Realization: Maybe it’s not that I *can’t* do this corporate thing, but that I don’t want to. I keep resisting the adult world like it’s pulling wisdom teeth. When I was maybe 4, I used to play house with an elaborate imaginary family, complete with a husband who was a fisherman and a daughter in a red dress named Jodie. Now people are actually starting to *treat* me like an adult, and I don’t want any part of it. Responsibility? Etiquette? Luncheon conversation? I don’t think so. Someone tell them I’m just a kid.
“How do they fuckin’ know I didn’t litter?” — Tracy, on a “Thank you for not littering” sign
This weekend Amanda, Tara and I stayed at Tracy’s house in a suburb of New York, went to a Barenaked Ladies concert on Saturday night, and took a bus back on Sunday. In two days, we sipped daquiris by the pool, saw an excellent show, and inched through traffic jams singing our favorite songs, just glad to be together. But there were really surreal moments, too. Moments where I just stopped, looked around, and asked myself, *what* am I doing here?:
- Picking up Tara in Chinatown, after her bus ride from Boston on a Chinese charter tour. No one spoke enough English to tell us when her bus was arriving, as we wandered through streets of vendors selling lumps of dough and alien fruits, smelling frying fat and car exhaust.
- At the concert, standing behind a couple energetically grinding and gyrating together in a display that would have been gross, if not for their detached Tom-Jones smiles.
- Also at the concert, when suddenly two groups of girls next to us and behind us started arguing over a guy, looking like a West Side Story rumble in the making. Suddenly they all ran off and came back friends.
- After the concert: Following the general drunken herd in total darkness along the side of a highway for half a mile, then realizing our car was in the other direction.
- Walking to the bus station through a grimy neighborhood near Times Square, passing in quick succession a gently smiling man playing an accordian for his family and a man shouting like he was about to beat up some woman.
- The bus ride home, between the baby whining in Portugese and the French couple making out and the New Yorker talking on his cell phone for half an hour.
- Wearily waking to the D.C. bus station at 11:30pm, solicited by illegitimate cab drivers and surrounded by general chaos.
Update: I’m waiting to go to New York. We were supposed to leave at 3. Amanda is still working. I have no desire to work. I’ll be gone until Sunday night. If I ever get outta here.
“These fickle fuddled words confuse me/
Like will it rain today…”
Sometimes a good story sticks in my head like an old song. Here’s a Salon article I’ve always liked: My boyfriend in jackboots.
“I’m not talking about a relationship. I’m talking about… evolving.”
–Troy, Reality Bites
“Just kidding! Just… kidding…” — Deanna
Lucas: I think it’s gonna be okay, Joe.
Joe: What makes you think that?
Lucas: Who knows where thoughts come from? They just appear!
Realization: After yesterday I decided that I will never be balanced, sane and rational. I can try, and I can get better, but in the end, well, there’s the end.
Update: This weekend was Brit-pop Night at a club called the Black Cat. It just *sounds* like something out of an Austin Powers movie. The best part was getting ready to go, wondering what on earth to wear to something called Brit-pop Night. Well, as it turns out, options are wide open. The spectrum included those wearing horn-rimmed glasses and trendy t-shirts as well as those with bright red hair and red glitter pants. Mostly it felt like New York. Except the music was all very mellow guitar-based stuff that no one knew how to dance to. We looked around for clues. And we were horrified by the range of awkward and bizarre-looking movements.
“…Left his heart a blank to fill in/ Lost his faith immaculate when cupid became a villain…” –Moxy Fruvous
I’ve been updating the megaphone periodically, in case no one noticed.
Update: So I have this day off, and I don’t know what to do with myself. Walking outside for even two minutes is like a sauna. A really smoggy sauna. So do I go to some museum that I have to trek to? Do I sit around an empty office building with a mango smoothie, checking my e-mail? (Wait, that’s what I’m doing already).
“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. (I think I made you up inside my head.)….” — Slyvia Plath, “Mad Girl’s Love Song”