The canyon air is like a breath of fresh L.A.
Liz Phair: "Dogs of L.A."
It is sunny and 77 degrees with 44% humidity. I woke up around 7:15, listened to a few songs from Rumours as I dressed and stretched. I ran along the waterfront in an oversized Harvard t-shirt from a Goodwill in downtown Brooklyn, listening to Lil' Kim sing about Fulton Street. I can now run far, pain-free, with my newfound lung capacity.
I continued my faux L.A. morning post-shower in some weird extreme outfit I decided to inhabit. Black jersey, plunging neckline, strappy sandals, Forever 21 amulet. A red tie-dyed fringed suede bag. Chipped manicured nails, iced coffee, sunglasses. Rachel Zoe Courtney Love Mary-Kate Stevie Nicks Grey Gardens Italian funeral + witchy. I liked it. I looked like I did voodoo or something. For the first time this morning I realized that maybe one day I'll become one of those crazy old Patti Smith type women. There is a certain comfort in looking a little crazy. Based on the looks I was getting, I had to remove most of my accessories by the time I got to my work neighborhood.
In L.A. none of this would seem strange. Hippies, celebrities, Santa Ana winds, Scientologists and cults in general, the piercing sound of perpetual traffic, Chinatown. When I was last there, I saw people walking around Silverlake wearing those hair bands years before they made any appearance whatsoever on our Eastern shores. I once read the book Ask the Dust and I've never thought about L.A. the same way since. A city that had always seemed plastic, past-less, was now grounded in a Depression-era historical reality. It had, in effect, become a real place.
Liz Phair: "Go West"
Liz Phair is from Chicago, but for a period of time she lived in L.A. She won't talk about what she did out there (maybe by now she has). I like the songs on Whip-Smart about L.A. — hazy, sinister, broken, and vaguely lazy-sounding. "Go West" is the best one — about leaving her life and moving to L.A., I think. I highly relate to this song re: my life 2 years ago:
"Take off the parking brake
Go coasting into a different state
And I'm not looking forward to missing you
But I must have something better to do
I've got to tear my life apart
And go west, young man"
When I learned about Manifest Destiny in high school I finally started to understand this song, why people have been starting over ever westward for as long as we can remember. Looking back after my own "Go West" experience — although "west" was just south 2 hours to Philadelphia — I think this is one of my favorite songs of all time. In Escape from New York mode, "Go West," nestled between "Going to California" and "Midnight Train to Georgia," let me believe for a little while that when shit gets rough, maybe fleeing is a viable solution.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Jonasing for a Beating
It's Jonas Bros Week where I work.
Apparently, one should never underestimate the lung capacity of a pre-pubescent female who may, at any minute, catch a glimpse (across the street and through a second-floor window) of her maybe future-husband (at least until the next album). I am on the 37th floor, in the back of the building, and can hear the screaming streaming strong from 10am to 4pm. It's only Day 2 and I am willing to jump off the building if it means they will be silenced.
Also, Jonas Bros (personalities combined) + better haircuts + 10 years in age = my dream man.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Stop Smoking Forever, Week 8
Sunday marks the 8th week of my foray into the nonsmoking lifestyle. A few weeks ago, I went off the patch and it was majorly exciting. These days, quitting smoking has begun to represent not only a physical but also developmental achievement.
My friend F. recently told me that I've always been a "tumultuous" girl, which is hard to argue with. The last few years (actually the last five) have been particularly tumultuous, but things have really quieted down recently. So on some level I've been realizing that perhaps cigarette smoking was one of the few remaining self-destructive behaviors from my youth that I've held onto. There was a time when I was much younger when I didn't associate smoking with recurring financial woes, an accelerated march towards death, poor health and rapid mood swings. As I got older, I realized that I had developed some habits I couldn't control that were acting as a buffer against some of the more positive growth spurts in my life. Maybe, like Ms. Nicks, I have always been a storm, but at some point it becomes an exhausting way to live.
But now this too is under control, one of the last stinging remnants of my formerly messy self. Things are on a seriously positive upswing, and as more and more of the unhealthy thinking and behaviors I've fallen into are eliminated, I am seeing some weird patches of sun through that crazy sky. I think this has been one of the most important decisions I have made, at least in the last year. Overcoming a physical addiction definitely makes most other changes seem more manageable.
My friend F. recently told me that I've always been a "tumultuous" girl, which is hard to argue with. The last few years (actually the last five) have been particularly tumultuous, but things have really quieted down recently. So on some level I've been realizing that perhaps cigarette smoking was one of the few remaining self-destructive behaviors from my youth that I've held onto. There was a time when I was much younger when I didn't associate smoking with recurring financial woes, an accelerated march towards death, poor health and rapid mood swings. As I got older, I realized that I had developed some habits I couldn't control that were acting as a buffer against some of the more positive growth spurts in my life. Maybe, like Ms. Nicks, I have always been a storm, but at some point it becomes an exhausting way to live.
But now this too is under control, one of the last stinging remnants of my formerly messy self. Things are on a seriously positive upswing, and as more and more of the unhealthy thinking and behaviors I've fallen into are eliminated, I am seeing some weird patches of sun through that crazy sky. I think this has been one of the most important decisions I have made, at least in the last year. Overcoming a physical addiction definitely makes most other changes seem more manageable.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Why is Astrology Zone right every time?
How does she know?
"Eclipses open paths, but they also take things away, so if you lost a source of income last February, you may now agree to a new job or deal this month. All eclipses have a second act, and never reveal all at one time. Be patient - something good is coming."
"Eclipses open paths, but they also take things away, so if you lost a source of income last February, you may now agree to a new job or deal this month. All eclipses have a second act, and never reveal all at one time. Be patient - something good is coming."
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
new forms of communication
so that i don't have to repeat myself multiple times a day, i have taken to making little notes that i can use over and over again. one such note that came in quite handy at work today:
Sunday, July 27, 2008
you can take me home but i will never be your girl
*Meta-Post Disclaimer: I think I was drunk when I started writing this post two weeks ago on the damaging effects of heavy Liz Phair listening. I no longer have the strength to really get to the point of all this but maybe I'll be inspired later on, after all my tears have dried and my iPod is functional again.*
I may have encountered Liz Phair a little too early on in life. Exile in Guyville came in my BMG mail when I was maybe thirteen, certainly before I had listened to Exile on Main Street and perhaps immediately following the dumping of my first boyfriend ever (who would wtf later date my younger sister for two years). Although kissing with tongue was still somewhat disgusting, I could really get into a song like, say, "Fuck and Run:"
"Whatever happened to a boyfriend
The kind of guy who tries to win you over
and whatever happened to a boyfriend
The kind of guy who makes love cause he's in it
I want a boyfriend
I want all that stupid old shit
Letters and sodas."
At that time I believed, thanks to Liz Phair, 13 or 14 year-old me was wise beyond my years. I could see it pretty clearly: the 14 year old boys were never really going to grow up, and the above scenario laid out my inevitable future. Liz Phair, all monotone and detached, had this cool way of looking at things that bore no resemblance to any of the girls I went to school with. My friend Ryan once compared her to a potato [Note: this was actually Courtney Love, in some random book I read in high school]). She was an uber-girl. She understood things that we didn't.
And so, armed with guitar tab and cassette tapes, Liz Phair became my fucked-up older sister. She sat in the passenger side of my Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme ("Batmobile," J.D. Salinger style: "Fire up the Batmobile / Cause I gotta get outta here / I don't speak the language / and you gave me no real choice / you made me see that my behavior was an opinion") while I did all the stupid things I did in high school. Consequently, I know every word to every Liz Phair song released before 1999. After remembering my obsession last week, I went on a Juvenilia / Exile / Whip-Smart / Whitechocolatespaceegg bender and realized that the memories of every one of those songs are so wrapped up in being 16 or 17 that it was almost unbearable. [Note: last week I reached my saturation point. I listened all day, cried for like 3 hours, and was eventually cheered up by Billy Joel.]
Oh nostalgia rush 1998 Lilith Fair: my best friend and I lied to my parents about staying with friends on Long Beach Island (where we would sleep in my car in some parking lot), obviously not stopping in Camden for the most ridiculous but secretly great concert featuring not just a rare performance by stage-fright-ridden Liz Phair but also Supa Dupa Fly era Missy Elliott.
The potential outcome of all of this — attending Sarah Lawrence — never materialized thank god, but along with my snail mail Matador Records newsletter came plenty of premature emotional baggage. On some level I feel lucky to have had this kind of amazing progression from these interesting and unique female pop culture voices. Sassy folded circa 1994. I would re-read the vaguely feministic articles in back issues while listening to Ms Phair lull me into the commitment-phobic independent daze that has plagued me throughout most of my adult life, a condition afflicting both genders that I have recently identified as The Dude Factor. Her take on the power dynamics of relationships is vulnerable, political, utterly dysfunctional, highly attuned to the emotional workings of the adolescent girl self. Whip-Smart, Track 3: "I don't need a support system"; Track 6: "I don't crack the door too far for anyone who's pushing too hard on me" followed by the haunting refrain "I won't decorate my love"; Track 11: "Just putting your body wherever it seemed like a good idea" ("Jealousy" also awesomely rhymes "He's got a family who deals heroin" with "and you're on the edge of your chair and").
I may have encountered Liz Phair a little too early on in life. Exile in Guyville came in my BMG mail when I was maybe thirteen, certainly before I had listened to Exile on Main Street and perhaps immediately following the dumping of my first boyfriend ever (who would wtf later date my younger sister for two years). Although kissing with tongue was still somewhat disgusting, I could really get into a song like, say, "Fuck and Run:"
"Whatever happened to a boyfriend
The kind of guy who tries to win you over
and whatever happened to a boyfriend
The kind of guy who makes love cause he's in it
I want a boyfriend
I want all that stupid old shit
Letters and sodas."
At that time I believed, thanks to Liz Phair, 13 or 14 year-old me was wise beyond my years. I could see it pretty clearly: the 14 year old boys were never really going to grow up, and the above scenario laid out my inevitable future. Liz Phair, all monotone and detached, had this cool way of looking at things that bore no resemblance to any of the girls I went to school with. My friend Ryan once compared her to a potato [Note: this was actually Courtney Love, in some random book I read in high school]). She was an uber-girl. She understood things that we didn't.
And so, armed with guitar tab and cassette tapes, Liz Phair became my fucked-up older sister. She sat in the passenger side of my Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme ("Batmobile," J.D. Salinger style: "Fire up the Batmobile / Cause I gotta get outta here / I don't speak the language / and you gave me no real choice / you made me see that my behavior was an opinion") while I did all the stupid things I did in high school. Consequently, I know every word to every Liz Phair song released before 1999. After remembering my obsession last week, I went on a Juvenilia / Exile / Whip-Smart / Whitechocolatespaceegg bender and realized that the memories of every one of those songs are so wrapped up in being 16 or 17 that it was almost unbearable. [Note: last week I reached my saturation point. I listened all day, cried for like 3 hours, and was eventually cheered up by Billy Joel.]
Oh nostalgia rush 1998 Lilith Fair: my best friend and I lied to my parents about staying with friends on Long Beach Island (where we would sleep in my car in some parking lot), obviously not stopping in Camden for the most ridiculous but secretly great concert featuring not just a rare performance by stage-fright-ridden Liz Phair but also Supa Dupa Fly era Missy Elliott.
The potential outcome of all of this — attending Sarah Lawrence — never materialized thank god, but along with my snail mail Matador Records newsletter came plenty of premature emotional baggage. On some level I feel lucky to have had this kind of amazing progression from these interesting and unique female pop culture voices. Sassy folded circa 1994. I would re-read the vaguely feministic articles in back issues while listening to Ms Phair lull me into the commitment-phobic independent daze that has plagued me throughout most of my adult life, a condition afflicting both genders that I have recently identified as The Dude Factor. Her take on the power dynamics of relationships is vulnerable, political, utterly dysfunctional, highly attuned to the emotional workings of the adolescent girl self. Whip-Smart, Track 3: "I don't need a support system"; Track 6: "I don't crack the door too far for anyone who's pushing too hard on me" followed by the haunting refrain "I won't decorate my love"; Track 11: "Just putting your body wherever it seemed like a good idea" ("Jealousy" also awesomely rhymes "He's got a family who deals heroin" with "and you're on the edge of your chair and").
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
mega liz phair post tk asap
as in, during the last week or so i realized that many of my major emotional issues were perhaps shaped by wayyyy too heavy listening to liz phair at too young an age.
in the meantime, read this related article. in the meantime, i've made this liz phair mega muxtape to prepare you.
http://hope_chest.muxtape.com/
in the meantime, read this related article. in the meantime, i've made this liz phair mega muxtape to prepare you.
http://hope_chest.muxtape.com/
Sunday, July 20, 2008
greenpoint summer rox
The best thing about having a blog that nobody reads, besides documenting boring things such as the slow road to recovery from my battle with nicotine addiction, is sharing NOT boring things that are better left unsaid for strategic purposes. Among these: Pio Pio Riko
Pio Pio (that's what we call it for short) is secretly one of the best things about Greenpoint. You can get half a chicken for $3.25, and it's a fucking amazing chicken. And it comes with this mysterious green sauce — we are guessing the ingredients may include, but are not limited to, avocado, lots of black pepper, garlic, cucumber (?) — that you could easily bottle and sell at the Garden if preservatives were added. Last night, after a long day of beaching, I wanted nothing less than Pio Pio. My $8 order of 1/2 chicken and fried sweet plantains will easily comprise three meals. A key component of the insanely huge $21 family combo meal is salchipapas = french fries with sliced hot dogs.
Despite the fact that the Pio Pio chicken sits in my fridge waiting, I joined friends tonight at the actual Pio Pio restaurant for the first time. I have never ventured inside. Roommate #G once recounted a story in which the back room was filled with Latina strippers, and I'd have to say I was put off. Not after tonight my friends. From now on every function I have will be held at Pio Pio.
Spanish-translating friend Christine noted that the neon posterboard sign on the wall of the air-conditioned backroom announced that dances with the waitstaff would cost $2. The bathroom is stocked with hair gel. The backroom has those amazing lights — you know, the kind that can make any night extraordinary — in addition to plenty of dance space, tables ripe for card games, a separate bar, an interior fake roof which rivals that of the back room bar at West Philly local fave Dahlak. Besides that, you can get a jar of beer for $15, or a half-jar for $9. Our five Coronas totaled $17. More good times to be had every weekend I hope, with or without the strippers.
Pio Pio (that's what we call it for short) is secretly one of the best things about Greenpoint. You can get half a chicken for $3.25, and it's a fucking amazing chicken. And it comes with this mysterious green sauce — we are guessing the ingredients may include, but are not limited to, avocado, lots of black pepper, garlic, cucumber (?) — that you could easily bottle and sell at the Garden if preservatives were added. Last night, after a long day of beaching, I wanted nothing less than Pio Pio. My $8 order of 1/2 chicken and fried sweet plantains will easily comprise three meals. A key component of the insanely huge $21 family combo meal is salchipapas = french fries with sliced hot dogs.
Despite the fact that the Pio Pio chicken sits in my fridge waiting, I joined friends tonight at the actual Pio Pio restaurant for the first time. I have never ventured inside. Roommate #G once recounted a story in which the back room was filled with Latina strippers, and I'd have to say I was put off. Not after tonight my friends. From now on every function I have will be held at Pio Pio.
Spanish-translating friend Christine noted that the neon posterboard sign on the wall of the air-conditioned backroom announced that dances with the waitstaff would cost $2. The bathroom is stocked with hair gel. The backroom has those amazing lights — you know, the kind that can make any night extraordinary — in addition to plenty of dance space, tables ripe for card games, a separate bar, an interior fake roof which rivals that of the back room bar at West Philly local fave Dahlak. Besides that, you can get a jar of beer for $15, or a half-jar for $9. Our five Coronas totaled $17. More good times to be had every weekend I hope, with or without the strippers.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
tv news
we have cable again!
it was busted for a week and things got all weird in the apt: g sat down with me at the dinner table one night and asked (uncomfortably, as if on a first date) what my favorite movie was; monday night, i had a dream where i had become so frustrated with not having tv that i decided to turn my life into a tv show--all my dialogue was scripted and every room i was in only had three walls, but there was never a film crew in sight. i woke up very confused and a little freaked out (and i'm not even on the nic patch). i guess i was super productive. that was good. but me being productive might as well fall into the weird category.
anyway, our house is now back to normal and you can expect h and i to act accordingly. meanwhile, in other tv news...
SPOTTED: C in CHELSEA at a bar on 23rd and 9th. he apparently ALWAYS has this face on--sitting at the bar, walking out of the bathroom, asking for a light, laughing...it was amazing. rumor was that he was in there with blair. that was never confirmed. he is short.
while I'm talking about cw, why are they remaking 90210? and why is it starring aunt becky with a black son?
it was busted for a week and things got all weird in the apt: g sat down with me at the dinner table one night and asked (uncomfortably, as if on a first date) what my favorite movie was; monday night, i had a dream where i had become so frustrated with not having tv that i decided to turn my life into a tv show--all my dialogue was scripted and every room i was in only had three walls, but there was never a film crew in sight. i woke up very confused and a little freaked out (and i'm not even on the nic patch). i guess i was super productive. that was good. but me being productive might as well fall into the weird category.
anyway, our house is now back to normal and you can expect h and i to act accordingly. meanwhile, in other tv news...
SPOTTED: C in CHELSEA at a bar on 23rd and 9th. he apparently ALWAYS has this face on--sitting at the bar, walking out of the bathroom, asking for a light, laughing...it was amazing. rumor was that he was in there with blair. that was never confirmed. he is short.
while I'm talking about cw, why are they remaking 90210? and why is it starring aunt becky with a black son?
Monday, June 30, 2008
Crazy Dream Number Three
I was in a strange room—maybe a classroom, maybe a design studio—but it had an attic. Some of my old bosses were there. I think the premise was that we were working late. I think maybe there was a blackout, I'm not too sure. All I know is that everything suddenly got wacky.
This guy who was never my boss but I vaguely know through graphic design was getting something out of the overhead storage / "attic". He knocked something down and this gas overtook the room. I recently watched Legends of the Fall. If you're familiar with that film, there is a scene when the mustard gas spreads out during some WWI battlefield. This was a similar experience. This gas wasn't mustard gas but some sort of drug, perhaps some sort of super strong marijuana or potentially opium smoke. Why this would happen, I have no idea, this dream is hazy and was really weird. This graphic designer dude mentions that in the eighties he did some job for this drug lord from South America or something, which is why he has all these drugs stored in the attic. Apparently the drug lord guy left them behind, and the job got all fucked up and the designer guy never got paid, and so he kept the drugs as some sort of deposit.
Everyone in the room, primarily former coworkers, were a state of super-stoned paralysis. I was thinking I wished I could get out of the room, but I couldn't. Someone's feet smelled really bad and I was afraid they were mine and I vaguely remember apologizing — it was really hot and I was wearing Keds without socks. I think we all had to sleep there overnight.
This guy who was never my boss but I vaguely know through graphic design was getting something out of the overhead storage / "attic". He knocked something down and this gas overtook the room. I recently watched Legends of the Fall. If you're familiar with that film, there is a scene when the mustard gas spreads out during some WWI battlefield. This was a similar experience. This gas wasn't mustard gas but some sort of drug, perhaps some sort of super strong marijuana or potentially opium smoke. Why this would happen, I have no idea, this dream is hazy and was really weird. This graphic designer dude mentions that in the eighties he did some job for this drug lord from South America or something, which is why he has all these drugs stored in the attic. Apparently the drug lord guy left them behind, and the job got all fucked up and the designer guy never got paid, and so he kept the drugs as some sort of deposit.
Everyone in the room, primarily former coworkers, were a state of super-stoned paralysis. I was thinking I wished I could get out of the room, but I couldn't. Someone's feet smelled really bad and I was afraid they were mine and I vaguely remember apologizing — it was really hot and I was wearing Keds without socks. I think we all had to sleep there overnight.
Crazy Dream Number Two
Last night I dreamt I was wearing the patch on my face, right below my eye. My skin started itching and my eye started burning so I took it off. When I was a kid I was once stung by a hornet in that area under your eye, and that's where I put my patch in my dream.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
stop smoking, day 14
I haven't not smoked for this many days since I was 15 years old. It seems like some sort of major feat. It has only happened as a result of the steady, time-released stream of nicotine that continues to course through my body, provoking crazy dreams and making me forget to eat.
That said, I am in the midst of seriously troubling times. The first week of non-smoking was pretty triumphant. I felt totally happy & healthy and optimistic, food tasted amazing (though I was never hungry) and I started smelling layers of smells again. Not so much anymore. For the last 4 or 5 days all day every day there is this really unhappy feeling in my lungs which leads to an internal monologue. My lungs say time for a cigarette, my brain says time for a cigarette, and the other voice says you can't smoke. Then I'm sad, then angry, then eventually I forget. Twenty minutes later it starts again. There seems to be nothing that can satisfy this craving, not alcohol or snacks or coffee or sweets or a walk or a glass of water. Just big sadness. This cycle runs day and night, from the time I wake up until the time I go to bed. It is brutal and I sometimes find myself fills with an unbearable rage.
After that first amazing week, I somehow started to believe I was almost invincible and I was totally winning. I would phase off these patches sooner than suggested and be done with this junk forever. As week two nears its close I realize that isn't going to happen anytime soon. If things are this bad now, god only knows what will happen after I stop with the nicotine forever. I hope that eventually my lungs will stop making this crazy feeling and my fever will break.
That said, I am in the midst of seriously troubling times. The first week of non-smoking was pretty triumphant. I felt totally happy & healthy and optimistic, food tasted amazing (though I was never hungry) and I started smelling layers of smells again. Not so much anymore. For the last 4 or 5 days all day every day there is this really unhappy feeling in my lungs which leads to an internal monologue. My lungs say time for a cigarette, my brain says time for a cigarette, and the other voice says you can't smoke. Then I'm sad, then angry, then eventually I forget. Twenty minutes later it starts again. There seems to be nothing that can satisfy this craving, not alcohol or snacks or coffee or sweets or a walk or a glass of water. Just big sadness. This cycle runs day and night, from the time I wake up until the time I go to bed. It is brutal and I sometimes find myself fills with an unbearable rage.
After that first amazing week, I somehow started to believe I was almost invincible and I was totally winning. I would phase off these patches sooner than suggested and be done with this junk forever. As week two nears its close I realize that isn't going to happen anytime soon. If things are this bad now, god only knows what will happen after I stop with the nicotine forever. I hope that eventually my lungs will stop making this crazy feeling and my fever will break.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Crazy Dream # One
I just had my first crazy dream. I was terrified throughout the whole thing.
I was driving somewhere to visit with my family, but I was with some of my friends from New York, including some of the people I just went on vacation with. We were in my parents' Chevy Blazer, which I drove around last night, and there were almost-empty FunSavers everywhere. Somehow then my parents were driving, and there were children who may or may not have been family members in the car, and me and my friends were in the back. Somehow the car became my childhood best friend's Dodge Caravan.
I thought we were in California. My friend Chris, originally from California, was in the car, and he recommended somewhere that was good to eat. The sky was a crazy red and purple sunset (you will see this on the cover up the upcoming Fleetwood Mac Power Hour, when Chris puts it up on the site), and there were oil mills and windmills and power lines. In general it looked kind of like Kansas from the Wizard of Oz, but also like driving on Interstate 5 in California. I kept falling asleep. When I woke up everyone was at the restaurant. I tried to go to the restaurant to meet them, but you had to travel through this long farmer's market / supermarket / mall structure, and I couldn't find it. I kept crawling under huge plexi sneeze-glass barriers from salad bars. I gave up.
When I woke up again I was at my parents' house. Everyone else was still at the restaurant. I couldn't contact anyone because my phone didn't work, I didn't know where they were or who was coming. I was freaked out. Finally a caravan of cars started driving down the driveway. All of the minivans and SUVs were full of family members and friends, all mixed together in the same cars. It was now dusk. My youngest sister was a young girl again and a bunch of her friends were coming for a crazy costume party, so everyone was dressed up. I wondered who my friends were with. My grandparents were dressed in their Sunday best.
At one point I realized that my friends were all together in the Chevy Blazer, and somehow there was now a parking spot under the front porch that they were pulling into. There was also some sort of retractable net in the front yard, and my brother was playing some sort of trick on them by pulling down the net so that when the car backed up, it would get trapped in the net. Sure enough it happened and I told him to raise the net, this was ridiculous. When the car got out of the net and pulled into the parking spot under the front porch, we discovered some sort of body under the net on a gurney. Apparently this person had been at the restaurant with them, it was one of the celebration party people, but they were all wrapped up like a mummy so I couldn't tell who it was since I'd missed the party. Then a taxi / emergency response unit that was some sort of fuel efficient hybrid vehicle (almost Smart Car-esque) comes barrelling down the driveway and takes the gurney.
There are so many children, playing and dancing everywhere. There's a girl with lime green hair wearing some sort of satin purple dress. It is a party. Me and my friends go into the house. My great-grandparents are still alive, and my great grandmother is still in her usual chair in the kitchen. I give her a kiss on the cheek. Me and my friends go into the basement to explore. My sister is doing some sort of science experiment with her friends and listening to the Buzzcocks. We are walking around and the dirt floor is now concrete, painted and polished. The basement is slightly different and we are walking around with flashlights like explorers. Eventually we reach the other entrance to the basement and leave.
I was driving somewhere to visit with my family, but I was with some of my friends from New York, including some of the people I just went on vacation with. We were in my parents' Chevy Blazer, which I drove around last night, and there were almost-empty FunSavers everywhere. Somehow then my parents were driving, and there were children who may or may not have been family members in the car, and me and my friends were in the back. Somehow the car became my childhood best friend's Dodge Caravan.
I thought we were in California. My friend Chris, originally from California, was in the car, and he recommended somewhere that was good to eat. The sky was a crazy red and purple sunset (you will see this on the cover up the upcoming Fleetwood Mac Power Hour, when Chris puts it up on the site), and there were oil mills and windmills and power lines. In general it looked kind of like Kansas from the Wizard of Oz, but also like driving on Interstate 5 in California. I kept falling asleep. When I woke up everyone was at the restaurant. I tried to go to the restaurant to meet them, but you had to travel through this long farmer's market / supermarket / mall structure, and I couldn't find it. I kept crawling under huge plexi sneeze-glass barriers from salad bars. I gave up.
When I woke up again I was at my parents' house. Everyone else was still at the restaurant. I couldn't contact anyone because my phone didn't work, I didn't know where they were or who was coming. I was freaked out. Finally a caravan of cars started driving down the driveway. All of the minivans and SUVs were full of family members and friends, all mixed together in the same cars. It was now dusk. My youngest sister was a young girl again and a bunch of her friends were coming for a crazy costume party, so everyone was dressed up. I wondered who my friends were with. My grandparents were dressed in their Sunday best.
At one point I realized that my friends were all together in the Chevy Blazer, and somehow there was now a parking spot under the front porch that they were pulling into. There was also some sort of retractable net in the front yard, and my brother was playing some sort of trick on them by pulling down the net so that when the car backed up, it would get trapped in the net. Sure enough it happened and I told him to raise the net, this was ridiculous. When the car got out of the net and pulled into the parking spot under the front porch, we discovered some sort of body under the net on a gurney. Apparently this person had been at the restaurant with them, it was one of the celebration party people, but they were all wrapped up like a mummy so I couldn't tell who it was since I'd missed the party. Then a taxi / emergency response unit that was some sort of fuel efficient hybrid vehicle (almost Smart Car-esque) comes barrelling down the driveway and takes the gurney.
There are so many children, playing and dancing everywhere. There's a girl with lime green hair wearing some sort of satin purple dress. It is a party. Me and my friends go into the house. My great-grandparents are still alive, and my great grandmother is still in her usual chair in the kitchen. I give her a kiss on the cheek. Me and my friends go into the basement to explore. My sister is doing some sort of science experiment with her friends and listening to the Buzzcocks. We are walking around and the dirt floor is now concrete, painted and polished. The basement is slightly different and we are walking around with flashlights like explorers. Eventually we reach the other entrance to the basement and leave.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Nic Fit
Last night, I went to a bar with my recently-relocated-to-NY friend Jason. Actually three bars because I had to leave each one after one drink, when I would customarily require a cigarette. Early on in the reunion drinks, I told Jason I had quit smoking. He asked me if I was ok and said it seemed like I needed a cigarette. It's true. I calmed down after a few drinks.
Sonic Youth / Nic Fit
Sonic Youth / Nic Fit
Monday, June 16, 2008
Stop smoking forever, day 2
I read on some internet somewhere that I may have crazy crazy dreams as a result of either the nicotine patch or not using a nicotine patch and just cold turkey-ing it. These dreams may be extremely vivid. I may feel as though cigarette smoke is entering my lungs. Apparently, I may wake up wanting a cigarette in a pool of cold sweat or something along those lines. I am sad to report I have not had any crazier-than-usual dreams, but I look forward to them coming, prophetically. I imagine the floating into the carpet scene from Trainspotting and maybe hope my dream will be like that.
Day 2 of stop smoking was better than Day 1. I didn't feel too sad or overly anxious or freaked out today, only like something was missing. That "missing" feeling is along the lines of, isn't there somewhere I'm supposed to be going or doing right now? Outdoors, for my break? Then I would realize that I don't do that anymore, sigh on the inside, and get back to work. All in all, more ok than I expected. The plus side of using this ridiculous nicotine replacement stuff is that I tell myself that I will die of a nicotine overdose if I smoke a cigarette because of the patch. Whether or not this is true, I don't want to know. As long as I believe it, this theory is an adequate deterrent.
On the positive side, I don't know if today was particularly fragrant, but it definitely smelled better than usual. This may be some sort of placebo effect. One of the non-smoker things that I am looking forward to most is the return of strong smells and tastes.
Day 2 of stop smoking was better than Day 1. I didn't feel too sad or overly anxious or freaked out today, only like something was missing. That "missing" feeling is along the lines of, isn't there somewhere I'm supposed to be going or doing right now? Outdoors, for my break? Then I would realize that I don't do that anymore, sigh on the inside, and get back to work. All in all, more ok than I expected. The plus side of using this ridiculous nicotine replacement stuff is that I tell myself that I will die of a nicotine overdose if I smoke a cigarette because of the patch. Whether or not this is true, I don't want to know. As long as I believe it, this theory is an adequate deterrent.
On the positive side, I don't know if today was particularly fragrant, but it definitely smelled better than usual. This may be some sort of placebo effect. One of the non-smoker things that I am looking forward to most is the return of strong smells and tastes.
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