Flaming.Lips. Good Days

As I am trying to figure out the logistics of my next year, I've spent a lot of time thinking about good days, the way in which we re-create our past into a sense of beautiful Nostalgia. In our memories, the past becomes something more untrue, something we create, weave together and look back on fondly.

You know, those days when you just fall asleep and realize you've had a really fucking good day? Or you wake up the next day, feet sticking outside of your car, hungover as fuck and realize you saw the Flaming Lips live? You realize you danced and drank so much the night was a wonderful, memorable happy blurrrrr. Yes. Nostalgia.

I had one of these in New York. I spent the early morning eating breakfast in Central Park, I went to the MET and saw breathtaking art, then had coffee with someone who works for the U.N. and then saw an Off Broadway Play, "The Pentagon Papers." I drank sips of Australian boxed juice wine through Little Italy and got lost on the subway.

What I am getting at here, in a strictly subjective manner, is that sometimes, life is really fucking good. Good days happen far and few in between the daily necessities of work and life. A good day, sometimes doesn't happen as much as it should. And that in itself, is a tragedy.

It took a picture I found of Sasquatch '06 for me to realize this. It goes back to two paragraphs up.
Dude. I was pretty close. Yes, I just typed, "Dude." Verbosity is dead.

So in loud of the current tone of this post- it's Spring and I am going to go home early and share an awesome song-
http://www.metacafe.com/watch/wm-A10302B0000122694Y/the_flaming_lips_bad_days_official_music_video/
The Flaming Lips - Bad Days (Official Music Video) - Watch more top selected videos about: The_Flaming_Lips

You're Nuts.

My boyfriend recently, told me, in half jest-- that my blog is just full of only emotion and art. At first, I took this personally. However, it’s true. So in lou of changing the bandwagon, of getting off the truck, of altering the rhythm and flow of things, etc. etc. Here’s a funny story:

I had a man come into my office and tell me about a squirrel stuck in an old typewriter. That’s right; he interrupted my NPR listening by walking straight into my office with his old childhood friend. He then broke the awkward silence by telling me about the old-ways of the library and a squirrel.

Let me describe you these people. His friend had hair dyed bright orange, her lips obviously injected with fake soft liquid gel then covered in bright red lipstick and she wore a purple, skin tight suit velour suit. He was a very attractive, very well read older man. I understand now, that “Childhood Friend” is obviously a façade.

After they interrupted Amy Goodman and my organization in Excel, he proceeded to tell me how once, a very long time ago, a black squirrel managed to climb up 4 floors. The squirrel then hid in the typewriter. He then captured the squirrel in a box and put it back outside. Not only does this story seem unfeasible, it seems unreasonable and ridiculous. I have no idea why this man walked into my office in the first place, I have no idea why there was a woman with him and I have no idea why he told me about a story about a squirrel that wasn’t even true.

He then later sent me an email thanking me for being so 'welcoming and receptive' to his friend and him... go figure.

The cult following of Star Wars

I have never seen Star Wars. I know, I know, I am not very pop culture savvy and I live under some sort of rock (or out in the middle of nowhere) but after stumbling upon this:
"Wookieepedia, The Star Wars Wiki"

http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Main_Page

and realizing two things

1- the little furry bear creatures are kind of cute, (in a strange, strange way)

2- I watch movies, and the plot of these seems to be very well woven, intricate and developed, the characters, the ideas...well, I honestly have no idea why I have never seen the movies.

So, look forward blog, "Popping the Star Wars Cherry at 23:Demystifying the Wookie"

Hey-oh.

We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us. ...The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it.

John Steinbeck- Travels with Charley

----

While I was sitting in a café in Manhattan, I scribbled the following response a week into my trip:

There is no such thing as quiet in New York City. An overwhelming frustration, a tense feeling pulsating through my veins, through my blood, circulating through my finger tips as it grips my pen. I need a cigarette, the short term gratification of smoke inhalation into my lungs, the instant burning my throat, a stifling cough, the giving-me-5-minutes-of-time-to just-Be . There is an overwhelming frustration. I cannot have a cigarette.

There is an overstimulation. Time moves quicker, as if it speeds up alongside the subway, the blurring edges of the underground iron-clad triangular bridges and support. Time is in speed with the subway and the faces of strangers staring ahead, unmoving like soft clay masks. Above, there is a maze that is lined with street numbers, east, west, northeast, northwest, Names, Parks, People, Places, Things. Right now, I do not like New York City. Immersed, inundated and surrounded by so many people you become invisible. It is like I do not even exist at this table as I sip my coffee and write.

It is like I don't even exist.

The women sitting next to me has fierce knee high leather boots. Her legs are crossed, her palms down on each one of her thighs. She is discussing the deterioration of a friend who does drugs. She talks about the vapid, momentary reality that drugs contain. She talks about cocaine. She says it’s something like an addictive caffeine. She talks about her own ego. She sips her coffee. Her friend is unresponsive.

I think about momentary time, the time that speeds along with me on the subway, the immersion of people to become invisible, the lack of cigarette and the overwhelming frustration.