Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

Personal

Yes Said

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I’ve been having a very inside day. I’ve been inside with my thoughts and for a while I went out walking with flip flops on, but i’m not sure that that was the best idea.

I’ve been reading about Tori. She sent us all this darling little Christmas email in our inboxes where she is obviously being prodded by her website people into saying her little script thing, but she’s obviously having a bit of fun with them at the same time. There’s this very excellent little Tori covers site i just found, but i can’t really see it right in Firefox. You should go download Firefox. But, anyhow, I’m – I’m living Tori’s life in this little two hour microcosm on YesSaid, i don’t think i’ve ever realized what a wonderful little site it is.

It’s just so amazing that you can be so much a public figure that someone is cannibalizing your yearbook, you know, and posting pictures online. That’s the internet. And, reading all these quotes from her, you see this wonderful little progression, from this girl playing piano bars to this astounding woman…

My dear roommate totally lost my train of thought. It’s off the tracks. We’ve sent in the sniffing dogs to go look for it. Sometimes i picture what i would be like if i lived alone; i don’t think it would be very entertaining. As much as i am, um, obviously obsessed with myself, my inspiration comes very much from outside myself. Even if that inspiration is, you know, thinking oh my god would you please shut up or what is that shitty music you keep listening to, go find some taste. Not that those are reactions i need to typically have to any of my roommates. I mean, they’ve all had decent CD collections.

I digress. ‘cuz, i remember where i was: What’s funny is that you can read Tori talking about the same thing so many times in so many different places. And, in a lot of cases, her quote is almost verbatim. But then, others, other stories come out a little different every time. I think i’ve heard maybe two or three distinct versions of the “Playboy Mommy” story, where she falls down the stairs and she thinks of the first line of the song. But, “Space Dog,” i feel like the few times she’s spoken about that she’s said it verbatim. Those same words. (it reminds me a lot of this page, actually)

“Space Dog” is very nearly my least favorite Tori song, though it has its moments, but i can definitely appreciate those emotions. She is… she is calling something in, you know? She has tuned in on something, and is reverberating. I try for that, but a lot of the time when i get there i don’t know where to go. It’s a very… getting there is very holistic experience. Just now i was almost there – you have to engage your attention very steadily, and you into this state – reading without realizing, and just lipping along to the words to the music and running my hand through my hair over and over, and i go into this sort of trance.

I, i get there and I know i’m there and that, you know, just about anything can come out of that. I’m thrumming, i am a pitchfork or something, just buzzing violently. I could just sing, or think of this perfect guitar lick, or write some perfect post.

And then Elise starts fussing around the house and making these little mouse noises and asking why the lights are on. She is, like, foraging in my thoughts, she is just chewing right through my creativity, there it goes, as if it’s some little bolt-hole she’s working on. But, at the same time, it belongs to her in a way, because if i lived alone i wouldn’t have anything to start from at all. Like, striking a pitchfork in the vacuum of space. Would it even vibrate? There would be no sound, so does it even matter if it was even vibrating?

And poof, i get this jumble, mess aborted trance. Some perfect moment interrupted, and all just spilling out at once.

Wee Wee Wee!

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I have this special way, which I’m sure is the special way of most people, of absorbing trivial information from credible sources, but then forgetting the source of the information by the time I want to use it, thus making it anecdotal at best.

I’m sure that I’ve read about the slow evolutionary recession of our pinky toe. The pinky finger is useful, to be sure, and not just for guitar playing or holding tea cups. But, the pink toe? It’s just a decorative flourish for the outside of the foot; it is a mere foot flourish. None of the staying power of the big toe, or the gripping ability of the middle three that allowed you to fetch things out of the bottom of the pool. No. And, if we were in the wild, running about with bare feet, somehow nature would favor those with increasingly smaller pinky toes until it became just a tiny side-of-foot nub, and eventually disappeared, leaving us with four useful toes in its wake.

Except, you know how you never appreciate the effect of something until you don’t have it? Like, mom annoyingly doing your laundry or an old jalopy that had really comfy seats? Well, my left pinky toe is in revolt today, folks, and I am feeling the impact.

This weekend I abused the toe, though not intentionally: I clipped the nail entirely too short and subsequently collided the poor useless thing with my bathroom door, as I am wont to do with one toe or another at least once a month. It’s not broken, as my co-worker with the broken pinky toe assures me I would barely have been able to put on my shoe in that event, but it hurts enough that it’s turning out to be nearly non-functional as my day proceeds.

The thing is, it’s not just the pain of walking around. I mean, yes, it is just the pain of walking around, but the pain itself isn’t what I’m finding to be so debilitating – it has had some unexpected side-effects. Walking down the broken sidewalk to the trolley my left foot couldn’t seem to find solid footing – it was like when you first step onto a beach wearing flip-flops, and you’re carrying something heavy, and the sand seems to melt away from your every step. Like that, but with sidewalk, because I could not get my whole foot to come down solidly to create balance without the cooperation of my pinky toe (which, in effect, is the spokes-toe for the entire side of my foot).

Tertiary effects included cramping in left-toe-number-four, which was using its grippiness to overcompensate for its out-of-commission pinky friend, and overextension of the capabilities of right-knee, as right foot and its respective pinky were doing quite a bit of work to keep me upright.

Walking back and forth to the printer a few times has finally beat the pain into pins-and-needles submission, but I still feel as though I’m hobbling because I cannot quite figure out how balance works anymore.

So, anyhow, part of me is like, “just cut the damn thing off, evolution was gonna get there eventually anyhow.” But, the other part says, “Oh my god, our descendants will be doomed, dOOOOOmed I say! How will they walk, or effectively battle the giant irradiated killer cockroaches, without effective pinky toes slash side of foot spokes-toes?”

I don’t know. I just don’t know.

A Picture Share!

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Fini
During my (awesome) adobe seminar, i finally finished transcribing lyrics into my book… i can’t believe it’s really full. Life, i suppose, really does move on