Last night I decided that I was exhausted and wanted to go home early. Except of course I had to drop by the Bus Stop to say goodnight to everyone. In other words, I surrendered to the vortex – I wasn’t even planning to have a drink, but Ade turned up followed by Xin and Anouk and…..
At one point I was standing around outside and one of the smokers said Hold this! and stuck a cigarette in my hand.
Staring down in wonderment, I realized that yet another of my statistical anomalies has been amended. Before last night I had literally never even touched one of those devil sticks!
I was alone on the sidewalk taking photographs of my hand when I realized a stranger was talking to me. This is normal – people always ask me for directions – but get this: dude was hitting on me. Blatantly!
I started laughing and answered Oh my goodness, strangers never dare! Can I take your picture?
He found that response baffling and kept trying to get the conversation back on track, at one point even trying to impress me with ghetto cred, NW style.
Since I grew up in the projects and had the most chaotic childhood possible this just elicited more wild giggling – yet still he persisted! How very, very impressive and strange.
Jody and Rachel (his sister, not Cambridge Rachel – but boy would that be interesting to watch!) were tired and on the verge of skipping karaoke on Sunday, but I persisted. Lucky thing too, or we would have missed Bethany singing The Pina Colada Song to celebrate her birthday.
Ade kept shouting This is illegal! No nipples! NO NIPPLES!
Yesterday I stopped in Olympia to get water in the midst of an epic quest to get back to Seattle (five hours, people! And the I-5 closure was not even the source of the problem – we didn’t drive faster than ten miles an hour until we hit Centralia).
Normally I feel queasy when visiting that picturesque little college town. This time? As I exited the vehicle I bashed my permanently injured right elbow on the door, causing my fist to swing up and punch my own in the face – hard.
This was excessively hilarious and I was still giggling as I tried to pay for my two liter bottle of water. But then I somehow managed to jam my broken finger on the bottle and it went flinging out of my hands and flew across the aisle, hitting a salesclerk in the back before rolling away across the store.
Of course I literally could not breathe because I was laughing so much.
Creating a huge spectacle in the town where I wish to remain invisible? No problem!
Though that was not the strangest thing that happened on the drive – oh no. You know that billboard with the cranky and extreme political views? I agree with the sentiment for the first time in my entire life. How peculiar!
Ana Erotica starts grad school at Columbia in the fall (I even wrote one of her recommendation letters!). Yesterday she called to say she wants to visit before school starts, but can’t make up her mind, and thus has officially put me in charge of the decision.
What would we do during the proposed trip? Hmmm. Remember the Hunt for Bad Boys and Lumberjacks? Well, she finished her Christmas-theme smutty novel about the lumber industry. That means she will have an entirely new variety of Bad Boy to research!
Now, I am a pragmatic sort – in her position I would be thinking about which notebook to buy, not planning strange and murky adventures. But since I’ve abdicated adulthood, I cannot in good conscience give her that advice.
Last night I could have gone to a Smores Extravaganza – I even had the secret Smores Code to find it (aka the address and name of the house). In an effort to convince me Dawn said I’ve never dated anyone better than smores!
This is an interesting and hilarious point, but I had to take a break from my PG-13 lifestyle to hang out in bars and talk about life, love, and immigration with Marisa. What can I say? I wish we still lived two blocks from each other; our friendship is one of the most significant relationships I’ve ever had with anyone.
I miss her every day, and I moved away five years ago.
Somewhere in the course of the conversation we covered the Learning Ladychat issue and I pointed out that we’re both dudes. Marisa exclaimed You’re way more of a dude than I am, Bee. You can write that down in your little black book!
Noted! Though I still intend to pursue this line of research.
I’m living a backwards sort of life but the last few weeks have been extraordinary – it really is like being sixteen again without, you know, the cancer!
Genius moment of the day: Stevie driving me around in a decrepit Volvo, blasting AM radio and singing along:
Today as I walked from visiting Erin Scarum at Citybikes to Three Friends to hang out with Dawn I was startled to pass a window that featured, um, Gabriel. I knew his gallery was around there but not the exact location.
There were people standing on the sidewalk extolling his virtues so I dared not enter.
When I texted to tell him that he replied Chicken!
My answer? Damn straight. Except, oh, that would be a lie…..
It took three years, countless email requests, and the dissolution of a publishing company, but last night I was finally reunited with the cover art from Lessons in Taxidermy!
Obviously I didn’t go on a few of the potential trips already, but until the other day fully intended to fly to SF this weekend. KTS will be there! I haven’t seen Marcus since Las Vegas – six, seven years ago?
Gordon hasn’t had a chance to tease me in person all summer! I want to hang out with Fran, Hiya, Jonathan, Jen, Daphne, Amanda, and so many others I am neglecting to mention because I have been walking around in the sun!
But alas, the trip fell apart – mostly because I waited til the last second, but also because I am way overbooked. Today has been one brilliant excursion after the next, with an evening too full to describe. Next up is Zine Symposium, and Marisa’s birthday, and and and…..
I bought this laptop last November during an explicitly decadent trip to Seattle. Lacking any music whatsoever, I grabbed as much as I could from Jeffrey’s stockpile. Since then I have added a fairly random set of albums from my own trailing and odd collection along with whatever I could jack from friends.
I have not, however, organized any playlists since the week I turned the machine on for the first time. That means there are two options: Love Songs and Work Songs.
The second was originally titled Depression Songs, but my son objected. Love Songs are those I dimly perceive are about that subject, and play in the background when I am writing fairly positive stuff. Work Songs are those I hear as somber and play in the background when whatever I’m working on shares that mood.
Yesterday I was tapping my chin and thinking about esoteric subjects when I realized that the two lists are awfully similar, particularly since they’re both littered with identical songs.
While I believe Wilco is fractionally more upbeat than Elliot Smith, this impression can be attributed to the fact that I only know what the songs are about when I look up the lyrics – or someone tells me. I am Trying to Break Your Heart is definitely not, well, romantic. Who knew!
I should be more conscientious about the words I use to describe my personal soundtrack.
The funeral really messed with my schedule – my eyes were still swollen two days later! Yes, people, I cry.
Though in the context of my biological family that required locking myself in the bathroom to hide the torrential sobs. More on that later.
Now I’m back in the swing of it all but have failed to report so many things:
Somewhere in the madness of the funeral weekend I also attended Niki Sugar’s birthday party and the anniversary celebration for Anika and KC. When I heard that the date commemorated fifteen years of couplehood I opened my eyes wide and asked KC What, did you hookup when you were ten years old?!
He laughed and informed me that they were eighteen. How amazing! I don’t know any other teen couples that have survived that long.
At some point I was swept along with the same crowd to a show at the Block Party, though in reality that just meant standing next to a chain link fence listening to exactly nothing while trying to track down friends.
Later at the Satellite I was sitting next a Himsa dude and when I pulled out my notebook he asked Are you going to write a book about us? Why no – I was just scribbling a reminder that the last time I ate food at that bar I ended up in the hospital.
Later in the weekend I met Jody and Laura at the Block Party. They asked how the funeral was and I replied (truthfully) Tragic! before dissolving in giggles (as I do).
For once we did manage to see some bands. Jody heard or read that nobody has ever written poetry or songs for me, and volunteered with alacrity. I reckoned he was joking but no – he really did write a song!
Another night I went to a reproductive health fundraiser and was bemused to find people swarming all over my arm – having Breeder etched on your body is apparently quite amusing to this generation of activists. Who knew; I haven’t attended any of these events since I campaigned for Initiative 120 with a baby on my hip.
Washington has always been full of rabble-rousers and may well end up the last haven for reproductive freedom, given what is happening on the federal level. I was super thrilled to hear about successes like the statewide pharmacy and sex education rulings. Though my goodness, that took a long time – I was on the front lines of those fights in the eighties.
Later I was dragged off to Chop Suey where I watched an entirely delightful Piece open a show – gotta love someone rapping about the CD! But then the main act did not turn up. For hours. While we all stood around waiting.
Somewhere after midnight one of the barbacks told us that the main act didn’t “like” the audience and had gone all diva on the organizers. The bouncer confirmed this version of events.
Who knows what was actually happening – but in my experience bar staff generally have an accurate line on this kind of thing.
Performing is a job like any other. There are good days, bad nights, wearisome and troubling challenges. If you tour there is the complexity of the travel on top of the craftsmanship of the show.
Sometimes it is necessary to go on stage when you are sick, or sad, or lonely. Sometimes the audience is hostile, or nonexistent. So what?
In this country and particularly in the very small world of acts who headline shows at Chop Suey, nobody has been forced to go on stage. Performer doesn’t like the audience – oh, really? I have no tolerance for that kind of nonsense. I walked out. Now, whatever will I do with myself next? This summer remains unplanned – I don’t have a clue where I’ll be tomorrow. How unusual.
Because I have such good friends! One of the highlights of the summer: Stella and Al visited from the east coast!
They took me out to dinner and presented me with a birthday present (they were both born in the winter so this was intentionally ironic) they made from scratch:
Plus, Al is growing his hair out to play an aging rocker in a movie – the plan is to film him dragging a huge amp from Pike Place to Broadway – hilarious!
I miss our champagne brunches, picnics on the beach, wandering through forests, yummy dinners in the shade of their backyard, and of course, being together at Thanksgiving.
But it is endlessly wonderful that, despite geographic distance, we are still good friends.
