Lucky Dog

a happy blur song, a maxfield parrish sky, a convertible, soft marin air, 70mph on the slalom, feeling like christie brinkley in that red corvette...

makes me glad i didn't give up the fight.

Liver! I hardly know her!

when i drink on straterra, i turn purple in the face. learned today that's about the liver not being able to process the alcohol, and that in rare cases, strattera robs the liver of enzymes it needs to be fully functional. the fact that this happens when i've only had a few sips of alcohol could mean i have to give up strattera (or alcohol). motherfucker. how am i supposed to make a choice between what makes me a better worker, and what makes me a better person? i'm only kind of kidding.

WishList.com

yet another way to observe someone, to see how they live.

The Amazon Wish List.

Meeting Augusten

i got there 40 minutes early. i wanted it to be an hour but shit got busy at work right at leaving time. i called ahead that morning to find out everything i could about the processes. i was told there were tickets. i was told you must buy one of his books there that night to get a ticket. i was told people with tickets were assured a spot, and that people without were not. i already had his new book, but i knew i couldn't take a chance, i'd have to buy another one with my last remaining $25. i called my friend D. i told him he needed to see this guy, i told him i'd buy the book for him for his birthday. he said Fuck Yeah! (too bad for him he didn't show).

of course i knew when i stepped out of my car and my skirt folded over onto itself several times, that i'd made a big fashion mistake. san francisco and swishy skirts do not mix. i forgot this detail. i also had no jacket. when i left work in marin it had been too hot for anything but a tshirt. naturally, it was freezing in the City and in order to control my skirt i had to forfeit warmth and wrap my way-thin sweater around my waist. i stood there. in the cold. and waited. i told myself as i began to lose patience after 30 minutes, "you will get in. and you will hear him. it will happen." and i focused on that.

to meet augusten burroughs and see him in person, hear him in person, feel him in person, and know he is real. i needed to know. focused.

several hundred people showed up for his reading at Books, Inc. in the castro. the line went seven stores down the block. when i got inside, i saw that i would not get a seat, but it didn't really matter because i had a view. many did not. what followed was unexpected. i felt like i was in kindergarten. as we all waited, fatigued from battling city elements, a song was played for us. when augusten came out, finally, he explained the song was by tegan and sara and had been written and recorded for his audio book. huh. sometimes listening to songs in public with no band to look at is very uncomfortable. like watching tv commercials in a movie theatre. i would not choose it.

then he began reading. his hands shook while he held the book. i couldn't tell if it was because he was nervous or just positioned funny in his hand. he had a trucker hat on, high on his head. a flashy earring in his left ear caught spotlights, he wore a circular pendant of silver on a black string around his neck. his white tshirt allowed nicely for it with a low dip in the front. a graphic of the sculpture david (?) sat on the lower left hip of the tee. a leather jacket and nicely worn jeans (diesel?) hung perfectly off his narrow hips. i could see a metal-studded belt underneath it. i love those belts. he had a strong jaw, but a slight redness under the stubble on his cheek that showed me he'd been rid. i couldn't stop looking at the contrast. healthy. rid. healthy. rid. he seemed to turn more and more rid as he read and red as he rid.

he read well. i so appreciate a good reader. it's not an easy task. especially in front of people. there is a rhythm of breathing that i always find difficult, even though i am a good reader. it's creative in that there has to be a letting go in order to act instinctively, which is omnipresent. must tap into instinct. you have to listen to the sound and trust yourself. there is a rhythm to the sound of the words and the layout of the sentences that can be hit perfectly, or awkwardly. he hit them perfectly. like jerry garcia playing stella blue in 1990.

lastly, some Q&A. questions ranged from the stupid, "what was it like living with the finches?" well, that's a long story, maybe i'll write it down sometime. to the really interesting, "you've talked a lot about recovery from loss, and the holes in your heart, but you haven't talked about how you learned to trust people." writing and being published has helped me learn to trust people...it has taught me about people because for every reading i go to, there are people who come up to me and say, "this happened to me too." you know, you, there in the orange shirt with white stripes (points to guy) can say out loud the very worst thing that you've ever done, and i guarantee there is someone else in this room that has done the same thing, or knows exactly how it feels to do that thing.

one woman asked him how it could be possible, as he states, that in his father's 2nd marriage that lasted 25 years, that wife never knew the monster that augusten writes about in his new book. he answered her question by re-stating that his father was a sociopath. the woman then went on to say, "well, i've been married 20 years and i just can't imagine how that's possible." she was challenging him. it pissed me off. you just need to know one sociopath to understand how very possible that is. and i have known. and i can believe it.

i wanted to tell him that when i met him. when it was my turn for him to sign my book. i wanted to tell him that he is the reason i am no longer a poverty-stricken graphic designer; the reason i became a copywriter. i wanted to ask him if he thought they might see some strings in switzerland this summer (he told us he loves particle physics). i wanted to say, what your brother said about memory and emotions is really cool. i wanted to thank him for helping me learn how to be an honest writer. more than anything, i wanted to tell him that.

but all that came out, when i stepped up to him, was a tiny little voice, "hi." i didn't even recognize my voice, it was so small and timid and shy. he said, hi. and then he read the little sticky note i was told to put on the page that i wanted him to sign. it said "louisiana." are you louisiana? little tiny voice, "yes." and he looked at me. really looked at my face. i felt like he knew i was about to say something, but could not. he looked down and started writing and said, thank you for coming tonight. and out came my tiny voice, "thank you for reading...and writing." doy. he looked back up at me, into my face and waited a beat. nothing came out. he smiled. he felt kind. he told me have a good night. i told him, "take care." his last words, ok. soft smile. while still looking at me, there was an undefined spacetime moment, and then i walked away. i felt like i just witnessed a me that exists in a parallel opposite-world. a shy me that's scared of people and can barely speak. i kept trying to put a face to the voice...

i walked away glad that i was finally moving through space rather than just standing in it. i looked at my cell phone clock. it had been 2.5 hours since my arrival. walking felt good.

i got in my car and lit a cigarette.

i love him.

Augusten Burroughs' Memory

augusten's new book about his relationship with a bad dad, A Wolf At The Table, is really stirring up a lot of dad memories for me. which is funny because that is the topic of AB's interview with new york magazine: how much can you remember? and why?

augusten's "assburger" (asperger's) brother, also an author, said this about AB having a tremendous memory and perfect recall:

“I really feel strongly that people are critical of my brother because he’s so emotional. But that absolutely does not mean it’s made up. Just because somebody dramatizes the emotional content of something in their mind does not make it false.”

augusten is having to answer a lot of questions about his memoir writing and style and ability to remember details starting at one and a half years old. the idea of emotions making a deeper memory footprint really resonates for me. i have always remembered details about what i was wearing at certain events and where i was when i heard a certain thing, and what i was looking at while listening, with a special talent for remembering conversations verbatim...and what a coincidence: i've also been called "SO" emotional more than anything else in my life. this kind of emotional fallout really brings to light a lot of ideas i've yet to investigate (can you make yourself remember something more clearly if you scare yourself at the same time?)

how about this totally unexciting conversation i had weekend before last. why would i remember an unexciting conversation? doesn't seem like an emotional situation, but ah, it was. i felt very strongly throughout the conversation. first i was really angry and annoyed, then sad and self-hating. i'm not sure why else i would remember something so banal.

with lady at gas station in a poor central valley town:
(i'm buying a bottle of smart water)

lady: so, ya gotta get the "smart water" huh?
me: uh, yeah. (i look up, hating her, knowing she's about to spout what she thinks is an original thought)
lady: aren't the waters all the same?
(she smirks and looks at me, like "AH-HA! i cornered you ridiculous brand-loyal water drinker!")
me: no. this one has a sharper taste than most because of the electrolytes.
(lady waits for a smile. i don't give it to her. i'm annoyed. her face falls.)
lady: oh.
(then i feel bad, she knows not what it means.)
me: but most of them are the same.
lady: oh.

i already know how augusten's new book is going to be critiqued and why an attack on his memory happened in the new york mag interview in the first place. the first few pages read like a movie. he describes scenes i've seen. they're so familiar, but, at the same time, he so perfectly matches words to feelings...feelings that words didn't seem to have been invented for yet. but he finds them, and makes the feeling/memory clear, and that quality is nothing short of amazing. he's also funny.

"Trying to remember was like plowing snow, packing it into a bank. Dense whiteness...I could remember the smell of the sun on my arm...I saw a monkey on a leash and thought it was an ugly foreign child."

criminal

trying to figure out exactly how hysterical i should be feeling about xx xxx deciding to be a tax criminal. and taking xx xxx down that road with him.

she told me to put it in a box in my brain and shove it really far away.

Paul Dano and Bunny Killer

dream 4/23: guy is having an affair with a woman named "Bunny Killer." in my dream, whoever tells me says, "don't laugh, but her name is Bunny Killer." i wake up thinking "Killer, Bunny" like how she'd be called in class during roll call.

last night guy tells me that's a euphemism for a positive pregnancy test in the, clearly, dark ages. i have never ever ever heard that before. WEIRD.

dream 4/22: pursued by a gang of teenagers (led by the guy who plays a preacher in There Will Be Blood). who put a bomb in my house. i evacuate my family (mom, sisters) and call the cops. while waiting for the cops, i see the leader across the street trying to do something else really really bad. i pull out my cameraphone to take a picture. he hears. we lock all doors and windows. call cops again. phone just rings and rings and rings. no cops answer. have to stop my sisters from going outside of the locked door.

Bye-Bye Facebook

count me DEACTIVATED you stupid piece of shit. i'm so serious. who, or what invented such a false bullshit fascist high-school-all-over-again internet commercial vehicle. i mean, really. i'm so happy that now i don't have to bitch about it anymore, i'm done. i hope my little cousin e. in louisiana will just write to me sometimes, and that my friend b., who's moving to south america and posted all the time, even though he's the only person who ever had a clue about what a pile of phony shit facebook is, will just keep in touch on a personal level.

the final straw? advertisements taking the name of my friend and posting their words with her name on my "wall." DONE. GLAD!! STUPID!!!

The Singularity.

one word. WHOA.
really. am i catching on to something people have known about for some time?

a few thoughts.
why am i reminded of the Rapture?

jokes are coming to me...hold on...almost got one.

"take one step closer and i'll throw you into the heart of the singularity so fast, your eyeballs will pop out."

"i don't have to worry about dying before the singularity because I AM the singularity."

"i'm going to see The Singularity tonight at the fillmore."

i wonder if the singularity will first make it's appearance at devil's tower in wyoming.

holy crap.

Prime Time Punishment

when i was a kid i was grounded a lot. this meant no socializing whatsoever, not even at lunch. at lunch i was reprimanded to return home. at age 15, i was once grounded for three months - april, may, and yes, the first month of summer break. from my bedroom window i could hear football games floating over the atmosphere from my high school. that hurt. that was serious salt in my wounds. i also had two boy classmate neighbors, one on either side. when they were having parties, i'd sneak outside and watch/listen to them laugh and carry on through holes in the fence. seriously.

the funny thing about this pathetic story is some of the people i was overhearing in the backyards next door turned out to be my present-day best friends, and my ex-husband. and that's pretty cool.

i think of this as i sit at my kitchen counter in beautiful fairfax and hear football cheers floating just this way while i smoke fatties and do whatever i want.