Free me from myself

Okay, I'm awake. Maybe I'll take a nap after posting this. I could barely sleep. What was I dreaming of? Guess who? I've got to stop using this place as a confessional. I almost dialed her number at least five times yesterday. I'll call her tonight. Blog, hold me to this.

Please, come inside

So...

Yeah.

I picked my wife up from LAX when she got in at nine. I asked her how her trip went and she told me fine. I asked if anything fun happened, and she kinda responded. I guess (or I guess I know) she was staying with her married friends Linda and Shawn, and Linda is now five months pregnant. "A lot of baby talk." "All their friends now are couples." I didn't have the nerve to ask if she mentioned me. "I've still got a half pint of Jack Daniels, you want to have a couple drinks tonight?"

Cut to: her apartment. Some Beck (Sea Change). The full story of boredom on the East Coast. Petty jealousies. Insults directed at Aili's choice of profession. Flirting. Mutual flirting. An empty bottle of Jack, mostly her doing. A comment "What I'd really like is some hard dick in me right now." (and that's burned in my brain for keeps). Nicotine stained kissing. Clumsy touching. Briskly removed underwears. A lack of condoms brushed off with quick comments about our relative cleanliness. Thrusting. Premature ejaculation.

"What you wishin' see I'm keep you up all night,
for a long time so I'm countin' away.

Break me off,
show me what you got,
cuz I don't want no
one minute man."

I wanted to spray paint in turquoise my apologia on her living room wall. I told her that I had spent the last couple with my family (see the post two back). I wanted the chance at more foreplay, to perhaps even the score as it were (though decidedly after a shower on both our parts.

"Well, you got what you wanted." Did I, did I? We laid there in her living room, mostly naked (my shirt was still on [though my socks were off], her shirt was still around her neck), and I started in by saying it had been a while for me. An awkward conversation ensued. I stayed the night. We woke up early and I apologized in a fashion. And now I'm more confused than ever. Work went well for a while, but I had to stop for a bit and decompress. The questions in my head about what to do and not to do (calling, flowers, etc.) are still circling me. I didn't call today. Perhaps it's fair to suggest that if she likes me like that, I can do no wrong, and if she's offended, then I can do no right. She's going with me to a birthday party this weekend (and maybe if she can swing it this thing I'm doing on Thursday), unless she cancels.

And so I return to the profound wisdom of Russ Meyer: "One wonders if that the fucking that you get is worth the fucking that you get."

Stating the obvious

The cult of Bettie Page is stupid. I get it, she's cute, and I get the fetishistic appeal of her. But she's one step above Miss November 1978.

Aili's getting into tonight. Gotta get her. And watch Havoc. If I have enough time when I get home. I'm tired and went to work off the plane. I got home early, and now I'm just trying to stay awake until midnight. Hopefully I won't be a mess on the road.

Masturbating at Your Parent's House: or

More end of Holiday weekend musings

-I'm still in Portland. My mind sometimes hits clock mode. On Wednesday, I hit a point where I realized in less than 24 hours I would be in Portland, and now I realize in about twelve I'll be back at work. And here I am drinking Fat Tire (yay!) and having seen many people I wanted to see while I was here, if only for a couple of moments (such as D.K. who stopped by briefly before having to go to another friend's house). I've got to be up at six A.M. so I'm trying to drink enough beer to get sleepy enough to crash out by midnight (sometime after I finish this), and be awake enough to board the plane though groggy enough to catch some sleep on the flight back. In the last paragraph I have deleted my use of the word home twice, once in regards to Portland, once in regards to L.A. Where is home? Both. Neither.

- And admittedly, here's what I miss about Portland. Leonard (my intrepid brother) and I went out last night to The Sandy Hut. We go in and they have a Shuffleboard table, which is being played by a couple. The girl knows me from both Movie Madness, and a Broken Social Scene show. At the bar was someone I used to work with and her boyfriend. While waiting to see my friend Pete I ran into someone I know. That's just my way around Portland. I'm "that guy" here. I have to say I like that.

- I brought up my wife a lot. I think most people don't believe me when I say I'm now married. I should have had Aili pose for some cell phone photos, real poses, to show my wife (I have one, but it's not that good). Something to remember for Xmas.

- I got to see my friends Heather and Scott three out of four days here. Yay!

- Unlike LA, one can smoke in Portland bars. The downside is that your clothes tend to stink from a night out. We were only at The Sandy Hut for about two hours max, and we reeked so much in the morning my mom aired out both our coats. The upside is you get to know if the girl you're talking to is a smoker. I'd say it's a fair trade. Portland, at least in comparison, is a smoking town. Or, that is to say, a more public town for smoking. Standing outside today, I just spotted more people smoking than I normally do in LA. But I think that's also geography. It's also 31 degrees out right now (that's what my mom's computer is telling me), whereas in Los Angeles, it'll probably be 80 when I get back. This is nice, but my office is so air conditioned that I tend to need to wear a hoodie regardless (I usually leave one at my desk for it. So Mr. Rogers). I leave for work and it's warm out, and I go home at night and it tends to be cold.

- I watched Land of the Dead with my brother and mom. She didn't care for it (shock, surprise) but my brother liked it. I still like it, but I see its flaws, which I have conceeded since first viewing, mostly that it's Canadian and small. And as a political polemic, its weight is more in the heft of the Romero canon than on its own merits - its analysis is cartoony, but that this is carried out in a zombie movie is what gives it bite. I think the film works best in context of its canon, under the dubious weight of the auteur theory.

- I'm also three hours into No Direction Home with my mom. She gets tired early. I still love this film with every fibre of my being, and will watch the rest with her at Xmastime.

- My mom's TV is thirteen years old and dying. I gave my mom some monster speakers that have warped the picture irreperably, and watching films on it is awkward, but due to the warping, interesting in its own way. Having seen most of the films I watched here previous, it gives films the thing film people want watching something again: a fresh view.

- Ah, yes, the title thing. I was concerned, returning home as I have for a four day retreat, that I would need to do what the title suggests, made awkward by the presence of my brother and mother nearby. That is, the thing that no one wants to talk about, but most people probably think about in said situation. Or that is to say, I do. But the cold winds, constant drinking, and simply being in the house I spent my adolesence has worked as well as salt peter. Is this too much information? Probably, but I couldn't not start my latest entry with that title. It's too good.

Holiday musings

- The Ice Harvest is a solid piece of work. It verges on being funny, and occassionally causes laughter, but it's got it's own zoned out rhythm. At the heart of it is the plight of hitting middle age and looking at the wreckage of one's life. One wonders if Jeremy Piven was too busy for the Piven role Oliver Platt plays. As a Piven Surrogate, Platt is rather good playing the movie entirely drunk. There's a Christmas dinner scene that crackles with nearly (but no quite) the same intensity as a similar one in The Ref. What I think I like about it most is that it's a film noir in a year that has at least three of them (this, A History of Violence and Kiss Kiss Bang Bang) all of which reflect different period of noir (KKBB for the early sort of Chandler noir, this for the beginings of the post war moral grays, and AHOV for the later perverse ones).

- I'm going back to Portland tomorrow. I haven't been back in a little over a year. It will be good to see some old friends again. I have for the last couple months plotted out what this Friday is going to be, where I'll be, and even around the times I think I'll be at some. Whom of these people will ask about my wedding? Dunno. Should be fun.

- A year ago I was still in LA, and I was taken in for Turkey day by my good friend Paul, who has done so much for me since I've been here, I have no idea where to start thanking him. All I can say is that a year ago Paul, his wife and child, Chris and his wife and child (whom I whipped at board games all night), Jared and his girlfriend, and Bob and Cathy made me feel home. And part of me wishes I was joining them again. But if I'm going to cornball this paragraph, let it be said I am thankful that Paul is a friend.

- The wife called while I was in the theater. She got in okay. She wished me well. I didn't ask her to call, so I dunno. The world is filled with people, and you meet new ones every day, have interactions, half the time with members of the opposite sex, and you recognize the differences that seperate their sex from yours. All of whom should be functionally compatible with you. Here I am with a wife. And it was such a spur of the moment "Do you mind driving to Vegas" sort of thing. We'd been hanging out every once in a while, she went with me to the BSS show, I took her to see A History of Violence, we would sometimes go to The Well and yell at each other. But I got in that friends mode I hate, and that I let myself fall into cause I couldn't read her. And now we're married, and I'm sure she thinks she can push me around. And she can. Damn it. But she called.

I start trouble at work

From an interoffice e-mail:

"By the way Damon showed me some movement. I have to say he is a pro."

The Couch

So I got off work early today (how you like that), so I'm here enjoying the new King Kong. Sweet. But it's doubly nice, cause I had to take Aili to the airport this morning, and I'm beat. Last night she called and said she needed a ride to the airport, so I made haste over, and she told me I could sleep over. Okay. So I got over around tennish (anyone) and we hung out for a bit even though her flight was at 10 AM and we had to get up at seven. She broke out a bottle of Vanilla Stoli, and we got drunk and listened to some more Talking Heads (the box was in my car).

It's weird, but I keep finding out more and more about the woman I'm married to. I guess married people go through this, but every new facet is dreamy. And there we were singing along to "(Nothing but) Flowers" and there was that moment, us on the couch, feeling comfy, and there was that moment where I knew she wanted me to kiss her. That pause, that delicious pause of the conversation stopping, the tension, the naked sex in the air, and I, well, I fumbled. I let it pass. My wife, I let it pass.

I slept next to her last night. We were both mostly clothed (or that is to say I wore boxer briefs, she a nightie), and I've yet to see my wife naked. Even this morning, I let her get up before me to the bathroom. But as we slept, and I could barely sleep, we spooned for a couple of hours. And there you go.

I feel like a gigantic ass

Let me start by saying I loved Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. Loved it. Such a smart movie. Such great writing. So god damned smart. Why they can't market such a great film boggles me. I'm boggled.

My Sunday started as it normally does, I got up and finished up my review, then spent some time going over tearsheets for the J with the editor. Today we finished early around four, and with three and half hours until my date, I decided I'd run some errands that I wanted to get done before Turkey vacation. I got a hair cut and grabbed two books for the flight and personal edification: Profoundly Erotic, and The Moviegoer, which I should have read a long time ago. The barber talked my ear off in a good way, telling me stories about his father, and about how the AIDS epidemic killed off all the good art in the 80's. As his gentials seemed to rub against me once or twice, well, I'm adult and it didn't bother me, but it was notable. With enough free time, I went to Amoeba and grabbed A Man Escaped and Cop. And it's sort of shameful that I know which I'll watch first. But I still had a bit of time to kill, so I waited outside the Arclight reading Profoundly Erotic, and popping my head up like a kid waiting for his x-ray specs. Aili took a cab and showed up about five minutes before the movie began. Admittedly I started sweating about ten minutes before she showed. I shouldn't be this nervous, I know, we're married, but I can't help it.

The movie was great, and then we headed over to this Thai restaurant nearby. Aili said nothing of the haircut, and I had that moment where I was having a conversation with myself about what a girl I am about this stuff, but then it's like "hey we were hanging out on Friday, and this is my God Damned wife." She liked the film okay, but she's not all that movie critical. She works as an administrative assistant for an Entertainment lawyer, but unlike 99% of the LA immigrants, she's got no cinematic aspirations that I know of. She liked Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, but she says she rarely goes to movies, and she's mostly a reader, but she sees "the good films when I hear about them enough." That said, we had a good dinner - I got her to laugh a couple of times, just riffing on stuff. Somehow it came out that a big cultural reference for her was Facts of Life, she had seen numerous episodes while she was growing up, and we had a nice long talk about how the show is horrible, but we were both addicted. The conversation came to a bit of an abrupt end when I said I get her the box set when it comes out as a wedding gift. "That's a nice thought (pause)." Conversation reboot.

In fact it wasn't until we split the check that the conversation got lighter. I still only know her slightly, I know a little about her childhood (she has an older sister and a younger brother, both of whom are in Europe still. Her sister is married to a East Ender and has picked up a slight British accent, while her brother still lives in Finland and lives with his partner. He's a hairdresser, so - based on scant evidence - I guess hairstyling is a common profession the world over for homosexual men), and her parents (they're still together and her mom works as a nurse, while the father is a retired architect. Crazy). As we exited I said "Shall I give you a ride home?"

I didn't expect her response: "Would you knock it off with the passive aggressive tactics, Damon?"

Wha huh?

As someone who was raised in a matriarchal household my first assumption was that she was right, and that I was guilty. "What's wrong with me saying 'Can I give you a lift home?'" "I told you earlier that I needed a ride home, why are you asking?" "Because it slipped my mind." "No it didn't." "Now you're telling me what's going on in my mind?" "Look, let's drop it."

We get to the car, and she wants to smoke. I roll down the windows, and put on More Songs About Buildings and Food (from The Talking Heads box set Brick, buy it now, the 5.1 mixes are insane). While driving I tucked my right hand under her leg which stood for about a minute and then the argument transpired. I wish I had recorded it, but this is what is echoing through my mind right now. And this is hard, I shouldn't reveal this much about myself or her, but I feel bad, and I'm trying to work through this, so if I delete this in a couple of days, you know, there you go. I'm embarrassed by my behavior, but here is an approximation/greatest hits:
"It seems all you American men are defined by your high school experiences."
"Not me."
"What were you like as a teenager?"
"I watched a lot of movies. I hung out with my friends. I had friends. I didn't date much but enough. I wasn't a geek, I just lived in a bubble, and then when college hit, I became more socially refined - I think most people liked me, but I was too busy watching movies. I entered the Mr. Lincoln contest, like the male version of the prom queen, and came in second from what I heard. Hell, I was even on MTV at one point. I still have video of that lying around somewhere if you want to see. Most of my issues revolve around Daddy, and his illness. What do you want to know?"
"Damon, you're aggressive and passive at the same time. I don't know where it comes from so can't get a read on you. It's like you want to jump me but you'll do everything but jump."
"Would things go easier if I jumped you?"
"No."
"So then what?"
"Why do you insist on making this so difficult?"
"How am I making it difficult?"
"You're an entire boxed set of mixed signals."
"A Facts of Life box set?"
"Did you have a couple of drinks earlier?"
"Maybe a couple."
"Jesus, should you be driving?"
"It's fine, quit changing the subject. You're my wife Aili, and I know it's a marriage of convenience, but I can't just pretend we have a relationship. What we're doing is a federal offense. I'd feel better about it if I actually knew and cared about you a little more."
"And you want to fuck me."
"..."
"Just say it."
"What?"
"This is what I'm talking about. I'm asking you a direct question and then you get sheepish."
"Are you asking if I would have married you if you were ugly and still gave me ten grand, well, the answer is probably. I do like you as a person."
"You barely know me."
"I'd like to."
"But again, there you go. I asked you a direct question and you danced around it."
"What?"
"Do you (pause) want to (pause) fuck me."
(pause)
"Why do you have to ask me that?"
"I'm asking."
"It's not a gentlemanly thing to answer."
"Do you want to fuck me? Would you be happy if I grabbed your inner thigh, and started massaging?"
"That's not fair."
"You know what's not fair? You."
"How do I not come out as a creep in this situation? If I say yes and you're just teasing me, then I lose. If I say no, then I'm either lying or mean. I'm a guy, I'd fuck most anything."
"There you go again, deflecting."
"Okay, I want to fuck you. I've wanted to fuck you since we met, and me marrying you is just an elaborate stratagem to get into your pants."
"Even now you're dancing around the point."
"Maybe, but I still used the word stratagem, and I think I deserve points for that."
"Turn here."
"Are we there?"
"No, you go up to Pico and turn right, then it's still about two miles."
"When we move in together, where are you thinking?"
"Well we both work in Burbank, so around there would be good."
"I could ask my apartment manager if they have a two bedroom near where I'm at."
"Can we get back on the subject?"
"This is Pico, take a right, then what."
"It's not that hard from here, I'll point it out when we get there."
"This is my favorite Talking Heads song. 'I wouldn't live here if you paid me to.'"
"I love them. I grew up listening to Remain in Light Side one every night. My sister Lilliah... Look what you did, you tried to change the subject again."
"No, what happened was that you had to give me directions and the conversation went from there. I love this song."
"I was asking about you wanting to have sex with me."
"And I was using the word stratagem."
"Are you fucking twelve?" (her Finnish accent stings me every time I think about this "Are you fuck-king twelve?")
"What?"
"Why are you making this so hard?"
"I don't know how I'm making this hard."
"If you go for a pun on the word 'hard' then you'll have to let me out of this car."
"Here's the thing, if I say yes the whole situations become inorganic."
"What does that mean?"
"Don't worry about it."
"Do you want to fuck me?"
"Yes, okay, yes."
"So you think I'm a whore?"
"Hey, you paid me ten grand."
"Exactly."
"I don't think you're a whore, and yes I would like to have sex with you."
"How's that going to work?"
"I don't know."
"Some people I know, they didn't get their Green card for a couple years after they had been in the country. Do you think I want to jeopardize that with love?"
"You don't think I'd be honorable?"
"When it comes to love... Turn right here."
"Wait, hold on, did you marry me because you're not attracted to me?"
"No."
"So you are attracted to me."
"It's on the left. Park here."
"Oh."
"I had a nice night, Damon."
"Do you want me to walk you to your door?"
"So you can make more offhand flirtations and then settle for a dissatisfied hug?"
"Is that as good as it gets?"
"You make this so fucking difficult, Damon."
"Do I, I'm not even trying."

I parked, (miracle of miracles there was a spot near here place) and got out and gave her a hug goodnight. She started crying. I held her for a moment or two before she got upset and stormed into her building.

I've been drinking since I got home, and will continue to. I pick through our conversation like a child picking through bat shit looking for the skeleton of a mouse. And I can't do justice to what we were talking about, sadly. And I feel guilty as a writer writing out her and my side of things, cause I just read through it, and I think I got the rhythms right, but again, it's all from memory. And maybe I'm playing up the good or bad side of it, I can't tell. Life is so easy to control when it comes to fiction. Here, I'm slightly hopeless. Am I fucking twelve? Am I, like Tyler said part of the generation of men raised by women who own duvets, I guess fucking so. Maybe I should have said I was a gigantic pussy instead of an asshole at the start. And I wish to God I wasn't crying right now.

Don't you Remember When You Told MeYou Loved Me Baby?

Tales of Hoffmann
I'm supposed to meet Aili at Amoeba tonight, she's leaving to visit her East Coast friends for Turkey day, and so we're doing dinner and a movie. Our relationship is what it is, you know, and she knows I'd like to have sex with her, but I want to earn it, you know what I mean? And I feel bad about this too. Like if we hit it tonight, will it be pity sex? I hung out with her and Q on Friday. Q and I are back on speaking terms again, and this was our first hangout in a while, so the evening was helladicey for me. Q called me on Saturday to congratulate me about my wife, but he also noted she was cold, even for a European. Even her pretend-affectionate is cold. And I go back to Portland on Thursday, and how often will I pocket the ring? Should I not take it just so I don't accidentally show it to my mom? When does she get to know? I don't want to tell her cause baby talk will come too soon. And how much bragging do I do withmy boys? AllI have is a couple cellphone snaps. This is fun, but running me lightly ragged.

Christ rhymes with Heist

I was thinking, Guy Ritchie should direct a movie about Jesus. Think about it, the whole resurrection thing is a heist move. Jesus and God gotta fool the peeps around them to do what they want to get done what they need done.

Week one of marriage is sort of weird. I get a lot of attention from my coworkers and friends, calls and such, but then I haven't seen much of Aili. We had a conversation this week, and we're probably going to have to get a place together soon. Sometime around February as we both have to go home for the holidays, and we both have our year leases to get through. We still haven't slept together, but maybe when we move in the magic will commence. She's told me that she wouldn't care if I brought women home, or whatever. How am I going to do that working 54 hours a week, and then coming home to write reviews and screenplays? And yet possibilities keep popping up. Someone from work suggested we have "naked drinks." Maybe that means doing shots.

He was told he tries too hard, so now he's trying too hard not to try

Yesterday was a trip. It took some of my female coworkers about ten seconds to clock my light blingage, that being the wedding ring. Some coworkers, honestly I think I hurt them (male and female), they were shocked I could get married and not even have mentioned the possibilty earlier. One coworker (female) gave me a mischievious smile and said "That's our Damon, he can keep a secret when he wants to."

I'd be lying if I didn't say I got married to have more sex. But it may not be the sex I was thinking it would be. If your marriage is similar to a business arrangement, is it cheating? I'm not sure. I mean, I think Aili really likes me, I think we've got something. But what?

And I keep thinking about the possiblity that Aili will fall for me. I mean, look, I know I'm pretending if this means more than just what it is, but my god is she hot. And Finnish. Maybe in the next couple months (years?) we'll be forced to spend some time together. And she'll get to know the real me. The one who's more than just the guy who accepted ten grand to marry a near complete stranger. Fingers crossed.

You may say to yourself, my god what have I done?

The Fugitive Kind
O.C. and Stiggs
State Fair

Letting the days go by... Letting the days go by.

I'm Finnish-D

So I've been absent from the Blog more or less for the last couple months. No real effort to do this thing. "What the fuck?" you think to yourself. Well, let me let you in on a little secret. I got married this weekend. Yup. Married. To a Finnish girl named Aili. We met a couple months ago near the Rock N' Roll Ralphs, and we've been touch and go for a while, but she told me she really needed to get her green card, so I figured, what the hell. Though we haven't slept together, and she's never been over to my place, we're married, and I have to say I'm rather happy about it. It's like a weight off my chest, I don't have to worry about meeting girls any more. And, you know, at least half the time Aili returns my calls. We went out to breakfast the other day, and she paid for her own meal even. It's going great.

I did the Karaoke thing on Thursday night with a bunch of my coworkers. I enjoy Karaoke on some levels, but as an outgoing guy, for me it's always been a situation where I feel I can only look less cool. And because I'm outgoing people tend to expect me to want to jump on stage and shake a tail feather. And it's fun for that, but I tend to want to do a good job and shit. I did Talking Heads' "Life During Wartime" and felt I acquited myself well. There are some parts in that where you really have to roll your notes, and that makes it fun ("I've got three passports couple of visas, don't even know my real na-ah-ame") The party went until two but I bailed early cause it's been a long week and I need an early night. I did join in the fun when the theme song to Enterprise was sung (workjoke) and for a rousing rendition of Baby Got Back.

I got to see a firend's movie this weekend, that was made by a veteran filmmaker. I have to say it was amazing, I mean it is just in principle, but it's nice that it's also good.

Sam Fuller is a God

Though I love a director like Alfred Hitchcock, I'm in many ways drawn more towards people like Sam Fuller, Budd Boetticher, Joseph H. Lewis. It's not that they are better directors per se or that they have better films - I think Vertigo trumps The Big Red One, Seven Men from Now, and The Big Combo - it's just their artform is purer. This though may be a white man's connection to the noble savage ideal of people who come from their own world and give us the outsiders view. God I'm drinking and blogging again. Help me Jesus.

It's just that Fuller and the others, they create their own language of cinema that isn't born of ripping off their predecessors, but people working from their own cadence, much like Bresson, or Gerard Manly Hopkins. Creating their own patois can be limiting, but like my love of Notorious B.I.G. there's something about a talent that creates a voice only their own that I find it hard not to genuflect to. There works have a raw tangible quality, something the French New wave latched onto, rightfully so, that you may be conscious of the effects of it's cinema, but that in no way dilutes what has been created.

Something I also love is what Hawks loved to do, have a third character relate who the main character is to the secondary character. What I love about this is how it not only informs us of a person, but it also does something that is so utterly human, it sums up someone in only the way an outsider can. One cannot sum up oneself, or if one can, then one has failed as a human being. We can now view the character through that perspective without thinking it is the final word. In a word: Brilliant.

Tomorrow me and a bunch of coworkers are going to bar where the management is paying for drinks. I haven't decided yet if I'm going to have two beers and call it a night, or have seventeen and catch a cab. Decisions decisions.

Broken Social Scene

I've been home for about thirty minutes, as I crawled into my apartment. I'm 29 for at least three more months, and I don't know (especially at such a happening show) if I can do the front row thing again.

I made my my way home from work only to get stuck in some nasty traffic, reminding me why later hours (I tend to work from noon on) are so god damned sexy in this town. I got home with enough time to get to my polling location and help crush the govenor's agenda. It felt good too. I then had to drive only a bit to get close to the Henry Fonda theater where the boys and girls where playing. I ended up in line with a couple from San Diego, and we chatted as we waited for the show. Leslie Feist was the opener, and since I tend to collect all things BSS tangential I had heard her album and didn't fall for it. Live, it was much more exciting, and during her set the guy in front of me got her (and her band's) attention by clapping obnoxiously. I still don't think I'll give Let it Die a retry.

I was positioned about a person behind the front, but when they kicked in some aggressive and possibly wasted people pushed their way in front of me. I eventually got some of my footing back, but I wasn't going to fight, and I was likely to be ten years older than much of the audience around me. For their second night in a row, they put on a hell of a set, and Feist and Kevin Drew dueted through three numbers, absolutely killing each time. They had a new girl vocalist, Lisa Lobsinger, and many of their tangential collabatrons (the Metric set, Jason Collete) were not among the collective, though they did have a horns section.

They closed with Track 13, after doing a disco version of one of their songs, and I've never felt so refreshingly exhausted after a show. If I ever get or have the power, I totally want to do my Stop Making Sense with these guys. That is the pipe dream. And in their final song, with fourteen musicians going at once, this rock and roll orchestra, it was god damned closed to being ephinal. Which it might have been had I not been surrounded by so many teenagers.

One the way out, I Wanted to buy a shirt, but they were all sold out. I knew I couldn't grab one pre show (and lose it to the floor), but I did find a hoodie on my way out. I thought about taking it to Lost and Found, but I couldn't find anyone to give it to. I held it up on my way out, but no dice, so I guess I did get my souvenir

They hear the words, such as "You're really special" and they... can't face the feeling

Burn!
Pickpocket

Huh. This should be a crazy week. BSS on Tuesday. The Open Bar drinking party for my coworkers on Thursday, running to WGA tomorrow. Should be nuts.

What's going on you ask, Mr. Quiet blog man? Not much, movies, counting John Singleton say "You know" 377 times, practicing my dance moves, etc.

It was the third of November, a day I'll always remember...

That my mom and I pulled up in Hollywood to my new apartment. A couple calls later, Jeremy and Chris were here to help us unload all the crap. I remember Jeremy being impressed with the quality of my speakers. The place was in no order, and Chris made fun of my couch (as well he should), but we did it. That night I took my mom and Chris out for dinner for some sushi, and we hooked up with Jeremy and some other friends to watch the election, which came down to Ohio, and we all knew it was more than likely over as we drowned our sorrows in booze. More later, I've got to (seriously) go meet with a Lawyer.

Three days to 365

When I was in college, I knew little of the world, and made my way with women by hook or crook for much of it, collecting sexual experiences like a magpie - never counting on anything to be more than transitiory (though sometimes it was when it wasn't and vice versa). A friend, Phil, hooked it up with a girl he called he "Comic Book Dream Girl" because she (who resembled Chloe Sevigny) was this hot little raver chick with rather large breasts for her small frame, ala every comic book girl in existence. As we both lusted after her (and I seemed to have fumbled my shot) I was interested to hear of their interactions, not least of all because she had a boyfriend, making their encounter all the more illicit. What I gleaned was that they had been hanging out and he asked if he could kiss her. I then pried for more details of the seduction, and he rebuffed me: "I told you I kissed her."

As I have grown older, I have realized how right he was. You hit a certain point, and you realize it's not so much about getting the power and privledge of getting to the next base, but not fucking it up along the way to sex. Sex is only one stopping point in a relationship, and usually comes before love - or as a friend and I used to joke, sometime you sleep with a woman on the first date simply so you never have to talk to her again. To a certain extent, when you hit a certain age and setting, if you are kissing on a girl and she's receptive, the course of action is predetermined baring errors. You're going to more than likely get your groove on. In some cases, one could argue that extends even further back into the seminal meetings. Perhaps even the binary moment in meeting of "I'd fuck you/I wouldn't fuck you?" Then again work and similar get to know you situations changes that curvature, as fuckability can get into a passing grade or not passing grade with more knowledge of the subject. Though to lose fuckability is something of a misnomer with men... Losing fuckability usually means "I'd do her, but only if it meant we didn't have to talk." which can also hit a sine curve effect.