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22 november 2000
it's stuck in my head Cruising up Pacific Coast Highway this morning, listening to "Yellow" by Coldplay (off the album "Parachutes," which I now have to buy), I was casually passed by an elderly Hassidic dude driving a sparkling new Chevy Camaro convertible. His tefilin was blowing in the breeze, and I wondered how the headgear was staying in place. Such an incongruous site, nevertheless it made me smile. Only in Malibu. ~~~ And now, from the world of strange dreams, here is last night's adventure, as strangely projected on the back of my eyelids, and brought to you by caramelized onion and anchovy pizza, and absolut mandarin vodka... It was some kind of convention for lofts and bunk beds, or so I thought when I first walked in. I had no idea what I was doing there. There were two elderly woman at reception who reminded me of the golden girls or something. One was Asian and the other was Jewish, or at least she sounded Jewish, like that great aunt I never liked. They looked at me disapprovingly, as if I didn't belong. I simply explained that I was an architecture graduate and was there for interior design research, and dropped my architect friend Jen's name as a reference. "Oh, that's so nice," said the Jewish woman. "Come right over here and we'll set you up." So I walked over and she grabbed me and started groping me and trying to force her tongue down my throat. And then the Asian woman came up behind me and they had me in some kind of sandwich move, assaulting my body from both sides with warm wet lashes from places I'd rather not envision. I struggled, at first to no avail, but finally I broke free and ran out to the lobby, where I hid underneath a coat rack. My feet must have been visible, because soon the Asian woman was dragging me out by my shoelaces, saying something like "You can't leave, sweetie. You just got here, and you're one of _us_ now." And I figured at the point it was some kind of strange cult, screamed "screw this" and bolted for the door. I found myself outside McCormick Hall on Busch Campus of Rutgers University. My little burgundy 1985 Cadillac Cimarron was in the lot, and I hopped in and drove like mad across the river to College Avenue, where I walked down the middle of the street wondering why everything and everyone looked so unfamiliar. Suddenly I felt the two crazy women closing in on me from behind, and I started walking faster, towards the grease trucks. But they kept on coming, and just as I could feel their breath on my neck, I spun around, fists up, ready to fight back... And there stood my ex-girlfriend, smiling. End dream. Anyone care to analyze _that_ one for me? ~~~ Today's picture was taken before our last gig, from the top of my Hammond B-3, across the setlist, beneath my two synths, and towards a blurry Casanova, bent over his bass amp before the backstage curtain. Jeez, I fuckin' love alliteration. 22 november 1999: : on hiatus til december 22 november 1998: : didn't write 22 november 1997: 971122 : I guess that this journal just isn't cool enough. Maybe I need to color my pages black, use a sans-seriffed font, say "whatever" a lot, never express any positive emotion... [ swim back | email me | swim ahead ] |
