Some theologians differ on the actual composition of the Holy Trinity...So I'm 28. And where the hell have I been, young man? Around and around. In faraway fields and local dive bars just waiting to have something to say--even if it isn't that important. I think I was waiting for a funny anecdote or observation. But this entry may be visual content and random musing heavy since I've probably got nothing...
The girls at the Chinese restaurant. I'm talking about the girls who work there. Waitresses, hostesses or whatever they are. When they're helping me, they're speaking English to me. But while I'm waiting on my takeout, they start conversing heavily in Chinese or Mandarin or whatever and giggling and laughing like laughing hyenas. Who are Chinese. And as I stand there waiting on my suspiciously inexpensive sweet and sour chicken and vegetable lo mein, the occasional glance comes my way from one of the girls and then the other. I'm convinced they're talking shit about me. And if they're not talking shit about me, be sure that they're talking shit about you.
There is no question that being an immigrant or part of an immigrant group in America is difficult. Believe me, the bilingual ability of these people is their secret little kick in the pants to us Americans for whom English is the Jesus America Eagle Stars and Stripes official and ONLY and superior language. I know enough Spanish that I've understood Mexicans talking shit about the goofy white suburbanite two feet in front of them. I've always prided myself on being a dick always looking for ways to improve my dickish ability. The next step is to fully master a second language. Maybe I'll actually learn Mandarin or Chinese or Dim Sum or whatever language it is and go back into that place and secretly listen in to what those girls are saying to each other--only to be extremely disappointed that they're simply discussing American Idol and that the "American Dream" must actually be to become as unoriginal and boring as the rest of us...
And now for a mid-column break with a comedy duo that were at Bonnaroo that I didn't get in to see but for whom I am honored to have shared the same breathing space. Flight of the Conchords. I love touching love songs about sex and love and heaven and touching...
So some of you want to know about Bonnaroo and why the hell it took me so long to write about it? Honestly, I plan to keep this part somewhat short but you'll get the gist.
My road trip contained a lot of time for personal reflections both at the festival and on the road--none of which I feel like beating you down with. Let me touch on the important things.
Road trip there. Caravan. Me and a ton of shit in one car, three girls who are much hard core-der than me in another. Drive, drive, bathroom stop, drive, bathroom stop, drive, drive, lunch, drive, bathroom 30 minutes after lunch, drive, drive, Memphis. Shitty Yahoo Maps directions, lost in Memphis, finally found in Memphis, hotel, Hooters (surprisingly, their idea), sleep. Grocery store, drive, drive, bathroom break, drive, Manchester! Victory! Wait! Yes. Wait. In line for an hour plus an hour, plus another three hours. Randomly get out of cars, talk to strangers from every fucking place, drink beers while girls in aforementioned caravan get fucked up and up and up in a prelude to their festival festivities. Arrive, get searched (kinda), set up tents, drink more, meet more, go out to shows at night, get sick from the cloud of dust that is caused by the formula of 80,000 people plus big open field plus prolonged drought. My allergies make me feel like a huge pussy but I fight through it as much as I can. Hard core girl #1 pees next to my tent in the middle of the night, angry neighbors annoyed by the noise of the hard core group throws shit at their tent and hit mine. Music, music, music, beer, sandwich, cereal bar, music, everything smells like weed, b.o., shit, and feet. Music, music. Walk, walk, walk, walk, music, music, walk, walk, smoke (implied throughout), though no drugs for me because the combination of Claritin, beer, and dehydration was enough high for me. The sun and the port-a-pottys melt away all illusions both created consciously and subconsciously about women. At our cleanest, women are still cleaner than men. Four days at an outdoor festival is the great equalizer. Ah, the look on people's faces in the morning at the "toilets" after a night of concert-going and going crazy. Perfect and terrible. Met two cool guys from Nebraska who I hung with--one of whom looks like Josh Homme from Queens of the Stone Age. Met a Scottish couple who were cool as shit while watching Lily Allen who I didn't want to like but ended up loving (Lily Allen, not the Scots). Bonnaroo security are a combination of fascists and indifferents. Smoke, ingest, fuck, go topless, do whatever. Don't you dare, however, bring beer into the concert area when there is plenty of good six dollar beer to be sold. Saw the Scottish couple again at the Decemberists but it wasn't as magical this time. Can the guy see into my head and know how much I want to fuck his wife? Music, music, music. My favorite five shows for various reasons and in no order that means anything: Lily Allen, Regina Spektor, The Hold Steady, Franz Ferdinand, and Gillian Welch. Lost five pounds on trip because in four days I ate two hot dogs, a sausage on a bun, a breakfast burrito, two apples, a sandwich and a handful of cereal bars and that's it. The memory diet. If you can remember exactly what you ate, odds are you are eating less. Sunday night, pack up and drive out. Drive to Jackson, get a room after three hours of driving, take best shower ever where I can see brown-colored water coming off my skin, can still smell Bonnaroo for days, catch Annie Hall on PBS and fall asleep. Get up, drive, drive, drive, drive, bathroom and lunch in Beebe, Arkansas at a Subway right after visiting my grandparents' grave sites and talking and laughing with them for half an hour and going to the gas station where I suddenly begin to cry like I haven't in years but it felt good. Drive, drive, drive, home. Story.
I hated and loved, loved and hated Bonnaroo. Glad I did it? Hell yes. Do it again? No fucking way. I'm too old for this shit no matter how good the bands are. The other beatings you are required to endure are just too taxing for me. I can admit that about myself. However, if I can get an RV, I might consider doing it again.
Happy Birthday to me. 28. Went out with friends and ate and drank and it was classy and cool and I don't understand why we need birthdays to all gather in this way but that's just the way it usually is. One friend got me a poker chip set that I hope to get to use sometime soon.
I've lost sixteen pounds in the last two and a half months. Meth is a powerful drug. Haha. Ha? No, really. Haha. Haha ha? Ha? No, seriously, hahaha. Perhaps. Anyway, I feel better and it's mostly a shallow venture as I want to look good because I never feel like that hurts with all the girls out there no matter how much they claim to love my personality and charm. There is a relatively attractive guy about ten more pounds away. I'm coming, Ladies... Tee. Hee.
Do I have any thoughts on being 28? Nope. When I turn 30, I'll describe to all of you what it feels like to be a disappointment to my family and friends at 30 but for now I'll let you guess what that's like at 28. It feels pretty much the same as 27.
Ex-girlfriend, the illusive Candy Girl is moving back home this week. Is it terrible that I'd be satisfied with just resuming a purely sexual existence with her? She's too busy for me in any meaningful kind of way, what with law school starting and all. But I'm a firm believer that you're never too busy to get busy...
The girl in my life right now who ought to be my girlfriend doesn't agree with my assessment but she's obviously an idiot and I'm content to just be a friend surprisingly because despite not wanting me she likes spending a great deal of time with me. She's got her reasons that "don't have to do with me but have to do with her own serious personal issues that she just doesn't feel comfortable telling me about right now." It's okay. They've ALL got reasons. However, there do seem to actually be some leads right now. But I'm told I'm sometimes at worst blind and at best a shitty detective.
I feel better and happier than I've been in a while. Maybe some of the weight I lost included the bullshit I seem to always carry around about life and things and such. But everything is a mixed blessing I suppose. This one girl I know tells me that she's always loved my ass. When I saw her again after losing the sixteen pounds, she smiled and hugged me and told me how great I looked. But then, while still in her seedy embrace, she cupped my ass and frowned. "You look better but you're losing that ass I love." Which I guess just goes to show you that you can't make all female ass-philes happy all the time...
Last night was July 4th and it was a very drab day. None of my friends were having any of the usual gatherings so I ended up watching movies and chilling. Around 10:30, I decided to go to the bar and have a beer. A few minutes after my arrival, a street fight broke out in front of the bar. I watched the poetic theatre of wannabe gangbangers pummeling each other and just smiled. The day hadn't turned out the way I had originally hoped. But sometimes, life throws an angry brawl right out in front of you and you just have to admire the blessing therein. I can only do so much and have so much and accomplish so much and I think I'm becoming more comfortable with that realization. Those Chinese girls have it right. Do your job, work hard, endure. But take the time to be thankful that you can still talk shit to unknowing crackers on a daily basis. For it is truly the blessings we already have and not those we're wishing for, that constitute the greatness of this life...
This is the greatest and best music video ever. Muse. Knights of Cydonia.
And this is just because I feel like it...
Album of the Week: "Alligator"Artist: The National
Song Highlights: "Secret Meeting", "Karen", "Baby, We'll Be Fine", "All the Wine", "City Middle"
Song of the Day: "Rock Bottom Riser"Artist: Smog
Album: "A River Ain't Too Much to Love"
Lyric of Possible Relevance:
"I left my mother
I left my father
I left my sisters too
Left them standing on the banks
And they pulled me out
Of this mighty mighty river
I am a rock bottom riser
And I owe it all to you."
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