The glisten of fresh fruit

This has been an interesting week. I was at Disneyland yesterday for the first time in 2 years. I felt immersed in a world of pristine fantasy and was surrounded by children who were either weeping or laughing. I had a photograph taken with a winsome Peter Pan who lovingly squeezed my waist and asked how old I was.
 I patted his elfish shoulder and said "I'm sorry, I'm too old for you."
He squeezed me again and asked "How old are you?"
I replied  "Old enough to have been your babysitter."
He smiled devilishly at me and said"Oh, are you a grown up?"
 I couldn't stop myself from giggling girlishly and I had felt flirty all day in my purple dress with the thin, slinky straps that left a pale  line on my slightly sun-pinked shoulders. Perhaps it was the purple,heart-shaped Lolita sunglasses that threw him off. In any case I have felt fluttery and contemplative about the questions of youth.

I got a little tipsy this weekend at the barbeque I held at my house. Cherry Sailor Jerry spiced rum is wonderful!

I sort of feel like a bright red apple. Sink your teeth into me and you might be poisoned forever...

A new chapter of an old book...

... a facebook that is. After nearly 3 years of ranting and raving against the narcissistic decline of modern day civility, whose blame I placed squarely on the shoulders of social networking, I have once again acquiesced and made a facebook profile. I can see why people find it so engrossing. It is astounding to have all of your friends at your finger tips and all in one place. My sleep has diminished. I hope my blog does not follow suit. I have two weeks until summer school is to commence so I am certain  I will have more interesting things to say.

Sleepy and a new dress...

I took a very long walk in the sun tonight. As I rounded the corner and neared my house I came upon a scrawling in what was once wet cement. It said succinctly and enigmatically "summer '05". So many images can flood the mind, the reveries of my own summer of 2005, or simply the intrepid sense of importance this person felt when solidifying eternally in cement the summer of 6 years ago. I wonder if it was written at the beginning of summer. Perhaps it was early June and school had not let out yet. The warm air makes your pencil sticky in your palm as the seconds tick away until 3 o'clock. Maybe it was in the middle of the summer... long morning languishing in bed until late, staying out until well past sunset, shrieking giggles among the moist green grass. Perhaps that summer was so lovely at it's mid-July apex the scrivener wanted to commemorate it forever on the sidewalk, so everyone treading over would know summer '05 was wonderful, powerful, something to remember. Perhaps this person knew that as it was happening...

Or maybe... maybe it was written on the very last day. Perhaps it was labor day weekend and with heavy hearts the children were sluggishly making their way back to school. Maybe the warmth and flash of summer slipped away too soon and there was nothing but the wet cement left behind...

I remember my summer of 2005. It consisted of barbeques in the sultry night air in a back yard thick with insects and balmy dust, quenching the arid evening with sweet rum and strawberry juice, the backs of my knees sticky on the mattress, new dresses coming in the mail,  riding my bike to work without make-up, 'Dear You' by Jawbreaker and fresh, cold salad at lunch.

Here's a pic I took tonight. I was feeling punk or something in a new dress...

But then I felt a little more sweet...

Goodbye summer 2005....hello summer 2011...

"I miss the comfort in being sad..."

Nirvana is always a nice exclamation point to a day... well, perhaps more like a semi-colon. It is always a nice band to continue a very old thought. I was surfing dictionary.com yesterday and came across a lovely word with a dubious double meaning... imago

i·ma·go

   [ih-mey-goh, ih-mah-]  Show IPA

–noun, plural -goes, -gi·nes  [-guh-neez]  Show IPA.

1.

Entomology . an adult insect.

2.

Psychoanalysis . an idealized concept of a loved one, formedin childhood and retained unaltered in adult life.

but it is not just an adult insect. Further definition reveals that it is more exactly an insect that has reached sexual maturation... in addition to this idealized archetype of adoration. I like the idea of an idealized concept. I don't know how helpful it is that the imago stays stolid in our hearts and subconscious minds into our latter years. Perhaps the imago isn't the most forthright person. Perhaps it is an obsession with a villain or at the very least an anti-hero... someone whose flaws are enthralling, like the mopey aspect of Kurt Cobain or the vengeance of Heathcliff... the helplessness of Louis de Pointe du Lac... the lurid obsessiveness of Robert Lovelace... I have such a long list of imagoes that have made me comfortably sad. 

It's something in the eyes. It's something in the way the lock gets tucked behind the ear. It's a gravelly sigh or just the way a young man clears his throat between cigarettes that makes my toes curl the way the guitar solo does in Frances Farmer Will have her Revenge on Seattle. Maybe it's the way the laces of black Converse sneakers turn grayish after a few months that makes my eye lashes flutter. Whatever it is I know I will find it again.

"I can't get laid in Germany."

wow! That is the best three letter word I can conjure up to emote a proper reaction to Friday night. I was taking my morning constitutional Friday when I received text from my younger brother, Jordan. "I have an extra ticket to Rammstein tonight. Can you go?"  Well, why not? If anything it would be great to people watch and size up the goth-industrial wardrobe in SoCal. Lord knows I had plenty of black garb in my SF goth days. I was curious to see the Los Angeles interpretation of a scene I still snobbishly deem exclusive to San Francisco. I still feel like a bit of an ex-pat down here.

Jordan picked me up at work and we scooted over to my house as quickly as possible. I threw on a skin tight, sleeveless black dress over my black nylon leggings and pulled on my tank-girl Doc's reminiscent of Simon Gallup in 1991. The dress was perfectly accessorized with a low slung silver, chain loop belt around my hips and then a white studded belt half an inch above it, still kissing the lower part of my navel. I pulled my hair into a high pony tail so it looked like a fountain of blond hair spouting out from the top of my head and I tousled my thick bangs a bit.

The old goth days will always linger in my make-up skill. I was able to paint a mystical picture of my eyes with deep royal blue eyeshadow blended in with glittery sliver and black. I painted my lips a deep burgundy, pulled on a slim fitting black leather jacket and was ready to roll.

The show was phenomenal. I thought I had descended into the pits of Hell as the singer bellowed German lyrics in a rich baritone and flames roared from a massive pair of iron wings extending from his back. It was easily a 16 foot wingspan. The crowd was thrown into a manic frenzy for 'Du Hast', one of the few songs I knew. It was certainly fantastic spectacle. I was alarmed to realize I did not bring earphones, but I am a girl of industry. I chewed two pieces of strawberry gum, carefully squished them into their magenta foil wrappers and carefully pushed them into my ears. Fortunately the gum stayed put and in light of the shotgun blasts of fireworks and pounding drums I think I acted wisely.

So now I can invent a new phrase for a person who has to improvise at the last minute, kind of like MacGyver, I'm a "gum ear." I like that phrase if I do say so myself...

Sweet liberty!

Ah, to bask in the glow of finalizing a semester of toil. Trudging through rainy nights with books getting soaked at the bus stop I persevered. The long lectures, the frenzied panic, scrambling for resource material, cramming my brain with dates, authors, literary terms.. denouement? enjambment? pajamas? huh? It was a great 16 weeks and now a bit of relief before summer school begins! I will be taking creative writing so with any luck this blog will take a more interesting turn. Sleepy time!

Sleepy celebration...

My professor returned my research paper about the Coal Mines Act of 1841. I got an 'A'! yipee! Now 'tis time to close these weary brown eyes. I have one more final tomorrow and then I am free for a month until summer school. Praise Jehovah!

Truly early, truly time for sleep...

I just put the finishing touches on my study outline for tomorrow's final in World Civilizations. I decided to write about the ramifications of the Industrial Revolution. The bare bones outline I came up with is about 5 pages. The in-class essay itself must be no less than six pages. Given my affinity for rambling I think I will make short work of the project and impress Professor Emo for the last time. Yes, that is my nick name for him and all his Buddy Holly bespecatcled cuteness. Who can't love a professor in a v-neck mohair sweater, plaid shirt, waif-like and with a tousled devil-lock? Ah, Professor Emo, how you shall be missed! But it was a very fun semester. I think I am now a champion for the child labor rights in the 

industrial era. I wrote my final paper about the strife and struggle of child laborers in the coal mines of Northern England in the 1840s. Those coal town stories were no joke. I wonder if that is partly why Northern England is so forlorn... I hope to go to Manchester one day. I wish I could live in England... I will leave things like this in God's capable hands. California will suffice for the time being.

Goodnight...

"Move like this"

Ah, the matchless elation! When I was a tiny child one of my earliest memories was lying on the floor of the front room in my house staring at the album cover for Candy-O by The Cars and wondering if I could ever be as gorgeous as the strawberry-blonde girl laying sensuously vanquished on the hood of a white ghost car. She looked like a fantastic Barbie doll and I wanted to be her. From that moment on The Cars remained the soundtrack of my libido.

Every Friday and Saturday night before hitting the city lights I played Candy-O as I applied my make-up, always finishing just in time for Ric Ocasek to croon Dangerous Type as I applied cherry red lipstick in a flirty pout. I am especially partial to Candy-O because of the image of the fainting sex symbol in her diamond studded black high heels, but I love all of The Cars albums and their provocative covers. I wanted to be the exuberant blonde on 'Shake it up' red lipped open mouthed laugh hair flying wildly in the wind like golden tassles and perfect red nails holding a spray can ready to burst. I loved the first album cover, too. It was a photograph of a luscious brunette with brown eyes, the flat of her hand caressing her forehead as she held the clear steering wheel of a car with risque recklessness with the other elegantly careless hand. She looked like someone I wanted to be, driving an endless joyride, an eternal Barbie doll, young forever. The profound new-wave simplicity of 'Panorama' impressed me as well. No nubile girl in a state of sexual abandon was portrayed, rather a stark black and white checkered flag waved against a midnight blue backround. It was bauhaus. It was futuristic. I wanted to join the race...

Beyond the album covers, Ric Ocasek's syncopated cooing vocals sent shivers through my body. His art-house lyrics excited my imagination. The grinding guitars made my toes curl in ecstasy and the synthesized keyboards caused palpitations. It was the perfect music for going out, the perfect music for flirting, the perfect music for raising an eyebrow. It made me want to be scandalous. It made me want to be glamourous, painted, primed, ready to toss my hair and dance in high heels.

Years passed in my life and The Cars was always a band I came back to. So when I learned they had made a new album I was extensively thrilled. Last night I lay in my bed and played the new album in the dark...fantastic...

"Who loves the sun?"

All week I have made ample note of the radiant sun and blossoming openings of late spring. Did my spirit drop since today, on a Saturday no less, slate and smokey clouds dappled sky? Not specifically. I was reminded of San Francisco so the leaden hues warmed me a bit. Homework has been galloping apace and I am trying to cram in as much history and literature into my feathered brain as I possibly can. Reformations and revolutions are battling with tone, plot and setting for a place in the forefront of my memory.

In the interim I am amusing myself with The Velvet Underground. Lou Reed has one of the most interesting biographies I have ever perused. His parenst tried to shock the gay out of him and submitted him to electro-shock therapy to cope with burgeoning suspicions of homosexuality. He was a complete schizophrenic, at one moment introspective and sensitive, at the very next acerbic and cruel. He was vehemently opposed to the ideals of conformity and consumerism and yet in the mid-1980s his song 'Take a Walk on the Wild Side' was used for a Mazda commercial... He flip flops from being an affable fellow to one of those "this interview's over" brutes.

After reading 'Transformer' and learning of all his caprices and abuses I thought myself as one who narrowly escapes a burning building. I met him at a show backstage in the summer of 2003. It was a terrifically foggy night in  San Francisco and an overweight stage hand with a thick Southern accent took a shine to me. He let me in the back door as I was lingering on the side ally off Market Street by The Warfield. I had only been backstage at a show three times before and never at The Warfield. There was a terrific spread of delectable hors d'oeuveres and that my chubby hillbilly escort was trying to tempt me with. My eyes searched the room for Lou but someone told my hick roadie friend that Lou had left. I assumed it would be time for me to leave as well. I turned to the stairs that would return me to the misty street level. Just then, lurking by himself in a shadow was Lou. I turned and started.What could I say but the typical "You put on a wonderful performance. It's a pleasure to meet you. Have a nice evening."?

Well, I went a little off book for this particular performance.  
"Oh, hi" I tried to sound composed as I ran a hand through my long strawberry blond hair doing my best Jerry Hall impersonation minus the Texas accent.
"Hi." He replied in a dulcet fashion.
"I really enjoyed your performance tonight." I smiled as though I was a beauty queen with a Phd.
"Thanks." His eyes met mine and they seemed vague and a little sad yet not in the least bit hostile or arrogant.
"My name is Claudine." I extended my hand with warmth.
His forlorn frost melted for a moment as he took my hand and clasped it surely saying ; "I'm Lou."
"Well, I have to go now Lou. Have a wonderful night. It was nice to meet you."
"It was nice to meet you, too." He replied in his softly attentive way.

I was completely giddy for the rest of the night. I got a ride from another guy named Chris who was waiting at the stage door. Cleatus the stage hand, tried to get my phone number so he could keep me apprised of Lou's hotel arrangements for the night but I declined. The brief exchange in the half shadow by the staircase was enough to last me for quite some time. Chris and I went up to Polk St. in the Tenderloin district to buy a bottle of rum and drink it at The Lumiere.

The Lumiere was an art house movie theater and I was tight friends with David, the bohemian manager who dressed all in black, wore thick Buddy Holly glasses and a black beret. Despite being 65, David and I flirted shamelessly. The 40 year age difference was only mildly amusing when I was drunk. As I was near passing out on one of the lobby cushions of the movie theater David would caress my hair in long, tender strokes and it felt like heaven. David and the rest of the artsy slackers who worked at the movie theater would kick back and play the cards for hours after closing, sometimes until sunrise. I would make rum and cokes using the lobby soda machines.

The Velvet Underground used to remind me of being a teenager in the 90s but listening to 'Loaded' right now I think more of the nights I spent drinking at the movie theater after hours in San Francisco in my mid-20s. Maybe a bit of the music reminds me of limbs entangled with my boyfriend and stuffed animals I was too old to still give residence on my bed at by the age of sixteen. I asked my boyfriend on one of those sweaty afternoons if he minded the stuffed animals on my bed. He replied "No. I just imagine you are one of the dolls."

Boys can sometimes say shockingly sweet things when you are 16.

Tuesday night reflections...

Today began with a pray and a bowl of strawberries. The coffee was nice and the bus ride to the office was satisfactory. I could sleep whilst listening to The Walkmen's masterpiece 'Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me is Gone'. I used to think it was ethereal suicide music right up there with Mazzy Star's 'So Tonight that I Might See' or Slowdive's 'Soulvlaki'. It is very beautiful but a little too choppy. It has a recurring theme, this sad jingle jangle of a mournful glockenspiel that brings to mind images of a dying snowflake process... I suppose I was profoundly touched by the story of the man who had the first successful face transplant in the United States. He said his little girl kissed him and said:"Daddy, you're so handsome." It is enough to bring to tears to your eyes. 

These past two days I have been persistently listening to music from the 90s, namely Lush, The Ocean Blue, Teenage Fan Club and The Charlatans... The Ocean Blue always touches me more deeply than most. They remind me of old friends and foggy nights in the Bay Area. Apparently David Schezel is a lawyer now. That is fantastic. I wonder if he still has the journal I gave him in 2001. It amazes me that ten years ago I shared a cab with him and my dear friend Erin.  

Finals are coming next week and I just found out that tuition is being raised next fall. I will simply grit my teeth and weather out the storm. 

The flowers of the late spring are hovering on the gleaming brink of summer and ready to explode in a full, florid spectacle of colour. Their fragrance sings a hushed melody to my senses as I stroll through the neighborhood on my way home. Flowers have an essence of divinity. Contemplating beauty that is not man made imparts the kind of peace all restless souls seek. I wish I could sit and ruminate among the flowers for hours at a time. Their purity and perfection is like sugar to the palate. The pale lavender petals of a certain blanket of posies beside my house sends me into a certain humor as I reach the door step at dusk. It is soothing like the caress of the last pale gleam of sky before it is set ablaze by sunset. I love the caresses of light and warmth found in the late spring. The air is filled with expectancy for lazy times and nights when one can sleep with the window wide. That has to be the best part of this time of year, sleeping with the window open.