I am rapidly discovering that if you spend most of your time listening to Ella Fitzgerald singing, then listening to most other singers will be a most unsatisfactory experience.
I have been dabbling with the idea of buying a cello. I have been taking lessons for a while now and renting a cello that actually sounds rather good. The rental price applies to the purchase of a new cello, but only for the first year. With this in mind, my teacher and I decided to head to the luthier’s to try some out and see what could be had within my budget. Cello shopping. Shello chopping!
When one goes to purchase a cello, there are usually practice rooms in which to try out various choices. I called the luthier ahead of time and let them know I would be in with my instructor to try cellos. When we got there, the saleswoman brought in six to try. None of them sounded better than my rental cello. Even when my instructor played, they sounded screetchy and flat.
A note about the rental cello. When I originally went to rent it, my instructor had informed me that the shop had an excellent rental cello, with a lovely, full-bodied sound. She hoped I would be able to get this cello to rent, and indeed I did. Nearly every week she comments about its pretty sound. After having gone now and listened to many cellos, I can see what she means.
Since the first six were not worthy, we asked to see a few more in the next price bracket up. These did not sound any better than the rental cello, and cost over a $1000 more. So we asked to see some in the next price bracket.
Another side note. About a week before this shopping trip, I had been to the same shop to purchase a violin for my daughter. I told them my price range, and they brought in 8 for us to try. One of the workers in the shop came in to play for us. Two stood out, and one of those was obviously superior. When we went to purchase it, however, it turned out the price was about $2000 more than I had intended to spend. We sent that one back and got the second choice, which was in our price range.
I bring this story up because while cello shopping, something similar occurred. The saleswoman brought in three cellos in the price category that was at the top of what I could spend (and this was more than what I really wanted to spend, but I figured it would not hurt to hear them). These cellos were far superior to the previous lot, and one Czechoslovakian cello shone above all. It had a full, round, gorgeous sound. When I picked it up to play, I felt a welling of emotion through my body and my chest. It reminded me of a dressage horse, eloquent and beautiful. Even my playing sounded lovely on this cello. I decided to take it home for a week when it turned out the price was $1000 more than I had told them I could spend. I wondered then, whether this was their m.o., to bring in a batch of instruments with one far superior to the others in the hope that an unwitting buyer would fall so in love, that money be damned, they would buy the instrument. I’m not so easily swayed, and my budget is my budget because I don’t have any more to spend, and I don’t use credit. I decided to take the gorgeous thing home, but I knew the visit would be temporary.
Another big part of the trip entailed trying various bows. It was not until that point that I realized how much a difference a good bow makes when playing a cello. The rental bow I have is a piece of crap. It is a lot of work to balance properly and requires effort to run along the strings. I tried at least a dozen bows that day and discovered how much easier it is to play with a decent bow. I could feel the difference. It was amazing. And the better bows sounded better. Even I, rough and new, didn’t sound half bad with a good bow. I found the bow that best matched the lovely Czechoslovakian cello and arranged to take them home.
During the week, I played both the Czech cello and my rental. I played my rental with the nice bow and while it sounded better than the rental bow, the good bow was not the best match for my rental cello (bows sound different on different cellos, so one has to find a good pair). I loved the beautiful sounds I made on the Czech cello. However, I realized that it was outside my price range. And having listened to a lot of cellos, I saw that my little rental actually did sound pretty good. I decided I would try to find my rental a good bow partner and keep her for a while. In the long run, I might spend a bit more, but for now, the cello I have does just fine. If I ever get to the point where my playing wouldn’t make people want to hide under a rock, I will look again at spending more money, and who knows? Maybe the Czech cello will still be there, waiting for me. I can dream.
I have a cold and my brain is fuzzy. I sat down here thinking there was something I wanted to write, but now I’m here and all I can think about is sleep. There is a lulling buzz in the front of my skull. It’s the viruses doing their little dance trying to take over my mind. Dan is listening to some choral music that is much too monotonous. My brain slips into its rolls and waves, the rhythms begging it only to sleep.
We got a new puppy. Her name is Ava. She is adorable. Eat, potty, play, sleep. Eat, potty, play sleep. She’s rhythmical too. Here is her photo:
The Benson Hotel in Portland, Oregon has decided to stop playing live music. They gave the musicians who had been playing there for years one day notice. Not long before they had installed a flat-screen television in the bar. I guess sports or Fox News is preferable to any sort of culture. Nothing like treating the people well who worked for you for years. You never comped meals or parking, I guess there actions should not come as a surprise.
We still do not have the internets. We are expecting the installation Friday. I am really looking forward to having the internet at home. I have so much stuff to post here, plus TONS of work to complete for my scholarship application to Columbia and Milla’s application to the Waldorf School here. I have been hanging out at Starbucks, starting the process, figuring out what information is needed, heading back home, finding the information in all the boxes of crap, making another trip down, and on and on, so it goes. The deadline is Saturday at midnight, so the internets better be hooked up Friday or I’m screwed, that’s just all there is to it. I’ve been trying to get all the stuff together, but certain pages will not let you access them until you have entered information on the previous page. So I gather that info, enter it, am allowed access to the next page, only to discover I need another 20 years’ worth of crap. So much fun. Um, not really. I also have a bunch of blog posts, and a photo journal from our trip to post, but those things will have to happen after the financial aid apps are done. I guess my February work is cut out for me.
Update: So my boyfriend spoke to one of the lead musicians today. It turns out that while the Benson decision to dump the musicians with one day’s notice was poorly timed, their reasons came from critical money problems. The hotel has operated at 20 percent and below capacity all year. Their bar costs more to operate than it brings in. They are suffering economically. To cut a $400 a night operation seemed a necessity. Plus they are in talks to bring the musicians back as soon as they can afford to. I get it–they couldn’t afford it. I just wish they would have given the players the two weeks’ notice they were contractually obligated to supply.
My head hurts like nobody’s business, right at the base of my skull in the back. I slept wrong. I wear this eye pillow. It was cockeyed, plus my regular down pillow had slipped under my shoulders, so I awoke basically balanced on this little lump of eye pillow and my skull screaming in pain. Every time I turn my head, I see white light and feel like vomiting. The only thing that alleviates the pain is to stab my thumb or a finger deep into the tight muscle. Unfortunately because of the angle, my arm cannot twist that direction very well. I’ve tried stretching my neck to the front and back, left and right, to no avail. This is so much fun. I think I’m going to have to try an NSAID, and I generally avoid taking medications for such things. Only for this, I don’t care. It hurts that much.
I don’t know why I”m blogging about this. It’s kind of a ridiculous subject. But I told myself I would write some blurb every morning and all I can think about right now is this headache and Vantucky. I know. It’s silly. There is a town next to Portland called Vancouver. Portlanders call it Vantucky. The reasons for this are self-evident. Boyfriend is going to Vantucky this morning and he called me on the way. For some reason, the word Vantucky is stuck in my head, along with the headache, and the lyrics to Judy Garland singing I’m Always Chasing Rainbows. It’s quite a combination, I can assure you. The song is getting annoying. It’s been crawling around in my head, worming its way through the neurons for days now. I’m ready to be rid of it. I will have to listen to something else over and over and over in an effort to make it go away. Then that song might get stuck, but at least it will be a different song. Last week it was Cape Verdean Blues. I did not mind that song being in my head. It flittered around, showing up periodically. I would hum bars of it here and there. It did not sit insiduously on one line for hours like the chasing rainbows number. No. It was a pleasant visitor. Chasing rainbows is like a houseguest who has overstayed her welcome, leaving empty dishes around the house with food stuck in them and her underwear in the bathroom with the crotch up. I want her to leave me.
I’m off to take drugs to try to obliterate this headache, then I need to take my baby to school. Hopefully by the time I return home the drugs will have kicked in and this pain will have been alleviated. If not, I’ll poke a nail in my hand. It would probably feel better than this wretched headache.
I’m in the middle of so many books. About ten I think. This non-sequitur comes from nowhere, as non-sequiturs are apt to do, the sort of thought that has probably been floating in his brain for a bit and is finally expressed seemingly out of the ether. I am in the middle of so many books too, I tell him. Later I think that I would have finished these books, but I’ve been fucking instead. Quite a lot actually. I could have said that. He would have chuckled. He would have known what I meant. But that response only came just a bit ago when I was reading one of the aforementioned books. Actually, this is a new one. I’m already in the middle of how many books? Maybe five or six instead of ten. Then I found one of my favorites yesterday while sorting through boxes, one I have been wanting to read lately, one I went searching for a few weeks ago and did not find. So this book moves to the top of the pile in the bathroom and will go with me when I’m a passenger in the car with him or have to go somewhere and wait. I will finish it quickly because it has been tickling my brain begging me to read it again. In fact I had to stop myself from buying another copy because I knew this one was nearby. I just had to search further into the boxes. And I did that.
I do not like packing. I do not like moving. It’s worse this time because I already did it once last month and it lasted several weeks. I’m down on stuff, but these are things I did not finish or sort or have to decide whether they go to Hawaii or storage for another country I hope. I have to pack so things can be shipped without breaking. So far this hasn’t been too terribly difficult because the belongings are not breakable. My friend, Noelle, helped me with breakable things at the old house, so I’m hoping not packing breakable things will remain not too terribly difficult.
Okay, I know he got his own post a few days back, but Chet Baker…baby. I’m listening to Chet Baker in Paris. I’m so in love with that voice. Man says Chet made the ladies’ panties wet. You know, I can see it. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your perspective), heroin and cocaine addiction isn’t exactly attractive, so I don’t think he would have done much for my panties, but still. The man can sing and blow a horn. Man told me a joke that goes What does a trumpet player use for birth control? His personality. This may be true, unless one is Chet Baker. He could have the worst personality and that voice and face would go a long way to alleviating any personality flaws…like drug addiction for instance.
Well time to go investigate iphones. Yes, I know. How cliche’ is that to go and get an iphone right when they come out? I don’t care. My contract is up with Sprint and my phone is broken, so I’m going to get an iphone to go with my ipod and macbook. Then I can write all of them without capital letters on the fronts of their names. The computing world’s version of e.e. cummings. Brilliant.
Ah, Chet. How horribly, dysfunctionally sad you are. Were the demons who drove you to infuse your body with toxins the same that inspired you to play? Are you the Sylvia Plath of horn playing? Your voice is like butter, so smooth and creamy, I want to lick your words. Your playing is sensual, lovely, golden. The sounds you create are so perfect, yet everything else about you is a disaster. Would your music be so beautiful if you were not so tortured? I suppose we will never know…
Well I managed to move out of the house I owned and rebuilt over the course of four and a half years. You know, the first time I received an offer, tears formed in my eyes, but I knew it had to be done and moved forward. Then that sale fell through, then the second sale fell through, and by the time of the third sale, I was so sick of the entire process, I never thought I’d be rid of the place. During the sale that actually went through, there were numerous requests and addendums and all kinds of annoying crap that went on. In addition, I had rented an apartment and begun moving stuff there I wanted to keep. I needed to organize the stuff I did not want to keep in order to have a sale and get rid of it all. During that week, I got to the point where I was so sick of it all, I didn’t care anymore. I just wanted the process to be over. When I finally visited the house for the last time to pick up my dogs and run a vacuum through the place, I felt nothing really except relief. On the day the sale closed, I went over to meet the buyers and show them some stuff about the place. I walked through showing them all the details, seeing this house I had lived in and loved, and felt no remorse or sadness of any sort. I guess it was time to move on. I made the house beautiful. I am glad someone else will enjoy something to which I contributed.
I do not like the fourth of July. I do not like fireworks. I do not like crowds of people, even if they are gathered together to listen to somewhat decent music. We went down to the blues festival on the waterfront yesterday. We walked back and forth through the incredibly dense crowds (so dense the fire marshall closed the place and only 10 people could enter for every 20 who left). At one point we were at one end of the park and headed down to one of the stages. As we walked, I noticed all the people sitting on their blankets facing the water. There was a stage to their left and a stage to their right. I wondered to myself why they were facing the water and surmised that perhaps it was to listen to both stages. Then it dawned on me, genius that I am, that the people were there and facing the water to watch the pretty fires in the sky at dark. Thousands of people were all mashed into that small space, smelling and rolling and milling about so they could spend a half an hour watching noisy fires in the sky. My goodness.
I bought a Macbook. I am typing on it now. I am in love with it. I like my desktop computer all right. It serves its purpose. But this thing is cool. It has so many features and runs so smoothly. I am loving the steps that are left out. On a pc, there are so many extra steps to arriving anywhere compared to this. I also got an ipod. I had one last year, but had to give it back to the ex-boyfriend who gave it to me. Lucky Lara, welcome to the twenty-first century.
So now I have a little extra money, but I need for it to last. I had a mini panic attack this morning considering all the things I am going to need to spend money on in the next few weeks. I do not want the money to all end up gone. The weird thing is, the more I have, the less inclined I am to want to spend it. But I can be remarkably frugal (Macbook and Ipod notwithstanding). I just have to pay attention.
This is a boring post. I realized I had not been writing enough. I have been staying up too late, and when I’m not working or doing things, I’ve been lying on my bed like a blob trying to catch up on sleep. I recognize, however, that I have to write something, even if it’s boring, preferably every day. It’s that old showing up I’ve committed to myself to do. Since I’ve written less in the last two weeks then I’ve written in the last six months, I’ve got to recommit or I’ll end up out of the habit and I can’t do that. So here I am, showing up and writing boring stuff. Wheee!
I discovered Nina Simone. I am in love. Her voice gets under my skin, in my belly, fills me. I can’t explain it. I hear her singing and I never want to turn it off. Apparently she was a classically trained pianist who was not allowed to perform because she was black. They let her sing instead. Maybe it’s something behind that story I hear in her voice. Maybe it’s the grief of an entire race. When she sings certain songs I feel something deep inside, a visceral response in my belly and chest. There are a few other artists when theys sing that take me to that place. When I hear music like this I feel like it channels me into that creative energy field, that primal place where I have to write and feel like I will expire if I don’t. Weird. I don’t think I’m explaining it well. I’m obviously not tapping into that place right now because I can’t seem to describe this. Anyway, she’s brilliant.
I don’t know if the fact I feel like I’m going crazy is because I have not had this outlet or because of all the other shit going on in my life or both. Last night, I totally and completely lost it. I went out into my car and screamed FUCK at the top of my lungs. It did not help. I had to sit there and stew in my juices until I calmed down. I was so angry. Actually angry. The kind of angry where if the wrong person had been in front of me, I probably would have smashed them in the face. That would not have been good. It was just one thing after another after another after another, all damn day long. I finally blew a fuse. It kept me twitching for hours, like some fucking meth freak or something.
This morning when I came to work and was able to get on the internet, there was an email from someone who reads this blog checking in on me. He was worried about me because my posts of late have been a bit angsty, then I disappear for 6 days. I thought this was so sweet and somewhat ironic. Some person I do not know wants to make sure I’m okay, but the people who do know me could give a shit. It’s fucking insane. This is the life I’ve created for myself? Indeed.
I do not have internet access at home. It will be a miracle if I do tonight after the shit and hell I’ve been through with stupid Qwest. Their bullshit contributed to my fuse blowing. I have a lot of work to do at work, not to mention the fact I’m being paid by someone to work for him, not write on my blog. But today, I had to write something, even if it’s trivial nonsense like this. I can’t stand the angsty, twitchy way I feel. I can’t stand waking up in the middle of the night, then falling asleep before dawn, then waking up feeling like a train wreck. If writing these few paragraphs will help, I’m willing to try it. It’s worked in the past.
One kind of cool thing happened. I won these tickets to a live performance at a radio station this afternoon. I think I’ve heard the band. I had one of their songs on my computer downloaded from when I used to have an ipod. Other than that, I don’t know if I know their music since I’m great at knowing a song but pretty lousy at knowing who did it. I don’t have a guest to bring to the performance, even though I’m allowed, but I’m not going to dwell on that. I’ll pretend one of my internet friends is with me since it seems that’s what I’ve created for myself these days, a world where internet friends give more of a shit than live ones. But that’s a big pity party and I hate that shit, so I won’t go there. Still, all this makes me wonder where I went wrong. Was it one thing or a series of less than decisions leading to this conclusion? Probably the latter.
Sometimes I feel like my sanity is slowly dribbling away. I try and regain it. I try and exist in a life I want to be in. I try not to focus on being lonely. I try to enjoy each moment. But sometimes, it just doesn’t work. When shit is piled on one thing after another, when I realize I’ve drifted down a path I thought I took on purpose but it isn’t where I want to be, when my heart aches with the love that is no longer there, I feel like whatever semblance I had of who I am is escaping from a valve in the back of my head and this person I do not know is taking over my body. And I’m not sure this is the person I want to be. However since I can’t seem to figure out who that is anymore and no one else seems to give a shit, I wonder if it is worth bothering. So I’ll keep on keeping on and hope in the meantime I don’t kill something when I lose my mind.
Reading back through this, it sure seems like a big pity party. Ah well, such is life. It’s one of those extra lonely days after a really bad day. Guess I can’t be perfect.
Well I finished the absolute beginner book on how to play the bass. In fact I got to the point where if I have a piece of music and it is just the notes, I can play it. I do not know how to just play anything by hearing it. I do not know how to do anything fancy like wiggling my fingers or sliding them except for fun. I do not know how to do anything very complicated. But simple baselines, I can do them. I also got fairly fast, at least on the same song over and over. Given a new piece, it would take me 20 tries to go fast if the song required it. Maybe more. Going fast is difficult. It also seems like once I get it one finger goes awry and I screw it all up again. Guess I’ll have to keep practicing, but I like practicing because it makes my brain empty in the same way writing does.
Anyway, it was fun. I love the long, low notes. They resonate.
Wow. So I check out of reality for a few days and when I check back in the hottest story out there is a transgendered man having a baby and Obama’s bowling ability. I think maybe it’s time to check back out again. I normally avoid the news but there are some headlines that are unavoidable. Plus I listen to NPR and get bits and pieces there, although I extended my news fast to All Things Considered several years ago and have not felt the worse for wear as a result. Gotta protect that old sanity, ya know?
So I pulled into WordPress this morning to discover many changes. I’m sure there are lots of us out here commenting on it, what we like, what we don’t. I think once I get used to it, I will like it. I’m already liking the place to type better than previously. And I’ve noticed that there is a spell-checker. Yes, I think I’m going to like it. I’m not so keen yet on the dashboard, but I think with time and familiarity, it will all be good.
Okay, so right now Piper is spinning around and having a coniption fit because I’m typing and not paying one hundred percent attention to him, and Molly is standing over him, hovering like a bee over a flower. I’m not sure of the influence she is attempting to exert, but Piper is oblivious. Oh, and now she just got a good sniff of his butt. Yum. How was that for you, Molly? Dogs. They are unabashedly willing to partake of their senses, even if it involves a good solid butt sniffing.
I realized today that I am in some regards paralyzed by the sheer number of things I need to do. Many of them are small things. I just need to chip away at those things. Others are huge, like packing, for instance. I just need to dive in and begin. It’s funny, just last week I was discussing hoarding with my counselor. You know, why people hoard, how it gets started, all that. I know a few hoarders and their lives are completely stuck. One of the reasons we discussed is how something happens and the person lets things go, then things get out of hand, then they are paralyzed by the mess and magnitude. Then I discovered this morning that my paralysis is similar; I have not been doing anything because there is so much to do.
Earlier this week, I had dinner at the new house of some very good friends. They were lamenting all the work they need to do to make the house a home. I advised them to take it one space at a time. Break it down into smaller pieces. I’m taking my own advice. I’m going to make a list, then I’m going to sort the list into manageable pieces, then attack each piece. Some of the stuff I need to do could all be done in one day if I just did it. Like filing a tax extension. The taxes are done, I just don’t have the money to pay them yet. So I’m going to file this extension. I doubt it will take long, but I haven’t done it. And this CLE reporting thing lawyers have to do. It’s a pain. I started it, then stopped for some reason (probably to go do something really important like bang drums or play the bass) and never picked it up again. Now it’s sitting here on my desk. Both these things, tax extensions and CLE reports, have a deadline. It’s a good thing or I could see them sitting there even longer.
What is this, this procrastination? I’ve not been much of a procastinator before. Yet here I am. And this week when Milla has been gone, it has been oh so easy to play. South Park video? Much more appealing than tax extensions. I have a friend who texts me, Want to go watch a late movie? Yes. Not Uh sure, or okay, but YES. Emphatically, yes. Oh, and go here and watch this video. It’s called Mathmaticious and parodies Fergilicious. It’s better than Fergie’s. More entertaining. His sexy dancing in front of the window kills me. Very clever. Pretty soon he’ll be passed all around and end up in a South Park episode getting killed by Chocolate Rain guy. Good times.
See what I mean? It’s so easy. Just start typing your blog or doing something else. After a bit, feel like a break. Casually open a new tab. Type in YouTube. Then surf a little. Find something that looks interesting, like Mathmaticious. Watch it. Laugh. Then watch what it’s parodying, or click on something else on the side where all the videos are in a row. Discover a lot of time has passed. Shake your head in dismay at your ability to waste a lot of time. There is facility in time-wasting like no other, especially when computers are involved. Millions of others conspire to help you. Yikes.
I have wasted enough time this morning, er, afternoon. I must do something productive, if only for a moment. So I’m going to get up and go brush my teeth. That’s a step in the right direction. My drum store neighbor is bringing over the drum set this afternoon. I’m thrilled. I CANNOT wait. I keep looking out the window, waiting for him to pull up. Come on little drummies, come into my house. I want you. Banging drums has to be better than watching YouTube, right? I’m having one of those moments I’ve written about before where I can’t come up with a coherent ending to my post, so it continues to ramble on and on about nothing at all. Come here little drummies? Seriously? Did I say that? Okay, I’m really going now. I have to go to the bathroom. Oh there’s a story there that I can’t tell on the internet, but it’s so awful and funny, maybe I’ll put it on my secret blog, my anonymous blog. It needs to be written about because it’s that hilarious.
I’ve decided since typing this that I REALLY like the new WordPress. It’s much more user friendly. It saves my posts for me, eliminating the likelihood of blog loss because of my fucked up computer. It’s great. I love it. I’m going to have to figure out tags and all that, but it will all be good. I’ll get it done.
Life is surreal. It’s amazing how twisted up people can make things. I constantly hear stories that from the outside seem to have such simple solutions, yet the parties involved are fully unwilling to act simply, choosing instead to remain mired in complications. Humanity. It appears we are doomed to destroy ourselves, but before we go we are all going to make certain we’re as miserable as possible. How often, I wonder, could one’s life be different with the simple choice of just letting something go? Ah, what do I know anyway?
Blogging non-sequitur: I did not know that Willie Nelson wrote Crazy.
So yesterday I went to Aberdeen, Washington. The trip was an homage to Kurt Cobain. We listened to Nirvana the whole way there. Okay. I’m joking. That would have been pathetic. Aberdeen was an afterthought. We listened to a lot of music, but none of it was Nirvana. My friend and I decided to go to Long Beach to get out of Portland since we both had the day free. We got to Long Beach and although it was brilliantly sunny, the wind felt like it was blowing off the side of a glacier. We walked out to the ocean then turned around and went right back to the car. Our ears were frozen. The best part of the visit was our dogs. His dog was thrilled to pieces. Oh my God, we’re at the beach! There is sand! There is water! There are people to sniff! I can get wet! I can run! I can wag! My dog was not thrilled to pieces and clearly thought we were insane. He followed behind me whimpering. You have got to be kidding. Can’t you pick me up? My paws are freezing! Is that water? That’s water. No way. I am NOT crossing that water. Oh for Christ’s sake, are you crossing that water? What is wrong with you people? That water is freezing. Do you feel that wind? Seriously. I can’t believe you would volunteer to come out here into the sand and water and wind. There must be something deranged about human beings.
I think Piper was right. It was too cold, windy, and wet. So we decided to leave Long Beach and head to Aberdeen. It was only another hour north and Kurt Cobain grew up there. We had to see if the town was anything spectacular, particularly since he’d become famous and then died. I mean, towns love that stuff, don’t they?
Apparently not. Wow. That is about all I can say. We both lamented having failed to bring any sort of recording devices beyond the cameras in our mobile phones. I don’t know that I can convey in words the pitifully depressed state of the place. I actually had the thought that I could understand why someone living there would want to commit suicide. Of course, Kurt wasn’t there when he committed suicide and had probably not been there for a long time, but it gives one the sense of the place to know that the impression it leaves is that of the will for self destruction.
The approach into town from Long Beach leads one by miles and miles of decimated forests. Good for you, logging companies! It appears you have ensured there will be no lumber to harvest for decades! The land was fully raped and pillaged. We passed the Weyerhauser Mill, drove along a stretch of uninviting highway lined with storage warehouses and beaten down manufactured homes. We came to a bridge and wondered whether Aberdeen continued on the other side or if the next locale was Hoquiam. We discovered to our delight that Aberdeen did indeed continue to the far side of the bridge. Unfortunately since our visit was an afterthought, we arrived just shortly after six p.m. This meant that nothing was open except the corporate strip mall and a porn shop. We browsed the porn shop. It was the same as all other porn shops I have ever frequented. The funny part of the visit there was that a man sat at a counter and another man browsed horrible videos. There were rooms in the back and we heard noises leading us to believe there were men back there as well. But as far as we could tell, other than me, there were no other women in the place. I informed my friend that the other men in the place were probably impressed he had a real girl with him and not a plastic pussy. Good times. The other highlight of our Aberdeen visit was the Star Wars store, but unfortunately it was closed. Today I discovered quite by accident a similar store less than a mile from my house. Since we missed the Aberdeen version, we’ll have to hit the one here.
The homes in Aberdeen were run down beyond belief. My friend suggested that perhaps I could purchase one there for cash out from the money received in the sale of my house. We took down the address of a place for sale to look it up. I did and it is actually possible to buy a house there for 1960’s prices. I saw several for between $40k and $80k. The only problem is why would you want to? Yuck.
Visiting freezing Long Beach and decripit Aberdeen was a fun impromptu road trip. We went to the grocery store in Aberdeen and bought jelly beans and went to the bathroom. The bathroom had a beautiful view of the bay. Seriously amazing. Too bad it was wasted on a grocery store bathroom. We drove home on the non-scenic highway through Olympia. An enjoyable time was had by all.
Here are some more letters to help ladies find their way to true love. Based on the sheer number of letters I’ve received, I am absolutely certain that many of you have similar questions and will find comfort in these answers I have provided.
Dear Love Guru,
My boyfriend says he doesn’t like the music I chose for him. He says I have zero taste and wouldn’t know a good song if it hit me in the head. I told him this hurts my feelings. He said so what? What should I do? Sincerely, Sally
I hate to tell you, darling, but your man is a mean clod and deserves to be put out on his head. Telling you that you have zero taste in music is not only not true, it’s just plain cruel. What does he know, anyway? He’s a man. Except in rare instances, men wouldn’t know musical taste if landed in their lap. Personally, I would take him out to the suburbs or the country and leave him there to figure his own way back to town, but if you love him like it seems you do, you are just going to have to change him. How? Well that’s simple. He’s going to have to spend some serious time in private quarters, the music is going to have to go a bit louder, the perfume is going to have to be sprayed a bit longer, and I hate to say this, but I think it is time to withhold some meals from this man. He really needs to learn that your love is what his life is all about and if he’s going to be critical of your choice in music, he should be thankful for every other wonderful aspect of your beautiful character. I would suggest starting out by feeding him only once a day in the late afternoon. He’ll be so grateful for the food, he won’t even notice the music. While he’s eating, turn the song up just a hair, while he’s still in the throes of tummy ecstacy. After about a week, go ahead and add another snack in the morning and when you do, bring the volume up on the music again right after he is through eating. Over the next several weeks, you can add in more meals, and also increase the size of the meals. Each time you do this, turn the musical volume up just a piece. He will begin to associate food with the song choice you made. If at any time he has something critical to say to you about your song choice, reduce the amount of food he receives for the next few days but do not lower the volume on your song. He’ll figure it out and you’ll be on your way to true love’s bliss in no time at all.
Dear Love Guru,
I hate to ask you this because you were probably intentional in leaving it out of your instructions, but what am I supposed to do with my fingernails? I have the hardest time keeping them tidy and I’m just afraid they detract from my entire sexy look. Do you have any advice? Thank you in advance, Nelly
Oh Nelly, Nelly,
What a fantastic question and you are so right that I should have addressed this earlier! What was I thinking? I just wasn’t, that’s all there is to it. I’m so sorry for leaving you out in the cold like this. Here’s the thing, dear. You are going to have to start using falsies. Men love a woman with long nails. They just do. Short nails remind them of their own unkempt manly hands and you know what happens when a man sees something that reminds him of himself…he begins to see you as a man. And we wouldn’t want that, now would we? So find a nice nail salon and have them apply the tips for you. If you can’t afford a salon, go ahead and apply them yourself, but be sure you use a strong adhesive so they don’t fall off. I wouldn’t use the stuff that comes with the nail kit, but go buy some serious glue from the hardware store. You can simply use a bit of sandpaper on them to even out the lumps the glue leaves. After you apply your nail tips, be sure to paint them fire engine red. Fire engine red fires up a man’s imagination like nothing else. He’ll be so hot after seeing those nails, you might not even need his private quarters for a week! Toenails actually need attention too, but they do not need to be very long. Just be sure to have them cleaned up with a lovely pedicure. Be sure to get rid of any unsightly skin or fungus. I’m going to let you in on a little secret: SOS pads. SOS pads are amazing for scrubbing nastiness off your toes and heels. If you get a little burned, put on some lotion. Your feet will be utterly amazing. Throw on some high heeled sandals and he’ll be so gaga for your gorgeous feet, he won’t be able to sleep with loving you.
Dear Love Guru,
My mother, church, God, and the Bible taught me that sex outside of marriage is a sin. Shame on you for advocating sinful bedding like this! Shame on you also for telling women to show skin! Don’t you know that God wants our bodies covered? He does not like us to show others our private parts! Even in the sanctity of the marriage bed, he would be shocked if I allowed my Husband to see my breasts during relations. Shame, shame, shame! I may be coming up on 48 years old, but God will find me a Husband when he sees fit, on His own time. And if I never find a Husband, the Lord Jesus will be happy to comply. Signed, Ruth
I do not know how in the world you came to the conclusion that God would not want you to use your body for sex since He gave you a hoo hoo and breasts, and I’ll bet your lovely form is way sexier than even you can imagine. Plus, there is no reason you can’t follow my other advice for getting love, even without having sex early and often, you just need to modify things a little. I think maybe Jesus is a bit busy healing babies and going to church and all that to be working on being your husband, so it would be best if you found yourself a nice human man to love. It may take a bit more time for you than it will for the average girl, but you’ve got spunk and I know you’ll find true love with a man in no time just like Jesus intended.
Well how do I do that, Love Guru? I can just hear you asking me that right now, so I’m going to tell you. First of all, nothing says that a good Christian lady can’t have her hair attractively styled. In fact I have seen more Christian ladies with the hair style I advocate than I see at the mall. And having a built in support system could be quite useful for you all. You could get together and color one another’s hair! It could be so fun. After Church you could have pie and do hair. God also doesn’t mind if you wear makeup. He made men so that they aren’t bright enough to know you are a girl without makeup, so He must have intended you to use some. Makeup parties can be fun too, kind of like those candle party things you Christian girls go to, only putting makeup on instead of lighting up a bunch of wax. And if you’re feeling especially creative, you could combine one of your candle parties with a makeup and hair removal party, and use the candle wax on your bikini line, armpits, and legs. It could be so much fun! Sitting here I’m thinking perhaps I should go into the Christian lady party planning business. I think I would be good at it.
You also mentioned some concern at having to show your skin. Again, I have to wonder why the good Lord would make skin if He meant for us to cover it all the time, but I also recognize that He did give us the ability to create some fantastic clothing choices, so I suppose He intended us to be creative in this department. It is too bad that he didn’t make men with a bit more imagination so us girls wouldn’t have to make things like nipples and labia so obvious, but it is what it is. I am here to tell you that you can still follow my steps while allowing for a man’s inability to figure out a breast is a breast and not just a lump. Basically you just have to go with ill-fitting clothing all over your whole body. Wear a very tight blouse. It can have a high neck and long sleeves. Just make sure that the silhouette of your breasts is clearly visible. Since your man will not be able to see your areola, you will need to wear your shirts tight enough he can see the shape of them through the shirt. Since it sounds like short skirts would offend your religious sensibilities, simply wear your pants tight enough to see your labia. Dressing to find a man without showing skin really is not as difficult as it seems, now is it?
As you can see, there are many of my steps to love that you can follow even if you are unwilling to have sex early and often. And don’t underestimate private quarters to assist you in developing a good Christian relationship. Suppose you meet a man you really like, but he doesn’t share your devotion? You can use your private quarters to help him along. This is especially effective if you have a very cold basement or root cellar for your man’s private quarters space. Basically, make sure your man’s private quarters are good and cold. Put him in there and leave him for several days. Every few days sit with him and read to him from your Bible. After reading to him about the comfort of the Lord, give him a little something to help him warm up just a bit. Over time, he will begin to associate the comfort of the Lord with the warmth you have provided. You also have the added bonus of his associating this comfort with your love. In no time at all, he’ll love you and the Lord more than anything in the world. Religious hymns can also make an effective musical choice in a case like yours. He’ll associate the lovely hymn with his love for the both of you. What could be better than that?
Dear Love Guru,
I bought some sexy clothes like you suggested. What should I do with my old ones? I really don’t think it would be right to donate them since another woman might end up buying them and keep herself from finding love. I simply could not live with myself knowing I contributed to another woman’s unhappiness. Thanks, Dotty
You are truly a generous spirit and your kindness will be rewarded with true love. What to do with those clothes? That’s easy, use them to fill in the cracks of your man’s private quarters so he stays warm. There’s nothing like the softness of a nice cotton polo shirt to snuggle up against. And if he’s being naughty, you can use them to poke in his mouth until he’s quiet. Alternatively, you can give them to my previous letter writer or any other Christian ladies who need to encourage their men to be a bit more devotional.
I am addicted to listening to Greg Laswell’s Through Toledo cd. Over and over and over and over. I keep finding new meaning in the words. The music has carved a groove in my brain. I can separate out each instrument in every song and hear them individually. I’ve done this before with other musicians, his just happens to be the one for right now. The words fit.
So today I’m trying to break the addiction. I want to click on that album in my player so bad. Instead I pick something else. I went back to John Mayer. For a while he was the musician of the moment. I played some plain jazz. Before that it was Irving Berlin. Then in a couple of days when I go back to Greg it will be like seeing a lover after a few days. It will be great.
I read this blog on Matt Nathanson’s myspace page. He was lamenting that we don’t have music like the 60’s. He thinks music today lacks the depth of the music in the 60’s and that it doesn’t impact us today the way music did for people then. He received several comments back, mostly it seemed from aging baby boomers, agreeing with him.
Sorry, Matt, but I couldn’t disagree more. I have long felt the baby boomers were always more flashy and external in their dealings with the world. Notice us! We’re here! Our way is the best! Since other generations have come along, the baby boomers have lamented their lack of everything, character, depth, taste, you name it.
But I don’t think we lack any of that, we just go about things in a different way, and our way tends to be more introspective. I’m Generation X. We are not like the boomers. Music is just as important to us, it is just more internal. I think it’s appropriate that Kurt Cobain is held up as a sort of icon of our generation. His internal struggles are the struggles of our generation. His pain is our pain.
I have recently become acquainted, through an online forum, with a whole lot of people born within the two years before and two years after me. All of us, no matter what part of the country we’re in, no matter what we’re doing, are all struggling, mostly internally, with the demons the baby boomers loved to scream about. We just don’t put it out there for everyone in the same way the boomers did. We mull things over. We ponder. We observe. Our movies are quieter. Our books can be quite dark (and darkly funny). Music speaks to us as individuals.
Matt comes from the generation after mine. I have long observed them as being kind of like the baby boomers, but happier. They are creative and amazing, and seem to be enjoying themselves. Us X’ers are struggling with a generational creative angst, but we internalize it more. I look at the generation after mine and want what they have, their spirit, their verve, their happiness.
Music means more to me than most things. I listen to certain songs and I am transported to that creative energy wave where I feel connected to all things. I hear certain lyrics and know that the poet who wrote it (that’s the extent of my poetic ability–Ha!) was speaking my words, only more eloquently and with a beautiful melody. I have generated some of my best writing after hearing a song that took me to that energetic creative place.
So Matt, don’t underestimate the music of today. It’s amazing. I love it that we have avenues to access music outside the mainstream music industry. Right now I live in Portland and the music vibe here is unbelievable. We’re tuned in…just because we aren’t screaming it from the housetops like the baby boomers did doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect us just as deeply.