I Like Good People

Like having conversations with people who actually look you in the eyes when you talk to them.

Or having cool-as-hell Harvard Poetry Professors recommend amazing poets that literally change your life. And then them be willing to give you personal "lessons" on the poems while you're working.

Or people who tell you your drinks are "scrumptous".

Or people who tell you you're funny and should write sitcoms when you're having a lonely day.

Or when you tell people you're reading Orwell's Down And Out In Paris And London and they say, "I read that when I was really down-and-out" and you understand exactly what they mean.

Or people who are older than you who tell you, "It's going to get better" in a very non-condescending way.

Or people who use the word "plethora" or "discombobulated" just when you were about to.

Or people who convince you that your weird toenail isn't so weird because they "have one exactly like it".

I need to keep my Good People glasses on more often.

PS. I loved when Shane Jones' blog was titled I Think You Are A Good Person. I wish he kept it.

I Could Sleep For Days

I'm so tired these days. I can't sleep a full night through without waking up. It's ridiculous.

Last night, I was reading Rumi before I went to sleep and then I had a very vivid dream of being a child, in the middle east (I'm pretty sure it was Iraq) running away from war and bombs and guns and snipers and generally everything that is associated with military combat. It was fucking terrifying. The land was arid and open, with only a few chalky, dead tree stumps for me to hide behind when a truck or a tank drove past. I don't think I was hiding from one particular side - just everyone in general.

I hate those dreams that are so frightening that you even wake up doused in fear. It took me a large portion of the morning to shake it off.

That said, I've finally figured out what I'm getting for a tattoo...I'm psyched about it.

I haven't written anything properly in over a week now. Not good. My 15-page weekly assignment is put on hold I guess until after I get back from this wedding next week.

I can't wait to see my mom.

Blerg

I feel the need to change something today. I don't know what. But something. Other than my underwear of course.

Hot Chip...

is playing now in the cafe. It makes me miss England.

Ahhh...I can't concentrate.

I feel stupid today. Everything I've written is horse vomit. Everything I've typed has already been written, I'm sure.

My back hurts and I'm in the mood to speak French with someone. Perhaps I'll distract myself further and try and find un nouveau ami.

Tuesday.

Things I can't live without:

1)Pens
2)Hummus
3)Sunglasses
4)iPod

I'm having a Diesel Day. Never mind it began around 3pm. And never mind I've been mostly reading instead of writing. I'm still here. All day. Until closing.

I'm drowning in Yehuda Amichai right now. I hadn't really read a lot of his work and then I was chatting about Tagore with this Poetry Professor at Harvard the other day and he reminded me of Amichai.

I. Love. It.

I also love The And Company.

I went to see them in JP last night and it was, as usual, amazing. I feel like they just get better and better every time I see them. This new song, White Dress, nearly made me wet myself.

Right, I'm going to stop procrastinating.

I wish I was sitting in a booth now.

Memorial Day/Night/Weekend/Life

My heel really, really itches right now. It's a fantastically weird feeling. Every time I push it against the back of my shoe to scratch it, it feels like I'm about to sneeze or have an orgasm.

Moving on, I got my ass kicked at work last night. Literally. Me and one server for a full restaurant. I am not exaggerating at all when I say, I think I made nearly 500 drinks. At least it felt like it. I was psyched that Spinal Tap was on in the background. Except I didn't get to pay attention to one second of it.

God, I LOVE that film. It rules. My parents and I used to religiously watch it when I was young. From the age of 8, I knew the song Lick My Lovepump.

Speaking of parents, apparently mine are actually conversing again. They actually had a conversation today, according to my mother. Shocking really. I hope they do start talking again. It still won't make me a champion of marriage.

Speaking of marriage, why the hell does it seem like I am CONSTANTLY having conversations with people about it? I don't start these tirades, believe me. And why do I have to keep repeating to people that I DON'T THINK IT'S A GOOD IDEA? And why, every time I state my case for reasons I DON'T ever want to get married, does the opposing party always look at me like I'm a satanist or something? And why is the opposing party ALWAYS a man???

Leave me alone. I don't want to talk about it anymore. Stop trying to convince me otherwise.

Speaking of men, I should probably have sex soon. But I'm grossed out by most men I meet. Ughh...I wish I was gay.

Speaking of gay, in a different sense, I saw a man wearing white jeans pumping gas this morning (See statement above).

Speaking of this morning, I really need to stop coming home at ungodly hours. I end up looking and feeling like shit the next day.

Speaking of looking like shit, I find it hilarious that the less girly I've become, the bigger my boobs have gotten. The irony.

I'm also pretty pleased I got the word "boob" on this post more than once. Today will be a good day.

I can't tell if I'm a bitch or not or if I'm just bored

Facebook literally is grounds for stalking people. It's quite frightening.

I found someone that I met in Cannes two years ago - charming chap from Cambridge. Very good looking, extremely nice and easy to talk to, and also was/is an aspiring filmmaker/director/producer, etc.

He was basically my Cannes fling of '07. (Sidebar: Everyone has flings at that bloody film festival. It's a breeding ground for anonymous sex.) Then, upon our return to England, we kept chatting and saw each other very briefly.

Until, I flipped one day and just decided to stop answering his calls altogether with no warning, explanation, rhyme or reason. Despite him sending me an email along the lines of "WTF. Are you alive? Can you tell me if I did something?", I just carried on with my life and ignored it.

This, I know, is no unusual story. Boys and girls do this to each other all of the time. ALL of the time. But, it's kind of mean right?

Or is it mean to then, years later, find said person, realise how incredibly good-looking and cool they were and be turned on by the fact that he "made it to LA" and is doing wonderfully and start harassing them hoping to get some kind of attention.

Or am I bored?

Or is it just nothing?

Or am I just over-analyzing this?

Shouldn't I be spending my time doing more constructive things right now? Yes.

Am I hungover? Yes.

Does my back hurt? Yes.

Should I take more painkillers? I don't know.

Sometimes I think I'm not very clever. This could stop me from doing things.

Look at Lillian Hellman





She was so beautiful.

Marshmallow Dreams

When I got in my car to go to work yesterday, there was a Rice Krispy Treat the size of a window in my car. It was ridiculous. Friday night's festivities were obviously hilarious.

When I woke up today, I had this sudden urge to somehow work the word defenestrate into a conversation. I don't know how I'll do it or if, indeed, I'll have to throw someone out of a window.

I also can't be sure if the size of the Rice Krispy Treat and my need to use this word are at all connected.

This weekend is weird.

Compliment Of The Year

My Great Friend Eddie, who's coming from the UK to visit Boston in October:

"I have had a sudden unexplained need to be in America to see you and my buddy Karl, who I met in Germany. It's odd, you don't know each other, but both of you are literary, lovely and slightly addictive."

He's writing my Wikipedia page now.

Quote Of The Week

Old man in bar:

"I feel sorry for people who don't drink because when they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day."

What Is Love?

I can't help but thinking of A Night At The Roxbury after typing that title. So that means my head is going to be permanently bopping throughout this post. Ace.

Right, after my few days of to-ing and fro-ing (sp?) over where the hell I'm supposed to be right now...I've come to the right conclusion.

I'm staying put. Without anymore question.

I worked all day today and (dare I say it?), I was thrilled to be interacting with people again. Three days off of work and it was like I was back to Day One of bartending, filled with enthusiasm and wit.

Then, after 12-hours on my feet, I decided to go to a quiet (different) bar, by myself, and read some poetry while drinking a glass of wine. Ah, how scholarly!

But seriously, it was like Rabindranath Tagore was just the tonic I needed tonight. He's so amazing. His poetry is like liquid acid. He was such a romantic, it kills me.

Like this passage from his poem Unyielding:

Who can understand another!
Heart cannot restrain it's passion.
I had hoped that some remaining
Tear-soaked memories would sway you,
Stir your feet to lightsomeness.

Moon fell at the feet of morning,
Loosened from night's fading necklace.
While you slept, O did my vina
Lull you with it's heartache? Did you
Dream at least of happiness?

Ah, it GOT me. I love it.

And then I read, my favourite poem by him, Unyielding Love, which I won't post (because I'm unclear of the whole copyright boundaries on this) but the last verse is:

Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you,
The love of all man's days both past and forever:
Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life,
The memories of all loves merging with this love of ours -
And the songs of every poet past and forever.


After reading this, I went outside to smoke a cigarette and listen to all the messages on my phone that I hadn't checked for the past few days. A few were from my mother, one was from Char, and the other three - from Alle, Brooke and Tara - were all of them calling "checking up on me" to see how I was feeling.

It's funny how sometimes when you think you're totally alone, you're actually not. And the times you are, you don't even realise it until the moment is gone.

Then I went inside and started thinking about love, (which I haven't thought about a lot recently), in general, and what it means.

Romantically, unendingly, familial or friendly: I used to think "love" would be hot and scalding, like boiling water.

But perhaps it's more like tepid caramel?

I don't know. Just saying. I ramble.

Muscle Spasms

So, I've officially got cabin fever.

I threw out my back a few days ago and have been all hopped-up on muscle-relaxants since. Geez, are those things lethal or what? I've, yet again, lost a few days of my life.

I've also been toying with the idea of moving back to London the past few days. I don't know - it must be the nostalgia I've been having and the general lack of any decent jobs on the horizon. It also could be due to the fact that I've been watching a lot of English films recently - that always gets me: Happy-Go-Lucky made me want to work in Camden Town again; This Is England made me want to hang out with neo-Nazi skinheads in Sheffield again; Notting Hill made me want to take the piss out of floppy-haired Sloany Ponies again; Lock, Stock And Two Smoking Barrels made me want to gamble my mother's flat on a high-risk poker game again; and Forgetting Sarah Marshall, while not an English film, caused me to reflect upon how much I actually DO miss seeing metrosexual men, like Russell Brand, sporting tight, leather trousers and eyeliner.

Yes. It's true. I can't believe I've said it. I also can't believe how many films I've watched since my injury.

So, nonetheless, I've decided to buck up and keep hitting the pavement. Shit, I do a lot of complaining on this blog.

Not going to go anywhere until I'm 100% sure it's the right thing. I'm no quitter man! I don't run away from things at the first sign of a bump in the road! Yes! Yes! I will raise my hand and keep prodding onwards! Yes!

Shit. I think I just threw my back out again.

Balls.