Rock ‘n’ Roll Vacation Day 1: Philly

In at 5:45am. No sleep on the plane. Regional rail (free, for some reason) into the city (but we met a nice fellow on the tracks who told us (Sarah Wells, me) that we couldn’t use a credit card on the train and if we didn’t have enough cash he’d cover us—so nice—that’s why this is the city of brotherly love), donuts and coffee at Dunkin’ (made me feel like I was in Boston again), and then picked up by Heather. Breakfast at—now I’m forgetting the name of the place. Incredible. Open-faced biscuit sandwich with veggie sausage, two fried eggs, gravy, and latkes with pear sauce. Philly has always had a good track record for food, in my book, and so far it’s holding to that standard.

Then back to where Heather’s house-sitting—gorgeous old brownstone-type; residing in the house is a gigantic Newfoundland, the biggest I’ve ever seen, drooling all over me—the thing probably weighs 150 lbs.—so, a too-brief nap on a toddler’s bed (surprisingly comfortable) and then up for a free show and live taping, Chairlift at WXPN, meet ‘n’ greet afterward and I tell them “Robert Laux says hello, I’m a friend, we went to school together” and they’re not as enthusiastic as I’d hoped about our mutual acquaintance. Then a beer, then back, leftovers, feeling so drained. Later: Courtney and Bob. Tomorrow: Jill on a bus from NYC.

Tired with every fiber of my body. When will I sleep?

It Is Gonna Rain

As it turns out, if you want to read Cormac McCarthy’s The Road in a few sittings, sometimes late at night, sometimes in the middle of the afternoon with light streaming through windblown leaves outside, and you want to listen to something perfectly suited to the brutal/beautiful words on the pages, you need look no further than Do Make Say Think. I just finished the book while listening to Goodbye Enemy Airship The Landlord is Dead, and there’s really nothing better I could have chosen as a soundtrack. In fact, I listened to their entire discography while working through the book (and nothing else), five albums in five or so sittings. It’s an experience I’m glad I created for myself.

And that book fucked with my head a little bit.

(See, Cat, I do still write in here sometimes.)

Been Down Two Times

Rearranged the bedroom today at The Attic to create a better “workflow.” This probably means I’m an adult now.

Decided today that I want Fleetwood Mac’s “Never Going Back Again” to be playing on repeat during my next personal crisis or emotional breakdown, like the time after Courtney left when I listened to “Tie Your Monster Down” for several hours straight while lying on the floor.

Holy fuck, I’m two episodes of LOST behind. That must be remedied immediately. Then, it’s gang-biking through Denver parks under a full moon with Leah et al. Hope to see ghosts ‘n’ witches.

“Sleepyhead” at random

Just now, walking home, near 3am on a Saturday night in Denver, someone at 1235 Clarkson was playing “Sleepyhead” by Passion Pit, loudly. I wanted to run up and bang on their door and shout, “You’re my best friend! My soulmate! I’ve been obsessed with that record for the last three days!” Instead I just stood there on the street and listened until the song was over.

“The Clash makes me want to be a better person”

From a conversation with Diana while she waited for a bus in Houston:

D: “Um is emma stone your favorite actress ever? Interview with nylon magazine ‘super natural: she’s known for her comedic roles but emma stone has a few surprises up her sleeve, namely ghosts, zombies and salinger’ omg patrick your favorite things!!!”

P: “What?! Who is this and why have I never heard of her?”

D: “You have you just don’t know her name. She is the girl in superbad. The redhead that jonah likes. Husky voice”

P: “Hmm. Well, now I’m gonna learn every fact there is to learn about her on the internet. Thanks for the tip. How’d you know I liked Salinger so much?”

D: “We talked about it. Raise high the roof beams is my fav. And nine stories. I was obssessed for a long time. Fran and zooey is great too”

P: “I can’t believe I don’t remember us talking about that. Raise High the Roof Beams is my favorite, too (well, paired with Seymour: an Introduction). I named my dog after Seymour Glass, did I tell you that?”

D: “Maybe that was it. Urgh sitting in the houston airport. I was on standby for an earlier flight. Got on the plane and then they sent me back to the terminal. Boooooo. Now I am reading nylon and feel very hip and cool. Haha. Not really but it is better than the woman sitting next to me reading southern living”

P: “Man, would that you could be anywhere but Houston. I’ve never been but every person I’ve ever met ever has told me that Houston is a shit hole. Maybe you should strike up a conversation with that woman and get some tips on how to live like a Southerner when you’re in Nawlins.”

D: “I would rather drop dead than socialize with these jesus freaks. Wow that was harsh. I am grumpy and tired. Don’t take anything I say too seriously”

P: “It’s okay. If you weren’t grumpy and tired I would think you were a humanoid robot of some kind, instead of just the were-man Diana I know and love. You never told me if you like the Clash?”

D: “I do but don’t claim to be a well-versed fan. It gets me all riled up.”

P: “That’s a good answer. What gets you all riled up, the Jesus freaks? Meeeeeee too, you have no idea.”

D: “No. Listening to the clash. Riled up in a good way.”

P: “Oh! Man! That’s like exactly what I was hoping you’d say, actually. That’s how I feel too. I’m not a die-hard fan but every time I listen to them it makes me want to dance, or break stuff, or be a better person, or some combination of those things.”

D: “‘The clash makes me want to be a better person’ hahahaha hilarious. That is how I feel about trex. Except instead of a better person…a badass from liverpool

P: “Oh, T. Rex! Ha. I was like, ‘Trex? Who?'”

D: “Yes. I am soooo bored AND I have to wait at the bus depot for 3 hours. Fuck me. Haha you know what else was fun? Drooling on the guy next to me when I passed out on my last plane.”

P: “Ahaha, did you really? I bet that dude hates you. 3 hours at a bus depot? Hellish. I once waited at Port Authority in New York from like 4 to 7 in the morning for a connection between NYC and Boston. I couldn’t sleep because I had all my earthly belongings with me and I was afraid someone would steal them, so I sat on my giant duffel bag and listened to Jawbreaker and glared at the pigeons who were walking around down there. You can’t tell if it’s daytime or nighttime at that station.”

P: “Whoa, long boring story about myself with no real way to respond. Sorry. This arrangement, right now, is working pretty good, though, because you’re bored with nothing to do, and I’m bored with working on this events calendar for Decider. It’s so mindless. Are you staying at a hotel?”

D: “No. I was responding but then my friend called! I am staying with my godmother tonight in her hotel and then my friend matt for the rest of the time at his moms AMAZing house in the garden district. Lots of people from vassar live in new orleans so it will be fun…if I ever fucking get there”

D: “Ahh boarding. Talk to you in an hour when I am bored at the bus terminal”

And then I awkwardly ask her to go out with me some time dressed up as a Native American (her) and a zombie (me). What is wrong with my brain?

We were gargoyles

Fun-time tree-climb and powerwalk through Cheesman with Diana and Jacob. Good application for my restlessness. Should climb things more often.

Note: this time one year ago, I had been living in Boston for exactly three days.

Cleaning day

Cleaning day at The Attic. Necessary ingredients: leftover pizza, coffee, beer, cans of coke, whiskey, Chinese food from Great Wall, loud music. Company would also be appreciated. You don’t have to help clean.

If I really meant it, I’d embrace a dead pet

Her: “I can help. As long as I know you’re not bullshitting me.”

Me: “In what way would I be bullshitting you? And, for the record, what precedent have I set for bullshitting you in the past? I’m pretty sure I haven’t.”

Her: “Let me rephrase– I’m sorry you’re feeling lousy, Patrick. Let me know how I can help.”

Me: “My (our) strange Boston experience is having farther-reaching effects on my psyche than I thought it would, I think.”

Her: “Can you expand on that?”

Me: “All this music, from when I spent a lot of time wandering around alone there and stuff.
It’s doing weird things to my brain. Don’t know how to explain it, exactly.”

Me: “Sometimes when I think about it or talk about it I get this wave of melancholy, and sometimes I miss it, sometimes I don’t know.”

Me: “I’m not qualified to take a crack at what’s going on with me right now.”

Me: “It’s like: wandering around near my house in Cambridge at night listening to “Fuck the Universe” by Ryan Adams.
And: the ramp outside Whole Foods that we’d take to get to the delivery van.
And: you on the stairs of that house on Dana.”

Music does strange and terrible things to me, all the time. I should stop, but I can’t, or won’t.

Photos in summary, 4/12

The Polaroids are flowing like wine these days. I’ve gotten over my hang-up. Today: crazy man in top-down jeep with furry hat and flowers, high-speed on West Colfax (out the car window, me the action photographer); Diana in giant strange wondrous pink dress at ARC thrift; Diana, Jacob, myself in our best atheist-Easter suits inside hi-dive; Diana hula-hooping like a madwoman outside hi-dive. Award-winning.

Si no me quieres, librame

Sometimes I think more than I should about the bass line in “Should I Stay Or Should I Go” and how I didn’t hear it for so long, and right now I’m wondering if Jacob is more Little G. or Sluggo and whether Julie is like Theo in any way. Suit and crystal shopping later and then Mirah later and then up at at ’em 6am Tabor Center, ’cause I’m a working man.

For historical records and atticological research purposes, these are the times when we’re drinking every day, I’m not writing, and Jacob is learning to play the banjo, and summer’s coming.