Listen up Swine Flu, don’t you mess up my trip home. You better be out of America by the end of May or we will have words. That’s right Swine Flu, words!
Also, this week’s lesson: Don’t try to convince Ayn Rand fans that national health care is a good thing. The words you use may sound the same but the definitions will be vastly different. You will end up frustrated (but at least you (and by you I mean me) will know that you are right).
- My wedding — Don’t Falter at the Altar by Cab Calloway, The Luckiest by Ben Folds and She’s an Angel by They Might be Giants. The first was played as people were sitting down before the service. Jeremy had known since the first time he heard this song as a kid that he wanted it played at the wedding. The second played as I walked down the aisle, it’s probably my favorite love song (well maybe tied with Bird on a Wire). The third was the song we danced our first dance to. There was lots of twirling
- The first boy I ever dated — Undone (The Sweater Song) by Weezer. We used to recite this back and forth at each other. Before he turned into a jerk. But still, even though he turned into a jerk, it was sort of sweet.
- My first real heartbreak — Since I Been Loving You by Led Zeppelin. I still feel a little ill when I hear this song. It’s a great song but it makes me really really sad.
- Living in Detroit — Isobel by Bjork. Bjork was always moving music, also the first time I went to 3 Floors of Fun at St Andy’s they were playing Bjork when we walked in the door and I was so psyched to be at a dance club that was actually playing music I liked.
- Living in Las Vegas — She’s a Jar by Wilco. Summerteeth was probably the first CD I bought after moving and She’s a Jar just felt like I was feeling at the time, sort of sad and confused.
- Living in Chicago — Call the Doctor by Sleater Kinney. It was on the walk from The Metro to the Addison El Station that I looked up at the moon and realized, hey Chicago won’t be like Detroit, and that’s okay, Chicago will be something new and awesome all on it’s own and I will be ready for it. I may have had a few G&Ts at the show before this realization, but it still holds true.
- Moving to London — Letter to an Occupant by The New Pornograpghers. Mass Romantic was the last album I listened to before the movers came to take our stuff away. I threw it in the CD box and they tossed it into the truck and there I was with Letter to an Occupant stuck in my head for 30 days.
- Freedom — Here Comes Your Man by The Pixies. After moving into my second apartment in Detroit, the massive one where I lived with two boys on Ferry St near the Nursing Admin building after living with three girls who I had very little in common with. The apartment on Ferry St was a breath of smoke filled fresh air. On the rare occasions that I was home alone I would put Doolittle in and skip straight to Here Comes Your Man, turn the volume up as high as possible, light a cigarette, and then dance up and down the crooked green and white hallway and just felt pure joy.
- Getting my tattoo — Hero/Heroine by Freakwater Renee was on a Freakwater kick that week so we drove up 8 Mile in the sun looking for the tattoo place listening to this song over and over
- Driving cross country — Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash. I had this mixtape that I listened to the whole way back to Michigan. Ring of Fire always perked me up when it came on and I would shout along with Johnny despite my chronic bronchitis and the howling cats in carriers next to me on the front seat of my U Haul. There was also a song that I think was called Jesus on the Dashboard but I can’t remember who it was by right now I just remember it was awesome.
- I am supposed to be in Italy right now. I should have seen David Byrne live last night and should be on my way to Sicily. Right now. Sadly I am at work in London. And not that London isn’t great, it is great, but it is not Italy. The coffee from the machine in the kitchen is not anywhere near the quality of the coffee I OUGHT to be drinking right now.
- My bus was in a minor 2 bus collision this morning which delayed us by about 15 minutes while the drivers discussed what had happened and then decided to go on as normal. This caused much tooth sucking on the upper deck of the northbound 63.
- It is really sunny and nice out and I am stuck at work. That sucks. I should be sitting in the park reading a book right now.
- I am supposed to be in Italy! Italy! Right now! My desk is not a suitable substitution for Sicily. Not in a million kabillion years.
So my brithday was this weekend (in case you didn’t realize it was on the 19th, I don’t mind if your presents get here late so don’t be embarrassed if you haven’t sent them yet). To celebrate I invited friends out to the Old Nun’s Head in Nunhead for drinks and general revelry. I drank shandies all night long so as to avoid any embarrassing drunken antics seeing as, at 32, I am much too old for that sort of thing now. While this is not a drink that Hank Williams would approve of crying into, it was still preferable to having a massive hangoer in the morning.
After the typical (for me) nervous wait to see if people would show up I ended up with a nice crew of wellwishers and a few lovely presents. The Little Black Book of Set Lists, homemade ginger cookies, The Ballad of Peckham Rye by Murial Spark and a book called Lost Chicago, a pink journal with cherry blossoms, and a Spanish penitent plush toy from Madrid where David and Jane had gone to see the Easter parades.
As the bartenders announced last call I realised (happily) that my table was the loud joyful one and that was a really nice thing to realise.
On Sunday morning, my actual birthday, I went out for breakfast with friends and then wandered slowly back home in the sunshine. Whilst talking to my parents later in the day we agreed that it seems impossible that my mother could have a 32 year old daughter. And then I watched some bad tv and made myself a gin and tonic.
It was a nice sun and friend filled weekend and that is a good thing to have.
So my big goal for last year was to finish the first draft of my book. Yeah, that hasn’t happened. I have a good chunk of the lousy thing done, but it definitely isn’t finished. But this year, I tell you, THIS YEAR, is going to be my year. the first draft is going to be done. Finito! And then I will start the fun part of the process (she said sarcastically) the editing. And I’m not setting a time line for the editing because editing is miserable. Well, miserable and fun in a weird way. And I know it’s where all my story threads will start to tie up and come together and it’s the part of the process where I can begin manipulating the characters more, rather than being manipulated by them as I currently am (Who knew Marcy would end up a born again Christian? Not me, she just suddenly started lecturing Abby on squandering her light! Where’s that girl get off anyhow?).
So for now I keep plugging away at the draft, finishing before April 19th 2010 is a totally reasonable goal and I can do it.
In the meantime, I keep thinking of trying to write a romance novel as a side project. Something really tawdry and fun, but before I do that I need a pseudonym. Maybe Esme’ Delacroix or Stacie Malibu. Any suggestions? A good fake name will be vital to my trashy novel writing future.
So a few months ago we heard through the Nunhead grapevine that Oliver had sent another cat to the vet in brawl. I don’t entirely trust the veracity of this report as it come from an elderly woman with suspect eyesight, but neither would I dismiss it out of hand. There are a lot of cats in our neighborhood and as a result there are often battles over territory. Oliver likes to regulate the feline traffic in our tiny garden, that’s how he earns his keep. If those other cats (Bob and Tabby I’m looking at you) want to challenge him then they need to accept the potential danger inherent in making such a decision. It’s a hard knocks world out there and sadly Oliver the half monkey half cat took a knock last week.
At first we just thought he was feeling poorly as he was sleeping extra and had no desire to go outside, so I switched up his food and he seemed to improve, then on Thursday he came home with a pronounced limp in his back left foot. By Friday it was worse, and we essentially had a three legged cat so on Saturday we wrangled Oliver into his carrier and took the 2 bus journey to the vet.
Luckily they were able to see us right away and according to the vet it looks like the monkey got in a fight and somebody bit his foot and it got infected. So she gave him a shot of antibiotics (along with a worm pill just to be safe, the little dude had a traumatic Saturday) and gave us instructions to keep him in until he stops limping. Oliver is tremendously unhappy with this decision and has been letting me know exactly how unhappy he is by spraying the walls. I’m really hoping that by tomorrow he’ll be able to use his foot again because otherwise I might have to give him to one of the bad kids from the school next to our house.
All in all though, it’s been very sad watching him limp around the house as he meows pathetically by the door. Fingers crossed that he’ll be fully mended soon before we both go crazy.
This is what I want for my birthday. Jon Hamm or Paul Rudd will do.
Please also include airfare to LA. Thanks.