So, just came back from dancing like a monkey at the *pst**rs L**ng* (vowels omitted to protect the guilty). DJ K*n is dreamy, but I am too shy to say anything to him like, "hello", or "remember me?" or "if I covered you in Nutella (tm) could I lick it off?"
In an excellent morceau of Celestial Music Synergy, Mr. DJ, may his tribe increase, although may it be in my pants, played "Playgirl", the very Ladytron track I'd been jonesing to hear all afternoon.
Week One as Paraleglet is now officially over, and I can say I'm settling in like a repotted aspidistra. Fresh air, more natural light, the ability to crank my music a little more, and, most important, not having to answer the bolloxy phones all the time -- all very good things. Stress levels and responsibility are more problematic concerns.
Can I brag about my shopping prowess? OK, if you insist. Yes, I did find the John Eliot Gardiner recording of Monteverdi's L'Incoronazione di Poppea in Newbury Comics for a mere pittance. Am I rad or what? EN was looking for colored hair pomade there among the dyes and a strange magnetic thing happened and I ended up in the Used Classical section (NB, kids: the New Classical section in Newbury Comics is Suck On Legs, but you knew that. The Used Classical, however, is full of the cast-offs of trustbabies who, unwittingly and unredenly sell off the masterpieces of Western Art Musick that their well-meaning parents buy them. Or else they sell off their boxed sets to buy more coke or whatever. Bunch of morons, anyway, whoever's letting go of these things)
Can somebody teach these people taste or something? I won't, of course, since it's one of the few edges I have over others -- taste, that is. I'm not tall. In fact, no, I'm quite short (one of the reasons I like the *ps**rs L**ng* so much -- it's a 5'8" client�le, for the most part. And skinny as shit. I, with my extra-small shirts, nevertheless feel like a waterbuffalo in that crowd. Luckily, I even have more taste than that exacting milieu. Good god, what's with Boston's aggressive cooler-than-thou games? Moreover, riddle me this, why am I so entranced by them? Sucked in like plankton before a baleen whale. All it takes is one snotty-faced kid looking past you like you're not even there: it works so well, you feel so inferior to them, no matter how dull and cowlike their eyes are, no matter how vacuous their conversation.
I'm just jealous (or envious, to be precise: it never hurts to get the right hamartialogical taxonomy.), obviously, envious of the many who can simply walk up to most people and start, smoothly, a simple, casual conversation, without immediately jumping to 18th-century bo's'un's cant or particle physics. I can't help it: I happen to think in big words, and then, when I get nervous, they all flop out like fish out of a bucket. Then there's the whole issue which we're not even going to touch, to wit, occasionally feeling like I need to feel superior to people, in ways more immediately manifest than the sneaking suspician I am usually compelled to bear. Typical me, typical me: stunning arrogance propped up by merciless self-criticism.
Blah, blah: so glad I didn't lose you in that particularly self-absorbed paragraph. Hope you just skimmed it.
SB and IC are trying to convince me to move with them out to Berkeley. Of course, everyone I speak to in Boston is gung-ho about it, mostly, I fear, to be rid of me. No, mostly because the grass is always greener in NoCal (so I hear...) and that California openness, that California weather are such polar opposites to close and stormy New England. To recommend it are: a. friends of my own out there, so I don't have to rely on SB and IC like I did here on EN. b. I know the area and liked it well enough, having gone to Cal for a summer Latin course. c. a nice big gay-like-gay-things-none-of-this-nancy-"bisexual/poly-with-a-girlfriend/questioning"-shit population. Even with my poor aim, the odds of shooting fish in a barrel are slightly higher. And if the odds aren't, the fish are. And (men...de...) yet: I have made a place here, I have bought a harpsichord here, I have made contacts here. I am built to move, it's true, but is that such a good idea? to piss off to the other side of the country every time the malcontent starts rising in the back of my throat?
Maybe the answer has to do with not writing this stuff past two in the morning...
love,
a