thematic schizophrenia

So, the bad news is, going to gay bars (at least by myself) still does and perhaps always will drive me to the absolute borders of panic attack. This really has nothing to do with any issues I have surrounding my sexuality. At least not my acceptance of it. Any confidence I have throws itself out the window, leaving me to drink heavily and chainsmoke heartily just so I have some prop to hide behind. Why is it so hard to just go up and talk to someone? I was definitely feeling prowl-y (to put it fucking MILDLY) but I think I was alarmed at my own response in dealing with the unwanted suitors, like the drunken George Takei clone (seriously, it looked exactly like him (and yes, I know it is a dorky thing to note and reference but this is what you're dealing with here, people!)) that tried to throw himself at me FOUR fucking times. He couldn't even remember that he had done so previously after each time he came up again. I wanted to be really fucking rude and cold and just walk away in a huff instead of trying to be polite and while transmitting my complete lack of interest. But I know my comrades practice no such politesse. I just couldn't get drunk enough to stop caring, at least not on my end of the month budget coupled with the responsibility of driving myself home.

Okay, enough of that shit. It's just driving me mad because I refuse to use the internet for dating and/or procuration of sex because it feels too cold and inhuman. But I can't quite hack the gay bar scene unless I'm blowing lines. So I feel like I'm inviting myself to a new version of the same old sexual drought I've lived my entire life in. I don't want to perpetuate that. But do I really want to date? Ummm....no. As usual, I have no idea what I want and lack the savoir-faire to procure the activities my loins demand.

Let's talk about...movies. Last night I watched Nausticaa and the Valley of the Wind, which is one of the very early Miyazaki films, predating the establishment of his brilliant Studio Ghibli production company. A lot of themes of his best work is represented here: human desecration of the natural world and its consequences, shifting alliances, heroes who sacrifice their lives and are resurrected, etc. I would by no means say that it is one of his better films, but it stands up incredibly well 22 years later. It was fairly recently re-adapted and re-released (to video) with better translation and voicework that its earlier incarnation, much like Castle in the Sky was. This film contains a lot of what I like most about his films: almost too much imagination coupled with a comparatively simple moral sensibility. I thought the same message, of humanity's dangers to itself and the earth, were more elequently stated in Princess Mononoke, but this film is absolutely worth watching, if you are a fan of Miyazaki's work.

Tomorrow, I start my training in coffee land. This is damn good news and I am thrilled to have some new things happening.

themes on a cemetary

Today in Austin, TX: filthy gorgeous, never seen such springtime as this - absolute dream of clear skies and seventy-something degrees, light wind, epic sunshine. Naturally, all this made me want to walk through the cemetary.

I don’t know if I have properly expelled upon my penchant for cemetery jaunts. It probably started in Scotland - walked through the fucking coolest cemetary ever in Stirling, that actually was misted over with fog and age and improbable greens. But it reminded me of the allure and frequent emptiness of such places. I can even still remember the funeral where my mother’s mother is buried, in Woodland, California. I’ve maybe been there three or four times in my entire life, and over fifteen years ago to be certain. Yet I remember it vividly.

In Missoula, when living with my brother in my last semester of college, we lived right next to a cemetary, which was across the street from a softball field. And by the gods, if you don’t know about my love of juxtaposition of extremes, lemme make thee aware: I love it. I used to have people over there for ‘a bowl and a bad movie - come for the comfort, stay for the dreamy unwinding of a walk through the neighborhood cemetary!’ It fucking ruled. The various angsts I endured while living there cannot fully taint the joy of that cemetary.

So, lately in Austin when the weather pulls me from the tent life and briefly out of stoned reverie, I find myself walking through the cemetary not far from my friends’ Josh and Jared’s house. Earlier in the week, I walked there with Josh and ended up talking a lot about feeling that even if I remain depressed about where my life is/isn’t going, I’ll feel tremendously better about that if I start working more (on writing and art) and with more regularity. At least there will be meaning in my days again, instead of my life being punctuated by stimulants (coffee, drugs, literature, Six Feet Under, alcohol, falafel, coffee, drugs, repeat til infinity).

Today, I was walking through the cemetary, alone. And I have made no progress on my artistic endeavors. It’s only been a few days, but it’s just fuel on the fire of wasted fucking time. Yet I am not as pissed with myself as I seem - it actually was a gorgeous day to waste. And I also need to realize that I have perhaps (un)consciously chosen to move to a place that invites indolence to join it for a long, multi-course luncheon. Again.

Things are coming together. I think I want to stay here, for a while at least. I forgot in my hasty dreaming ahead of going west for the summer that I have not yet done the thing(s) that I have moved here to do. What are these things? I haven’t the foggiest. I still need to:

-learn how to ride a bike

-learn how to live a life I can pay for, as an American instead of a fauxfrog

-learn how to be in a relationship

-learn if I want to be in a fucking relationship by at least giving it a shot

-learn Spanish

Among so so so many other things. Basically, I want to be here until I learn how the fuck I’m going to move to New York, or if that’s what I really want, or perhaps - what precisely it is that I fucking want? So many learnings to do. I feel like I’m in the college of my soul.

Two final notes:

1.) I got to speak French with my crush from work, and if anything will get our courtship on the slow simmer, c’est la langue des dilettantes. He is silly cute, with those highbeam blues I so lust.

2.) My friend Mary from college, who lives here now, is setting sail for Costa Rica today. Last night, she tried to pull of the awkward social chemistry experiment of bringing together all her friends from differing local circles/circumstances. Among those present was a complete idiot who LOOKED EXACTLY LIKE BEN STILLER. It was really terrifying, actually. Same eyes, same chin, same features - just tanner and with lighter brown hair. He was a fucking idiot, and deserves mentioning only for this resemblance and his attempt to reason with the perpetrators of some watered down and overpriced margaritas, to mortifyingly little avail. It ended with the patroness, a Bebe-sparkled megalith of a woman, filling a pitcher with ice and pouring out how many drinks there were in each one. It was funny, but godawful to watch.

devotchka? devotchka?

Last night had only one aim. One of my favorite bands I've stumbled across this year, Devotchka, was set to play a free show last night. They replaced the vacant hole left by cutting the Decemberists out of my life - better music, better vocals, less endless pretense. And you still get accordians and brass and violins. Sososo beautiful.

Alas, the show was a product of internet rumoring, but it was fun to get out in the world again. All my experiences at free SXSW shows have almost seemed to work directly against my boiling rage at the expense of the festival and my inability to cough up wristband fees. Friday and Saturday were both swamped with free beer, and last night threw open the door to drunkenly chatting with strangers, one of my old faves.

It started with me trying to verify the Devotchka gig - I was SURE, having seen a van with Colorado plates, that they would be playing. Little did I know the event last night was a celebration of Denver music. I rudely flung myself into conversations where I heard the word 'Devotchka' uttered, and soon it was just general drunken elbow-rubbing.

Josh and Kristina licked their stamps and attempted to grind them into my wrist, leaving at beast a vaguely discolored bruise-like mark, but it worked enough to get me into La Zona Rosa, where I popped in, was told The Stills would be playing, thought about it for a moment and split. I'm not really crazy for them by any means, and I would have been even more disappointed by seeing them in place of Devotchka.

So, Devotchka was ultimately a no-go. But at least my icy heart melted a little bit in appreciation of SXSW - I feel like I never would have been so comfortable chatting with unknowns in Seattle - it certainly wouldn't have been so easy. It makes me glad I'm living here. I have a wonderful group of friends and I've only started to scratch the surface of what this place has to offer me. I find myself hesitant when thinking of moving now - surely I'll want to be here for a while longer. We'll see if my heart is still fo full of love when things start heating up.

Other news: I had my interview for the coffee shop position. It went very well, now I'm just cooling my heels and waiting to hear back. I usually feel pulled all over the place when interviewed by two people, but it was very pleasant, fun even. I'm eager to see where this goes. And, of course, all a'gush that I have a friend like Renae who thought instantly of me when an opportunity like this prevented itself.

Also - I saw the cover for the new Tom Spanbauer novel Now is the Hour and stumbled across a mini-synopsis. Just seeing it made me feel like I was going to start crying a little - which I realize sounds very unstable, especially considering my general inability to cry (it's true). I don't think it was out of sadness, strictly - though I suspect that waiting until May to read it is going to be a BEACH. It was more like...needing that novel right now. I need to be moved, rocked, and rendered unable to leave my home by a book right now. I can't wait for it to come out.

you already know how this will end

Filling out job applications always makes me cringe, usually because seeing the last year in such a literal context fills me with feelings of inadequacy. But the good news is I'm filling out a job app, right? My friend is working to jobpimp me a spot at a cool little coffee shop here, thereby facillitating my leap into the ultimate post-college professionally-disenchanted cliche. Which is not a fucking bad thing, really.

I need this opportunity to boost my local celebrity status. Not to mention, oh, ensuring my financial survival. Plus, word from my jobpimp is this place is quite the hotspot for young gay men. And if I'm going to embrace the concept of using my degree to sling coffee, I might as well take it all the way to service industry sleaze. In a classy way, of course.

This morning, I'm listening to my 'Smoking Out the Basement Window' mix, which is the soundtrack of my days back in Montana before moving to Texas. I spent many post-restaurant hours staring bug-out-edly into wood paneling listening to that mix. Odd to hear it again now, so much later, as I am returning to the world of working way too hard for tips.

Other news: my beautiful Agnes requires numerous repairs. My fear grows hourly. The time has come for me to attempt to bribe and beg my ex-neighb into doing some repairs for me.

good thing my picture is green

Cause I'm wasted. Yup, you betcha. Happy drunkydays, my little babypoos. Um. What was the point of tis entry again?

Oh yeah. I went to some fsbuylous shows today. Spank Rock in the morning, millions of free drinks inbetween, Islands tonight. I saw the Unicorns when I was 21 with Josh and Jared in Denver (KURT too, obvs) so seeing them with at least Josh was sosrt of magicky - they had a bass clairnet, oboe, two violins.....gawds, if I had become an oboeo virtuoso and emigrated young to Canadia, I could be in Islands right fucking now.

Now, it's official. I'm blasted.

South by...oh my gawd, I tried to focus on my friend's face but my eyes kept spinningt.

lawd almighty

Witness me posting twice in two days.

I am about to inheirit the first half of my split weekend and things are still looking very boozy on that horizon. Can hardly wait!

Every time I get caught ascending one of the soaring on/off ramps down by my neighborhood, I feel like I'm going to go flying right off it and crash to my death. It is not what would be characterized as a pleasant sensation, but may have everything to do with being bugged-out-high and driving at the same time. Whoops!

Now here's the insight into my world of personal madness: I live and die by the moment I refer to as 'my birthday o'clock' meaning both 12:22 am and 12:22 pm. For some reason, I find excessive magic to exist around these two minutes, especially when you see the clock blink from 12:21 and 12:22 (childishly unrealistic wish optional). I love that I'm always awake for both of them.

Until next time.

at long last!

Okay, so I'm going to give this a go. I've been feeling rather wildly uninspired lately, but each time I start writing a new blog entry, I just get lost in my own attempts to explain or characterize this feeling. So I'm not going to. It exists, it's boring the shit out of me, and the best I can do is plow through it, try and inspire my own damn self and move the fuck on.

I've been watching Wong Kar Wai lately, both In the Mood for Love (which I'd never seen before) and Fallen Angels (which I fucking adore). I guess I feel like they've been making me think way too much about the absurd hide and go seek game I'm playing with my own heart. His characters are always hiding their real feelings behind some trick, some impossible prop that seems transparent to the viewer but the character needs so much to cover themselves with.

I feel like I'm playing a similar game with myself. I want to be with someone right now, at least physically. But I feel way too crazy to let someone get much closer than that. But of course I do. So what do I do? Nothing. Not a fucking thing. Part of this neo-hermitude is specifically the avoidance of all things outside world-y.

But it's South by Southwest. Lots of lonely out-of-towners hitting the streets. I have all of St. Patty's day off and nothing but free shows and drinking on my list all day. I'm going to get out into that fucking world and demand the bounty owed me. And by bounty, I do mean booty.

Other news: Broken Social Scene has officially become my musical tortilla. Allow me to explain: living in Austin cultivates the feeling in one that any food not in a tortilla is fucking stupid. Breakfast tacos, home-made improvised quesadillas, burritos....indeed, anything not apparently wrapped in a tortilla is often neither cheap nor adequately satisfying. Broken Social Scene and its many musical off-shootings (Metric, Stars, Raising the Fawn, Jason Collett) are all currently dominating my personal charts. The only hopeful breakthrough lies in hometown heroes I Love You But I've Chosen Darkness, who inspite of having a woefully clunky yet awesomely sweet name (surely a recipe for disaster, non?) managed to put out a beautiful, '80s dark Britrock evocative full length. I can't stop listening to the song 'We Chose Faces' over and over and over and over and over. Unless I think of those lovable Canadian tortilla-ists.

Okay. I actually wrote a real blog entry. I'm going to try and drop little posts more regularly that are a little more self-contained and individually focused, instead of throwing together some sprawling bullshit after weeks and weeks of not posting. Here's hoping!