Prunella Vulgaris's compendium, or: A companion for the ingenious of either sex. The newest experiments in japanning, to imitate the Indian way, plain and in speckles, rockwork, figures, &c. The art of persuming and beautifying. Divers receipts in physick and surgery, with many other useful things. To make enamel of divers colours for gold, silver, or other metals. To which are added, many curiosities, and rare secrets, known to few, but very profitable and pleasant.
People complain about the rain but I think of all those places where the rain doesn't fall, and how there are little green shoots coming up all over the garden, and a bag of potting soil on my back porch that's now waterlogged and simply too heavy to haul up the stairs.
And I think about how now the rain is warm, and I walked last night to the coffeeshop to study for a final for a class where I could completely flunk the last test and still pass, and came home and piled up music for this morning's show which bounced a little bit all over the place but not as much as it could have and are below in no particular order.
Me and neighbor planted potatoes last night in a giant sterilite bin from target because trash cans are expensive, and then I went to the Kentinistas' for rifftraxing of the godawful Star Wars Holiday Special which was astounding in its wtfery.
A morning of dogwalking and garden stuff, and bike riding to sportsball and getting on base more in one game than I did all of last season, scoring the winning run and feeling awesome, celebrating with gyros up the street before heading out to a friend's wedding when I drank way too much coffee and got profoundly existential by the end of the night thinking about human interactions and the fleetingness of infatuation juxtaposed with the professions of undying love. My body is tired by my brain's still firing like crazy.
It's the end of April and seeds are being sown in the garden, I go down there at sunset and listen to the hum of the neighborhood, and there's girl-time and movie time and coming home to be introverted. The garden is a continual place of centering for me, a continual learning process and a way to feel like I'm doing some good with my time on this earth.
I reread my journal over the last year that I write in every so often and it amazes me to see how wrecked I was that summer four years ago and how even the emotional rollercoaster of not the most healthy relationship wasn't much of anything compared to that, I don't know what means. But I have become profoundly comfortable with solitude, of sleeping alone, of coming home to an empty house in a way I never dreamed I would.
When I see what other people say, how they want someone to complete them, that their life is terrible without that special person, I don't understand that, because no person can do that, meet those emotional needs all the time. We all have our moments of loneliness, but I am not lacking when it comes to companionship with kindred souls and that's a beautiful thing.
driving around running errands, listening to Subrosa with a fellow lover of big riffs who's not so much a friend so much as an enjoyable occasional acquaintance because we only hang out when circumstantials bring us together but when they do we have a great time.
Worked Record Store Day again this year and marveled at the weirdness, got paid in vinyl and was introduced to this fine band.
Ate gyros and skipped stones at the metroparks with the Kentinistas, listened to Creedence, basked in the sun, plotted future summer adventures mostly involving baseball games and MST3K nights.
Hung out with family.
Found out there was a pretty big melee up the street from me thanks to some crazy-ass hardcore youth crew kids, not, as the commentariat on the local media newsrag suggests, "death metal wannabe thugs and their groupies." Sad that Metalsucks has a better summary than the local news outlet. Somehow end up on an 80's hardcore kick anyway even though my days of those kinds of pits are far behind me.
Me and Neighbor heard about the incident via the cops at our favorite diner, decided to drive past the aftermath, being all nosy and making Warriors and Outsiders jokes because no one got killed as far as his Spacephone told us and there were a bunch of straightedge kids carrying on a scene that I came late to ten years ago but they still like all those bands with the breakdowns. The party antics of The Supersuckers opening for the Toadies promoted a more traditional rock and roll lifestyle and Eddie Spaghetti live comes across as Lemmy Via Texas and it was fantastic even if we were all the way in the back and the crowd was mostly there for the headliner and wasn't sure what this tongue-in-cheekness was all about.
Sunday morning I wished I was in a better mood playing songs but such is life. Came home and slept on the porch, went to the folks' and ate too much, came home and slept early. Monday doesn't feel so bad.
I didn't know him that well, but he was always nice to me, we never had any deep conversations, he was a friendly face at family gatherings, sometimes I'd run into him out and about, he was dating my sister-in-law, he was the one that got my sister to the help she needed and then out of nowhere I get a phone call that he's dead at 22, that it was heroin, and I redact an impulsive bit of internet sadness and decide to grieve and process here pseudonymously and feel guilty a bit for being so raw and just want a hug and to be able to cry because I'm sick of watching everyone destroy themselves and I can't even understand it because it's never been the struggle for me.
It was so beautiful outside when I got home and I sat on the balcony and sobbed and texted my sister to see how she's holding up because I'm afraid she will relapse too. I felt strangely alone, and I just wanted to be around someone, anyone who'd remind me that this world isn't always cold and sad and get frustrated when the people who will vent all their sadnesses to me are distant when it comes to my own. I wouldn't have to talk about it too much, I just want the comfort of presence, for empathy, for a shoulder to cry on, but sometimes it seems like I'm asking for too much.
I had commitments that night to practice for the Easter morning service at church and I go there and break down again, because it's safe there, it's where people in my world have known me long enough to know all sides of me, and there's enough hugs and listening ears that I feel better even if I don't stay for the entire thing and retreat to the lake where I sat in the darkness watching the water swirl and silently poured out my thoughts and questions to God before heading home. It was good enough for my soul that I was able to fall asleep, and I realized last night who the ones I can lean on are, and maybe that's a good thing to know those things.
I don't really want to go anywhere tonight for Good Friday. I don't really want to spend time with family members. It's hard to celebrate the concept of resurrection when death feels so real. I don't even know what I want, just that things feel sad right now and the world just feels too heavy.
I went to sleep early last night, passed out on the couch, not bothering to cook dinner, maybe it was the rain, who knows, and it was too cloudy to see any awesome astronomic phenomena.
I played music this morning though, and this time it veered a little more heavy, but I make the listeners happy, which is always good.
Hovering between fits of melancholia over tea and moments of utter bliss was this weekend. I'm considering seeing what kind of supplements or what-have-you are worth taking because I get weirded out by serious meds and most of the time it really isn't all that bad.
I'm sure part of it has to do with some draining interactions this past week, of lonely seniors and those on the road to sobriety whose perceptions are profoundly clouded. You're judgmental, you really don't like me and just pretend to. And if I didn't like someone, I sure as heck wouldn't bother trying to meet up with them because I make time for the people I love. Also, evidently others don't see it that way, because evidently I'm just so chill that it's okay to cancel plans for bullshit reasons and then mumble 'sorry' and pass the buck to you when you call them on said bullshit. I'm cool with forgiveness, but I also believe in making clear that I don't expect much, and basic common courtesy of keeping your word and not blaming me for your bad behavior is pretty basic.
But I played tunes on the air this weekend, played requested Sleep and Opeth and The Sword and other duderific riffy tunes for the Saturday night masses. Got back in touch with an old homie who I haven't seen in almost a year thanks to his work schedule and seasonal ennui.
I forget the ease of our friendship, the way that we don't have to do much but just be together, and we spent a Sunday afternoon walking down to the lake, drinking smoothies on the jetty, eating ice cream on the pier and people-watching before taking the long way back to my neighborhood. It felt like summer, us in t-shirts, everyone being friendly to us in a part of town where interracial tends to bring more smiles than dirty looks.
I came home and cleaned off the balcony, talked on the phone with one of the neighbors and revelled in the warm breezes coming through my windows. It's cold again today but for everything I lose, I always seem to gain something else and that's strange and beautiful.
I admitted exhaustion today, exhaustion of being responsible for anything more than the paycheck, of coming home and feeling profoundly uncreative, feeling unable to do much besides share a meal with others and maybe read or stare blankly at the lake. The babies are easy because they don't ask for much. Of being unable to write songs, unable to paint anything beautiful, unmotivated to even cook, to plant seeds, to do anything, there are clothes all over the floor of my room that need to be put away, and every conversation has been exhausting, and sometimes the cloud lifts and then it descends again. Depression sucks. It's beautiful outside, I should be celebrating.
We've been reading 'The Time Regulation Committee' by Ahmet Hamdi Tanpinar for book club, of which two other members showed up at the house on Friday and we talked about sundry things and I drank tea instead of booze because I developed some kind of nasty cold or somesuch and woke up the next morning barely able to to get out of the driveway to go and try some kind of weird 19th century homeopathic business that worked quite well coupled with garlic and ample amounts of ginger tea. It was really good, reminded me of a less dystopian Kafka with a bit of wry Vonnegut thrown in and a lot of Turkish cultural references that I'm not sure I completely got.
And I spent the weekend holed up in the house listening to Nirvana and Alice in Chains and bringing order to my kitchen before finally feeling good enough to go over to my sister's to hang out with the little dudes and read science books about sharks to them which were mostly about how they kill and eat humans and whatnot, which inevitably led to me narrating about great whites and hammerheads in the Daria voice. We met up last night for Indian food and to walk down to the lake and let the rugrats run around the park, where fun was had by all.
FACT: The Vampire Squid is neither vampire nor squid!
I also dipped my toes into the internets dating pool just to say I've tried it, because for as many people as I know this town and as many circles as I run in, most of my friends with similar beliefs are married (I am the only single 25-35 year old in my admittedly small congregation), and everyone else is drunk and there'd be other compatibility issues anyway (religion still being a dealbreaker, especially in these times where people make it more polarizing than it needs to be). It's a little disheartening to see how semi-literate and sports-obsessed everyone seems to be, and no I don't find your love of golf and television appealing at all and what kind of craft beer you drink doesn't automatically make you interesting or cultured.
I go hiking with one of the homegirls and we talk about this, she's met someone wonderful that way, but maybe it's easier for my progressive friends to find each other, such is life. At any rate, I'm not bored, and life stays interesting, and at least I know I won't settle for being bored with someone else.
The Internet's a strange beast and I realize that I don't like the way it makes people treat each other. I watched someone go vigilante being all big man behind the computer, knowing full well all the dirt on him and the way that he's treated others, and feel that sending incriminating internets dumbassery to the offenders' coworkers is a particularly low move, but also maybe I'm not much different by the sheer act of even writing this.
but we project these images of virtue, and kill each others' reputations so easily as plot points in our stories, and if anything I feel somewhat validated that my initial assessment was not far off at all, that all my gut feelings were right, that I did not want to partake in any association with this person.Others may disagree and do but the hypocrisy and vindictiveness and the projection of righteousness from those who I know have skeletons in the closet is a little hard to swallow. Maybe we all have these things and should be mindful.
I've made no secret of my grunge love, brought on no doubt by my dad listening to lots of rock radio, and liking the Seattle sound. At any rate, here's a bunch of random Nirvana covers for the weekend.
Black Math Horseman's deconstructed one won't embed so listen here.
Also, songs Nirvana covered that got me into other bands.
The kids made me laugh tonight, the youngest one hamming it up and inventing games with me, it was good to be around that kind of love, and I realize that not everyone ends up with families that they enjoy being around, especially after a long day of a throbbing jaw.
I stop at a friend's to talk things out about upcoming summer things, resolving the small stresses that I can, knowing that it's that time when I find everything fraught with implication and what seems to mean a lot means nothing at all, and what seems to mean nothing really means something. Something about this time of the year brings out the intense and irrational loneliness that's absurd when surrounded by so much love, and maybe part of the ache comes from denying the truth of these feelings for so long.
A couple of routine cavities turned into a root canal, and I rode my bike home with the entire side of my face feeling slack from the novocaine, with my smile crooked and my lips unable to suck through a straw. The surgeon likes listening to Brian Eno and Explosions in the Sky so I'm laying there and now my weird brain associates oral surgery with post-rock.
But it's the first warm day of the year, and I overdose on feelings of summer. Stubby pigtails and cut-offs and an old Clash t-shirt and a kite bungee-corded to the back of my bicycle, as the sand swirls off the beach and I'm thankful for the sunglasses that keep it out of my eyes as it saturates my hair. The kite spins and dives and rises again, I am the only one even trying to fly one on the beach that's still half-frozen. Everyone's outside, we're all euphoric, people are smiling and saying hello to each other, couples are selfieing and kissing on the rocks and smoking weed.
I cut through the park up through the old almost-hood, and get invited to some vegan potluck outreach where I'm sure the food is good but I'd feel like I was taking advantage and it's too beautiful out to be in a basement watching a movie about factory farming, so me and Neighbor wander back down, where the dropping sun makes us really cold, and we hang out at the apartment listening to surf records and I think about how amazing it is that we can be poor and have such beauty surrounding us.
It's D. Boon's birthday today so I played a good hour's worth of Minutemen this morning, something I haven't delved into since the college years and occasionally during the regular radio slot and I forget just how amazing this band was and how little they sounded like anyone else.
My first exposure to them was on a really quite good K-Tel of all things compilation of 80's indie rock that was the first inkling to my suburban warmed-over grunge self that there was this whole other world of music just waiting to be discovered, and it was my first introduction to Black Flag and the Melvins and the Chills and Squirrel Bait and Husker Du and other bands that had their heyday while I was somewhere between in utero and starting kindergarten.
