Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Anyway, Zon and I went out to see them on Friday. From the very first song, my heart sank, and I realized that they suck live. The ladies were a little too cutesy for my taste, and Anna was using some jive open tuning for every song. Still, I stayed to hear them play "Minneapolis," and it was awesome, even though Anna punted the solo. I practically ran out of the Music Hall of Williamsburg after that. I was wearing a "nostalgic" outfit ... something I thought I might have worn in the 90s ... an "ironic" orange-red polo from Lacoste and a pair of grey Levi's, plus some Pumas (of course).
I don't know when this current wave of nostalgia will end. Usually, my method of keeping nostalgia at bay is to have sex with one different NYU student per year, just to prove that I've still got it. I sort of did the same thing this month, though it was disastrous, life-altering sex that I wish I could take back for his sake. But then, this show, and a different sort of temporary salvation. For one magical night at the Music Hall of Williamsburg, a band named That Dog cured me of my regret and poignant, bittersweet sorry - just by making me realize that I missed nothing - nothing! - by not seeing them 15 years ago.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
In recent years, I've only felt utter peace on two days. As soon as I felt the peace, I thought to myself, "uh-oh. Probably the world will drop from underneath me tomorrow." Sure enough, it did. Stupid peace!
I felt a little bit of peace today, although by the time I realized it, the anxiety had crept back in. Probably because an anxious person can't enjoy a moment without getting anxious that the moment has arrived, and that it can only go downhill from here.
What did I do today to achieve peace? I flaked on going to the gym before work. Instead I snuggled with my cat. I put together an optimistic outfit of Steven Alan, Levi's and Pumas. (I put on the Pumas because they are quite uncomfortable, and I thought they might force me to make an appointment at the podiatrist). I went to work, where everything was busy and where a couple of authors sort of got on my nerves. I had a nicotine lozenge. I looked forward to seeing Jeanne tonight and my new therapist tomorrow. (She has her work cut out for her, as they say).
I don't know why peace comes when it comes. I know by now it doesn't come from outfits, and it certainly doesn't come when I drink cup after cup of coffee, as I sometimes do, unwisely. Maybe peace is like a man walking next to us on the street. Some days, we keep apace with him, and sometimes he pulls ahead of us, or falls behind. Maybe he falls behind us so that he may stab us in the back, which I always fear whenever anyone is walking behind me. One day, of course, that final man of peace will arrive - the sweet, sweet peace of Mr. Death. Or, maybe there is no peace in death, just nothing at all.
Heidi took this pic of me.