amplified to rock
What I find especially fascinating about this Aaron thing (man, that sounds so awkward, "this Aaron thing") is that it's a big circle. If I didn't post personal writing on the Internet, it's doubtful that he would have found me interesting enough to message me one night on AIM. But the only reason I post personal writing on the Internet is because I saw his webpage a long, long time ago (I'm talking 1998, ancient fucking history)--a webpage that featured, well, personal writing.
In other words, we wouldn't know each other if it wasn't for...each other.
Am I making sense here?
I'm in Decatur. Unfortunately, I'm not staying. (Ten points if you get the movie reference.) I never thought the Pride of the Prairie would hold so much allure. I never believed that I would look forward to a soybean-scented morning. But here I am, in an apartment with two cats and a wonderful boy who really seems to like me as much as I like him.
And typically, I'm just sort of waiting for things to fall apart. I've got my fingers crossed, hoping that maybe this time they won't. This is all just too good to lose.
Oh, I ache.
The GBV show was great. (Okay. The rock show was awesome! The crowd roared like a lion! The band was whooping on a toucan's ass with a belt!) The high point for me was "Liar's Tale," which is my favorite old GBV song (and one of my all-time favorite GBV songs). I don't know if I have ever screamed that loud at a show as I did when Pollard announced that they were playing "Liar's Tale."
Ol' Uncle Bob got drunk (duh) and talked shit on stage...that was lots of fun. He did plenty of his trademark rock moves. I had a pretty good view of the stage--Matt and MJ managed to coerce me into moving towards the front, despite my protestations that I am "too old for this shit." I was stuck amid a throng of GBV fanboys, which was not incredibly pleasant. (I love GBV, and I jump around like a jackass during "Motor Away" with the best of 'em, but GBV fanboys tend toward the "not so cute" side of the curve*, and a number of the people I was standing near were--uh, how to put this politely?--hygenically challenged. If I'm gonna have strange sweaty boys touching me, I'd really like them to be cute and pleasant-smelling. Shit yeah, I'm demanding.)
My ears hurt, my head hurts, my body hurts, I did something weird to my shoulder, and I'm existing on a whopping four hours of sleep, but I think it was worth it. All I can think of right now is (possibly...hopefully!) getting out of work a couple of hours early so I can head down to Decatur and crawl into bed with Aaron and SLEEP.
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*Exceptions include my friends Matty, Matt, and MJ, the boys in the Mil Mulliganos, and any other friends of mine who happened to be in the audience. You are all totally cute. Really!
Oh,
Hellsbelle...thank you for the link to
Pictures of Ugly Drunk White Kids. It made my day just a little bit brighter. I aspire to be like
Natalie, I want to have the reputation of being the person who will go to the store and buy malt liquor and cheap wines.
And yeah, I too dreamed of being a Solid Gold dancer. I think it was those sparkly costumes. I remember watching Solid Gold on WGN every week...I was probably 8 or 9 and I used to dance around the room when my favorite songs came on. Sometimes I would coerce my younger brother into dancing with me...I don't think he liked it very much, but he complied because I was bigger and meaner.
GBV tonight at Metro. I'll be there. Meet me at the Ginger Man (that's a couple of doors down from Metro) around 8:30, I'll be wearing my
Amplified to Rock t-shirt. Or you could always say hi at the show.
Before I go have my morning coffee, I'd like to share a couple of new blogs/journals I've been appreciating of late. I need to get my behind in gear and update the links in the sidebar, people keep moving and quitting and my links are getting outdated. Anyhow:
brilliant mistake is a journal over at pitas.com, and it's poignant and funny and a really good read.
Kev-Blog is, well, Kevin's blog. He's another publishing person (we are so cool!) and I'm gonna send him my beloved Lil' Kim postcard so he can decorate his cubicle with it.
I went to Tornadomagnet because I liked the name, I oohed and aahed over the pretty design, and I keep going back because the content is good.
The Dellazine blog is fun and funky, and it's not an indierawk blog, which makes it that much more appealing...I mean, there are only so many rants about crappy record reviews a person can handle.
Collapse used to be called "Anatomy of an Indie Rock Breakup" or something like that. With a name like that, you knew I'd come sniffing around eventually. It's a little self-conscious but it's pretty good. Mostly personal without a lot of links.
Now, coffee. If you'll excuse me...
If we listened to our intellect we'd never have a love affair. We'd never have a friendship. We'd never go in business because we'd be cynical: "It's gonna go wrong." Or "She's going to hurt me." Or,"I've had a couple of bad love affairs, so therefore . . ." Well, that's nonsense. You're going to miss life. You've got to jump off the cliff all the time and build your wings on the way down.
- Ray Bradbury
Words to live by. Thanks, Jared.
I leapt. And you know what? The net caught me, and I'm better for having jumped in the first place.
Maura made me a drink with gin and lime juice, it made me giddy and light-headed, but not as giddy and light-headed as I was whenever Aaron would sort of off-handedly touch me. A hand on my back, for instance. Or my arm. Or just brushing past me while reaching for some chips. We kissed for the first time inside Dan's apartment building, in the lobby.
I guess I'm being kind of vague here, which is unintentional, but I feel like there's so much to say that I can't possibly say it all fast enough.
Facts, I guess. His name is Aaron. He lives in Decatur. I've mentioned him before. His journal inspired me to start my journal.
Master's degree in linguistics. Webpage designer. Well-read. Creative, talented, funny, attractive.
When he squeezes my hand, something inside me explodes.
Upheaval. Surprise. Amazement.
I'm not used to things happening this fast. I'm not used to feeling so much in a short span of time. This is all very anomalous and all very...hmmm. Perfect?
If not perfect, it's getting there.
He read Barthelme to me in the car when we were stuck in Saturday afternoon traffic on 290 going into the city. He read to me. "The Glass Mountain," in stop-and-go traffic, and all I wanted to do was reach over and grab him and ask him if he knew exactly what he was doing to me. Because he didn't.
Can you blame me for adoring him? I think not.
