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26 december 00
after a silent night Found between two pages of "O Holy Night" sheet music this morning, a card from Malibu Presbyterian Church...
Dear Charles,
Not "my thing"? C'mon now, was I not the only person in church wearing a santa hat? It's because I'm jewish, right? Or maybe I just seemed extra pissed off and morose after Mojo said he was leaving the band... ~~~ I spent Christmas offline, save for the entry I uploaded just after midnight. Hours later, I awoke to fierce Santa Ana winds funneling through the canyons and rocking the coastline. I stayed in bed and read a bit, watching the wicked patterns of wind-wrapped sun and trees on my bedroom walls. AC called to say "whazzup" and invited me down for dinner at Benihana with him and Gabby. There was something he needed to talk to me about. Never one to refuse a free teppanyaki dinner, I hopped in the shower and got on the road. It was one of those rare sunsets; I see them maybe once a year out here, always right after the Santa Anas strike. The air was un-LA, crystal clear all the way to Catalina, and the sky was striped tangerine and turquoise. It looked more like a painted backdrop than reality. I had to pull my car over next to the pier and just stare for a good five minutes. It's the kind of beauty that makes me feel blessed to have a working pair of eyes. It was dark when I got to Marina del Rey and Benihana. The restaurant was filled with people of those-ethnicities-that-do-not-celebrate-xmas. There was an elderly yiddish-accented man sitting next to me who wished me a phlegm-filled "Happy Hanukkah" after eavesdropping on a conversation that I had with my parents when they called me on the cellphone to nag me at the worst possible time. The old dude was cool though, although he complained when the chef put shrimp on his plate... "I didn't order that..." "Oh, it comes with it," I said, plopping a piece into my mouth with the chopsticks. "That's not kosher," he admonished, the phlegm rising in his throat again. "But it's good," I said, smiling, swallowing, and smacking my lips. "Eh?" was his reply. It was more like a musical note. Then he shrugged and dipped his fork into the pile of shimp and plucked a piece for himself. Chewing, thinking, the wheels turning behind the intelligent wrinkles... "Not kosher, but it's delicious." Another piece, and he repeated. "Delicious." And he proceeded to smile and finish all the shrimp on his plate. The "talk" with the ex-roommates turned out to be a part-time job offer from AC, who is now a department chair at Brooks College in Long Beach. He wants me to teach Art History 101 next semester, a saturday class which won't interfere with my current job. I gave him a conditional yes, granted the slide library was decent and I'd be able to choose my own textbook for the students. It should be fun, and it's not like I don't need the money... ~~~ No word from IceDog, who was supposed to call me, if only for reassurance that the band was "ok." Tonight's a normal rehearsal night, and we were gonna start committing "amababa" to tape this week, so consider me a bit worried. I called Wamba, who was clueless as to the whole Mojo thing, so I probably just ruined his day by telling him. He promised to get in touch as soon as he heard something; as far as rehearsals go, the soundman is the first to know anything. ~~~ As for me, I'm cultivating my sore ass by spending more time on it, alternatively in my bedroom and downstairs in front of the tube. I'm kinda just relaxing for relaxation's sake, destressing in the face of what I anticipate to me my most challenging year. Most challenging year ... how fucking profound is that? Maybe I just figure if I look forward to living through a future of difficult shit, I can only be happily surprised when things turn out to be ho-hum average. Some way to live, I know. I think I'll go online now ... it's been much too long, 36 hours at least... And now I'm giggling for no apparent reason. 27 de cember 1999: i can't write when i'm sick : and all through the house not a creature was stirring except for my mouse 26 december 1998: : didn't write 26 december 1997: teething : oy, my mouth hurts. a lot. more than i can express in words. OOOOOWWWWWW!!!! [ swim back | email me | swim ahead ] |
