Time Speeds Up

Here I am 18 days away from my wedding. 3 weeks away from Italy. Time is speeding up, and every moment that I am not actively planning or cleaning or doing something is a moment I feel guilty for.

I want milkshakes and midday movies. I want to bob on a lake on a raft (in the shade, of course). But the wedding and the honeymoon will be so much more than that!

Some people have told me that June 7, the day I marry Cary, will be a perfect day. I disagree. No day is perfect. I'm sure there will be minor disasters and disappointments. I am making myself ready for them. If my dress splits open and is held closed with safety pins; if a table collapses and we lose food; if the bartender can't make it, the day will go on. We will be married and many people will enjoy the party. That is all that is important.

I don't like people calling it my "special day." It sounds like I'm getting my period.

My friends and family are beyond amazing. And the man I am marrying is my Jake Ryan.

SXSW Film Wrap Up 2009

Above: Lee Kyle's Dolls, Ed Force One

Films Cary and I saw during SXSW and some words around them:

Objectified: Man-made objects, scored toothpick, all white suit. This movie is partly traveling over still life and part interview.

Women in Trouble: Strange-faced child, porn star mishaps, graphic humor. It works well in a post-porn modernist mindset, but it's pretty fluffy.

Awaydays: A movie about soccer hooligans. It is Clockwork Orange without the rehabilitation: ultraviolence. Our ears had to adjust to the accents. This movie felt and looked real and increased my heartbeat.

Make Out with Violence--Youthful romance and incongruent zombie action. I remember a scene by a swimming pool the most. The water is still moving. The movie was made in collaboration by the Deagol Brothers, and I may not never know exactly what I think about. This is so weird, I kept saying.

Modern Love is Automatic--The lead actress is lovely and her outfits are a big part of her characterization. There was a lot of empty space in the movie.

My Suicide--Teenagers are hard to stomach, but this movie is sensitive to their motivations. At times the short-attention-span editing gets overwhelming. It is a genuine movie.

Sissyboy: Even though it wasn't the focus of the movie, I must tell you that Lee Kyle makes super awesome dolls (see above)! He is the most intriguing subject in the movie. I love watching drag queens travel in RVs.

Splinterheads--Surprisingly, geocaching is a big part of the plot. Carnies and their marks are fascinating enough to hold my attention for a whole movie, but the geocaching was an unexpected turn.

Wake Up--This movie is about search for the spiritual understanding. I got distracted by frequent changes in the facial hair of the subject of the documentary. That tells of how secularly my mind works.

Ex-Terminators--Heather Graham in ginormous glasses is funny and cute. It's always fun to watch a movie shot in Austin.

The Slammin' Salmon--from the Supertroopers guys. Jay Chandrasekhar reminds me of Peter Sellers in The Party. I love that there's a movie about fierce competition among wait staff. I especially love what happens to "send back" food.

Lesbian Vampire Killers--Very lovely to look at. It lives up to its name, but doesn't do a whole lot more.

Pontypool--This is the most awesome thriller I've seen in a while. Steven McHattie is amazing. The film is shot from inside three (I think) adjacent rooms, but it moves like thunder.

The Immaculate Conception of Little Dizzle-Butt babies! Toilet art! This movie went to Crazy Town, and I was glad I rode the bus there.

Iron Maiden: Flight 666--Bruce Dickinson is very attractive, is nimble, can sing like hell, and is able to pilot a 757. An endearing band movie. 20,000 Indians singing Maiden! Ed Force One might be the best vehicle that has ever flown.

At most of the screenings, cast and crew came up to discuss their projects. It makes me smile to see how proud people are of their films. I know how much stress and sweat and pride goes into making feature-length movies. I acted and helped produced a feature film that never made it to the finish line. I applaud anyone who is able to wrap up theirs. Whether or not I like the movie, it is inspiring.

Friday Night Nibblesomes

Isn't nibblesome a lovely word? Oh, I think so. I think I just made it up tonight. So far, I'm the only human impressed with this word.

My nibblesome was faux turkey sandwich and Orange Creamsicle yogurt (boo on the yogurt).

It's been a stressful time. Things have been forgotten. Things have been remembered.

But I am relatively healthy and superbly loved, although my best lover is loving from afar.

Sometimes I have a moment when moments haven't been so grand, and I say, "This is a pretty notable moment."

Tonight's notable moment: Madonna's "Crazy for You," me untangling clown red synthetic hair from some flowers and baubles, crossed-legged in my underwear on the beat-up hardwood floor in the all-pink room with wise wig heads nodding at me.  Hopped up on tea and the encouragement of the ceiling fan, moving a giant fox head and a plethora of vintage lingerie, I knocked my wrist hard against a door nob. Bye bye!

Maniple

In the Western Church: a strip of material suspended from the left arm near the wrist, worn as one of the Eucharistic vestments. (OED)

The left side is sinister. The Eucharist is male body. 

It is possible for men to produce breast milk. Galactorrhea

A shirtless man wearing an eyepatch and signing his checks left-handed cannot be trusted. Especially in church. He might be tempted to give Mary a rest--cradle the baby Jesus for a while. Hunker down in all those robes. It seems like there are more triple nipples (thirples) on men than on women. It should be strongly suggested that all thirples be pierced, or at least displayed frequently (perhaps using body crayons for emphasis). A man with a nipple on his foot must be uncomfortable. Foot-nipples are unhappy-making. MaNIPulate. Shield. Alas, poor Janet. Grace Jones sang "Nipple to the Bottle," although I never heard it. But also "Warm Leatherette," which is sort of hard to actually dance to but easy to throw attitude at.  She was also on "Election Day." I did like Arcadia's record when it came out--more than the Powerstation (and that made me sad because John Taylor was my favorite). We would most likely know if Grace Jones had three nipples.  Maniple

Nick Part II

Note: Photos for these posts do not fit chronologically. 

September 19, 2008

 

I take Jill on a walk (4 mile hike) to the Haight Street Buffalo Exchange. And…it’s time to stand in line already! I’m feeling sick and sinusy, so Jill stakes out the line. She starts the line, actually, a bit before 2pm. I join her at 4, and damn I am hungry! Here’s a cheese sandwich. Four inches of cheese! Dangerous amounts of cheese. A dream overwished. I have to do some squishy surgery.

 

In line I meet Yuka, a Japanese woman who flies around the world to see the band. She’s on show 50 and has just arrived from Japan. She’s head-to-toe adorable. Yuka has photos of Nick with her, of her grandfather, the family’s house and the family dog. We both have to go to the Will Call line and then get back into the main line. Luckily, we have a placeholder. A tall, buxomy, harloty, beautiful placeholder: her name, Jill.

 

The show is at the Warfield on Market Street; doors are at 8. Heart beats get faster as the countdown begins. I am told to RUN to the front of the stage. This is an odd challenge seeing as I have never been to the venue before.

 

Here we are at the barrier. I am front and center thanks to Jill. I can be no more front and no more center. I will not break a sweat all night and I have a place to hang my coat. An effeminate, chubby, black boy from New York enthusiastically places himself behind Yuka. He’s very sweet. He’s alone, but doesn’t seem lonely.

 

The Red Sparrowes, an instrumental LA band, open and they are pretty good. It must be hard to play when everyone just wants you to finish already. There are some entertaining visuals projected on a screen. Later, I hear about them being prima donnas, but who knows.

 

It’s time. The band takes over the world. There are so many Seeds and they are all platformed and lit and smoky. Here’s Nick. Oh, he’s 15 ft, 10 ft, 5 ft away from me. He moves like a flame. He’s 100 ft tall and 90 lbs and lovely. He is in a suit with a wafer-thin shirt open to mid-chest, and he’s sporting a gold cross. Warren is in similar get-up.

 

 

Jill is a pro. She throws out a Beat-like “Yeah!” every so often. I don’t know what I look like. I think my smile’s too big for my face. Boy from New York squeals in joy: “Weeeee!” “Make the Bells Ring!” he screams. OK, it is getting annoying.

 

Nick cuts his finger on a string, knocking over the mic, running into stuff. Mick is making strange faces—he knows something sordid.  Conrad looks like Beetlejuice.

 

Someone gets Nick’s bloody towel. No, thanks. That’s not what I’m in the market for. Midnight Man comes and he’s awesome. We call upon the orphans to explain. And they do. They do.

 

I can’t believe he is playing “Hard On for Love.”

I can’t believe he is playing “Hard On for Love.”

I can’t believe he is playing “Hard On for Love.”

 

Nick cracks up during “God is in the House.” He’s forgot the lyrics. That’s one interesting thing about the show—he’s got piles of lyrics on a stand. They look abused and disorganized. The stage crew does their best to keep them in order.

 

Does he wax his chest?

 

The show is sadly coming to an end. A boy in lederhosen crawls up onstage and gives Nick two feathers.

 

We get in line for the afterparty, held downstairs in the Green Room.

 

There is a very, very short woman running door security. She’s in her 60s and her hair is fire engine red. She denies Jello Biafra access downstairs, saying he has to go to the back of the line. “I know who you are,” she says. When he walks to the back of the line, she says, “Rock Stars! You know what they’re like.”

 

Downstairs, almost the entire band comes out and socializes with people whom they mostly already know. I can’t believe it when Nick actually comes out. I’ve been to many backstage parties at which the star is nowhere to be found (and I do not blame them.) But, here he is. He’s beautiful. He talks with Jello and many, many people. Lots of people are hugging him. I do not have my camera, but that’s ok. My mouth is agape. Jill is coolly sitting across the table from me. “Go talk to him!’ Uhhh.

 

Like a total jerk, I ghost him until he turns around and I am there. “I want a hug!” I blurt out. “A wah? Oh! A hug, yeah, ok.” He hugs me for about 3 seconds and he smells so clean. But I have it on authority that he has not showered since the stage. And he had worked it, and he had sweated--but now he’s immaculate. Are demons and angels both clean? His hair is so very soft. 

 

But I haven’t delivered a message to him. A message from me. There have been so many, but I never ever thought I’d ever ever meet him. He really likes hanging out with the older, black security guy. The man doesn’t seem to be a huge Nick fan. He is polite and jaded. But Nick really likes talking to him. “Worse thing I ever did was quit smoking,” he tells the guard.

 

But I am not to be stopped. I hound him again.

 

“Can I ask you a question?”

 

“It better be a yes or no question.”

 

“Actually, it’s not. I teach your music in my composition classes—I teach English—and I was wondering what song should I use?” (Honestly, a ridiculous question. I agree.)

 

“Ack. None of them, all of them, I don’t know.”

 

If you’ve seen “A Christmas Story,” you’ll remember that when Ralphie was pushed down the slide after he froze up on Santa’s lap, he pulled himself back up and pushed out his thought in one word. I do the same:

 

“Iteachyouasoneoftheverybestliterarymindsofourtimes.”

 

“Wha? Oh…(three beats) Thank you!”

 

I will always love you, Nick.

 

Here’s the set list from Friday:

Sept. 19, 2008 / The Warfield San Francisco CA

Night of the Lotus Eaters

Dig, Lazarus, Dig

Tupelo

Today’s Lesson

Red Right Hand

I Let Love In

When Numbers Get Serious

Mercy Seat

Deanna

Moonlight

The Ship Song

We Call Upon the Author (Orphans)

Papa Won’t Leave You, Henry 

More News From Nowhere

Encore:

The Lyre of Orpheus

Into My Arms

Get Ready For Love

Hard On for Love

God is in the House

Stagger Lee

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. Part I

September 18, 2008

 

I have joined my girl Jill in San Francisco. She is going to show me how a real Nick fan operates. I mean, I AM a REAL Nick fan, but there are fans more fantic and fanatical. We take the BART down to Market Street and make our way to the Marriott. We will steal tea, bananas and water from the VIP lounge nonstop for the next two days. Free water!

 

We take a walk through China Town to North Beach to eat some risotto. There is a lot of porcini risotto. It is very good, but food shouldn’t come in wet, noisy piles. We stop by City Lights and defile the Poetry Room with our cleavage.

 

I'll Bite Ya, Kelly!

So I kept the TV on the other night so I could have some company and a way to make me not too afraid of random house and outside noises.

I woke up to the annoying voices of Regis and Kelly. They were about to have a bunch of zoo animals paraded before them, so I didn't immediately get up to turn it off.

First, there was a tiny, tiny leopard. It was squirming. And, as increasing restraint was applied to it, it started crying. Little leopard wails. Then the tiny yowls came. Someone gave Kelly a bottle. She tried to shove the nipple in its little angry mouth! She kept trying and trying as it wailed. Lady! You're an idiot. The cat does not want to eat. The cat doesn't want you to think it's cute. The cat does not want to be touched. The cat doesn't want to be anywhere near that stupid studio. You are traumatizing the poor cat. Someone finally had mercy on the leopard, or realized how terribly stupid the hostess was looking, and it was whisked away.

A Snow Macaque came out. Awwww. A monnnnkey! The first thing he did was grab Kelly's queque cards and start spitting them out. She shouldn't have made eye contact. Next, the monkey went for the camera man.

Animals are smart. Except sometimes when you're talking about human animals.