…that there seem to be only three options under “what are you mailing?”:
One night in 1996, I picked up a very adorable boy at a bar in Sacramento (the Wreck Room, I believe) and we went back to his flat a few blocks away. All night long, we made out to the sounds of Ella Fitzgerald, which made me like that adorable boy even more.
The next morning, as I was driving back to my room at the Motel 6 or wherever, I heard on the radio that Ella had died the previous night while we were curled up in bed listening to her. It made me very sad. I never heard from the boy again either, which also made me sad.
I loved Ella even as a child, and I have very sketchy memories of seeing her on the Ed Sullivan Show when I was really young (maybe this one?). In that proverbial game of dead celebrities you’d like to have at a dinner party, she makes my list every time.
Happy 100 and rest in peace, Ella.
I’d think this was pretty cool, but:
- I’m no longer in my 40s.
- I no longer live in Winston-Salem.
- I’m so very not looking for love.
That said, it ties in with something I was thinking about this morning. I could never love anyone who:
- Makes a line of cars wait while he backs his monster SUV into a small space in the parking garage.
- Shoots video using his phone in the vertical (portrait) mode.
- Could ever justify supporting the Trump regime for any reason whatsoever.
- Does not understand when to use “your” rather than “you’re” or vice versa.
- Owns no books.
- Thinks he has the right to listen to the Eagles (or Nickelback, or Twenty One Pilots) in my presence.
I think this will be enough bullet lists for one Wednesday.
Just as I decided I was really tired of being perpetually outraged, and that I could not bear any more social media time, any further discussion of Cruz/Trump/HB2, nor the grading of any additional badly written assignments, I discovered tonight that Animaniacs is now on Netflix. Suddenly, life is worth living again.
Don’t look for me on Facebook. No, I’ll be spending my time with the Warner brothers…and the Warner sister Dot. I will be much happier and will sleep much better. And there will be no idiotic comments to read.
New Tokyo Police Club. They’ll be here in April, thus permitting me to see them for the second time and to provide a friend with a good birthday present. Plus, as an (honorary?) child of the 1990s, how can I not love an EP entitled Melon Collie and the Infinite Radness?
Scary: When someone at work asks you who the lead singer of Dead or Alive was and assumes you will know the answer.
Scarier: When they are correct in that assumption.
It’s kind of hard to curate posts that are less than a year old, but I tried. This is the final year to be covered in my “twenty years” retrospective. I may talk about the actual anniversary tomorrow and try to draw some broad conclusions. Or I may not. You’ll have to check back by to see which it is.
- Everybody says it so they had to name it twice (several posts follow)
- Gym without class
- NYC pictures
- Still crazy after all these years
- Back to the streets of San Francisco (several posts follow, although I never quite finished the story)
- Not perfect. Just forgiven.
- Another restaurant, another fifteen years…
- Fuck feelings
- Order amid the chaos
- Canada 2015 photos (the commentary never came, alas)
Only two more years to cover before Wednesday’s big anniversary.
In 2010, I got my first tenure-track position (which is working out quite nicely, thanks), my ex and I recommenced living together full-time after five years of the bicoastal thing (that didn’t end well at all), and I didn’t write much of any consequence. Highlights follow on the march to the big anniversary on 13 January.
- I have this vague memory… (“vague” being the keyword here as I was alluding to things I preferred not to discuss at the time)