BACKGROUND: Groovie Ghoulies "Re-Animation Festival"
First off, I got lucky last night.
Two words ... latino heat!
Secondly, ever since I posted my e-mail address on the upper right hand corner of this blog of mine, I've come to the startling realization that, yes indeedie, people actually read this thing, which is interesting. I got three e-mail responses from people regarding my last post about singing the Elvis Costello song "Alison" at the kareoke bar in front of Col, my ex. two of them were women who were suprisingly supportive of me and my male plight but still felt bad for poor little Col.
The third e-mail was from a reader in Buenos Aries, which is a long way away from Sacramento, California. And if it's alright with everyone involved, I would like to reprint it here.
"Hey, man... that Alison story was really something! I loved the way you put it on black and white!
Some years ago, as far as Buenos Aires is from L.A., I was here sitting and listening to taht song and thinking 'fuck! this is the gratest loss song of fucking music history! and I´d love to make the world know i feel that way!!' Well... there was no internet back then... no blogs...Couldn' t do anything about it... the years passed by and today, by plain pure browsing spree, I stumbled on your writing, which in fact, honors that beautiful song of ol' fat Elvis Costello! And by the way...You really kicked that girl´s soul! (and his partner's ass! ) Keep up the good work, and cheers from Argentina (land of the best malbec in the world!) PS: If you feel like it, drop by my blog at http://www.readingrobot.com.ar - Fernando Pont-Vergés"
There ain't nothing better than internet props.
So, my friend Jay is getting out either the 11th or the 12th, which is good. That's going to be an incredible party, having Jay back for good. Also, he just might be able to make some more sense out of the whole Col, Big HIM situation. Which might be good. They're not talking to me, especially after the Alison incident. And I'm going to actually try, over the next week or two, to post right here a little clip of me actually singing that song, singing "Alison" at the dirt bar. I ound a way that I can record it on my phone and post it right here. I've never done it before, but we're going to try.
So, about last night ...
Last night I showed up at the bar, sat down with a pack of smokes and a coffee, sat in the back, and just wrote poetry. Me with my cell phone and my dirty, scraggly black hair and my cigarette smoke and my leather jacket with a small white "loser" button on the collar, me sitting alone in the back of the dark little bar writing poetry and smoking. I imagine that I looked pretty menacing to anyone who didn't know me and didn't see the dirty black hooded sweater I had on with the words "Helper Monkeys" in big letters on the front.
Started talking with this girl. Wonderful girl. First met her about a year ago. Blonde, cute, smart. Real air of confidence around her that really attracted me to her immediately. We've been passive friends for about a year now. But she had just been dumped and I always have a story about the lovebirds so we started swapping loss stories like to crippled Vietnam veterans. I let her read some of my powtry. We talked, smoked, kissed. And then last night. And then this morning. I don't even know how to begin talking about last night. It was like everything that happened wasn't really happening, like ghosts dancing in a evening fog that might not really be there.
I don't want to jump the gun here. I always seem to do that sort of thing. It would be really premature of me to come here and preach about how happy I am and how my problems are over and how this one might be the one. I always do that sort of thing and it always comes back to bite me in the ass. But last night was just what I needed. I really felt like I took a deep breath and dived into the deep end of the pool.
Now I just need to see if I remember how to swim.
But today is Wednesday. And Wednesdays are my days. My days. It's a cool 68 degrees outside, almost perfect weather, perfect March weather. Ice cream weather. No clouds in the sky. Birds and squirrels are everywhere, running and fucking and playing and singing. And Wednesdays are the days where I get me some coffee and go out and do what I can to make myself feel better. Wednesdays are the days when the new comic books come out, so I'll be driving down to a few of my favorite comic book stores and saying hello. Then get me some Weinerschnitzagoodcheapcrappyfood, maybe get me a CD or a new video to watch when I get home.
Spend this entire day doing whatever I can to please myself. My day. Wednesdays are the best days of the week for me. And if only everyone could take some time in their lives for themselves, to just give themselves a day for themselves, then we would be a better, kinder, gentle world. Honestly. Mean that.
Two months ago, I would spend my Wednesdays with my girls. Collyne and her daughter, Isis. Playing with them, making them smile, lounging around the apartment listening to music and drinking coffee. That feeling, that strong feeling inside that you belong, that you love and are loved in return. And I miss those days. I really do. But it only hurts to focus on the past and that is most definitely the past. The future lies ahead and it's bright and shiny and filled with happiness and music and comic books and sex. Any future is a future to look forward to.
My life is like a constant roller coaster or, at best, a really long episode of "VH-1 Behind the Music." That's not to say that it isn't really fucking entertaining.