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Having pissed off everyone who could do you any good half-a-dozen times each, and wishing you could’ve been just a little more vicious.

January 6, 2009

I really want to submit this essay I wrote to some publication, but I keep spending hours changing dashes to parentheses and back again.  And now I’m just really starting to hate the whole thing, but I just need to get it out of here, and by here I mean my head.  I was going to put it up on here, but then I took it down, because I didn’t want to hurt “someone’s” feelings, but I don’t really think it will hurt “someone’s” feelings, so I might put it back up, but then I might just take it down again.  Or password protect it, which is sooo much fun, because then only I can read it.  How exciting must that be? Very. 

While I contemplate putting it up I will say that my friend Marguerite came to visit this weekend and it was grand.  Or as she likes to say, “It was a top night.”  Well, three top nights, well maybe only one really top night, but several great days.  On the first night we ate Mexican food in the mission, which is something that I have seriously been bugging Chloe about for months, and I’m so glad we went because it was amazing, and I saw this girl at the taqueria who I went to BU with, which was random, although I did not take the opportunity to say hello since I was sure she would never remember me.  On Saturday we went to find China Town.  It was pretty cool.  We went to the oldest Buddhist temple in the U.S. It was as Marguerite said, “A little bit of a letdown.”  But she is really hard to impress.  I thought it was kind of lovely although I don’t know if I would really call it a temple it was more of an apartment with a lot of incense and oranges in bowls.  

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Then, we went to NorthBeach, a neighborhood that I love a lot.  Not least because it means a visit to City Lights where I can have a book moment, and where I discovered a poet who I think I am about to fall in love with, John Rybicki.  I mean I’m confused about his poems, but it feels like the kind of confusion where you just know that it is going to freak your freak when you find out what is really going on.  

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Back to the apartment for a slight nap, and some cold pizza before hitting up the bar down the street.  The roommates and Josie were otherwise occupied so me and Mags were flying solo.  She, and I don’t know how she does this, immediately met some men and soon her drinks were being bought right and left.  I realized that no stranger has bought my drink in like a year.  Those were the days.  So, after engaging in a heated conversation about the horrors of writing with the manager of the Kabuki Sundance Theater, we were whisked out onto the street to go to a “dance club” with a “movie producer from LA.”  Well, at least one of these things was legit.  We did go to a dance club where we proceeded to dance like it was our job for about 25 minutes before it got to the point that our ears would explode if we didn’t get away from the speakers.  Home we went, but not before stopping at Mythic to share a slice of pizza and an Orange Crush.  Yeah.  

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Next day we did some shopping and I got a large Euro/homeless sweater with fake fur in the hood.  We popped into a vintage boutique, and I was admiring these cool gold name bracelets, which for some reason only had male names, and the woman asked, “What name are you looking for?” and I said, “Ramona,” and she said, “Oh, those are boyfriend bracelets,” and all of a sudden I was struck by this wave of longing.  I wanted one of those, not a bracelet you know, but a boyfriend.  

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Then we made our way waaaaay out to the Richmond to meet some family friends at the Legion of Honor Museum, which was quite lovely really.  Then we rode waaaaaaaay back to our side of town and collapsed on the air mattress before heading out to Sushi Bistro for dinner.  It was here that Marguerite bestowed what is to her the king of compliments, “You know that sushi was actually pretty good.”  

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One Comment leave one →
  1. Kent McMIllan permalink
    January 7, 2009 7:09 am

    I really want to submit this essay I wrote to some publication, but I keep spending hours changing dashes to parentheses and back again. And now I’m just really starting to hate the whole thing, but I just need to get it out of here, and by here I mean my head. I was going to put it up on here, but then I took it down, because I didn’t want to hurt “someone’s” feelings, but I don’t really think it will hurt “someone’s” feelings, so I might put it back up, but then I might just take it down again.

    I saw this at lunch today at the Book Depository Cafe: a young woman sitting several tables away had made a monocle of her fingers, thumb toward forefinger. She held this extended in front of her eye as if signalling “okay” to some person across the room or focusing some imagined rifle scope.

    It came to me though as the circle of her fingers began to close, straining against some invisible object, that this was nothing so benign as sighting in some phantom rifle. She was about to pinch of head off of some unsuspecting victim on the other side of the room and it would be messy.

    Fortunately, her food arrived to distract her only seconds before the horrific final pressure left the wall on the other side of the restaurant splattered with blood and brains. My bill came and I left. On the drive back to the office, I listened for the approaching sirens of police or an ambulance but heard none. Maybe I won’t read the newspaper tomorrow.

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