh. Fortunately, I do not possess this trait-- in fact, I think I'm more offensive in person than online, if it is possible. I may not have any tact, but I've got balls, and I'll say whatever I want to say and stare you down if you threaten to kick my ass. To me, it's too easy to tell someone they're full of shit on the Internet. Next party you go to, try telling the big burly jock that he's an asswipe to their face-- the fact that I've never been pounded for the outrageous shit I throw out is a testament to my savvy. Arguing online removes all the context, all the nuances... in person, coming out of my mouth, the things I say aren't as mean-spirited as they appear in the written form. They have intricate layers of meaning, something that is almost impossible to duplicate online.
Let me say right now that I am not a party person. Sure, I like to party, and I go to parties when I'm invited. But I play the wall, or float through the intertwining circles looking for someone with something interesting to say, even if it is far removed from my personal experience... ESPECIALLY if it is far removed from my personal experience!
I'm bolder online when it comes to introductions. In person, I won't talk to you unless I've been properly intoduced. Online, I don't give a fuck. I'll say "hi" to you whether you like it or not. I'm also easier to ditch online-- at the party, I might end up boring you unknowingly, and following you around until you tell me you have to leave... only to spend the next hour talking to another group of people while I glower at you from the other side of the room.
So this is what it's all about, eh? Well, if so, maybe I should sneak out of the party with a few friends, make a run to the liquor store, and come back when all the squares have left because they have to get up the next day and work. Then, the REAL party can commence, without having to deal with all the wet blankets.
Who's with me?
(Whoa... I thought there'd be more, but I'll make do with what I've got. Come on-- let's go to the 7-11 and stock up on goods before the clock strikes two...)
I pick up readers, I lose readers. People who used to comment all the time no longer leave comments, yet have the time to leave them on other blogs-- this is akin to looking across the room and seeing someone at the party that you were having a conversation with as they are talking to someone else with whom they are having more apparent fun.
Likewise, as the party progresses, I find new people to talk to, to listen to, to fellowship with... this is like finding new comments on my blog or in my e-mail, and appreciating the gesture.
And then, of course, at every party there are the friends that you brought with you, who always seem to come back to you at some point to compare notes. They are absent for a spell, but they always make their way back to you, just for an update.
Like most parties I attend, there I am, stirring up shit and offending people with my steadfast insistence that I am right and they are wrong. However, online arguing is vastly different from doing it in real life. For one thing, most people say things online that they would NEVER dare say in the flesh. Fortunately, I do not possess this trait-- in fact, I think I'm more offensive in person than online, if it is possible. I may not have any tact, but I've got balls, and I'll say whatever I want to say and stare you down if you threaten to kick my ass. To me, it's too easy to tell someone they're full of shit on the Internet. Next party you go to, try telling the big burly jock that he's an asswipe to their face-- the fact that I've never been pounded for the outrageous shit I throw out is a testament to my savvy. Arguing online removes all the context, all the nuances... in person, coming out of my mouth, the things I say aren't as mean-spirited as they appear in the written form. They have intricate layers of meaning, something that is almost impossible to duplicate online.
Let me say right now that I am not a party person. Sure, I like to party, and I go to parties when I'm invited. But I play the wall, or float through the intertwining circles looking for someone with something interesting to say, even if it is far removed from my personal experience... ESPECIALLY if it is far removed from my personal experience!
I'm bolder online when it comes to introductions. In person, I won't talk to you unless I've been properly intoduced. Online, I don't give a fuck. I'll say "hi" to you whether you like it or not. I'm also easier to ditch online-- at the party, I might end up boring you unknowingly, and following you around until you tell me you have to leave... only to spend the next hour talking to another group of people while I glower at you from the other side of the room.
So this is what it's all about, eh? Well, if so, maybe I should sneak out of the party with a few friends, make a run to the liquor store, and come back when all the squares have left because they have to get up the next day and work. Then, the REAL party can commence, without having to deal with all the wet blankets.
Who's with me?
(Whoa... I thought there'd be more, but I'll make do with what I've got. Come on-- let's go to the 7-11 and stock up on goods before the clock strikes two...)
Thursday, November 11, 2004
EVERY MONTH IS "NANOWRIMO" FOR ME
Real quick: A bit of background concerning The Man Who Took My Place:
His name is Dick, and he went to the same high school as me. He was three years younger than me, the same age as Eve. I never knew him or hung out with him or paid him any mind, as upper classmen often do. He was home-schooled by Mormon parents until he was 15, and then he was foisted upon the public education system. He had very few friends, but the kids in the Theatre Arts classes made him feel at home, even if he didn't have a shred of talent.
His father was an abusive alcoholic with a defective gene that made him go a little crazy, past the point of no return. Back in the good ol' days, those days that conservatives wish we could return to, no one spoke about mental illnesses like the kind that Dick's father possessed. And not until recently did anyone know about the hereditary qualities of such mental defects, the kind that don't show symptoms until adulthood.
Anyway, he's off his rocker now. Nine years of methamphetamine-fueled living with Eve, plus his own alcohol problem and personality traits, caused his brain to snap. Maybe it was the fact that he'd gone off his anti-depressants. Either way, he is now permanently fucked in the head, and his condition at this point, according to Eve's therapist, is beyond any type of rehabilitation. It's not an issue of drug abuse or cleaning up his act-- his genes handed him his fate more than anything.
He broke into the office where Eve works, trying to find out where she is now living. He calls her up multiple times a day, trying to talk to her, trying to get her back. He is about to be evicted from his apartment, is not currently employed, and roams the streets on foot, carless and searching for Eve, in furious, desperate vain, wishing to make it all better.
*/*
Eve wants nothing to do with Dick, and of course she is scared of what she think he will do if he finds her. His actions have forced her to get restraining orders and talk with the authorities. And if it keeps up, she may have to testify in court against The Man Who Took My Place, the man she shared almost a decade with, the man that (if you ask me) she loved more than anyone else in her life.
I don't envy her anything.
I invited her over for dinner, expressly for one reason: to take her out to Wilshire Boulevard, where a lecture on controversial printmaking at LACMA was being co-hosted by Laurie, one of Eve's good friends from the younger days. Being on the Graphic Arts Council, Laurie had been doing very well. Happily married, she also had to mourn the recent passing of her mother, due to cancer. This tragedy aside, she has been doing quite nicely, and I run into her everywhere in this small microcosm called The Valley. We keep in touch via e-mail, and she told me of the lecture a week ago. And now, in light of Eve feeling very paranoid about just staying at home and watching DVDs, I thought a little reunion would be in order.
I didn't spring the lecture on Eve until after we'd eaten dinner. We ate, drank, smoked, and I watched in amazement as Otis, sickly and near-death, skewered up enough courage and strength to walk over to Eve when he saw her. I was happy to see him do it, and it made me laugh, because my cat is nothing if not a lover of women. And they love him back, because they feel the warmth vibrating from his furry self, even when he is under the weather.
Eve agreed to drive, and it took us almost two hours to negotiate the horrible Los Angeles traffic. We talked of many things, Eve and I: Memories came to the fore, confessions and revelations, points of view speckled in the air of our conversation...
We missed the lecture but found Laurie as she was about to leave. She was surprised and happy to see us. We ended up going to get some coffee, and then we picked up Daniel, Laurie's British husband, and headed off to a billiards room in downtown Burbank.
I drank way more Newcastle than I should have, but we were having a grand time. Daniel showed me tips on how to improve my pool game (playing by British billiards rules, of course); we discovered that Laurie thinks lepers are funny, while Eve finds hermits amusing; I ranted about politics and why Outkast is an awesome group; it all felt very relaxing, after the week I'd had.
I saw the smile on Eve's face, the smile on Laurie's face, the look of bemusement on Daniel's face... I guess I was smiling too. None of us had any problems to nag us for that span of time we spent in the pool hall, playing boys-against-girls and getting drunker by the second. I don't drink normally, so for me to still be standing after two pitchers was a minor miracle. I think I needed it, to be honest. Obviously my body could handle it, so I was more than eager to bend my mind as far back as I could.
We dropped Laurie and Daniel off at home, and I decided to go meet Eve for a nightcap in the form of some pot smoke, before I made my trip to work in the dead of dawn.
*/*
In her minimally-furnished one-bedroom apartment in Glendale, Eve and I smoked weed out of my pipe and lounged on her inflatable mattress, philosophizing and waxing poetic. The alcohol running through me made me scale down my defensive walls, just a bit, just enough to demonstrate to Eve that I was willing to try and trust her, even if I knew better. Every minute was a prelude to a kiss, and I could feel it as we spoke, looking into each other's eyes, connecting, finding a common ground, comfortable knowing that, in a world where she and I both feel misunderstood, we actually comprehend each other very well. She wanted me to stay, but I couldn't, and I could feel her pull, and even as I knew it would be as easy as reaching out my hand to her and touching her face, it would also mean that I would have to accept everything that comes afterwards, the kinds of things that I'm not sure I am ready for again...
It took all of my might to stand up and walk away from the coziness of her mattress, where she and I reclined and relaxed and unwound. Besides, she had to go to work in the morning, in four hour's time. This wasn't like in our high school days, when she and I would make out until her father woke up and started getting ready for work. I had to be out of her window at exactly 5 AM in those days, and there was a time or two when he even peaked his head inside her room to make sure I wasn't around. It was a twisted comedy, my night missions to Eve's window, my dramatic escapes as I stole away into the early morning, after having spent as much time as I could with her, keeping her up all evening and leaving her to deal with the listlessness of an all-nighter as she trudged through eight hours of mind-numbing school...
True, it wasn't like those days anymore, but what we have here now are a new set of days, and with it a whole new territory. For Eve and I are, for the first time, two adults who have both been wounded and crushed by this plotless, senseless, directionless chaos known as existence, two grown adults who have the time to spend with each other, two people who can help each other alleviate the strain of merely being alive in a deadened world, where everyone else seeks comfort while we make ourselves suffer out of our own self-hatred...
But not tonight. No, not tonight. Maybe some other time, very soon, but for now, I have to earn my money and so does she.
I drove to work thinking about what all of this means, pondering my symbolic relationship with Eve through Holly Golightly, who was her doppelganger and substitute, through whom I was able to make some peace with my emotions towards Eve in her absence. I thought about how she talked to Laurie when we were having coffee and described the ordeal with Dick, and how Eve said to Laurie that it is over between her and Dick, and how I didn't dare show a flicker of emotion, lest I give away my actual feelings regarding everything that was going on around us, all of us, everyone...
I just kept thinking until I came here, and these thoughts were on my mind as I wrote them down, and they will stay in my mind for at least the rest of the week. And that's just how life is, folks-- you want to read about the romance, but sometimes the romance is something intangible, untainted by the mechanics of sex, uncomplicated by the need to make a move or my ego's flighty whimsy. Sometimes the passion can't be contained by passages in a book, or chapters in a novel. Sometimes the invisible bond is unseen for a good reason, as it would look ridiculous and contemptible if ever reified or given shape.
Tonight was deep and luxurious and spontaneous and also a little bit of "just what the doctor ordered". Eve and I were lost, almost forgetting who we were and how we knew each other. The night ended by being bled into morning, and I left her house knowing that it can be genuine, even after all this time, all this hurt on both sides, all this confusion and pain and pleasurable, unbearable agony...
His name is Dick, and he went to the same high school as me. He was three years younger than me, the same age as Eve. I never knew him or hung out with him or paid him any mind, as upper classmen often do. He was home-schooled by Mormon parents until he was 15, and then he was foisted upon the public education system. He had very few friends, but the kids in the Theatre Arts classes made him feel at home, even if he didn't have a shred of talent.
His father was an abusive alcoholic with a defective gene that made him go a little crazy, past the point of no return. Back in the good ol' days, those days that conservatives wish we could return to, no one spoke about mental illnesses like the kind that Dick's father possessed. And not until recently did anyone know about the hereditary qualities of such mental defects, the kind that don't show symptoms until adulthood.
Anyway, he's off his rocker now. Nine years of methamphetamine-fueled living with Eve, plus his own alcohol problem and personality traits, caused his brain to snap. Maybe it was the fact that he'd gone off his anti-depressants. Either way, he is now permanently fucked in the head, and his condition at this point, according to Eve's therapist, is beyond any type of rehabilitation. It's not an issue of drug abuse or cleaning up his act-- his genes handed him his fate more than anything.
He broke into the office where Eve works, trying to find out where she is now living. He calls her up multiple times a day, trying to talk to her, trying to get her back. He is about to be evicted from his apartment, is not currently employed, and roams the streets on foot, carless and searching for Eve, in furious, desperate vain, wishing to make it all better.
*/*
Eve wants nothing to do with Dick, and of course she is scared of what she think he will do if he finds her. His actions have forced her to get restraining orders and talk with the authorities. And if it keeps up, she may have to testify in court against The Man Who Took My Place, the man she shared almost a decade with, the man that (if you ask me) she loved more than anyone else in her life.
I don't envy her anything.
I invited her over for dinner, expressly for one reason: to take her out to Wilshire Boulevard, where a lecture on controversial printmaking at LACMA was being co-hosted by Laurie, one of Eve's good friends from the younger days. Being on the Graphic Arts Council, Laurie had been doing very well. Happily married, she also had to mourn the recent passing of her mother, due to cancer. This tragedy aside, she has been doing quite nicely, and I run into her everywhere in this small microcosm called The Valley. We keep in touch via e-mail, and she told me of the lecture a week ago. And now, in light of Eve feeling very paranoid about just staying at home and watching DVDs, I thought a little reunion would be in order.
I didn't spring the lecture on Eve until after we'd eaten dinner. We ate, drank, smoked, and I watched in amazement as Otis, sickly and near-death, skewered up enough courage and strength to walk over to Eve when he saw her. I was happy to see him do it, and it made me laugh, because my cat is nothing if not a lover of women. And they love him back, because they feel the warmth vibrating from his furry self, even when he is under the weather.
Eve agreed to drive, and it took us almost two hours to negotiate the horrible Los Angeles traffic. We talked of many things, Eve and I: Memories came to the fore, confessions and revelations, points of view speckled in the air of our conversation...
We missed the lecture but found Laurie as she was about to leave. She was surprised and happy to see us. We ended up going to get some coffee, and then we picked up Daniel, Laurie's British husband, and headed off to a billiards room in downtown Burbank.
I drank way more Newcastle than I should have, but we were having a grand time. Daniel showed me tips on how to improve my pool game (playing by British billiards rules, of course); we discovered that Laurie thinks lepers are funny, while Eve finds hermits amusing; I ranted about politics and why Outkast is an awesome group; it all felt very relaxing, after the week I'd had.
I saw the smile on Eve's face, the smile on Laurie's face, the look of bemusement on Daniel's face... I guess I was smiling too. None of us had any problems to nag us for that span of time we spent in the pool hall, playing boys-against-girls and getting drunker by the second. I don't drink normally, so for me to still be standing after two pitchers was a minor miracle. I think I needed it, to be honest. Obviously my body could handle it, so I was more than eager to bend my mind as far back as I could.
We dropped Laurie and Daniel off at home, and I decided to go meet Eve for a nightcap in the form of some pot smoke, before I made my trip to work in the dead of dawn.
*/*
In her minimally-furnished one-bedroom apartment in Glendale, Eve and I smoked weed out of my pipe and lounged on her inflatable mattress, philosophizing and waxing poetic. The alcohol running through me made me scale down my defensive walls, just a bit, just enough to demonstrate to Eve that I was willing to try and trust her, even if I knew better. Every minute was a prelude to a kiss, and I could feel it as we spoke, looking into each other's eyes, connecting, finding a common ground, comfortable knowing that, in a world where she and I both feel misunderstood, we actually comprehend each other very well. She wanted me to stay, but I couldn't, and I could feel her pull, and even as I knew it would be as easy as reaching out my hand to her and touching her face, it would also mean that I would have to accept everything that comes afterwards, the kinds of things that I'm not sure I am ready for again...
It took all of my might to stand up and walk away from the coziness of her mattress, where she and I reclined and relaxed and unwound. Besides, she had to go to work in the morning, in four hour's time. This wasn't like in our high school days, when she and I would make out until her father woke up and started getting ready for work. I had to be out of her window at exactly 5 AM in those days, and there was a time or two when he even peaked his head inside her room to make sure I wasn't around. It was a twisted comedy, my night missions to Eve's window, my dramatic escapes as I stole away into the early morning, after having spent as much time as I could with her, keeping her up all evening and leaving her to deal with the listlessness of an all-nighter as she trudged through eight hours of mind-numbing school...
True, it wasn't like those days anymore, but what we have here now are a new set of days, and with it a whole new territory. For Eve and I are, for the first time, two adults who have both been wounded and crushed by this plotless, senseless, directionless chaos known as existence, two grown adults who have the time to spend with each other, two people who can help each other alleviate the strain of merely being alive in a deadened world, where everyone else seeks comfort while we make ourselves suffer out of our own self-hatred...
But not tonight. No, not tonight. Maybe some other time, very soon, but for now, I have to earn my money and so does she.
I drove to work thinking about what all of this means, pondering my symbolic relationship with Eve through Holly Golightly, who was her doppelganger and substitute, through whom I was able to make some peace with my emotions towards Eve in her absence. I thought about how she talked to Laurie when we were having coffee and described the ordeal with Dick, and how Eve said to Laurie that it is over between her and Dick, and how I didn't dare show a flicker of emotion, lest I give away my actual feelings regarding everything that was going on around us, all of us, everyone...
I just kept thinking until I came here, and these thoughts were on my mind as I wrote them down, and they will stay in my mind for at least the rest of the week. And that's just how life is, folks-- you want to read about the romance, but sometimes the romance is something intangible, untainted by the mechanics of sex, uncomplicated by the need to make a move or my ego's flighty whimsy. Sometimes the passion can't be contained by passages in a book, or chapters in a novel. Sometimes the invisible bond is unseen for a good reason, as it would look ridiculous and contemptible if ever reified or given shape.
Tonight was deep and luxurious and spontaneous and also a little bit of "just what the doctor ordered". Eve and I were lost, almost forgetting who we were and how we knew each other. The night ended by being bled into morning, and I left her house knowing that it can be genuine, even after all this time, all this hurt on both sides, all this confusion and pain and pleasurable, unbearable agony...
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
LOSING STREAK
The cat is doing OK, if not better. He finally took a piss, but it wasn't in his litter-- he just let it loose right there on the kitchen floor, and I suspect that he has done this while I was out, in a place I have yet to discover. But the piss-taking is a welcome sign, because now I know his urinary tract is fine.
I also found a dried-up lump of catshit in the kitchen-- again, not exactly a sight for sore eyes, but a good sign of Otis' health. I was mostly worried that he was blocked up. He is eating very little and is able to walk around, but he whines alot. I don't blame him. The vet said a stress-free environment will help him regain his strength, but I really shouldn't wait too long. The vets have to OK the blood donor first. I think the donor will be fine, because it is Jenny, Otis' sister, who will be donating blood. My friend Beth owns Jenny, and she was the one who gave me Otis when she wasn't allowed to keep two kittens in her apartment.
Still, I'm scared. I don't want to lose the little guy. I also have to bomb the fuck out of my apartment, to rid the place of any lingering flea eggs. I will have to do this while Otis is getting the transfusion. In the meantime, I used some more flea dip on him-- that Advantage stuff works much better than the other stuff I was using. All of the fleas jumped off of Otis and onto me.
I practiced with the Dream Pushers again, and I have to hand it to Ellen-- she is not letting the embarrassment of last Friday get in the way of her resolve. She wants to play again, very soon, and we are slated to play The Knitting Factory in December. This gives me a little bit of hope shining through the utter bleakness of this past week, as it also gives me the chance to drool over Katie and her Wonder Violin.
Let me clarify something: it's not all lust. It never is all lust with me. A beautiful face and a firm figure are one matter; talent and smarts are another, and I think I am the kind who is really drawn to the latter aspect more than the former. My infatutation with Katie is no different than others, but what makes it exciting for me is that she really is a hot mama, in that Goth sense that I've always sort of dug.
So let me ramble on about the things I dig about her that are NOT physical attributes.
1. She is creatively intuitive: I know she's classically trained and can read music, but what gets me is her ability to play by ear. My method of approach so far has consisted of my asking her if she can play along to this song or that song, and so far she has always given it a try and impressed me with the results. She also is not afraid to get adventurous with the instrument. She will pluck the strings when necessary, hit the bow in appropriate moments, and goes for more texture than just the weepy range of fiddle.
2. She has a quirky sense of humor: Not just quirky, but a little bit naughty as well. She was rehearsing some harmonies with Ellen and went into some stream-of-consciousness spiel about sex that had me laughing on the outside and panting on the inside. Later on, she got in on the act when Dave and I started doing cock-rock moves during one run-through. But she tempers the silliness with discipline, asking questions about the violin parts and trying to move the session along before it gets bogged down.
3. She seems really into the band for the sake of it: Katie suggested that we use the theater where she is acting in a play (yes, she's also an aspiring actress-- this is L.A., after all) as a venue. She's in tight with the theater owner, so this could be a reality. She also brought up the idea of getting a permit to play outdoors, like at the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica. She has done it before and wouldn't mind doing it again. And she did bring five people to our catastrophic first show, which is more than the rest of us combined. At first, she seemed flaky, but now that we've all played together for a while her commitment is equal to the rest of us.
4. She's an animal lover: Ellen asked me about Otis, because I called her on Saturday and asked if she knew of a good animal hospital or clinic where I could take Otis. Katie overheard me explaining my dilemma and instantly gave me sympathy, which was fine by me. I don't want to exploit Otis' condition, but I inadvertantly scored points with her this way. We talked about having pets, how they are like children, how attached one gets to them after a while, and she shared with me her own pet stories, including one about her 16 year-old feline. Even in sickness, Otis is helping me with the ladies... see why I can't lose him?
5. She stresses over the fact that she drinks a lot of coffee: One of these days, I'm going to have to invite her out for a cup somewhere. She and I can talk and comiserate about the influence of caffeine in our lives. I don't think she smokes, and I think one time she commented on my smoking when I took a break-- that could be a strike against me, ultimately. But we can do coffee. I've made a mental note to ask her when it comes naturally to ask, not in a contrived way, and I might have to do it with the other band members in tow. But that's okay.
6. She listens to my ideas: As the bass player, I inhabit an alien landscape, separate from the other members. I almost never get notes on my playing, unless it's in a bass-centered band like Funkin Pie. Otherwise, I can stand there and hit one note through every song and probably no one would be the wiser as to what I was doing. And no one takes me seriously when I have an idea for an arrangement. I usually have to fight to be heard, but I'm not obnoxious about it. Still, even though Katie admitted that she doesn't listen to the bass during rehearsals, she tunes up to me because my high strings are closer in pitch to her low strings. And I helped her find the notes for a harmony that she was trying to nail, and I think that made an impact.
Goddamn these crushes. I never get anywhere with them. They do me no good, other than to help me direct my libido into constructive waters. It's wishful thinking, that's what it is. I'm such a sucker. Why do I get the feeling that I'm going on about this for nothing? Is it because my actions are so muted that she has no clue as to how I feel about her? Yes, that's it. I'm trying to be coy. It won't work. I need to stop pussy-footing around this.
I'll take my time, though... because right now I've been having bad luck, and upping my bets while I'm on a losing streak is not a good way to increase my chances.
I also found a dried-up lump of catshit in the kitchen-- again, not exactly a sight for sore eyes, but a good sign of Otis' health. I was mostly worried that he was blocked up. He is eating very little and is able to walk around, but he whines alot. I don't blame him. The vet said a stress-free environment will help him regain his strength, but I really shouldn't wait too long. The vets have to OK the blood donor first. I think the donor will be fine, because it is Jenny, Otis' sister, who will be donating blood. My friend Beth owns Jenny, and she was the one who gave me Otis when she wasn't allowed to keep two kittens in her apartment.
Still, I'm scared. I don't want to lose the little guy. I also have to bomb the fuck out of my apartment, to rid the place of any lingering flea eggs. I will have to do this while Otis is getting the transfusion. In the meantime, I used some more flea dip on him-- that Advantage stuff works much better than the other stuff I was using. All of the fleas jumped off of Otis and onto me.
I practiced with the Dream Pushers again, and I have to hand it to Ellen-- she is not letting the embarrassment of last Friday get in the way of her resolve. She wants to play again, very soon, and we are slated to play The Knitting Factory in December. This gives me a little bit of hope shining through the utter bleakness of this past week, as it also gives me the chance to drool over Katie and her Wonder Violin.
Let me clarify something: it's not all lust. It never is all lust with me. A beautiful face and a firm figure are one matter; talent and smarts are another, and I think I am the kind who is really drawn to the latter aspect more than the former. My infatutation with Katie is no different than others, but what makes it exciting for me is that she really is a hot mama, in that Goth sense that I've always sort of dug.
So let me ramble on about the things I dig about her that are NOT physical attributes.
1. She is creatively intuitive: I know she's classically trained and can read music, but what gets me is her ability to play by ear. My method of approach so far has consisted of my asking her if she can play along to this song or that song, and so far she has always given it a try and impressed me with the results. She also is not afraid to get adventurous with the instrument. She will pluck the strings when necessary, hit the bow in appropriate moments, and goes for more texture than just the weepy range of fiddle.
2. She has a quirky sense of humor: Not just quirky, but a little bit naughty as well. She was rehearsing some harmonies with Ellen and went into some stream-of-consciousness spiel about sex that had me laughing on the outside and panting on the inside. Later on, she got in on the act when Dave and I started doing cock-rock moves during one run-through. But she tempers the silliness with discipline, asking questions about the violin parts and trying to move the session along before it gets bogged down.
3. She seems really into the band for the sake of it: Katie suggested that we use the theater where she is acting in a play (yes, she's also an aspiring actress-- this is L.A., after all) as a venue. She's in tight with the theater owner, so this could be a reality. She also brought up the idea of getting a permit to play outdoors, like at the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica. She has done it before and wouldn't mind doing it again. And she did bring five people to our catastrophic first show, which is more than the rest of us combined. At first, she seemed flaky, but now that we've all played together for a while her commitment is equal to the rest of us.
4. She's an animal lover: Ellen asked me about Otis, because I called her on Saturday and asked if she knew of a good animal hospital or clinic where I could take Otis. Katie overheard me explaining my dilemma and instantly gave me sympathy, which was fine by me. I don't want to exploit Otis' condition, but I inadvertantly scored points with her this way. We talked about having pets, how they are like children, how attached one gets to them after a while, and she shared with me her own pet stories, including one about her 16 year-old feline. Even in sickness, Otis is helping me with the ladies... see why I can't lose him?
5. She stresses over the fact that she drinks a lot of coffee: One of these days, I'm going to have to invite her out for a cup somewhere. She and I can talk and comiserate about the influence of caffeine in our lives. I don't think she smokes, and I think one time she commented on my smoking when I took a break-- that could be a strike against me, ultimately. But we can do coffee. I've made a mental note to ask her when it comes naturally to ask, not in a contrived way, and I might have to do it with the other band members in tow. But that's okay.
6. She listens to my ideas: As the bass player, I inhabit an alien landscape, separate from the other members. I almost never get notes on my playing, unless it's in a bass-centered band like Funkin Pie. Otherwise, I can stand there and hit one note through every song and probably no one would be the wiser as to what I was doing. And no one takes me seriously when I have an idea for an arrangement. I usually have to fight to be heard, but I'm not obnoxious about it. Still, even though Katie admitted that she doesn't listen to the bass during rehearsals, she tunes up to me because my high strings are closer in pitch to her low strings. And I helped her find the notes for a harmony that she was trying to nail, and I think that made an impact.
Goddamn these crushes. I never get anywhere with them. They do me no good, other than to help me direct my libido into constructive waters. It's wishful thinking, that's what it is. I'm such a sucker. Why do I get the feeling that I'm going on about this for nothing? Is it because my actions are so muted that she has no clue as to how I feel about her? Yes, that's it. I'm trying to be coy. It won't work. I need to stop pussy-footing around this.
I'll take my time, though... because right now I've been having bad luck, and upping my bets while I'm on a losing streak is not a good way to increase my chances.
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