2010-09-01
lookin at the moon
at saturn this weekend i saw a poster for a "punk show" that turned out to be at the food not bombs house on laurel. i happily biked home from work last night, fixed myself a wolfman jack and began watching julie & julia on netflix instant (this may just be the final railroad tie on this particular investigative journey). the weirdest thing though...
i started to feel numb. like, panic attack-betty draper numb. especially my feet. sure i had the dready knot in the guts that comes with the anticipation of going to strange places alone, but this was more acute somehow. i felt a shower might coax some blood flow, so i indulged.
upon returning to my room with a frosty miller hi-life, i realized showtime was in two minutes, so i hauled ass to put on some regular ass clothes and began to chug. i proudly downed that quart of beerchampagne with many cataclysmic belches, but then felt very weird. totally bloated and filled with gas (damn you champagne of beers!) that didn't want to come out. plus the numbness.
anyway, i biked up to the house, which seemed curiously empty but for a lone person and mic-less stand that i glimpsed through the window. i had been gearing up to be super friendly and outgoing, but, chickenly though i am, decided to wait awhile. in my numb/fog/drunk haze i bought a black and mild and sat on the steps of what i thought was an old church but turned out to be stupid architecture firm with a manicured lawn.
i sat there with my head bowed and circled in smoke and felt suspended. for a long time i sat, liking the temperature and the feel of my head against the cold stones. my bike rested on its side and it made me happy - even if i can't approximate happy days i have had, at least my bike can recollect some rambunctious joy.
soon music floated across the parking lot and i roused myself, sticking my b&m into the tape to which my lights cling. i walked through the back yard, paid $5 to two surly (i mean fucking surly, what the fuck is it with these entitled prickly punks who can't even crack a smile while taking money for something they enjoy!?!?) teens and made my way into the crowd of young punksters. (hipsters + punks? i guess thats as close as it gets...norcali style).
band was really good, but better was the puppet show after about the last rabbit on earth. during the break i made chit chat with some dude who, despite my smooth conversational skills, failed to ask me even a single question! its weird...milling around in the semidarkness, willing and hoping to engage someone cool in conversation, surrounded by people looking at you like you smell bad or something (but i just showered!).
second band was great: guitar, banjo, upright bass and...washboard! good, dedicated musicians and fun/heartwarmy songs. was floored by "christmas lights," a cover by paul baribeau, which was able to capture such a distinct feeling (and one i am entrenched in at present) of detachment and loneliness and hope. beautiful.
my hair whipped around my face on the foggy ride home and my heart sang along to the reassuring thrum of two rubber wheels on familiar ground.
tinteardrop at 1:17 p.m.