uneventful.

Isn't it nice when the notes of a piano strike in your heart? Isn't it nice to wake up from a nap with an idea in your head? Isn't it nice when that idea makes you forget something else that ha been preying on your mind. I often marvel at the nature of love yet I demur from admitting it. It seems like such a pedestrian concern. I wonder why I consider it so much. I must have a better book to read. I must have a better song to listen to.

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!