beautiful, funny, sad & true

I’m with BoringFish, and she and I and her long-haired black cat have been traveling from somewhere in eastern Washington state. We drive through Yakima to see my mom and stepdad, but when we arrive at their house, no one’s home.

We walk around to the back yard, and let ourselves into the house through the sliding glass door. I sit on the sofa and play with her cat, while she goes and looks around the rest of the house.

Finally, everyone arrives, and by everyone, I mean everyone. My mom and stepdad, my brother and his wife, and even my dad and stepmom. They all come home and it’s instant chaos. We’re supposed to eat dinner, even though it’s the middle of the afternoon. Everyone is frantically trying to bring in these giant pre-made plates of food. Everything on the plates is muted in color–an unappetizing shade of gray–and it all looks the same. Scrambled eggs, potato cakes, mysterious tuna/chicken/crab mush, and sausage, and everything is covered over in white biscuit gravy. Finally everyone gets their own plate, and we sit down to have dinner together. BoringFish isn’t there. She seems to have left the house for some reason. I call her name, but there’s no response. I ask at the table if anyone’s seen her, but they all are ignoring me, and wrapped up in conversation with each other. I’m the only one who seems to think that it’s weird that this combination of people is sitting here eating together as if it’s completely normal, and I’m also repulsed by the huge plate of weird, grayish food.

Everyone is talking, and devouring their dinner. I sorta pick at mine and ask, “What is this? Tuna? Chicken? Crab?” My dad says, a little too loudly, “It’s Ecktote.” [That's not really what he said, but it was some sort of food substitute.] I push it around on my plate and take a bite of the eggs instead. Suddenly everyone else is getting up to leave. I ask what’s going on, and everyone answers in different ways at the same time. They’re going to a dinner party–another one!–and again, they’re all going together. I decline, saying that I didn’t know anything about it, and I’m not hungry anyway. My dad glares at me, and says, “Well, all right, but we’ll be back in a little while to go to the next event, and you’d better be ready to go.” Everyone leaves. It’s only been like five minutes since we all sat down; it’s very strange.

I stand there in the hallway, wondering what to make of all this. I walk through the rest of the house to look for BoringFish, but I don’t find her. When I walk into my old bedroom, it’s full of Christmas decorations, with puffy cotton on the ceiling to look like snow, with little white Christmas lights poking out every few inches. I think it’s odd that there’s snow on the ceiling. I also think it’s odd that there are two women in there, dressed in green, wrapping presents and making little trinkets. They’re talking animatedly to each other when I walk in, and my arrival just means that they include me in the non-stop flow of conversation. One of them grabs a can of sticky stuff that they’re using like glue, to wrap the presents. She holds it up to show me, and says, “I got it at Erthler’s.” Another nonsensical, generic name, but this time it’s a store. I kinda laugh and say, “What’s ‘Erthler’s’? I’m from Portland. We don’t have one there.” I walk back out of the room, and as I do, I hit the light switch out of habit.

I poke my head back in and say to the women, “Oops, sorry about that.” and hit the switch to turn the light back on. The Christmas lights start to flicker, and they won’t come back on. I flick the switch on and off, and wiggle it around, and they eventually come back on, so I leave.

Just then, everyone comes bursting in the door. Again, it’s only been a few minutes since they left, but my dad sees me and says, “Okay, are you ready to go?” “No,” I say. “I’m not going.” I’m still wearing the T-shirt, boxers and beanie hat that I’ve been wearing the whole time. He starts to yell at me, saying how he can’t believe that he bought me this ticket and that I’m wasting all this money, not to mention that this dinner is for charity and all the food’s going to go to waste. I say, “I didn’t even know about it until now, and I don’t feel too great. I’m not gonna go.”
He continues yelling, and my stepmom is there too, saying to him, “Well, maybe he didn’t get the message after all? We should hear his side of the story.” I gesture to her and say, exasperatedly, “Thank you. I promise you that this is the first I’ve heard of it.” My dad is silent. I notice that he’s shaved his beard and grown his mustache out long, into a scruffy handlebar style. He also has what I thought was a wart next to his nose, but after I look at it for a second, I see that it’s actually a small screw from some sort of surgery.

I say again that I’m not going, and my stepmom says, “Well, I guess we’ll pay for in calories what we paid for in money” or something weird like that, to fill the awkward silence. They go outside and drive away.

That’s when I woke up, not at all rested. Boy, I wonder what that dream means.

I’m late for work, dang it.

Yesterday was just. . .a great day. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been able to say that.

I took the day off from work, and slept in until ten-thirty. Around eleven, Breanna and the other two band members came to my place to rehearse. We sounded great and had fun, as per usual, so we drove down to Wilsonville to do the radio show. I was expecting a little pod-cast out of someone’s house, but boy, was I in for a surprise.

It was in a house, it’s true, but once we got inside and went upstairs, we were in a professional radio studio. Couches, chairs, two computers, a satellite uplink, a mixing board, speakers everywhere, and one huge desk. The host, Mitchell, was sixteen years old.

If you didn’t see him, you’d never know that he’s sixteen. He sounds forty. Really deep voice, with complete confidence; he’s a total pro. He told us he’s been doing the show professionally since he was ten. Ten! AND he’s had some of the biggest-name people in country music on his show. It’s not some cheesy little show, either; he’s on XM, and lots of NPR affiliates and commercial stations all across the country. Crazy!

Their house, coincidentally enough, was in the same subdivision of Wilsonville where MostRecentExGirlfriend’s uncle and aunt–who I’m still friends with, and who actually read this blog (Hi, TFG & 9!)–live, so I went over there afterwards. Her uncle was at work, but aunt and I drank tea and talked for almost two hours, and had a tremendous time.

I came home long enough to change my clothes, and then I had to get over to the southeast part of town for one of the play readings. Instead of getting stuck in horrible rush-hour traffic, which is what usually happens, I took a different way, and finally figured out how to avoid all of the busy streets and sneak down through Reed College from the north. Brilliant!

I brought my cello, expecting to play that, but since there was a shortage of guys last night, I actually got invited to read one of the parts. It was SO much fun! The play had excellent dialogue, and it was about three friends who’ve grown up together in Boise. (There were even a few scenes set in a club called Neurolux–where I’ve been and played!–so that was particularly interesting.) One of the friends falls on hard times, and the relationship between the three guys is tested to its core. Very well-written and fun to be a part of. I played the part of the stoner musician. Typecasting, no? Well, minus the stoner part, anyway.

After that, it was time to relax and watch another fine episode of Mushi-shi–one of these days, I’m going to post one of the episodes up here, so you can see it for yourself–and then I went to bed, satisfied from having one of the best days I’ve had in the last few months. I genuinely enjoyed every minute of it.

“Don’t look back; always look ahead.”

Hm. Particularly apropos lately. Even my dream the other day seemed to be saying something similar; if you’re going to go back the way you came, watch out. Trouble awaits you there.

Tomorrow I’m taking the day off from work to play an internet radio show with Breanna. No, I don’t know what the name of it is yet, but Breanna was very excited when she heard about it, so it sounds like it could be a great opportunity. I’ll keep you posted or take some pictures or something.

[EDIT: I should've waited until later to write. I got a call from DrummerAdam this afternoon, saying that he came across an ad on ListNamedAfterOneMan about a Portland band with a style similar to that of Arcade Fire and the Decemberists who are looking for a tasteful lead guitarist and drummer. He responded, and gave them our names so they can look into our musical resumés. I'm definitely intrigued. I can't wait to find out who they are, so we can see whether or not we're interested.]

I am alive and well, just been busy trying to feel better. It’s been an up-and-down few weeks.

This is a month of three different friends’ birthdays–what IS it about Capricorn girls?–and last Friday was the first of them. We went to Lola’s Room for 80’s Night. Even though I’m the worst dancer ever–okay, probably not THE worst, because at least I have a rock-solid sense of rhythm–I love 80’s music, and I had a good time overall. The potential was there for some weirdness, because of whose birthday it was and who showed up as somewhat of a surprise, but it’s been two years now, and we’re all adults, so it was fine.

Shelby and Brian were right behind us in line, which I didn’t even realize until Brian tapped me on the shoulder, so I could turn around and give him a hug. Nice surprise. They were there with a couple of Shelby’s friends, so I took the opportunity to cut a few proverbial rugs with their group too.

Oh, and incidentally, a friend told me of a cool trick to use if you’re not such a hot dancer. If you take your drink out on the floor with you, you don’t have to move around so much. You can just sort of tap your feet and move around a little bit in a rhythmic way, and that’s a perfectly acceptable thing to do. Yay! This means I can go out dancing all the time now!

Can I just take a second to mention that I was comPLETEly hung over the next day? Cause I was. Oh my GAWD. Saturday morning I felt like I’d been hit by a car. No, wait; I think it might actually have been a train. But I rallied around mid-afternoon, and went to spend a little time with MostRecentExGirlfriend. Met her kitten and also got introduced to her neighbor friend, and then we went to get some coffee and talk for a little while. After that, we went to a bead shop (she did more active looking than I did), and then went to her favorite thrift store down the street to look for some cool clothes. The place was huge and great, and she totally scored an armload of great stuff, while I surprisingly came out empty-handed.

I stayed home the rest of the weekend to drink lots of water and non-fermented fruit juice, and to do some of the things I’ve been neglecting, like dishes and laundry (something like five loads of laundry!). While I was doing all that laundry, I started watching an anime series that was new to me called Mushi-shi. Beautiful, dreamy, dark, spiritual and mythological, it was exactly what I was in the mood for, and I watched ten episodes. (SuperUltraMegaKudos to SSF for telling me about that awesome web site where you can watch so much stuff online for free. MUCH better quality than YouTube or GoogleVideos!)

Don’t think for a second that I’m not going to sit here tonight and not watch a whole bunch more episodes, cause that’s exactly what I plan to do, starting right now.

In no particular order:

my favorite