The Truth Files

Stephen Colbert/Daily Show Love. House, Hugh Laurie, Black Adder, BritCom obsessiveness. Eddie Izzard quoting ad naseum. Self loathing. Other people loathing. Anything else I can loathe-fit that in there too. Tales of alcohol and dogs. The occassional night at the bar causing trouble. Mis-treating brain cells...Who needs them? No sex. No drugs-usually. Much rock'n'roll. Just trying to survive in 615. Y'know. The usual.

Saturday, April 30, 2005

The apartment is empty and in great need of re-organization due to all of the new bedding piled everywhere. Two air mattresses, sheets and blankets for those. I tripled my bedding supplies-course, one mattress is a twin. Always a place to stay at my apartment-which needs a clever name something that indicates it's crashpad status. Casa de Cramped. But it was fun. The whole weekend was fun. The chance to tourist it up in Nashville is cool. Ate at the Loveless Cafe (mmmmm....biscuits....) went to the CMHofF. Augh, what else did we do?
There was sushi to be enjoyed, and tots. Lots of tots. We skipped the Today show downtown due to how we aren't insane and standing in the rain to see Kenny Chesney with five million people seemed like maybe a less than fun experience. Course, the highlight of the trip was the "incident at the Bluegrass" A real live incident at the Bluegrass! Not like one of the ones we'd made up over the years. Some dumbass pseudo-punks got in it with some other dumbass persons and started yelling and threatening each other. The bouncer (a very large man with a variety of tattoos on his shaved head and burly arms) left his post at the door and prepared to participate in some bouncing. The bartender tried to let things go but it was not calming down and she at one point was holding a stool up ready to bash someone over the head. One of the guys-the biggest jerkoff of the bunch, the real maker of trouble (he looked less like a suburban punk and more like someone looking to kick some ass) took off his shirt and gave every indication he was going to start taking people out. There was a couple at a table right next to all of this, I don't think they were involved but they were cornered. My group was in the corner next to the ramp and railing. Next to the bar, but we thought far enough away. The bartender called the police when the fighters wouldn't listen to reason and she happily recounted that she went all Jennifer Garner on their ass and poked a guy in the eye with her thumb to get him to let go of another guy he'd had in a headlock. There was an actual fight too-punches were thrown and they came tumbling down and back against the rail that looked about ready to give out and break-causing the fight to spill over into our corner. The band kept playing and people up front kept dancing and having a good time. Layla came from out of nowhere to help throw people out. These guys couldn't take a hint and I got up and was ready to move behind the bar if need be. And it seemed like there would be a need-I was worried a bit because while I could dive head first over the bar and do some fancy work in short order that wasn't the case for everyone around. Then it was over, the staff had thrown them out and everyone sort of was shaking their heads trying to figure out what had happened. Close as anyone could tell they were 1) fuckin' tourists who had 2) brought it into the Bluegrass from somewhere else and 3) thought the dive-iest bar would be the easiest to fight in so obviously they were 4) idiots who don't know that the LAST place you want to fuck with someone is in a place like that.
No one was hurt. It was just wild.
Thursday night was the Are You Ready...show at the Mercy. Pretty good crowd-not as big as one would hope, but good still. Saw lots of people-mingled and mangled a little bit too. Most of the bands playing didn't interest me-those that did were quite good. Although I could've done with a little less sit down and listen music and a little more dance and be rowdy music. Just not that kind of crowd I guess.
It's getting to where I know people and I am trying to work my way into talking to everyone and saying hello. Not networking, just not being standoffish McShy Person. And I'm doing pretty good at it.

Chelsea Hotel

Saw the absentee drummer. He was right where I thought he would be. That's why I didn't use the word missing-he's just not here anymore. No reason to be so he's just sort of doing whatever his thing is these days.
Let me say-I don't spend a lot of time reminiscing or missing the old days. The thought pops into my mind every once in awhile. It might be everyday for a length of time I think about how life used to be and then maybe I'll be so wrapped up in what I'm doing now that then is just not worth the dwelling on. It's a late at night alone with a stack of records and only a dim light on kind of moment-a song on the radio or a memory held within the walls of a place. It's not a fixing dinner wondering whatever happened to thing. It really isn't. So-despite what it might seem, and I think that that seeming to think about things like that is more because of who I'm in conversation with than anything. People I've known for awhile maybe are more prone to think in terms of awhile instead of now. But I don't think about it much or miss it really. I've got a life now that is going great guns and it's different and it's harder but it is mine.
Then I saw him-and now and then blended together, the past bled into the present until it was difficult to tell what was post-memory and what was happening now. Even people that have only known me for the briefest period of time were able to see there was something changed in me when I was near him and it embarassed me to think that would still be the case. Not because it's a bad thing or anything but because I'm supposed to be growing here and changing and becoming a new and improved me. There are improvements and newness. That being as may be, tho I know that like a junky barely straight given the temptation I'm right back with that needle in my arm and Heroes on the stereo again. He politely offered me the needle,because it's unfair to leave someone jonesin' His arm around me his breath on my neck as he leaned in to speak over the solo guitar. The giving in was swift, the bar was somewhere far away I was floating. Yet, the conversation was not anything but catching up it was chat between friends it was just something to fill the time there were no undertones.
After the show when the crowd thinned out and most everyone had gone home I was back behind the stage hanging, waiting for the next thing to go on. Figuring we'd be going home and I would have to answer questions and gentle jabs about my low level score and sink into night reminded that it's still the same and addictions never go away, they're just controlled.
Not quite the way it happened. We started to talking. He gave me a cigarette and lit it for me-just like had happened so many times before in so many empty bars after closing time. Same build up to the denouement, same actors, new lines, slight variation of set design. A little more warehouse and a little less retro, add some rain. The Master Playwright knows how to build drama.
He said he could bring me home. My cohorts left to go get some Taco Hell and he and I got to my apt before them despite leaving after. When my guests pulled in they politely didn't look at us whilst quickly moving through the rain into the house. There would've been nothing to see. Two people sitting in a truck in the rain talking. Me telling him something I haven't even said out loud. Something I've typed or insinuated and once I mouthed the word but since I had gotten away from the moment I had not said it. I had to say it so many times then that it only seemed fair that would be enough and I'd be able to just move on. Telling him this story that I've been trying to drown out anyway I can just busy it out pushed aside with studying, work and acting like there's nothing wrong. Until I started to believe it myself.
He was telling me what he's been doing where his life is and the things he's finding out. He doesn't like to give details, maybe just to me maybe all the time. But there were some things he said glimpses into what kind of person he is now and what he thinks of the person that I knew. The moral of the story-not the end-I'll finish it up just for my sake but if you're reading for what we've learned today you'll be done here in a moment. The moral of the story is courtesy of Mommy: "You're probably a reminder of a time of his life he doesn't want to remember right now." Yep, pretty much. Pretty much in a nutshell.
I had a book that belonged to him. Long story short I'd pretty much stolen it back for him and felt it was only right that since I'd gone to that trouble he get his book. And I knew that I wouldn't be seeing him anytime soon. Maybe someday down the road, at a show if there's ever another show or I'll pass through somewhere and he'll be there. If we do see each other it'll be an accident or it'll be in public. I had a prime moment for a symbolic gesture of saying goodbye.
I'd said to him, just before I knew we would be ending our conversation "I miss you. Don't think I dwell on it but every once in awhile, I miss you."
"I miss you too, not in the same way you miss me but I do."
"You always were a bigger part of my life than I ever was of yours."
The look on his face was like an old joke told by a friend "Yeh, well that's just because I'm a star."
"And I'm just a star fucker."
"That's not what I meant"
"Me neither."
We looked at each other for a few seconds and I knew we'd said pretty much everything that needed to be said. So I went and got his book.
When I came back out of the house, after dodging the looks of everyone inside because I didn't have the energy he was standing in the rain with the door to his truck open wiping the fog off the windows. I sat the book down on the passenger's seat. He put his arms around me, held me tight. I breathed deep trying to remember him, hugged him tighter. He said some things, I said some things. They're not important. We acted like we'd be in touch. The rain started to soak into our clothes, I could feel the dampness creeping up the legs of my pants my glasses were covered with drops of water so the night looked like a memory even as it was happening.
"So you're moving tomorrow and I'm going to go sing karaoke."
"If I can make it I might stop by to hear you do 'The Dance'"
"And I-I'm glad I didn't know-the way it all would end..."
"Not now! We don't want your neighbors calling the police on you for disturbing the peace."
"You mean you don't enjoy my musical stylings?"
He smiled, "You better get inside, it's raining."
"Yes, that it is. Bye then." Moment of looking at each other arms still around each others waists that is so familiar. He kissed me. A friend kiss. Then we told each other goodbye again. We kissed again. A little longer, maybe more than friendly. "Don't be a stranger if you can help it."
"Take care of yourself. Please take care of yourself-you deserve more."
"Same to you."
"Alright."
"Alright." We let go of each other then. I turned to go and I don't know if it was me or him or mutual but I turned back, he stopped, I put my hand on his head and chuckled. 'Ah well', I thought, as we moved toward each other again. "Mwa!" I punctuated the moment, and smiled. "Be good. Talk to you."
"Oh yeah."
I walked inside, everyone was ready for bed but looking for some sign of what they had been trying to not spy on. (Or maybe had been spying on-because a night with me is better than Friday afternoon slo-mo on General Hospital. All the suspense, none of that pesky waiting til Monday.) But I didn't really have anything to say. I think maybe I was asked if I was alright. Or maybe I just felt like that was what should've been asked. You know, yes. Of course, I'm alright. There's nothing to be not alright about.

I've found you a thousand times/I guess you've done the same/Then we lose each other/It's just like a children's game

And she said "We should get together"/But I knew it'd never be arranged/And she handed me twenty dollars for a $2.50 fare/She said "Harry, keep the change"

I don't mean to suggest that I loved you the best
I can't keep track of each fallen robin
I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel
That's all
I don't think of you that often

Monday, April 25, 2005

Are You Sure Hank Done It This Way?

...dammit I wish I coulda been in Nevada for the Wrecks show. Why must I be so poor?

The thing I'm thinking about at the moment is, my life is pretty well guarded. Oh, I like to think I'm an open book-anyone asks me anything and I'm not going to go to the trouble of making up an answer I'll just say what the truth is. But I don't volunteer much about me.
Granted, it's sorta strange to be saying that in an online blog which experience has proven can be found by anyone who types in the write string of words...interestingly enought that string of words isn't "lazy ass hippie" or "barefootin' folksingin' hippie" so I can't help but wonder what those words are---probably some random reference. Maybe if you go looking for Main Street Discount Wines and Liquors...No, none of those bring me up. Tis just as well, anyone who figured out I was the same person as the one that authored that scandalous tome writ one year gone would feel right sorry for me for the total lack of scandal in these pages...internets don't have pages in the traditional sense do they? but then, there are webpages, so there's that.
But I am shy, despite all performances to the contrary. And I'd rather not broadcast the darker side of my life. Or the wilder side. Although I happily branded myself the town whore, let's face it, being the town whore in East Nashville is something special and of note. I might be on a bus tour sometime soon. But then, I've got moments where I wished I was something other than that moments when I wish I'd never gone down that alley that leads to the Wild Side of Life. Moments that ring with flashing lights and questions I can't seem to answer no matter how much I may want to answer them. Then again there are the days when I wake up wrapped in the night before stained inside with disaster and trouble reeling with what it is to be that dangerous thing that reels through the neon lights and cigarette haze. Those mornings have a sweet drug haze (even without drugs there's a speed that comes with the life.)
I hide these things. Then I mention them in passing and no one quite knows what to think of them. Little old plain bespectacled red head me, how could I possibly be the mad angel I profess to be? That's the beauty of it all. The maddest are the ones that seem the least likely to be even vaguely interesting. At least I wouldn't look at me and think I was interesting. I think I LOOK very dull and sort of peculiar-esp. with the strange coffee eyes that never seem to be looking both at the same thing at the same time. I try to be deceiving. But that so many people call me "crazy lady" leads me to believe that maybe I'm not that good a deciever. Jackson Browne I ain't.
But you know-I think I'm alright.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Folklorists Do it Reflexively In Small Groups

Just a little disciplinary humor there. I know yr laughing yr ass off right now. Or LMAO as the case may be.
So today's update focuses on the concept of footwear.
Now, as may be slightly evident I am no fan of wearing shoes. My ankles hurt with shoes on my feet (10 points for reference) for one thing. And for another barefootin' people have to sort fewer socks. That should be enough to get people off the wearing of shoes, if you ask me. What a miserable way to spend a perfectly decent afternoon-sorting stupid socks to match. Some weeks I just wear odd socks because I just don't care that much. That is when I wear socks. But what with how working barefoot is right out that's most of the time.
ANYHOO--it's getting warm here in the mid-South and I was noting certain things about people. Because that's what I do. I notice shit. One day it might be useful but I don't know exactly how.
My first class was held outside in the shade of a lovely tree near the first floor of FAC. Now, this is one of those things I can't explain but I put ON my shoes to go OUTSIDE. Would seem to me outside would be one of those places where shoelessness would be pretty much alright-except maybe in neighborhoods where beer bottle tossing is a hobby and thus there's a great deal of broken glass laying around. (For example-my neighborhood. What are people doing to be throwing empty bottles of Miller High Life onto the devil's strip anyway? People walk Baxter there after all.)
But returning to today. We got outside and sat down and before you could say bingo bang bongo my feet were free of bondage. The woman sitting next to me also removed her footwear. Strange, but from what I saw most everyone else kept their shoes on. Although later in class I saw the kicking off of sneakers by one who kept her socks on-this just seems impractical but who am I to judge? And everyone kept their shirts on, which made me very happy because folk strip shows are not high on my to do list.
Me I roamed around campus sans Timberlands (yeh I know-not very hippie that footwear choice-I am multi-dimensional after all) until I had to go to my car to move it before my second class.
Now, this class was held indoors where people for odd reasons follow rules of decorum different from the rules of the out of doors. But I never leave my shoes on and so I was strolling the halls in my bare feet in no time. A cohort came in and promptly removed his shoes. Then as I watched the class wear on I couldn't help but note that there were at least 3 other persons detached from their footwear of all sorts and a couple others missing the shoes at least.
Now, I have no thing for feet lest you think I am odd. Actually, I am just struck by the fact that we are conditioned to keep as much of our bodies covered as possible. It is less than customary to remove our shoes when we enter peoples homes (Unless they have really expensive carpet or something) it's considered impolite and children are chastised for not keeping their shoes on. Yet, it wasn't more than 2 generations ago that people owned maybe 1 pair of shoes at a time (Da says that Granddaddy only had one pair of shoes at any time, and they were always from the second hand shop. Which is why Da is always ready to buy shoes, especially dress shoes the brand name I forget, because his Da never could have new and multiple pairs) and now we have shoes that are only applicable to certain very specific outfits or situations. (I'm as guilty, maybe even more so, as anyone else of that. No one NEEDS 3 pairs of green suede shoes or 4 pairs of Converse. But I WANTED them.)
So I noticed when people removed their shoes. Because for one thing it was damn hot and for another thing it is a situation that we are sort of comfortable. Also-I kind of wanted to see if anyone had as horrid winter feet as have I.The answer to that is no. I really must get on my summer feet here quickly.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

How do you celebrate a new Pope

Me and curly haired dude at work decided wine. New wine. Not vintage wine because that was all drunk up sending off ole JP2. Only new wine for this new Pope.Lots and lots of the blood of Christ in celebration. It doesn't roll really-Pope Benedict the XVI. That just doesn't swing, you know? Like I am accustomed to Popes swinging. Bobby Darrin would've made an excellent Pope. Pope Mack the Knife.
Okay. That was all pretty sacreligious. But luckily only my ancestors are Catholic. Not me. So I am only going to Purgatory for that. In their eyes. Being raised pagan you can only imagine my confusion.
And compound it with the fact that I just don't think Benedict is the kind of Pope I can turn to inmoments of Catholicism. I just think Benedict Arnold and how he betrayed the fledging America and that seems like a bad connotation to be giving old-and I do mean old-what? they want to go into enclave (conclave? eh, some clave) again next Tuesday? Dude is elderly-78-come on now JP2 was 86 so maybe they heads of the Church don't get to see each other often enough so they chose a really old pontif.
Me-I was hoping for a little 3rd world representation. But you know me, I am ALL ABOUT representin'.

Monday, April 18, 2005

When the Going Gets Tough

The tough go scrapbooking.
No really-what the fuck was I thinking offering up to do a scrapbook of Lower Broad full of creative post-modern representations of folklore via an era relevant folkloristic means of expression instead of a nice neat paper approx 8-12 pages in length. I can spew out a mediocre paper in 5 hours this scrapbook is way effing more work. I am SUCH a fool. Pardon me, I'm going to bang my head against the wall for awhile. (bangs head agains wall during several Big Star songs which were not made for head banging really...returns..spends a few moments thinking there's a breakdown afoot before realizing the MSN.com is playing music and I'm not creating new noises to accompany the Black Crowes song on the speakers)
Me and Dogface went on a rather long walk today. The weather was perfect for such things but more than that was the fella in the apt fixing the busted pipe in the kitchen. Nothing says happy monday like turning on the water to rinse out the coffee filter and hearing a very definate pouring sound and feeling water rising about ones toes. But the excercise did us good and we got to see lots of exciting neighborhood things that are easy to miss whilst in automobile.
B and me were walking down Rosebank toward Porter when a truck pulled out of a driveway and a wee dirty blonde haired girl started waving at us. I smiled and waved back and she got that brightness kids do sometimes when they're just enjoying moments adults forget are worthy of enjoyment. Not that kids know that fact, but I don't think I can explain it---speaking as a child acting in childish ways. The father was driving the truck, he smiled and waved as he pulled his truck out onto the street. He had a fluffy black dog and one of those smashed snout strange dogs in his yard. They gave Bax a bit of 'tude but Baxter just wanted to keep on walking. Baxter is the reigning king of oblivious I think.
...Random side story...yesterday a woman came thru the drive-thru all a mess saying her husband was going to have an attack when he found out she'd just spent $400 on window treatment and it was his idea to move and it wasn't her fault the windows were so damn weird shaped. She was a mess. So I listen and we talk about moving and this and that and I tke one of her drinks off her bill. Not because there was any reason to do it other than I thought she needed something good to happen to her-like her trip to Lowe's had been hell cubed and she needed some kindness. It made her so happy and I was glad...
It is a special thing to make someone happy even if it is only for 2 seconds.
Well returning to today. The dog and me got home and the sink was fixed and I was ever so glad that mess was remedied, tho I could've maybe been gladder if the repairchap had put away the cleaning products I keep under the sink rather than leaving them out on the kitchen floor. Ahh but that's minor.
Decided to go grab a couple of bottles of wine and some dinner fixin's before going back to trying to figure out what the fuck I thought I was going to do with my creative project. Before drowning in my I am not creative sorrows. I would like to note the wine I bought will last a day or three it's not like I bought 3 bottles for tonight. 2 maybe-but not three!
But, this story-related already in the CR but worthy repeat because it made me smile I guess. Because of the circle maybe. One of those things.
There I was choosing my cheap wine for the duration of time until the next time I buy cheap wine. Going for all the finest vintages-like 2004 and in some rare cases 2003. The classy stuff. I was in my finest attire, well worn cut off jeans, black t-shirt and red Chucks. My hair was in a sloppy pony thing. It probably has been brushed sometime today but I can't pinpoint exactly when. I looked a-very normal me look. And the Main Street Discount Wine and Liquor isn't really the kind of place one goes to see and be seen. (Although if you're in for a good view there's a pretty nice one of the skyline from the parking lot) It's really low culture, $3 bottles of wine $5 bottles of flavored rum, cashier slowling gaining a grasp of the English language, bars on the windows, drunks stumbling in buying their discount liquor and wine with change. Smoking allowed in the store. It's the kind of place that's an adventure at 5 on a Friday. Kind of like the instant check cashing place or the grocery store on the first. You get the picture. I spend a lot of time there.
so there I am minding my own business-And someone flicks me-hard!-on the shoulder. You can imagine this is not really the kind of place I want to run into people I know-it's kind of the sort of place you park 3 doors down and walk to because it's that ghetto. But I am not one to ignore an assault on my personage so I looked up and there's Todd smilin' that smile of his. Well, you can imagine there was a little moment of-of all the places to run into someone-but then you know he could've walked right by me and neither of us would've ever had to admit knowledge that the other patronized such an establishment. Hell, I wouldn't have seen him I was picking out lousy wine.
We exchanged pleasantries and he was off and I was buying my cheap wine happy with that little East Nashville moment. It's like belonging somewhere at last-somewhere where people I've paid money to see acknowledge my existance with the same casualness as would be afforded any old body. I guess in East Nashville-or at least at the Main Street Discount Wine and Liquor- I am just any old body and every old body is a friend in the 'hood.

Saturday, April 16, 2005

Baxter Updates-cuz the world needs that

Mr. Stinky Hound got himself a bath today over at Wags and Whiskers. Then he got a good brushing a couple hours later. So he is ever so pretty right now. There are ladies in states across the country jealous of his beauty.
I was very proud as a Doggy-Mama because he didn't do any horrible dog things during his bath. Oh, he cried a bit and whined but he was more or less quiet and agreeable during his bath. He tried to get out of the tub, but I wouldn't have it and he just accepted he couldn't win that battle. Considering my memories of his baths when Daddy would give them (he would scream like Rabbit howling the whole time and then do his sinful dirty business in the house---very shameful the whole affair) he was quite the good man. And he was so cute when I was brushing him, his brown doggy eyes closed to the sun and he was smiling like dogs smile. He's so shiny and clean-he just begs hugging.
We saw Miss Ann and her dog Shotzie. Course Mr. Shitzu was in rare form and gave Mr Muttman a ration but Bax just ignored that little Napoleon's attack and Ann apologized for her dog's bad attitude. Of course, I think it's funny-Baxter is afraid of most major dogs and several minor ones. Due to his status as a proper little lady. He would look very good in a nice pink bow-it would go well with his new clean look.
The nice lady-ha! she's about my age! lady!- who runs the dog washing place said Bax has a greyhound nose and couldn't say enough about how good looking he is. Clearly she is blinded by his charms. She shouldn't feel bad tho, happens to the best of us.

Friday, April 15, 2005

The benefits of higher education

Actual text of an email from my Ivy League educated sister:
Hey freaky freak
it's the end uh the week
i got new digits cos i know how to liv it
up right
outta site
xxx-xxx-xxxx

I could remember it right away cos your birth year was in it so that's
good.

How you doin? Any cowboys?



Love m.


that-is just funny-I don't care who you are.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

There's a paper in that!

Two words-Phone Tree.
Two other words-Crazy Jerald.
Now put all this words into a story. Talk amongst yourselves.
He is so bad. I realize of course he's harmless but he is VERY bad. Sometimes I really wish he weren't so bad. Sometimes he makes me unnerved. Sometimes I think it's funny. It's a mood thing. Tonight-he amused me. Calling and telling me about the show and all.
Erika wasn't cool with me skipping class to go to Knoxville. Actually-I think she wouldn't have minded much-but it was a bit late when I told her my intentions so I didn't bother. (She said something about it being almost 5 o'clock and it was a 4 hour drive and yadda yadda yadda---semantics!) Plus there was a great discussion about post-modernity that I would've missed out on if I'd gone to Knoxville. Oh-yeh, I much prefer intellectual debate to being crazy.
And I think I'm doing better than I thought I would've believed 6 months ago. So-woot.

Presentation and Projection

There's this girl at school. She's obviously really smart and she looks at things from a perspective I don't see. Probably because of where she came from-but sometimes I find myself very frustrated. Today we were talking about understanding in performance theory and narrative. She kept saying that it wasn't possible to understand what it meant to be X because you are Y and can never live the life of X. Well, this is true in the most concrete of terms-but she seemed completely closed to the possibility that one can project oneself into a persona.
So I mentioned the Sister. Who tells me one of her scenes for her showcase is a Chicana and the other is an army wife from the city or New Jersey in the Korean War era. Well Little Girl has never been Chicana and no would mistake her pale visage for being of Latin heritage. Yet, she is able to project onto her personage the image of being that person. She is able to be many things she has not experienced but through empathyor some concept for which I do not have a word but I think it is a basic concept humans understand-the idea of knowing how someone feels. Similarly-I can write about events in a way that people are able to understand what I am writing about. If I wrote about my dangerous life in my groupie days would you not know what I was saying unless you experienced it? Is it reasonable to presume that because I never drove a Taxi I don't understadnd what Harry Chapin is singing about? Due to the fact that I've never tended bar in Boston I can't possibly understand an episode of Cheers and since I've never been a peasant I have no right discussion folklore. Isn't it about as blind as if one attempted to not learn anything that took place outside of one's own life to say that is it not possible to understand what another person is saying? Isn't empathy the point being put across? Aren't we supposed to understand-not be-just comprehend on some level beyond knowledge that such a condition exists?
It's very frustrating. No, I don't think you need to experience what I did to know what it feels like to have what happened to me happen. Isn't a transcription of my account enough? Or even vague details. Aren't people able to infer knowledge based on their experience as human beings with similar experiences-positive or negatively similar. What logic implies that it is necessary to be held down chased accused and terrified to understand that sensation?
It really frustrated me to think that someone couldn't understand that it is possible to re-live a moment that one never lived courtesy of the stories of a person who did.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Nashville in the Springtime-1 year on

It's been a long long year.
Work is a cross to bear. For no other reason than that I have to GO there. Don't mind the job really, the people are good-other than bein' oh so flippin over it words don't describe. Course school is consuming of all time that I don't spend online or working or sleeping. It would be wonderful to say I used my time wisely yesterday but I was drawn into the glamour of the CMT video music awards and spent many hours on the street trying to catch a glimpse of famous people. Also kickin it at the Bluegrass and Roberts. But I made lots of lovely notes which I will apply to another in my series of exciting tales of live in this charming corner of the world.
Of course, I am trying very hard to concentrate. And I am doing rather well on half my work-the other half I am attacking with much vigor and consideration on Thurs. No fun for me-only work work work. No play. Dull girl. It is almost over you know.
But it was one year ago almost to this day that I decided I would be moving down here. Got that letter from school and all that. I was down here first weekend of May. It was all entertainment and romantic notions featuring white russians and rain outside of windows. Now, it's way effin less romantic. It's not lacking romance-there is that charm of walking out of my internship and into an awards pre-show block party on a Monday. That rarely happened in Akron. And there's always something to do and something worth seeing. But there's also laundry that needs done, dishes in the sink, the floor needs swept and the garden needs weeded. Course, there's having enough money to pay the light bill and keep the phone on. It's not adventure anymore. Oh, but I'm not complaining. I have a year of grad school almost down and I haven't flunked out starved to death or gone crazy yet.
Oh-the regular at the bux is ok. It was all a mistake on the part of the Dr. Makes ya love Western medicine the most don't it? But he came in just happy as hell to tell me everything was going to be alright and I was just so glad to hear that. See-a year ago-I woulda probably been sad because most everyone at that job (notable exceptions of course, everything has an exception) and the regulars I woulda been struggling to hide a smile. Because that was the worst.job.ever.
And I have a shit load of work to do and at this rate dinner should be ready by midnight. Oh fun fun and what's that? Why yes, I do believe it's more fun.

Friday, April 08, 2005

Beat Blogging

Watching L&O-TBJ all I could think was. Goddam! Bebe Neuwirth is hot!

Then I thought about theory when the "point of departure" in a performance (well, argument, but whatever) was the phrase "Goddammit! I love you!"

Then I worried about whether or not I'd be able to get my work done for that class or if I'd have to drop out in shame.

Then I thought about the shame of being a failed folklorist.

Then I thought about how I should probably have been studying and not watching TBJ.

Then suddenly I was distracted from the plot.

So, I caught up with the plot again and found myself objecting and knowing the reasons for objections. Out loud. To the dismay of the dog whose ears perked up and was all, like "huh?" If a dog could say "huh?"

Then I was out of $3 wine so I got more and went back to yelling at the TV and thinking how Bebe Neuwirth is hot.

Then I thought how I'd dyed my hair brown but not dark enough and if I'm going to be a brunette-which really, I am but I'm not-not brunette enough I don't think-I should've gone at it full monty. So I started thinking should I dye my hair back to almost red- not quite- brown- or should I dye it dark brown like really DARK? Should I get a haircut? Maybe I should hack all my hair off with those scissors in the Schlitz beer mug on top of the fridge. Would I look good with bangs? Maybe I should get a perm. Maybe I should chop off all of my hair and buy a blonde wig. I should start wearing make-up---I'm too old to think I can get away with not wearing make up. I should take up dancing. I'd make an excellent dancer. Maybe belly dancing. Is there a combination belly dancing Irish step dancing excercise routine? I need to work out. Yoga would be good. My back and neck have been bothering me a helluva lot recently. I don't want to gain weight. If I get fat again I don't know what I'll do.

Then the commercial break was over and I went back to watching the show. L&O is hiring too many attractive people. Is there anyone who doesn't watch SVU or TBJ and not think "Goddam is hot?" Yet, none of the lawyers or cops I know would I allow eat crackers in my bed. They could eat burgers on my lawn maybe, or pizza in my living room, but not crackers in my bed....who came up with the concept? Crackers in bed? Is that some kind of really exciting pastime I'm missing? I rarely eat in bed. I mostly sleep there. Or toss about and try to sleep anyway. What with how there's no TV in my room so why hang out in bed whilst conscious? Oh--that--yeh---I try to avoid that--- last time ended with what scholars call "untellable narratives" after all.

Then the show was over and I still don't know if I like the color of my hair. Not that it's that far fromt the color it normally it is...Maybe I need highlights...I need a vacation.

Thursday, April 07, 2005

What is it about me?

Work. A regular. One of my favorites. Comes in. Haven't seen him in awhile. Don't know what's been going on with him-it's been close to a month I think-but I was away for awhile with vacation in the mid-West.
"Hey man. How's your life again?" I ask as I pull his shots for his drink. Don't even have to ask his order.
He then starts on telling me and it's awful. Every word. Everything. Life sentence kind of stuff. If half of it were true it would be out of control but I can't imagine someone making these things up. Unless he's psychotically histrionic-which I would think would play out differently than this story. And I listened and he told me more and I listened and he told me more. Life tumbling in shreds over a warmed up frap and I am all the time wondering why he's telling ME. I'm just the barista after all. A stranger who happens to know what he drinks before work. But I'm behind a bar. I've got a rag that I use to wipe up the counter and I ask "How ya doin' buddy?" A bartender in the post-modern age of recovery and speed addiction over depressents. We have to keep going. No matter what happens we have to keep the fuck going. Even when things tumble down around and bad news is the only news you're getting there's no cause for giving up and staying in. Least not if you're strong.
The other girls working must not have been paying attention cuz they were sort of-glib, at the least and dumb as fuck more precisely. When he rattled off some choice words-appropriate if you ask me- one of the girls said "oooh! that's a naughty word! you shouldn't be talking like that!" and I thought "you aren't in this conversation so you shouldn't be saying anything about it go back to bitching about whatever ailment you have today courtesy of your PDR--what is it today anyway? tuberculosis? gangrene?" but I didn't say that. Maybe the people at work really are sick all around me and victim of every conceivable and inconceivable aiment known to humanity and a few new ones and I'm one of the few able to crawl through life without too many sicknesses that keep me out of commission. Seems that way anyway. What with G sick as he is and now this story I got today and what we were talking about yesterday about the melt downs. Maybe everyone's just really really sick-maybe even Acting President of the Disease of the Week Club has had every misfortune she's claimed and is just really unlucky. Maybe little old hard drinking, barely sleeping, anxiety having, muscle aching, head throbbing, always worried the madness will come back me is the healthiest person I know.
Jesus Christ on a bike that's a fuckin scary thought.

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

Time After Time

The second years took comps today. In class the three lucky souls who get to evacuate the program looked dazed and drained. Good Lord that's me in a year! I'm terrified. I'm not ready for that sort of stress. R sez in previous years there's been one spectacular meltdown per class but his class hasn't had one. If at all possible I'd like to avoid being the flame out for my class. Unless I can do it all Loretta Lynn onstage mumbling about "living my own life" that might be fun. Yeh, so I've survived the first initiation. The first semester where "If we can keep 'em past Thanksgiving they're probably in for the long haul." And I survived prof who shall not be named. I'm doing pretty effin good in theory too by cracky. So I guess it's all about what can I make myself do and making myself not have a breakdown is a big part of that. Tho I'm pretty fuckin close to one now.
At school I don't talk to people much. Because I feel very outside and don't know how to really be inside. Tho there are people with whom I am friends. Most really-we are few and if we've made it this far we have to stick together. But meaningful conversations come few and far between. Maybe it's opportunity-I breeze in and out and have a long drive on either side and don't feel too chatty in the interim what with all the disciplinary theorizing and shite going on. But today there was some good accidental conversation. I'd left the FAC and was doing battle with my MD and bitching at the rain when R walked out and we had good craic about the program and the ring of fire we had no idea we'd fallen into. And it's rare craic didn't need booze-tho we should've gone off for a pint-just to celebrate comps after all. Maybe next week---I have 2 projects to do and 2 finals and 3 weeks worth reading and the entire state of California is coming to stay at my house at the end of April so I kinda have some shite to do don't I. Relaxing month ahead of me-no panic attacks for me. I'll have to have them sometime in mid-May after finals and before Little Girl gets her Ivy shrouded diploma. It just seems due a collapse of epic proportions.

So enough about school. Today was a very good day at school there was a cohesiveness we are all in this together-first years, second years, those poor souls in the 4 year plan we are all in this for better or for worse and there is an end in sight. We'll be hanging with Chuckie R. Law before we know it.

Random bit of otherness---the majorthinkers were culture creators for cyndi lauper. helped shape the image for which she became known-quirky punky (but not too punky to be frightening) girly thing. cyndi lauper was the first person I emulated. the first album I remember buying with "my own money." LK was one of the majorthinkers. so the same person who influenced my fashion when I was 8 is influencing me 20 years later in more direct and similarly indirect ways. Isn't that sorta ultra post-modern pre-destined creepy?
Or am I on drugs without my knowledge again?

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Jealous? You should be

Today was "Fried Chicken Day" at the bucks. Course, as you can imagine we were all real damn excited. Cuz-you know-fried chicken- that's exciting. We were all hungry as hell by the time we got our chicken (from KFC, tho I had expressed earlier that I thought better chicken was to be had at Church's-also okra...mmmm...okra....but no one listens to me so whatever) We had all said that it was essential we had biscuits. Everyone loves biscuits and they have to be good for you-if only from a soul stand point. One must feed the soul after all. We sent hipster young'un because he had to go to the bank or something of that nature. I dunno-personally I think all errands should be run by me but that's because I think I am best at errand running and not at all prone to wandering off and spending 3 or 7 hours being distracted while getting paid. But, whatever, I get paid almost enough to live semi-like normal people as long as the dole holds out---thank you Being for the dole I can't even begin to say how different life is now that every dime isn't going to surviving. And I think I'm in a better mood most of the time since I'm not living on peanut butter sandwiches and potatoes. Also I have extra change to put toward fried chicken night.
So we're all standing around-talking about how much fried chicken we're going to eat and what sides we need and all the biscuits going to have. If this was on TV people would write angry letters to the station. Stereotypical shite. Real funny too.
Anyhoo-the chicken rolls in. Two buckets and two sides. The sides are effin skimpy for one thing. Like there was enough potatoes for me but I had to split 'em with three other people. So I didn't get nearly the tators I would've liked.
We all flocked back for out dinner. I still had the headset on while set into that poor bird like I ain't seen food in decades. The lot of us were like that---ripping meat off the bone stuffing potatoes into our mouths it musta been some kinda unpleasant vision. 4 healthy young people gnawing at grease soaked lousy fried chicken like we'd just broken a hunger strike. We really ordered too much food. We must've had 30 pieces of chicken. For 4 of us! Well, about 5 minutes our joy moved to sorrow as we got all full and semi-naseous. Probably the nausea was because damn KFC didn't give us any effin biscuits. I'd said I wanted biscuits! Don't come back without biscuits! And didn't that boy come back without biscuits. Dammit. That's why we all felt so like crap--we needed biscuit goodness is why.
We ate and ate and we were just too freakin full and there was an 8 piece box left. So I packed me some lunch and B and JD and Z spread the word that much fried chicken was to be had please eat it so we didn't feel obligated to purge and go back and eat more. The lot of us walking around moaning-"Why did we buy so much fried chicken? What made us think we needed $40 worth of fried chicken? Who ate all the potatoes? Next time we don't buy so much fried chicken--more sides, less chicken. Damn, that's a lot of chicken."
It was really funny at the time---all the chicken all that grease all the money we spent and we couldn't barely make a dent. There are starving people on Broadway but we're gorging on fried chicken at the ghettobucks. Hoo! It was silly.

Monday, April 04, 2005

The trains blow their whistles at the crossings-the crossing is 50 yards from my door- and we all wanna hear a fuckin train song.
There's a pall in the air. Stale cigarette smoke and hungover light. We crawl out of our beds sometime after noon. Unless we have work, holding our heads drinking liquid vitamins and moaning against our throbbing skulls. Else we sleep as late as we can-passing out early in the evening with the bottle spilling on the carpet. God forbid it's red wine we decided to get wasted on that night. The East Nashvillian without an addiction is the East Nashvillian in recovery. Aren't all neighborhoods like that? Only difference is the better neighborhoods pretend they're above it and harbor desperate housewives. There are no desperate housewives in East Nashville-that would require having a husband who made enough money that one income was enough to pay the bills. Unemployed musicians, unemployed something idealistic barely employed job hating miserable artists scowling behind whimsical smiles that's the basic population here. We're just happy the lights are on and that no one's knocking on the door to take away the car. Then again on bad days both of those things are possible.
At least that's the way it seems when I'm drinking another round of Yazoo at the 3 Crow and mourning a bar I was never in. Wondering how I'll pay for the beer and chips the bank is far away and I usually spend my tips on gas and food. Longing for a cigarette no one shares with me cuz the rumor around town is that I quit. Doesn't take long to be part of the gossip here. A few months and the next thing you know you're a native and the bartender at the Cafe knows your drink and won't take tips. Maybe he's the owner, I should know this shit by now and probably someone told me but I went and got too drunk and forgot. Nashville is a big small town and East Nashville is Mayberry on acid.
"Where do you live?" everyone asks that.
Then when someone says East Nashville there's a filing away. Because there are levels of East Nashville. I don't live on Shelby or Holly or Woodland or 14th so I am less so. But I have the train tracks. Lots of people don't have the 6:45 to wake them and remind them that they're immigrants and this is their adopted country. It's a better part of town. Like moving to SoHo without having to sublet an apartment in Alphabet City-I lucked out and that is all.

Case you weren't sure from whence the name came

Yesterday, on my way into work, I was having a really pissy mood fest. didn't want to be awake-didn't want to deal with people-I hate people, I just wanna sit in my apartment and listen to music and play in the yard- shite like that you know. Til I heard Conservative Christian Right Wing Republican Straight White American Males on the XM. Then I felt like all was right in the world in a totally left kinda way---


Conservative, Christian, right wing republican straight white american males
Gay bashin, black fearin, regional leaders of sales
Frat housing, keg tappin, shirt tuckin, back slappin haters of hippies like me
Tree huggin peace lovin porn watchin pot smokin lazy ass hippies like me

Tree huggin love makin Widespread diggin hippies like me
Skin color blinded conspiracy minded protestors of corporate greed
We who have nothing and most likely will 'til we all end up locked up in jails
By conservative Christian right wing Republican straight white American males

Diamonds and dogs boys and girls living together in two seperate worlds
Following leaders up mountains of shame looking for someone to blame

Diamonds and dogs boys and girls living together in two seperate worlds
Following leaders up mountains of shame
Looking for someone to blame
I know who I like to blame

Conservative Christian right wing Republican straight white American males
Soul savin, flag wavin, Rush lovin, land pavin, personal friends to the Quayles
Quite dilligently working so hard to keep teh free reigns of this democracy
From tree huggin, peace lovin, pot smokin, folksingin, barefootin, lazy ass hippies like me

Todd Snider Rules! (which in fact, is a Todd joke)

And we have yet another blog---aren't you excited? I sure am.