Joe Lies

"What ever you do, don't talk to Joe."

I'm picking Miguel up from the airport in an hour. huh.
A year ago, I thought I'd soon be moving to LA. Instead I stayed here, broken for months. Then healed, then truly happy. Yet now, I'm about to do what I did so many Friday nights before. Except it's all different. I have a feeling this is going to be one of those "in retrospect" moments.

Play in the Summer

I want to play in the summer
like we used to before
I want to sing in the sunshine
like we used to before
I want to play on the weekend
I want to play in the summer

by Trans Am from the album Red Line

I believe in the random ipod shuffle. It often gives me what I need, even when I don't know it. Or know that I have it. This song showed up today and seemed appropriate to the feel of the last two posts.

Ghetto Mermaids

On my bike ride home from school today, I saw a group of little kids playing under a garden hose. Squeals of excitement as cold water hit warm heads and limbs. Steam rising off the pavement, residual from yesterday's triple digits. A commingling of neighborhood children of all ages that only summer heat and boredom can pull together. As I approached, one pre-schooler, drenched in her saggy underwear, burst into a smile. "Hi!" she waved excitedly. I smiled and waved, while another offered, "it's so HOT!". Knowing what I was doing I said, "I know, but is the water hot?"

I was dry by the time I got home.

Perspective

Walking home from the library today, I heard a little voice yelling, “LEMONADE! 25 CENTS!” So, I crossed the street to purchase a glass, because Jen once told me it’s one of the few things adults can do to stay young. The miniature salesman was happy to see me. He offered to cut me a deal, by giving me a penny back. He joyfully poured the glass while telling me, “it’s not that good. It’s only kinda good”. Who says there is no honesty in the free market? I drank a sip or two (he was right) and wished him well with his business. He went back to yelling at the top of his lungs. As I walked away, I remembered the sidewalk chalk message I saw last night. Amid hopscotch and rainbows was a question.

“Is life good?”

more than a shoulder to cry on

Yesterday, I was on the phone with one of my favorite people in the world, who is in town for the weekend. He and his boyfriend just broke up suddenly after four years. Weeks before they were looking into adopting kids. He's pretty broken.

P: "I just need to go out this weekend. Maybe if I hook up with someone else, it'll help me start to heal. I need someone of the opposite sex to pay attention to me. Wait, I mean same sex, opposite from you. Hell, at this point, you'd be fine. You, T, or J. Does it matter? we're all friends."

me, crying tears of laughter: "That's the most romantic proposition for sex I've gotten in a while. hmmm..."

later that day...

me: "So, the boy who broke my heart last summer is coming to visit next weekend."

P: "Are you planning to sleep with him?"

me: "I'm hoping not to. But, I it's been about 2 months since I last had sex."

P, mischievous grin: "My evening is looking more promising."

I left early, haven't heard from T or J though.

My true love

So, the hippies have finally gotten to me. And I decided to do a detoxing cleanse. I decided that since I was embarking on a new phase of my life, it would be the perfect time. Now, I know that there are those of you who wonder how I could possible be separated from wine for 2 weeks. Or diet pepsi. But seriously, I've gone without those before. What's gonna kill me is the no salt component. No salt? for two weeks?

When I was in grade school, I used to volunteer to fill the snack pretzel bags in order to have access to the extra salt left in the box. I carry salt packets with me in case there's a salt crisis.

damn left coast influence. I need to go home.

I wish my name was Larry now

La La La Larry

Another fun thing about Larry was the sheer enjoyment we would get out of his name. One very drunken evening in our youth (as if there were other kinds), Tommy started singing all songs using Larry’s name for key words. Larry was not amused, which encouraged us all the more. To this day, whenever I hear the Bee Gees I am compelled to sing, “How deep is your Lar? How deep is your Lar? Because Lar really needs to know. We are living in a world of Lar…”


If you have a friend named Larry, I advocate trying this. Seriously, makes me laugh every time. But, then again, I’m easily amused.

I love it when you call me Big Pop Pop

Larry was a curmudgeon when we were 22. He would sit in the Archie Bunker chair and dispense his advice. I haven’t seen him in about 6 years, yet not a day goes by in which I don’t reference him in some way in my mind.

“It’s Ready for bed Lar”

This may also be said as “ready for work Lar” or “ready to dance Lar”. Insert your own name and talk about yourself in the third person. But seriously, it works when you don’t know how to tell people what you need or want to do. If you know Larry, it’s also a damn cute Barbie.

“I’m one minute Lar, next minute Lar”

For the manic-depressive, the confused, the bored, the indecisive in all of us. Try it the next time someone asks what you want to do tonight and you are torn between dancing and crying.

“Larry, you’ve gotta makka the moves.”
(said in Italian soccer coach accent)

Seriously, stop being afraid of decision making. Makka the moves.

Looking to the sky

Were most of your stars out? Were you busy writing your heart out?
If only you knew how easy it would be for you to say yes to both questions. If only you'd remember before ever you sit down to write that you've been a reader long before you were ever a writer. You simply fix that fact in your mind, then sit very still and ask yourself, as a reader, what piece of writing in all the world Buddy Glass would most want to read if he had his heart's choice. The next step is terrible, but so simple I can hardly believe it as I write it. You just sit down shamelessly and write the thing yourself. I won't even underline that. It's too important to be underlined."

-Salinger

It was a world...

In 1997, a film canister appeared in my mailbox. I pulled the tab which started with, "your mission should you choose to accept it..."

And so, the first peep scavenger hunt. A vision from two friends* to hopefully create a tradition, a reunion, a way to continually connect as our lives got busier. It's evolved, expanded, contracted, and multiplied to include the West Coast. Things keep changing, our worlds are moving on, but we keep rallying back to each other in order to keep the hunt going. When people look at my group of friends and feel wonder at our relationships, I credit the shared experiences at scavenger hunt. When your tribe of criminally insane, punk cave people has to plot to take down a group of insanely happy, robot chickens, you can't help but become closer.

*all my thanks to Toby and Chill. Happy Birthday Toby! Glad you'll be on my coast in a few hours.

We interrupt this broadcast

I'm having some problems with this. I was supposed to start blogging in order to shame me back into writing. Writing keeps me sane-ish. But, I stopped doing it with any regularity back in 1999. I feel that I have lost my voice. And I'm still not finding it. Mere tells people (and by people, I mean boys with the same name that she tries to pimp me to) that I am the peep oral historian. She's been encouraging me to chronicle. But, thus far, I'm a lousy ethnographer. Meet me at a party, and I'll tell you the peep lore, but I can't seem to figure out how to sit down and transfer it. I end up lamenting. Like now. And then I read other people who are much more articulate.

But, I'm not running away just yet. I thank you for your patience...