Thursday, February 28, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
for Marisa!
All-Girl Post-Punk Electro-Pop vs. Screamo
Then you knew what to expect on a Friday night – everyone dancing in the living room, some on the coffee table singing Daft Punk in Spanish, other short girls in silvery skirts and kitten heels, the string of Hello Kitty lights striking everyone as normal, Cynthia falling asleep in the bathroom and pushing Jessica in through the window to wake her, Jorge and Nicole lying laughing atop the broken wood slats of what was once the aqua colored patio bench, a fight at the stereo over the next song because the girl with the neck tattoo doesn’t like Le Tigre, the neighbor’s pit bull breaking its chain and tearing through the party, falling asleep on the floor in rows with the music still playing, and in the morning walking home between rows of palm trees, the sun on the water, everyone on skateboards or beach cruisers and five barefooted boys balancing an inflatable canoe in the air running towards the beach as you are on your way to a breakfast burrito and a long nap so by nighttime, you are ready to do it all again.
Now it could be anything - wearing a coat over a dress over a shirt over leggings over wool socks over more, a party in a neighborhood with no street lights and boarded up apartments, a screaming band, latch key kids and the smell of day old vegetable soup, rickety elevators covered in graffiti like the old warehouse, a broken locket found resting on the keys of a broken piano someone begins to play and tells you, “I know Moonlight Sonata,” but it sounds more like Dracula’s theme song, a mile long line for the bathroom that has no ceiling and is missing a wall, and during your turn a girl in line with neon fishnet stalkings yells, “Hey, are you pissing on the floor in there?” because your roommate’s date from the internet is puking loudly nearby, a girl with a plastic knife pretends to slit everyone’s throats, and when you come home the boy from the internet pukes some more in your downstairs toilet while you fall asleep on the couch watching your favorite show about the dramatic lives of teenagers living on the beach in California.
Then you knew what to expect on a Friday night – everyone dancing in the living room, some on the coffee table singing Daft Punk in Spanish, other short girls in silvery skirts and kitten heels, the string of Hello Kitty lights striking everyone as normal, Cynthia falling asleep in the bathroom and pushing Jessica in through the window to wake her, Jorge and Nicole lying laughing atop the broken wood slats of what was once the aqua colored patio bench, a fight at the stereo over the next song because the girl with the neck tattoo doesn’t like Le Tigre, the neighbor’s pit bull breaking its chain and tearing through the party, falling asleep on the floor in rows with the music still playing, and in the morning walking home between rows of palm trees, the sun on the water, everyone on skateboards or beach cruisers and five barefooted boys balancing an inflatable canoe in the air running towards the beach as you are on your way to a breakfast burrito and a long nap so by nighttime, you are ready to do it all again.
Now it could be anything - wearing a coat over a dress over a shirt over leggings over wool socks over more, a party in a neighborhood with no street lights and boarded up apartments, a screaming band, latch key kids and the smell of day old vegetable soup, rickety elevators covered in graffiti like the old warehouse, a broken locket found resting on the keys of a broken piano someone begins to play and tells you, “I know Moonlight Sonata,” but it sounds more like Dracula’s theme song, a mile long line for the bathroom that has no ceiling and is missing a wall, and during your turn a girl in line with neon fishnet stalkings yells, “Hey, are you pissing on the floor in there?” because your roommate’s date from the internet is puking loudly nearby, a girl with a plastic knife pretends to slit everyone’s throats, and when you come home the boy from the internet pukes some more in your downstairs toilet while you fall asleep on the couch watching your favorite show about the dramatic lives of teenagers living on the beach in California.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
you have a piece of Lent on your sweater.
Growing up Baptist, I never really "did" Lent. I always thought it was something only meant for Catholics. Now that I live in Baltimore and all the Baptist churches I've been to here seem to be southern Baptist and much too conservative (and loud) for me, I now attend a Methodist church, and they do Lent! So.. even though the 40 days have already started and I am late, I've decided to give Lent a try. My first thought was to give up alcohol, like Anita. But I was going to give that up anyway, so that isn't really much of a sacrifice. What would be a greater sacrifice is...
ONLINE STALKING.
Yes, I do a lot of it, and I mean a LOT. It's hard when you want information about someone and it's all laid out there for you online. Actually, it's not hard, it's very easy! One click and you know who that person's hanging out with, where they've been going, what they've been doing, etc. I've never felt bad about stalking people online because my thinking is, If they didn't want people to know these things about them, they wouldn't put them on the internet for everyone to see. My problem lies in the people I stalk. It doesn't do me any good to learn anything new about them. In fact, it just makes me feel bad about myself and ask questions I'll never know the answers to, and that aren't even worth thinking about, really. So I'm not going to stalk either of those people or their affiliates for -40 days and see what happens. I think it's going to be really hard, but if Jesus could resist SATAN for 40 days, I can resist stalking, right?
Saturday, February 16, 2008
And After
Not here, not still. Believing after a record number of good days that it had all left me, that I'd never feel it again, there it was. In the necklace dangling from the display next to me, in the girl standing in line, in the smokey army jacket of a man walking by, in the traffic lines painted on the street, in the water boiling on the stove, in the moments before sleep and upon waking. Would I always start and end my days this way? And wondering why me and not you, as if I knew what yours were like anymore.
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