Max the Girl

Well first I just walked into the little boutique shop because I’ve been having a thing for thrift and vintage shopping lately. And because apparently I’m one of those victims of retail therapy without even thinking about it.

All refreshed and happy from a walk, I was chipper and my eyes dashed about the store rather quickly, sizing it up as a place for charming objects. Cool little vintage bags (one was a carpet bag which I still deeply desire). And many random adorable creations in the way of clothes and jewelry. The girl behind the counter was on an iBook, and clearly busy, but that didn’t stop my incessant babble as I cam across more and more things which were darling. As I fell in love with various items, and kept yapping to her, she managed to get some words in about how these are all unique, handmade creations from recycled clothing. The dress I was holding was actually three different articles of clothing in it’s previous life/lives. Cool. And I wanted so many things, so minutes later I wondered out loud to her how she doesn’t just leave with all of it. She found it funny and said she sometimes does. And so I asked her how she got the job. Well if you’re ready for a barrel of laughs…

She IS the job. She’s two years my senior and she has already started her own creative business doing what she loves. And she kicks ass. Her stuff is wonderful, and even though I had no business buying clothes last night…I had to. And now we’re facebook friends and I’m luring her into the music scene. Hey, the Arts need to stick together, and I’m the Darling of all mediums.

And then today in my long plaid thigh socks and bright pink rain boots and black little dress and big black umbrella, I stormed into Wholefoods to get the weekend munches. There were many taster booths out, but I was drawn to the design of a totally sleek looking bottled product and its booth master. The substance was tonic, and I cynically thought in my mind how tonic is awful plain no matter what. So I inquired what the deal was and the Dumbo based genius said he started this brand because back in college his friends couldn’t stand how bad tonic tasted. So this tonic is all natural, with guava, and 60% fewer calories…etc. It was good stuff too.

When I expressed how impressed I was, and questioned how he did it, and isn’t it such a risky move. His response was “well so is going into a corporate job at some big-shot firm.”

Shizza!

Sheer admiration is what I’ve realized I have for young entrepreneurs.

It’s hot.

If you take the risk, and get successful with your mission…

I salute You.

The guy must have thought I was the most egotistical amateur on the face of this earth. But I can’t help it. I know I was that good with my first encounter with a digital SLR. I think that this photography thing is going to be wonderful. Being behind the lens is like diving into a whole other world while being amongst the same world. I hope I don’t become a creepy antisocial freak because of it, but it is damn cool.

I am sometimes like a toy.
I’m fun to play with and I like to play.
And I like to take walks in the park on nice days.
Whatever hatred for Brooklyn I might have had growing up due to The Family’s influence, was officially dissipated this morning for good.
Park Slope is stunning on sunny days.
I walked around for ages after the games were over and I pretended to sleep and pretended to wake up.
So it was a lazy, tired sort of morning walk.

Brooklyn is like a reality balancing on a tightrope. I say this because it is virtually in the city, and has all the conveniences of one. Yet it also has this beautiful nature part of it. So I phoned Mum and told her this, and she agreed. So I guess she doesn’t hate it as adamantly as I recall. Funny how perceptions by a little girl can be so dramatized.

Pete & J in all their Mondays in May glory keep escelating their performances, and I sat there with a smile plastered on my face and my eyes glued to the stage for their entire set. Enchanted little girl I (still) am.

I certainly had no intention of falling asleep mid-day and oversleeping for naptime, but I did. And then I walked with Chloe to pick up her skates and listen to her tales of getting blood tests. Those stories were like repeating my own experiences with blood work. I can totally relate. We certainly are kindred spirits.

And then I came upon a sidewalk block suddenly, and asked the well-dressed doorman with an earbud in his ear, looking all important, if it was closed. His response was “It’s actually an obstacle course, it’s a contribution to fitness,” and after the second or two I needed to digest the statement (because of my gullibility)…

I thought him humorously clever.

“Be Good”

It’s one of those greetings I just never got.
Tonight Mim’s Grandma said that to me when I was bidding them all farewell.
Be Good? At what? For what?
Whenever The Father says it to me I kind of laugh it off to him and say “I’m always good.” More like teasing him about how he thinks I must do all sorts of outrageous things and I’m playing all-innocent.
I remember that time when I met Natalie Portman and chatted with her for a little bit in her trailer, and I got two autographs. One for Dov because he loved/still loves her more than any girl in the world. And one for me for the hell of it. On his she wrote “Dear Dov, Have fun! Love, Natalie.” On mine she wrote “Dear Max, Be Good! Love Natalie.”
People have a way of saying “Be Good” to me as if I need the authority.
Maybe I do.
Maybe I’m not good at all.
I’m just plain Naughty.

I did it! I finally slept a decent amount of hours. Damn Zyrtec. From now on, I will not turn my back on the good ole’ healthy way. Chemicals suck. They charge you all sorts of money to do creepy things and trick your body. So local bee honey and pollen it is. And alfalfa sprouts. And even fucking apple cider vinegar; but no more medicine nonsense.

I suppose “allergy coma” describes it well.

This entire week I’ve been in a cloud of complete daze and strange, aloof, sort of fatigue.

They gym has been utter torture, and I’ve been slipping.

Which makes me so frustrated.

I had all this buildup of excitement for last night. Between Baggot closing so this being the last Wednesday. And Steve coming into town with Jay. And the Rebel event at Rockwood.

And of course yesterday was stunning out and I enjoyed the day. And then as soon as evening struck, I felt like a blob of nothing. Poor Steve must think I’m a loon. We ate while I interrogated him about his life in South Carolina. He lives in a beach-house! Rosi was amazing. She has a very pretty voice, and when she sings even really high notes she doesn’t look like she’s straining herself at all, which makes it a beautiful thing to watch. I’m not sure if I’m really confused about my position with Rebel or not. Last night all I wanted to do was run and hide in a corner. Maybe I’m good at talking to people just because I have nothing else to offer the music scene, so I got friendly to do something. But I don’t like being that person with the clipboard convincing people to sign up. I can’t be talkative on command. In fact, last night made me think I might actually be socially awkward if I’m not in a friendly mood. I spent most of the Rebel even standing on the sidewalk talking to people who joined. Adam’s a little sweetheart. And he’s funny too. It amuses me so much how the entire music scene is so small. It’s borderline incestuous. Everyone plays together. Everyone overlaps. But it’s kind of comforting. Nico was adorable too. She was all tipsy and friendly and witty. And while I stood next to her in my cloud of daze I wished I could be her. But I wasn’t, I felt like a shadow removed from everything in front of me, and eventually I realized I could not stay. I could not even stay to see Jay. And so I hugged Steve goodbye, And all the other random people I met. And I went back to get the shuttle.

Turns out Baggot wasn’t even open for their last bluegrass night. Some sort of sewage leak.

Ugh. (on all accounts).

She is three years old now.
I never think of myself as an aunt, but I do think of her as my favorite.
They’re back at the Living Room. For Mondays in May. And you’d think I was seeing them for the first time the way I was taking it in. Sarah & Above The Noise are now creeping up there with It May Be Late and This Is It. Powerful stuff.
That guy Chris who played with Jon back in the day was there too, randomly.
He’s starting to play in a new band. The band is nameless, he can’t describe the music, but it’s happening. And he has a pretty friend Alex who took a liking to Nikki.
When I watch her excitement, her flirtatiousness with no concept of the consequences-  I feel like I’m watching myself just a little while back.
But I’m too young to be saying stuff like that.
But it’s so true. Because I got involved with all this when I was too young. And naïve.
And that’s how I ended up on this sick-cycled carousel. And sometimes when I’m there I wish I could be invisible so I can just experience it without having to be social.
There’s a quote in Almost Famous when she says to him “you’re too sweet for Rock & Roll.” Every time I see the movie, that line gives me chills. Because she’s really talking to herself. And maybe it’s because so am I. I’m sensitive. I feel it all.
Music is not just entertainment for me.
It becomes part of me.
And usually it sets me free.
But sometimes, every once in a while it feels like a weight on my shoulders. Because it’s so unclear to me what my part in all of it is.
I wish I could go back to when I was just an innocent, anonymous, little girl, lying about my age, just to get to listen.

“…Know when to Walk, Know when to Walk Away.” But that’s just Jay singing. And I certainly have a habit of walking away, only to come crawling back.

Perhaps it’s appropriate that I have acquired a new nickname.
She called me Maxie Heart.
I love it to be honest because it brings a whole new mysterious character to mind.
If you picture it since- she has xoxo in front of her name and if I had a heart after mine as a corny sort of afterthought, if we put our names together for a project, it’s surrounded with love. How lovely. Except I don’t like hearts.
That night at the Satellite party I got to talk about Rebel Spirit with Dean. He is the most ambitious, pure lover of music for music’s sake, guy. And it’s kind of inspiring since he has been so involved for so long. And he knows how down & dirty and unglamorous the industry is. His vision for Rebel Spirit is a great one, and I only hope it goes in that direction.
So it was a good time.
But then I couldn’t sleep properly. And now I’m desperately exhausted. With so many worries abut the next few weeks. But something tells me it’s not just about the next few weeks. It’s about the next few months, years, and generally: the rest of my life. I’m a wanderer. I have no idea what I want to do in January. I have no idea what direction I’m going in. And although I like not being tied down to one set of decisions. I find this very unsettling. I can only play limbo in the middle of the road for so long, before I stumble on my own feet and get run over.
Which brings me back to the start.
All these nicknames are like stages and twists in the path of my life.
Maxie Heart might be a subconscious choice.

I had a bleak sort of epiphany yesterday.
I now know what the probable cause of my death will be.
Not any of the horrific ways my imagination has lead me to dream up in the past.
No- the cause of my death looks like it might be merely from trying to navigate my way through the crowded streets and sidewalks of New York.
It’s really amazing how many people are on each and every damn block of the city. It’s serious traffic, and I’m certain that there will soon need to be similar walking traffic guiding systems to the ones we have for cars.
Perhaps even tolls. Walking at red (or in this case, white man light) tickets. Fast lanes. (I w-i-s-h). Walking highways, which can avoid walking-lights altogether. O the possibilities…
But honestly. Yesterday I had the worst case of walking road rage. People were so in my way the entire time, and although I’m used to weaving through crowds of people since I’m a fast walker in general, yesterday was particularly awful.

• The woman yapping on the phone really loudly, arms thrashing about in the heat of conversation, totally unaware of her crowded surroundings, and taking up the entire width of the sidewalk.
• The lady in the tallest stiletto spike heels, trying to balance herself as she clumsily progressed at the pace of truly aged molasses. Also walking smack in middle of the walk so there was no way to get around, and Me behind her.
• Don’t even get me started on the various tourists with cameras glued to their faces; faces which are turned upwards by the way, so granted they are not looking where they’re going, at however minimal a speed.
• And of course there are the truly intelligent individuals who text and message on their cells & PDA’s, and just assume people will watch out for them while they employ a walk which brings a drunken (& possibly blind) sailor to mind.

It was one of these who inspired my epiphany after she bashed right into me. I tried, and almost succeeded in avoiding her, but you know when you assume there is only a certain amount of time a person can last walking without looking up and making sure the coast is ok? Well she just didn’t, and by the time I realized that she must be an idiot, I did the whole twist and try to move action. I still got ran into. And it hurt. A lot!
And that’s when it truly hit me how dangerous and possibly life threatening my daily walks through NYC are…

When I was a little girl The Father made us rent a national geographic movie about ‘something real’ every time we rented something we found entertaining. This lead to all sorts of interesting events in my young life, including many times in the classroom where I was able to (and did indeed) call a teacher on incorrect details they taught us about certain animals. Yea. I learned that much from those movies. But the important part of all of this is that the national geographic series provoked my first idea of a dream job. I wanted to be a photographer for National Geographic when I grew up. Variations on the photography dream job popped up throughout my adolescence, and when it came time for college I still wanted to pursue a career in the arts. My family vetoed this hands down. They called it impractical. So here I am, about to start my last semester as an undergraduate this fall, and I’m left with this longing. Further, I recently met a girl at Rockwood at JV’s show, who basically is what I thought I’d be- a photographer for National Geographic. So it’s like someone was sending me a message that I mustn’t ignore that voice in me that has wanted to do this. Now, honestly I don’t think I’d really want to go out and be on the field photographing random wildlife. I do know I’m dying to learn more about photography though. So today, I decided that after I leave the office, I’m heading straight down to FIT and enrolling in a summer photography course. I’m ever so ecstatic. Now I won’t be one of those “should’ve, would’ve, could’ve” old people with regrets. (at least for this).

Just one mojito makes me borderline drunk now.

I know they say that the more you drink, the higher your tolerance get, but that is just

Lies.

I met with the dean on Tuesday, and it looks like I will be graduating in January after all. Weird. Kinda scary.

So after that I decided to use my last day off to walk around the city, as usual. I knew I wanted to get to the Red Lion by 10. So I had loads of time. I walked through union square, and then to Bleecker. I temporarily contemplated getting wine at The Room where I had gone with Johnny, and he even kindly texted me the exact location, which had slipped my mind. But then I decided to go with someplace new. So I went to a little place which advertises itself on the awning as a wine bar.

More lies.

I mean they did have some wine, but most only by the bottle. If one glass gets me tipsy, I certainly wasn’t going to get a bottle. So I went with the mojito.

The girl sitting at the bar next to me was being all coy and smiley. I took out my paper to write down ideas for my senior thesis. Which, by the way is ridiculous since there is so much other work that needs to get done, and senior thesis really is for next semester. (one might also point out that writing a paper at the bar is an interesting alternative to the library, but anyway…)

The girl behind the bar looked like a very young version of Wynona Ryder. She was also smiley and coy, and I started to wonder whether everyone in the place new something I didn’t. Then the girl beside me took out a book/journal sort of thing, wrote a bit, and went for a cigarette break. Wynona came over and asked if I knew her. I said no. She said it looked like I did because we were friendly. Ok. So then of course I started a whole conversation with Wynona, whose name is actually Nino. She loves music too, and also lives ridiculously far uptown like me. If she hadn’t had to work until 2, she would have come to Red Lion. Oh well.

So cigarette break ended, and the girl is from Switzerland. She is moving to New York to live with her Swiss boyfriend who moved to New York a while ago. Her name is Caroline, and she was great bar company for conversation (and something of English language lessons as well) while she waited for her man to come back from work. (a bank, obv.) It’s funny cuz he did show up eventually, and he sounds remarkably a lot like Shrek. Turns out he learned English from someone who lives in the very far north of England. (Where accents get all convoluted and can sound somewhat Scottish). So it was all fun, and I made three friends. We exchanged info, and I will start telling them about the music I see.

Pete & J were amazing as usual. I was sitting with Matt at the bar for most of the time, and it was driving me nuts to try and watch the show through the mirror, and finally by “This is It” I convinced him to come stand. During their break I said hello, and caught some words with MJ. You know when you blank out entirely about someone’s name even though you know them so well? Well I did that to J when I was referring to Matt, and instead of making it obvious that I blanked, I stumbled for sound and called him Mike, which is utterly ridiculous. And then to make up for it I said “oh… I mean Matt, see…he has a brother Mike.” (which again makes no sense in any sort of context). And now J thinks I slept with Matt’s brother. O dear.

 I met a guy named Adam who actually drums for Ian (start humming ‘It’s a small world after all’ here…) and he had just been to Feist and gave me a heads up that it will be an awesome show. He gave me a ride to the train which was lovely, only I quickly found out that the trains weren’t running.

So I power walked.

“More than a fun status, it’s actually a really corny pun” (my status for the day)

To be honest, I was not so excited for her show.

Jesse, Mim and I met at Chipotle and waited in a very long line for people to wrap some dough around rice, beans, and salad. After feeding their bodies, and we went outside and across the street to yet another, much longer line. This line was to get into Hammerstein Ballroom, and we had enough time to catch up on the walk in the long line to the door.

We got seats even though it was kinda far away. The opening act was a single man called Hayden who got up with a single guitar. Dun Dun Dun. No kidding he made a little speech before he started saying that the night before people spoke his whole set and he couldn’t even hear himself play. Ok. A) don’t announce to your audience that people actually spoke your whole set- that just shows that your music leaves something to be desired. B) you, as an artist, selling your art have no right to tell people not to speak. If you’re good enough, they will listen.

First impression: Stated by Jesse- “Whiny little bitch.”

But to be honest, I think he had a beautiful voice. His songs are strange- there was one which he said was a love song about a bear attack. This takes the whole artsy thing a bit far. Another song was about his cat. Charming. He had one incredible song in which he sang and played the piano to (which is automatically something which makes me love you)…called “More than Alive.” Other than that the set started to drag, so although he has a nice voice- a cross between David Grey and Chris Martin- it does get a bit long after some time. So Mim & Jesse were speaking about going to a Crosby, Stills, and Nash show with their friend who found out her Grandma passed away while they were in middle of the show. Apparently it was expected, but still it’s gotta be awkward to handle that sort of situation. They (being the darlings which they are) offered her a hit. (see why I love them so?!)

We waited and waited for Feist. I saw Hayden standing pretty near by in the balcony which clearly tickled the part of me which neeeeeds to meet every musician I come across. So I did go over and introduce myself.

Here is what I want to say about Feist: She is an angel. Her voice is like tranquility entreating to the heavens. And along the way it conjures up a marching band with all the glory of musical instruments in front of a curtain of shadows and grace. It was a hauntingly beautiful and mesmerizing show. I noted that there were many couples at the show. And it didn’t look like it was the guys doing their girls a favor by treating them to music they’d never want to be caught seeing if she weren’t there. It was obvious that Feist has a following of lovers. Perhaps this is because her enchanted songs and voice touch the enchanted. When listening to her sing, and watching the show of lights, shadows, and graceful movements being projected, it’s impossible not to wish she can sing you to sleep every night.

I’m totally thrilled.
And I gotta say- Mim has amazing taste and great intuition for what will be a good time. I notice it time and time again….

I always hated the color pink.
Ok, maybe not hate.
But never came close to liking it.
I was wondering this weekend if it was because the Crayola markers I would color with when I was a little girl, did not have any pink marker. I always liked the red marker best. Maybe if there had been a pink marker I would have accepted the color with open arms.
But my arms were always closed to pink. I never wanted pink colored clothing, I never liked pink flowers, and I think I might actually despise pink-colored houses. But don’t think that I usually have things against specific colors. It’s only pink. I love most colors. The world is big and bright.
I love colors.

It can mean Damsel In Distress.
Which I was tonight when I finally got up the five flights of stairs to my apartment and realized the door was slightly ajar.
That’s not overly welcoming since I’ve been away for a week.
So first I panicked.
Then I called Ariel and made him come stay with me mostly cuz he was the only one I knew for sure was here too.
And then I called Mum and freaked out.
(It hasn’t helped that lately I’ve been thinking deeply about how she leaves me to be independent, possibly because I’ve always declared my independence, but either way this was part of the equation when she did not panic nearly as much as I wish she would have…)
She told me I mustn’t go in, that I must call the Po-Po’s (read: Police) and that I should let her know when I know more.
Great.
Comforting.
So I called the Po-Po’s and some idiot lady on the other line took down my information really slowly, and I thought during the many times I had to repeat myself, how awful it would be if my situation wasn’t just an ‘ajar door break in’ and if it was my best friend sprawled out dying on the floor with blood all around. The Po-Po’s really need to learn how to deal with Emergency calls better.
Then Ariel showed up, and we sat on my floor for quite a while, during which I went through my apartment mentally and started mourning all my stolen valuables.

My precious Hadaya Jewelery (silver handcrafted engraved stuff)…A pile of twenties I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with, and therefore just hoarding…
I was very tense.
So we took out my laptop and started listening to the Raconteurs until the Police came.
They did a whole action scene thing with the guns and kicking the door open and everything. I wasn’t so thrilled by this, but at least Ariel was, so it entertained someone. Everything was perfect. And in place.
So the Po-Po’s were able to leave. And all’s well.
Sort of.
See now I’m starting to worry about this week.
And why Adam hasn’t answered yet.
And how I’ve been completely ignored by Nico.
And so I’m still a D.I.D. after all.
… note to self for tomorrow.
To deposit all those twenties into a bank.

Children have no business being raised by adults who cannot remember how they thought, and saw the world, as children.

They’re brilliant lots of the time, and it’s amazing to stop and try to relate to how they perceive everything.

My almost-three-year-old-niece was playing with puppets and her father wanted to dress her for dinner.

“Come Esther, time to get dressed.”

“Wait a minute, I’m busy.”

“No sweetie, you ate grapes but I haven’t and neither has anyone else, and we’re hungry so let me get you dressed so we don’t have to wait any longer.”

“No! This cannot wait. I said I’m busy!”

“Sweetie, this can wait, we need to start dinner, let’s go.”

“No, this can’t wait, the puppet will be cold!!!”

And with that, she finished ‘dressing the puppet,’ skipped over to her father, and lay down to get dressed.

And then she sighed and said, “isn’t she beauuutiful?!”

Children’s priorities are simply darling.

And so are they.

Is thankfully imaginary, by the way.

It was Chloe’s method of entertaining me

whilst I was all caught up at the mother’s house.

So, I can breathe a sigh of relief and not have to worry about puppy pampers,

After all.

(see previous Lovechild post if this confuses you)

Nananana…

I assure you the vision I am now- in fits of seasonal allergy symptoms- is nothing similar to the wonderful night which was last’s…

The weather has been more than charming.
So has two days of freedom & no worries been in the city.

I saw Lucky & J last night at Banjo Jim’s in Alphabet City and it was a lovely sort of intimate duo show.

But after hopping on the M21 bus right outside and running from LaGuardia all the way to Canal street, and seeing that line of people who had accumulated outside and woven round the block, I was ready to have a hissy fit and leave.

I hate lines.

Good I waited.

For the two minutes till dutchess showed up.

And we even got that little velvet VIP rope pulled. And drink tickets. We even got interview the band and Adam. The way I did this, was making my planner into a pseudo-notebook and jotting down shit.

It was kinda surreal with just us three girls, the musicians, many bottles of beer, some video camera’s, a whirring fan, and lots of words.

The words were good. And real. There was no fake bantering there. It was laughs and fun and snapshots. And my email address sprawled out on a tiny bit of paper. I assume that bit of paper lost itself just as easily as it would have washed off your hand.

But the gesture was totally sweet.

The following is a series of texts I have just received from Chloe:

(I said stuff in between, but use your imagination…)

“Ok when are you allowed to talk on the phone again because I bought us a love child spontaneously.”

“ya on a whim, I thought we would really bond over it. But it’s half your dog.”

“I’m walking it now, it’s beautiful, it’s a hungarian pug. I named it lorenzo.”

“I had to name it because they put it on the collar…my phone sucks i’m trying to send you a picture.”

“yes ZoZo is our little munchkin. But she needs a good washing. She stinks right now.”

“where do you think? starbucks. She’s trained but she is going to start running- she’s a porker.” (2 texts later she explained- “O zo needs to start working out- she is a little big.”)

“this guy at starbucks was selling her cheap.”

I’m half freaking out, half thinking this is the funniest thing in the world.

Chloe is certainly not typical girl-friend material, and I think this just about proves that to anyone.

I love when words or lyrics jolt my core with intense profundity and truth. I know this would be an insight for which you’d share my appreciation.

He spoke of diamonds and other rare subjects of human admiration and desire. And how rare things are what we think make us happy. But in reality if we were alone somewhere, those rare things would not be the source of our happiness at all. In face, things that are completely mundane, routine, and typical are what make us happiest.

Air.
Sleep.
Water.

That feeling of crawling into bed at night and falling into a peaceful slumber. Being outside on a beautiful day and taking a deep breath. The indulgence of even one sip of pure, fresh water.

Such feelings of satisfaction and happiness are superior to any feeling, which can be obtained through the consumption of what is considered rare and wonderful by the general public. This is because these rarities are simply tagged with importance in public context. They become benchmarks of status and have nothing to do with pleasing oneself inherently.

The sad thing is that we pathetic people tend not to appreciate the happiness the “regular” things bring us until they become “rare.” No one appreciates air more than when they’re confined in a place where there is a shortage of it.

And so it seems that we are so inclined to chase after those matters which we named rare and special to make us “happy”, that we neglect the abundance of the true sources of happiness all around us.

We pollute the air; damage the environment, waste days & nights away.

And come to think of it, truth and sincerity in this day and age have unfortunately become so hidden and unique, that when profound bits of it filter through to our consciousness, (like this whole bit which he spoke about) we drink it up with the utmost pleasure.

Because we failed to see its value until we forced it to be rare.

I have too much time on my hands?

I think not.

I think that this is exactly what I was meant to be doing all along.
In over 21 years on this earth I have accumulated an obscene amount of stuff/crap/junk.

Depending how you would define a life’s journey in tangible possessions.

The point is, I tend to think of everything in scrapbook terms and therefore tend to keep an overwhelming amount of “tangible possessions.”

From shopping bags, notes passed in class, birthday cards, photos, pamphlets from trips, movie tickets, random photos, journals started and stopped, notes taken in class, textbooks, other books, magazines, and even (gory warning!)…baby teeth!

So today I’ve been playing judge and deciding which things get to live on as part of my tangible memory of life. And which ones to toss. It’s almost like renewing history. And even rewriting it.

Memory lane is a strange place to visit, and makes me realize how many lives I’ve already lived.

Looking back at things I’ve written, and opening closed windows on thoughts I once thought, and beliefs I’ve since turned away from, I wonder at my journeys and if I have any connection to  the me in my past.

Clearly the voyage and experiences make up what I am today, but when I turn back time with my mind, the essence of me withstanding it all,
is as blurred and foggy as the faded words written on the pages in front of me,
Covered in dust.

With all the business of life, this is quite outdated.

But last time at the office I was pleased with every opportunity to dash out and be in the sun.

Spring has Sprung, some would say. That corny sort of some.

On the subway, a huge guy who must’ve been adopted by a Gospel Church and has become utterly ”New & Improved” in his life’s discourse, gave us all a sermon. Anyone who has experienced subway sermons knows the idea, but this one was particularly amusing to me. His size, firstly was quite overbearing, and his voice- even more so. It was more like a booming substance which battled with my music. He was commanding my subway car that we must become one with Christ. His slogan for repetition, was:

“I gave my best to Crack, now I give my best to Christ!!”
I gather there are people who are instantly inspired by such an outburst, and make life-changing decisions. I just found it quite humorous.

SO during my dashing during the day, my overly attune ears and positive spirit made me notice something else quite funny.

Arm in arm, a nanny a child. The sun clearly had hit their senses as well, as they skipped down the street near Columbus Circle. While they skipped, they sang “Oh we’re gonna sleep with Grandma when she comes, oh we’re gonna sleep with Grandma when she comes!”

They were chanting this gleefuly and proudly to the tune of “she’ll be coming around the mountain when she comes…”

And I simply thought of how rich a mere few minutes out on the street of New York can be.

In sights and sounds.

Isn’t it slightly egotistical to want people to read my own words?

Or to even assume that people shall?

I think it’s comparable to a singer singing his song for a random audience.

We don’t have a right to have an audience.

If people choose to listen to what we have to say, so be it.

But it’s foolish to assume that things we think are important, are worth other peoples’ time.

Yet, sometimes there’s a little part of me that gets annoyed when I just speak to deaf ears.

I guess everyone is slightly egotistical.

And I’m just waiting for some slightly sort of audience.

My idea of the idyllic chuckle is when it happens after you relate so well to something random, inside your head, and it’s humorous.

This morning on the subway, I experienced that when I read a Jameson ad. I’m pretty sure anyone who has lived in New York would too.

“Maybe this ad will give tourists a place to look so the guy in the map seat can get a break.”

So clever! So personal for New York.

And P.S. it’s the most beautiful day outside, and all I want to do is run away from this building and skip about in the sun…

I always say how even just the first few chords in a song can bring me back to a moment in my past so completely. It’s true. My memories are so linked to songs and music that I can feel as if it were occurring at this second, what the mood was, what was so beautiful in that moment, and even what my priorities were. Things that were so important then, are so inconsequential now. Time does that. And that night was one of those moments where I felt “it’s all happening.” Carnegie Hall. Backstage. Hundreds of people in that beautiful audience. My friends on stage. And a night on the town afterward. It seems so far away. And so. Perfect.

I just wanted to let you know that I’m waiving the little white flag.

I’m surrendering/giving up/running away before it’s too late.

It might be already, but there is no way that’s happening again.

You meant nothing to me, you were just one on the shelf, fun to take out and play with every once in a while because you wanted to. So I entertained that feeling mostly because I know what it’s like to be on someone else’s shelf and played with every once in a while.

But now you’re complicating things. I don’t dance with offbeat attention. I get it all the time.

So now that you’ve messed up the rhythm, and stepped on my toes.

I’ll take a graceful curtsey.

And you’re just gonna trip on my white flag.  

Good luck with that.

Isn’t it wonderful how the smallest, silliest things become the biggest treasures when they are so needed?

As a long-haired girl who obsessively works out at the gym, 

the lack of a ponytail holder is a disaster.

So at the moment where someone handed me one, 

it was the greatest thing on earth.

It’s remarkable and great how circumstance can turn a tiny piece of 

elastic covered in thread, into the mind’s equivelant of the realization

of a greatest, deepest desire.

“I’m finding my way back to sanity, again

though I don’t really know what I’m gonna do when I get there

Take a breath and hold on tight

Spin around one more time

And gracefully fall back in the arms of grace”

This is what I feel like. Just back from a wedding, and this is what I’m thinking.

They say (don’t ask me who) that each person is a world.

All the people who I know and mean all sorts of things to me- they as worlds are all

around, surrounding my world.

And their worlds are spinning round and round.

They’re spinning so fast, and I’m standing still.

And I’m so overwhelmed.

I don’t feel like I’m getting older, but it’s being thrust on me.

By the people spinning by.

And the elder people growing deeper wrinkles. When did the adults become old?

When did my childhood friends decide to grow up?

And leave me here in my mind with people spinning all around me.

At various heights.

Speaking to small children and old people is now a comparable experience.

The lines and circles are all blurred, and everything’s spinning.

I’m just going to try and take a deep breath

There’s nothing to hold on tight to, so  I’ll spin one more time.

And I’ll fall back in those arms of grace.

Because once there, I’ll feel comforted by the feeling that I’m spinning along.

Until it all starts spinning without me again.

And I’m left standing still.

The things that are witnessed on subways in this city are random and taleworthy.

Especially this…

I was on the way to Brooklyn on the D train. I was tired and quasi-taking in the rush-hour reality surrounding me. And there was one couple (guy + girl) chatting away in that hard-to-ignore thick brooklyn accent.

“Undustandubal”

“thayts whawt I’m sayyinn”

That sort of thing. They were talking about something having to do with a new guy joining what they do during the day. My first impression was perhaps it was a business team or something. But the more and more I heard (with my eyes closed-no doubt, and utterly inconspicuous in my way of listening in)…I realized that they were talking about the third guy in a physical relationship.

And that’s when I realized they were porn stars. I don’t think it’s appropriate to relay all that I heard, but the just of it was “artfully getting him into new things without him realizing it.” See, apparently when you’re working with someone as a team in that sort of field, jealousy arises when new people join. There was talk of feeling like an outsider, and not being able to see what she was saying. And goodness, I gathered three’s a crowd. Ha.

But the kicker was when she turned to him (after they both drank huge things of redbull) and said “and he’s not a cop.” And he responded, “yea…haha not after that performance.”

And then I got off the train. And that, my friends is my tale of getting too much info.

…I was at Rockwood in the back-room while you played last night, and I found myself distracted by the TV displaying your show, because your music was actually amazing!

And I don’t mean to sound like a jaded annoying NY-er, but I’ve seen so much live music around this city, that I just don’t sit and give everyone a chance anymore. But you kicked ass, and you need to know this.

So I looked you up, and Made sure that even in my tipsy state, the name stuck with me. And here I am, on Myspace, contacting you to say Kudos. Now I’m going to sit and listen to what you have posted here, and I truly hope our paths cross again. If for nothing more, than my listening pleasure. Consider me a fan…. Max (the girl)

Believe in them.

Ok, So I did listen to you. And I even took your own advice and applied it to 

your presence in my

life and thoughts.

Your big head and your Demons were something I challenged, and tried to release.

And now you’ve come back for a minute and thrown me into fits of nostalgia.

Because you’re just like you, only sweeter.

I know you want to meet Chloe. I don’t know what fascinated you about her.

I mean, I do know how awesome she is. It just intrigues me how you picked up on it. And is that how you’ve creeped back into my 

Good Book?

Or was it that I said how I haven’t felt this way about music- until Lucky & J came along- since you?

Did you feel threatened?

That’s kinda cute. And charming.

So you noticed I was having a moment last night. And you texted me that 

I’m a ”good one.”

So now you are as well, once again. And the Little Demons have taken a walk.

Apparently I hurt someone because I agreed to go to dinner with them and they spent the entire time since dreaming of being in a relationship with me. Ugh. Why must people be so expectant? I hate pressure. My life’s pretty busy, and I didn’t even notice that a week has passed. He’s been going nuts, poor guy, wondering why I wasn’t rushing to his side. What does he think he is? Some friggin knight in shining armor who swept me off my feet, and very basis of the way my life runs? That just aint the way it is kid.  And you are a kid. And you’re clearly not as independent as you tell yourself (and me). Because you’ve been pining for me. How sweet and childish of you boy.  And now I feel all shitty b/c you made me think this is my issue when it’s yours.

Auto-reply: I LOVE U MAX!!! “…cuz my heart wont break and my friends will hold me if its my mistake in needing you” - as originally sung by ‘LUCKY’ for Max  they’ll b back soon…

She’s darling for writing that. I do miss those boys. But it’s all forlorn. Because they all take the same voyage, and I always remain.

I haven’t had a night like this in a while, and I barely know how to handle it anymore. It’s one of those nostalgic, introspective, slightly sad moods. I even took Garden State out.  This movie for me is like nostalgia in a bottle. Or disk. But I do I have a bottle of Red too. ”Maybe that’s all family really is; a group of people that miss the same imaginary place.” Is that what home is? See I’m convinced it might be.  I think about it all the time, how I have to work so hard to connect to my family. And how people that come in and out of my life make me feel more like family than my own. But the problem with that is they do indeed come in and out of my life. Family is a blessing because they remain constant. At least my extended family does so.  I’m “in it” right now. It’s real. Sometimes it fuckin’ hurts. But it’s real. And I need that person to make me feel safe. And Home. 

Singles is a good movie. I barely remembered that I’ve seen it because last time it was when I was with Tamima and we were both drunk as shit off three bottles of red. And then I kicked my wine glass over, and I was too drunk to realize I slashed both of my big toes with broken glass. And then I spent the next many hours trying to implement the first-aid I quasi knew in my drunken state; with both legs up compressing the bleeding. And Tamima was laughing on the phone with her then-boyfriend. We were both laughing and wondering if I was going to bleed to death.  But this time watching Singles was not as dramatic. (Though I do still have the scars from the glass cuts for the story). I just think it’s funny how that one scene where he’s drunk in the bar and he’s in the pay-phone stall. It wasn’t even that long ago that the movie was meant to take place (and did). And yet our reality with drunk dialing has vastly shifted. Crucial, I know. But it’s odd isn’t it? How now we can just “drunk text” or drunk dial someone’s cell phone instantly. “Back” then they had to wait drunk online to drunk dial someone from the pay-phone. It’s just kinda humorous to think about. Waiting in line to dial drunk. And giving someone the clicker to your garage door meant something in the relationship.   

For a long time I said that movies can never live up to the pure quality and depth of words.Maybe I wanted to believe that because it seems like the right thing.But now I’ve discovered an exception.I’ve seen the movie Almost Famous many times before, but I’ve just realized that Cameron Crowe was able to make one of the most brilliant movies in existence. And it’s because he’s not just a director. He’s a writer. So he was able to take his talent as a writer, and that depth of perception of everything around him. And he transfered it to film. ”Experience it. Enjoy it. Don’t just fall for it.”This was his love letter back to music.And I for one, connect on all sorts of levels to it.  And not just because I am Penny Lane.

Twice during the past 24 hours I spoke about this.And twice made it that much more true in my head.The reason  I can’t bare working in such a corporate environment’s aspect of the music industry is because it’s an oxymoron.Art is the epitome of self expression.Business is the epitome of creating and recreating standards- for money.And when I say recreating, I mean it; because they adjust things to make them happier. And, I don’t mean the artists happier. By they, I mean Suits. And Suits recreate standards to make themselves more money.

Self expression and liberty cannot easily coexist with standards and money hungry feigns.

In fact I don’t really understand how the first business man in the arts was even able to relate to the first artist in the first business-artist collaboration. It’s two entirely different mindsets. Working toward two entirely different dreams. And let me tell you, the money dream crushes the artist’s dream. It taints what is beautiful. It squeezes out the life. And it walks all over the soul.  I am not living in a total fantasy. I do realize that business needs to be a part of music. It’s just not the most intuitive reality.  And so…I’m going to take a deep breath and hope for the sake of true music that this revolution switches things up, and glorifies the artist.

I just ate Honey Nut Cheerios & milk with a fork.

The office was out of spoons, and I needed food.

And it went very well, thank you.

So now you know it can be done.

What the fuck does that even mean?

Water under the fucking bridge?

Do you really think that if we both keep our mouths shut she won’t find out?? 

Why do you even care?

You always want what you can’t have.

When you were with her, all you wanted was me. You could barely handle it. 

(you didn’t handle it).

And now that you’re ”finally over” You kept beggin me to come.

And I finally did. But I don’t know how. Because I don’t have any feelings for you.

And I know you’re all confused. I’m just really comfortable with you I guess.

And now you’re all concerned about her finding out. 

Why??Is she in or out?

Because I’m the other. And actually, even if she’s out,

I’m far from in.

You need to sort yourself out boy.

I don’t just stick around.

I tend to create  entire scenarios in my mind.

For instance, yesterday, while I was sweating my guts out at the gym, and trying desperately to entertain myself on the machine, I saw a rather old woman hobble over to a rather buff young hottie at the weights.

Now, I have no idea what the reality was- in terms of what was discussed. But I decided I did while the scene unfolded before me.

The old & wise woman must have been going over to tell the young & dumb hottie that he mustn’t put too much emphasis on his body. See, she has lived many years and seen the depths of relationships and love and hate. She knows what’s really important.

I guess the reason I figured all this out is because whenever I see old people on the street I think about how they were once young like me, and full of visions of what they could be. They had the same love and rapture, the same funny moments, the same secret crushes, the same fears and worries, the same doubt that they’d ever get old.

Yet there they are, creeping slowly down the street, in utter amazement, shaking their heads at what’s become of the world and the current generations.

And totally old.

So I’m thinking now it might not be exactly what went on between the lady and the guy in the gym. But anything is possible. Right?

All the cliché’s of love seem to be true of me.
I really do get weak at the knees.
 When you sing I really do feel my heart melting.
 First impressions really do count.
 I can’t stop thinking of you.
And most of all, I love who I may not have.
But then again, time really does heal….My heart won’t break.

And Sometimes…you’re even lost when it’s all over you.Like me…sometimes there’s so much beauty in the desperation while coming off a high of such amazing music. It’s a part inside of me which wants so badly for it to just stay. It’s like I just want to grab onto the moment and never let it go.

But that’s the beauty in the desperation.

Because when something is so wonderful and fleeting, it gets that much more intense. It’s similar to the feeling of a person you grow to care so deeply for, but know you can never have. When something is out of your reach it’s all the more beautiful.

You are so full of energy, so un-   jaded, and so fucking lovely. I hate   the distance I feel just because of   the impending greatness, and the   force that will drive you away. It’s   bittersweet. I want the best for   you, but I hate when you go. I have   been trying to figure out what it is   about you that is so captivating.   So last night while I was watching   you, I let go and touched some   points.

None of your songs sound the   same. When I told you so, you   pointed out something very true.   It’s because both of you are  bringing certain aspects to songwriting which most people who work together can’t do. And that is full trust and lack of competitiveness. In this dismal cut throat industry, songwriters feel they must have ‘their style’ which marks their territory on a song. So they can’t let that be and write a proper song with full freedom. And each of your songs are marked with liberty and brilliance. They don’t get boring- the whole set keeps our ears busy and loving each minute. Because no minute is the same.

Along the same lines, you come up to the stage with no expectations, no regrets, and no concerns. You do your thing, you do it well, and most importantly, you have fun doing it. The energy spills out into the crowd, and into each person, and it cycles around. The ambiance is extraordinary, and it freezes time.You don’t let yourselves get sick of your songs, because you manage to add elements to the tunes with tweaks in your musical and vocal arrangements, and it’s truly charming.

Your voices are completely different. And when you sing together it’s like the perfect dance. The harmonies are compiled with the most incredible knowledge and anticipation of each other. There is no way to describe the sound besides sheer beauty.

I could go on, but this is looking like a sappy love letter for two,

and I should just sign this post “Penny Lane.”

The point is you boys are fuckin’ tight. I could sit and listen to you for hours.

And when you whistle it’s just plain adorable.