Saturday, March 21, 2009

Boycott This Too

So Erik P. told a story last night. About the first time he felt the call of responsibility, appropriate adult decision making. He was out drinking, and it was already 1am and people wanted him to go to this other bar, other party, prolonging the fun. And EP had something to do the next day, and it was already late, so he declined and went home. And that's where "Nomad's Revolt" stems from: at what point do you start acting grown-up without realizing it?

After this explanation, a guy behind me yells "That was the most un-rock-and-roll story ever!", and the audience agreed and nodded their heads to Erik's lameness. But it's interesting that this was EP's second show that night, the first one was all ages, and probably very rowdy and sweaty. The one I saw cost me ten fucking dollars, in this trendy bar that didn't have any real beer. And I mean, nothing in a can; local beers only, cheapest was three dollars. There were candles on the tables. Didn't all of us old fuckers opt for the comfortable show, where no one was going to dance into us or spill beer on us? At least me and Kelly and Andre were enjoying ourselves.

I've just felt recently that many of the revolutionaries/partiers/don't give a fuck people I've known have slammed on the brakes. Rough housing and shenanigans are taboo, and I am seen as the immature loser, who's trying to relive some other repressed time period. As if we're SO OLD. Listen, if I've got another 60 years on my life, and I'm already deemed too old to do certain things then tell me what a 23 year old girl should be doing. I just haven't abandoned that spirit, just because I'm not in college anymore. Where does it say that it's only OK to be ridiculous and spontaneous and rowdy if you're in school. I'd agree it was a lot easier, but my understanding of anarchic life is that coming home from work and waiting for the next pre-planned activity coming up in the month is not fulfilling or stimulating in any way. I don't need an event as an excuse to hang out! Let's just see what happens!
Is pleasure too dangerous??

So with that in mind, I'm leaving Philly to go back to Binghamton for two months so that I can return to the Adirondack mountains and drive a boat all summer. Some people back home will decide I've failed at Philadelphia by moving back, but it's what I need to do to get where I want: Long Lake!

And please don't think I'm targeting a specific person, I'm really not. I'm not even that mad. I just want everyone to have a good time. And keep the good times coming. We've still got a long way to go!

"Wedge a stone in the gears of the clockworks,
try to keep us from acting our age. We swore we'd
carry on like this forever, 'til the free spirits bled.
But now can you believe who's a mother, and that
so-and-so's cut off their dreads"

After all, the nomads are settling down :(

Tuesday, March 10, 2009


Do you remember the first time you puked? I do. Not baby spit up, etc... But as a human being.
I didn't know what was happening! I didn't even know that it was possible to have stuff come BACK out of your body. I had no idea.
I know what throwing up is now, that it can happen to people, animals, words ("word vomit"), maybe the orgasming penis could be considered as puking if you want. Point is, lots of things have liquid-y substances forced out of them.
But I don't know this at all. Never heard of it. Never saw it. Didn't think it was a thing.
So I wake up, in what I perceive to be "the middle of the night", but it's probably like 10:00, considering I was in bed at 7:30, right after the theme song to Jeopardy!, which was my ritual lullaby before bed. La-la-la-la..... I'm definitely wearing footy pajamas.
It's the dead of night to me. I wake up and my arm is all wet.
"What the fuck?
What is this shit on my arm?"

So I don't know what puke is right? And I don't know what this is, or why I'm wet, so it certainly didn't come out of me.
I walk to the door and puke a little. Oh what the fuck. I'm really scared. I must be dying. Out to the living room, with my parents on their respective couches watching TV. They are confused. I'm never out of bed. Before anyone can process anything (Like why is she awake, and is that vomit slinking down her pajamas?) I say one word.
The word to start every childhood sickness from then on: "Moooooooom!, immediately punctuated by "BAAARRRRFFFFFF!!!!"
And here I thought I was just going out there to ask them what was up with that smell in my room and did they maybe leave a bowl of soup in my bed, cuz it just dumped on me.
Nope. Full on upchuck. All the muscles in my body working against me to heave every ounce of not-quite-digested food back out and on to the carpet. Food can come back out?? OMFG!

I called my parents the other night, and asked them if they remembered this specific time, and could offer anything else to add. Of course they didn't. It is only important to me. Hank just says "I remember you puking A LOT!".