when your heart beats next to mine
by krisis
off-topics
On Friday night i had an argument with Justin about what was better: sex or concerts.
To understand the context of this discussion, you need to know a few things about Justin. First, he’s my “one male friend.” I don’t mean this to imply that i don’t consider any other men as close friends, but Justin is my guy friend… the only human being on Earth who you’ll catch me assessing the merits of an ass to, or talking about who i truly think is “hot.” Justin has impeccable taste in music, but it isn’t any of the organic thoughtful music you hear me whine about from day to day, it’s bump’n’grind and rhythm’n’blues with Prince at the helm of his collection as his own version of Garbage or Ani DiFranco. Finally, Justin and i have known each other for a long time, and while we don’t always agree with each other i tend to defend him in conversation just because i get to play advocate to his devil.
So, on Friday night we had taken one too many purity tests and everyone had ingested at least a shot of some sort of Jersey moonshine that came in an unmarked plastic anti-freeze jug, and somehow we started talking about sex and music. I opined that an amazing concert is better than good sex, and that a great song easily outpaces a good orgasm. And, Justin ripped me to shreds. How could i value something audible and intangible over sweaty lusty tangled bodies in heat? How could i rank singing along to a great song higher than getting off?
Two things became rapidly apparent in this conversation. The first was that neither of us were referring to “making love,” but to sex – and that in my book the latter doesn’t really exist without some semblance of the former so “sex” as an act wasn’t even comparable to a really shitty pop concert. The second was that Justin had only ever seen one or two concerts where the performer wasn’t merely reciting their catalogue of songs to the audience. With such incompatible views on sex and concerts, it became obvious within a few minutes that Justin and i were meant to agree to disagree.
Physical attraction is a wonderful thing, but in my world i lust after music. Imported singles make me hot under the collar. Newly announced release dates make my heart skip a beat. Getting good seats at a concert evokes a cry of passion. The day that Izabelle and i charged our Madonna tickets to my credit card my whole world was an excited explosion of joy and rapturous numbness … it was hard to believe i was living rather than dreaming. And, yet, somehow i’m sitting here at my computer and in four hours i’ll be seated inside of the First Union Center, and the lights will go down, and i will suddenly find myself in the same room as Madonna for the first time in over a decade. And, though i’ll be singing along to song after song about physical attraction and lust, i’ll know in my heart that it’s love that matters. And, right now, the love i will have for the woman singing to me from a stage in South Philly is greater than anything i could feel for anyone i’m sharing space, a bed, or body fluids with. When Madonna strums her guitar to open “Candy Perfume Girl,” or when she explodes into the vocals of “Ray of Light,” or when she closes the show with a electronically infused “Holiday,” i will be barely able to catch my breath – those moments will be ones i’ll try to replicate for years without ever being able to put them into words. The experience will be between Madonna and i and thousands of other adoring fans, and we’ll be the only ones who will ever be able to understand.
Maybe one isn’t quantitatively better than the other, but i think each of us is still a virgin with respect to what we’re not defending. And, the same way that making love to someone for the first time must eclipse everything that came before, tonight i’ll be like a virgin again; touched for the very first time.
Things are continuing to happen in ways i didn’t intend them to happen. I have to be at check-in for Orientation tomorrow at 7am, and i am nowhere near sleep. My tooth is still killing me. I have a lengthy appointment with my academic adviser tomorrow that will involve hemming and hawing. I have a headache. I need to do laundry.
However, those are all concerns of an entirely pedestrian nature when held against my primary concern, which is as follows: today i went to the recording studio to see if i could boot up Pro-Tools and mix down songs for 25/24 only to find that the recording studio is now an empty room containing only a tape machine and a broom. In and of itself this event is cause for some amount of alarm because it means that 25/24 cannot and will not be a studio project as conjectured, and i’d almost rather not do it than record it on my computer. However, a commitment is a commitment, and so i should be recording things right now … except that my amplifier is now MIA because i was storing it in the studio so i wouldn’t have to carry it around, and it does not qualify as a tapedeck or a broom so it is not there. This all adds up to 7 days left for me to start from scratch (i had about a fourth of the songs recorded, but obviously they weren’t mixed down as of yet) and i don’t even have my amp to power my guitar. Lovely. At worst i suppose this’ll just wind up as some sort of 24-song extended Trio, but i was very serious about getting 24 quality songs recorded and i have every intention of getting it done, whether it’s for next Saturday or not.
I used to have psychic dreams pretty regularly, but eventually my ability to fly replaced the premonitions. They were small and unimportant visions anyway, and they always came to me in an obscure enough fashion that i was never really sure of what i knew until i saw it happening in real life. But, i can’t fly rather than walking to work, so ultimately knowing just what flying feels like is a curse more than a blessing.
And knowing that Jessica’s hair would be blue ahead of when she told me she thought non-platonic meant what platonic means was actually rather amusing, in a way that distracted me from the biting pain of another romantic blunder.
The last time i posted something like that was in the same archive week during which i met Selina. Moral? Possibly that i should buy a lot of fortune cookies tomorrow and amend “in bed” to them all to make sure they’re giving me an accurate reading.