Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

thoughts

I Might Explode (someday, soon)

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Everyone here has apologized for the rain. Waiters, even. As if i came all this way just to turn up my nose on Los Angeles just because it is soggy.

I have been tempted to write about it, but every attempt to pre-compose in my head has made it all seem so minimal. That’s why i have been taking pictures – better to show the moments that have made me want to write than fail to capture them later.

Returning from the airport, we turned up a street that offered a perfect, scenic view of the Hollywood sign, framed by a nearly doubled rainbow. Somehow, in all of my planning, i had forgotten that i would come face to face with this formidable national landmark. The moment was to rare to interrupt by taking a picture; i had arrived.

I don’t know what i actually expected from Los Angeles. I suppose a clue is that for the entirety of my first day i kept singing “Why You’d Want To Live Here” in my head. I expected the air to be dirty, the people to be surly, and the buildings to be tall.

Apparently, i’m not in that bit of LA. That’s the bit you don’t want to visit. I am in the bit roughly three miles south of Sunset & Vine. Every house looks different from the next; there are no cookie-cutter row homes. For two days we were down the 405 at the Manse where SL nannies. It was, of course, the nicest house i had ever been in; my favorite part was that the two story living room had a second living room that overlooked it from the top of the stairs. I just loved the idea of a house with an interior balcony.

It seems that my adventures to this point have been few, but i am a vacationer more than a tourist, so for me it is about being somewhere, not doing or seeing something. Aside from discovering my thirsty lust for Tanqueray Cosmos, so far i have shopped at The Grove, eaten sushi, walked through Ventura Beach, jammed on the mansion’s baby grand piano, had fresh avocado omelets, and went to Amoeba Music.

I am on my own now, in Laurel’s house; SL back with her children, and Laurel off to Costa Rica for vacation. On Saturday we made three small excursions to help me understand the lay of the land; no number streets here. On one i went to Amoeba music, which i adored and cost me more than it should have. On another we wound up on that same block, but by a different route, standing on Michael Jackson’s star. I was left with a rather imposing book of street maps and a small compass to aid me in subsequent adventures (which, as some of you know, is just the way i like it). All that’s left is to decide whether i brave it on foot, chance having Laurel’s bike stolen, or laze my way there via buses and cabs.

Finally: the entire time, from arrival at PHL last week, I have been reading Harry Potter books. I found them unimpressive up until five, which was the powerhouse i had been anticipating the entire time. Funny how popular mythologies are so similar; Rowling’s scenes are so similar to ones i penned in my never-finished pubescent novel, from the Hogwarts Express to encounters with the ArchVillain. Yet, i have been sitting here since i finished, wondering: Where is my opus?

I think the answer is that i’ve had a few already, and there still may be some to come.

footnote

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Last year was the first time since i was a little kid that i didn’t see my grandmother for Christmas. It didn’t seem real.

I’ve been holding on to that for so long now, always meaning to post it, but today it finally felt right.

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.

The View From Here Is Stained and Cold

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I found myself rather transfixed by the streaming water and its leaves, urgently spinning down past the bus stop to the tiny curbside river that ushered them down the street, to the corner and it’s sewer drain. Oh leaves, I thought, you spend all that time fluttering in the wind and now you’ve been charmed by those rushing waters, seeming so out of place on an awful gray street corner, never knowing you probably won’t see the sky again.

Some days I like being on my tree, but some days I feel as though I’d gladly fall into any rainy stream that would take me.

Note to Self, Apparently Unread

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Note to Self: Stop having sex dreams about other bloggers; it’s kindof creepy.

PS: Definitely don’t post about this.

PPS: Well, if you have to post about it, definitely don’t allude to which one. Better not to post about it at all, though.

PPPS: If this should occur again in the future, definitely don’t get drunk with your girlfriend and tell her which one.

PPPPS: Furthermore, if this should occur again in the future and you get drunk with your girlfriend, subsequently telling her which one don’t answer any of her prying questions about the details, but do not phrase said reply as “Get your own sex dreams!”

PPPPPS: Re: Details – You whore!

PPPPPPS: Revise the margueritas ratio; it should not be 2:1 … Yes, you’re a boy, but she holds her tequila better than you do.

PPPPPPPS: You know, if you feel the need to be more risque you could just go back to posting webcam shots of your ass.

PPPPPPPPS: Fine, make the damn post, see if I give you any more advice.