INTRODUCTION: This incescent need to blog is driving me crazy. I can’t remember if it was like this or not when I first got my LJ. I’m actually trying to maintain an LJ; and plan to explain to my lj community why I have this blog, why it’s different from my lj … blah, blah, blah. I’m also thinking about going back and making all my previous entries public. This might serve to make some background to this site. I don’t know. I’m not so sure about anything that I do. Since my whole idea for my eventual project is that I am the “eventual product-project,” there are a multitude of things I could do. When I showed a guy at the humidor the review tonight (in it’s raw and horrid form that sounded like I was really lobbing rude and mindless cigar-shaped thought grenades made of yellow and orange estrogen at him) … well, he didn’t curl up and die or anything. And when I logged into LJ, my friend had commented on my post. And although I have not gotten a call back from “my engineer” (so that I don’t know if I can call him this yet – or reveal his name because I’m a big dork like in high school or something … even though I have NO READERS YET, mind you! I am actually afraid of HYPOTHETICAL READERS, people!) … even though he hadn’t called me, I remembered that my L-word buddy has been calling me steadily and that I am sure we will continue to hang out regularly even after the season finale of “The L-Word.”
A CIGAR RELATED ASIDE, BLOCKAGES: I think that my Lotus (this was the biggest picture I could find and I couldn’t find the Lotus site) lighter is not working. The husband says it’s clogged. I have a weird feeling that it has been confused with one of the other 4 people who have this same lighter at the humidor (why yes, I enjoy linking … shut up). This sucks (by the way, if you looked at the “humidor” link … yes that was a hot chick smoking a cigar at the top of the website. Umm-hmmm … .
PETTY JEALOUSIES: Kalu James is playing at the Cactus Cafe tonight. He’s a great guy (although I don’t know him well, he’s never done me wrong); he’s the guy everyone’s kind of got a hard-on for right now at the coffee place. I’m glad for him, but I have musician’s jealousy, which I hate. It doesn’t make me upset with him, it makes me mad at someone that we’re referring to as “the man behind the curtain” (or the run-in at open mic night). I think what might happen to me if I ever got to fucking play a fucking note somewhere? It’s not that I don’t get to … it’s just that every experience is tainted with really, really bad mojo and stupidity. I don’t think I’m what they’re looking for right now, I suppose.
These are negative thoughts, but I’ve had a negative time. I guess I’m just getting old and tired. I’ve had a couple of bites, I’m just going to have to see how the internet thing goes because I don’t actually see myself playing in Austin. Believe me, I’ve tried.
I go out to places like the humidor, and then the music thing comes up. It’s not just the humidor. A lot of times, I’m actually choosing to go to a gig with a friend. I have to psych myself out first – tell myself “you’re going to a place where you are not up on stage … and you haven’t been able/allowed to be onstage in a substantial way for ages. Last time you played for someone, they pushed you over and showed you what they’d been working on (even though that person wasn’t a professional musician; they were a computer person/teacher/designer/restaurant owner/circus performer/diamond merchant, etc. – so it was kind of insulting because it was like you weren’t “special.”). And when you’re at this gig – you’re going to be hungry to play. You’re going to want to talk about your work. And you’re going to want to engage someone. But people aren’t going to be there for that.”
Even though this is exactly where a lot of people make connections, this seems to backfire for me. It’s probably because I don’t have that shine on me like I’ve just come off of a tour that ended with a triumphant 500-seater at Stubb’s (not that people sit there, but whatever). The last times I played, it was friends. I didn’t promote much. I had good excuses for my inactivity having to do with family stuff last year. I ebbed off. And I wasn’t ready, because I was rebuilding. I thought I had something with someone – and when I figured out I didn’t and was getting over it, I had other shit go down.
Now I’m really keen on playing – but it seems like I have to have a resume that can’t exist because of a year of monkey business that I can’t explain. If I say what I was doing, it sounds like bragging shenanigans, or indulgent vacationing. And you can never quite get the forgiveness from the artistic community for being a kept woman. Yeah. I don’t have to suck hot-dog or wait on bended knee for bread and booty to scrape dough. I wish it were you too but it’s not. And if it weren’t me, then I’d be doing things differently. As it is, I’ve wasted so much time apologizing and feeling guilty (and being punished) for this extra “edge,” that a lot of other artsy-fartsies and other types like me have gotten that little jump on me. So sorry. It really does all even out. My six hours of practice time a day really does equal your many name-drops and nepotist-ic bits of clout, bro (this is the global “your,” by the way – no one specific … certainly not Kalu … who may or may not have passed me a lighter once, or picked up mine when it was dropped – maybe that’s why I clogged it!). Actually, there was one open-mic night when Kalu was the only one there who didn’t totally suck. And the suck-after-sucking actually does make me a little mad when I don’t really feel welcome or really encouraged to play (and no; a once in a while tiny nod in my direction isn’t really an encouragement … I actually need to exist in the real-life music community).
REFLECTIONS: I feel guilty about my cigar review that I showed Writer Guy tonight. I was actually really scared when he read it. I don’t know if he’s going to read this later, but I actually was thinking that he was only going to read the review part – and not the “conversation” part. But he kept reading. I’m thinking oh, shit. I just rolled with it.
He was very gracious. I didn’t really think he’d be any different. Of course, he wouldn’t be. He’s never freaked out on anyone at the humidor. In fact, he’s provocative but not man-bitchy. I don’t ever remember him being man-bitchy (even when I’ve seen him feeling pissy – and believe me, you can tell when people feel pissy … you can just see it).
But he sucks it up. A lot of people don’t. I know I’m not good at it. And I have that unfortunate thing that a lot of women get (I’ve talked to other women about this) … although I’ve talked to some men who say that they have issues with this as well (it must be really hard for them because I know that there is real stigma about crying for men). I cry, or tend to. If I’m really mad or frustrated … I’ll just get this really shocked crying going behind my eyes. They’ll get really hot behind my eyeballs and I’ll feel like somebody just SLAPPED! the inside of my brain. Right up against my temporal lobe – SLAP! It really sucks, because if you let those first tears fall, you’re screwed, dude … What I’m saying is that I’m not that good at sucking it up. I don’t know what Writer Guy’s “thing” is … but that’s my “thing” and I’m not that good at dealing with it. I think it’s a kind of “inside-out temper.”
Anyway, he was nice about the review. I wasn’t hideous about it – but I made my opinions about his “sacred space” feelings known. He has even tried to give disclaimers – which I guess almost made it worse in my opinion. I guess I felt like the “women, of course there are also some women … sometimes …” thing was patronizing. I felt like a doggy at the table, or something. I know that wasn’t meant. But I hate feeling like a little girl. Like I pissed in my pants or something. I worked hard to be 34. What sucks about being 34 is that you’re not 25 anymore … and you’re not fucking 40 either. You don’t get sexy and you don’t get clout. It’s like you have your head out of the clouds and not quite all the way up your ass. There’s no real excuse for ‘ya.
This is all my shit of course, as I’m projecting all over the wilderness. This is someone else’s father (keep this in mind). I have compared him to my father quite a few times (with the notable exception that I’ve seen him 200% more times in the last month than I have seen my own dad – despite the tantalizing promise of a sushi revisit … which I would really enjoy but won’t get my hopes too up on).
Anyway, it’s when you open your mouth (or your computer) that shit starts getting complicated. I’ll have to keep that in mind.
POLVOS on SOUTH FIRST – a restaurant review (#1): I’m going to give this a go. Just a simple review based on a few things.
MOOD: The mood was subdued. Mike commented that he was on his “man-period” (which, after today’s conversation, made me want to French-kiss him in the restaurant. This would have elevated my dining experience, but potentially harmed Polvo’s in the eyes of other, hypothetical real reviewers.) . As I was also tired, “raggy” (as has been discussed), and guilty for missing Kuk Sool Won, which I would have gone to if I hadn’t been trying to sit up straight and also process my previous evening’s stupidity (which was not as excessive as I make it sound – seeing as I’m old). The restaurant was loud though, with several women trying to look like Sheryl Crow or like that chick from Lipstick Jungle but just laughed really loudly and shrill like redneck diner waitresses in a totally post SX-Sac-n-Pac-West way. So that kind of screwed with the MOOD SCORE [1-5 (raised for handicap)] … made it into a 3.5
FOOD SCORE: The food, as usual, was great. But we filled up on queso. And my husband was served chicken instead of his meat. Which was quickly corrected – thank goodness! So I’m giving it a 4. Could be because they’re good. Could be because I don’t know any better yet, this being my first review. I like Polvo’s. Go there.
ATTITUDE SCORE: The waitstaff, as usual, was surly. But they always are to us. It’s the So-Co, S.1st, downtown-y area. It’s gettin’ there. So sue them. It’s not Kirby Lane yet, so you can get over it. They’ve got more stuff to do, than to worry too much about your dumb ass. They brought husband back his meat, as I said – so they get a little raise … and they were intuitive-ish about my cherry drink (their diet Coke and Grenadine the way they do it tastes like a Strawberry Shortcake doll smells … which contrasts nicely with the pickly carrots on the dish I had (something with Guajillo sauce) and the smell of the restaurant). 4
Like I say, I’m feeling bitchy. It got a 3.8. That’s good for today. I’m conservative. A “4″ is probably really stellar, and a 6-7 good average for cigars
YOU SAY VA-gina, I SAY VAG-ina, LET’S CALL THE WHOLE THING OFF: Okay, that was cheezy. The only reason I brought this up was because of food and memories. I was walking out and remembering that I had reason to visit a gynecologist’s office (I’m auditioning one for future use, I guess we’ll say … sort of). I had to say this because I have to look this up on google while I’m blogging so that we can all do it together – me and you, my huge audience … I was going into the room, and there was one of those uterus models. The ones you could see from straight on.
Well, it was right behind the gauzy curtains. There were all these fertile things on the curtains … leaves and flowers and stuff … and the uterus was just showing through the curtains. It looked like it was sewn on the curtains. I thought, uterus curtains … how weird. Then I thought:
*Would ‘Uterus Curtains’ make a good band name?
I still cannot find any products with uteri on them. Will keep looking.
Nevermind … but need MORE, many MORE: