Fear of Sunday Morning

You wake up and you don’t know what to do. You lay there looking at the ceiling for a long time, then toss and turn for almost a whole hour, paralyzed with indecision. Your mom calls, and gives you an update on everything mundane that’s happened during the week in her world, and all you can say is, “I’m fine.”

After you hang up, you try to lay down again, but you can’t go back to sleep. A vague guilt hangs around your neck for the things you said or didn’t say, or should have said in a different way. “Phrasing, it’s all about phrasing,” you say to yourself.

You get up and take a shower, out of routine, still unsure of where the day is going, still a distant pang of dis-ease in the antipodes of your mind, like some lunatic screaming in the distance. This is the only free time you've had this week, the only chance you've had to do what you want. So many plans you've made, so many options discovered, so many ideas generated, only to be frustrated because you didn’t have the time. And now here it is, laid out in front of you, like a patient etherized on a table. Now you are free… and the freedom is paralyzing.

You get dressed, meditate, stretch a little and start off on a walk up the hill. You listen to some music, and suddenly you find yourself wanting to soar, to really soar. You start to remember what it is to be alive. You’re reminded of who you are, and that private part of yourself you don’t show to anyone; that indestructible place that makes you You.

“Do people really make it?” you wonder. “Do people really make anything they dream of while they are locked away in the chains of their own design?” You become completely obsessed with this feeling of wanting to be happy, to be content beyond what you've always known. Of trying to find the in between.

Your dreams start unfurling again, and somehow, you find yourself smiling. Hopeful. You can own some small piece of the sky if you really want to. You can capture some of that gorgeousness you’re forever chasing, never really knowing if you could really get there, or even into that orbit.

Up ahead there is a wall of fog, where the houses thin out and run into the open, undeveloped land. It looks like walking into a cloud. You pass into the mist and the air is cool and fresh on your face. You soon become disoriented, and find yourself not knowing which way is up. Emotions swirl inside you.

“I just want to do something beautiful. I just want to make people feel for at least a second, that they aren't so alone; that there are other people in the world that feel the same way; that we are all connected by that bond—that we all feel that same inconsolable loneliness, and that it is only when we can express that profound loneliness that we can feel connected again.”

Mist from the fog condenses on your glasses, and people walking by can’t tell that you've been crying. When you come back down back into your house, you know what you must do.

There's an awesome show on the online television station VBS now called Balls Deep. In the first episode I saw, the host (Baby Balls) goes to some New York leather bars and investigates the dying leatherman scene. Interesting, especially if you have seen one of my fave Al Pacino movies, Cruising (1980) (BTW, here's a cool interview with William Friedkin, the director of Cruising).

In the other episode of Balls Deep, the host goes into the sewers of Bogota, Columbia to meet some of the poor street kids who live down there. Originally these kids went down there to escape the violence on the streets--a total nightmare. In order to deal with the fact that they are living in complete darkness, knee deep in human waste, they take a lot of drugs. To add to their problems, death squads made up of cops and off duty soldiers periodically go down into the tunnels to perform "urban cleansing." This either consists of shooting them, torturing them, or dousing them in gasoline. It's a frightening documentary.

Check it out on VBS.

Blonde Redhead played for free last Sunday at McCarrin Pool in Williamsburg. It was mobbed, but it was also really fun. As I was walking through the park approaching the pool, I could hear a DJ blasting a Peter, Bjorn and John remix and got all excited. Then I saw the line... that led ALL the way around the exterior. I waited for a full hour to get in and missed the first few songs, but it was fully worth it. They were great.

Also, for all you little audio freaks: do yourself a favor and go to my boy Keith's website. Click on "Euphony" to get a selection of his work. My fave is a jackin' little jam he did called "Heaven's Gate." Whooo weee!

This weekend I went to Fire Island with Becca, Marc, Aliza and Monica. Man, i haven't seen a beach that beautiful on the East Coast in a long time. It's so quiet, tranquil, and chill. No fat Jersey/LI trash with kids running around, making noise and just being annoying in general. There was a nude beach right next to where we were sitting, which was actually really amusing, but other than that, it was really relaxed.

On Sunday, I went walking around lower Manhattan, kind of re-acquainting myself with the area since leaving almost 3 years ago. The Lower East Side, Union Square, and the West Village haven't changed much really. A couple shops and restaurants have moved out, others have replaced them, but other than that, it's pretty much the same. I did notice a whole lot more street punks than before, looking as cracked out and nasty as ever. I think much more perceptible, on a personal level, is that I'VE changed quite a bit. Not sure how to pin-point it really, but I have this creeping feeling like I'm an outsider or something. I don't know. Maybe it's a momentary thing. Maybe it's one of those passing "Sunday feelings," like you used to get when you were a kid on Sunday afternoons, knowing you had to go to school the next day. Like trying to enjoy that last meal before execution...

Last week I went to Los Angeles on my way back from Bangkok. Kind of like a one week pit stop. It was pretty cool. I stayed with Keith and his crazy little dog Suzy, who tried to eat my Spirulina pills! Anyway, it was great to see him again and also to enjoy the laid back West Coast lifestyle for a week.

Aside from just chilling and partying in LA, we also made an excursion to the Sierra Nevadas. We hiked around the Mamoth Lakes area, which is just southeast of Yosemite National Park. It's a beautiful little area. Some of the lakes are not so nice, but others are as clear and clean and the New England ones I am more familar with. Here's some photos from my week out there. More photos on my flickr page!

Dinner parties totally rule.

In the past couple weeks, we’ve finally gotten around to having some at John’s pimpin’ pad on soi 33, and they have been good (not quite as healthy and jiving as the infamous Juice Party Yeen and I had a couple weeks ago, which entailed swimming, too, but still one heck of a groovy time). The company has consistently been (all 2 times) Pim, Yuka, Taeko, John and myself. The first time, Pim’s dog Power came too. And peed on the floor, thank you very much.

This time around, John was lazy and so all he made for HIS OWN dinner party was fruit salad (HORRAY for Home Ec class), which was good, but he left the other dishes to his guests. Luckily, that was fine as Pim brought some fried rice and gyoza, while I brought some salads. But the real stars were the Japanese ladies.

Taeko made unrolled sushi, which consisted of fluffy white rice, sliced Japanese omelet, seaweed, and some other little assorted goodies inside. It was delicious-o, even if she said her mom would be ashamed of the rice’s light consistency (the Japanese are a bit more fastidious about their rice than Westerners, I think). Yuka made a simple yet fabulous rocket salad with smoked salmon. But here’s the thing—the dressing was AWESOME. Here’s a little before and after, action/reaction shots, which I think say it all.

Afterwards, we went to Ad Makers, which rocked, then dipped into Fallabella, which was too expensive, then went to Nana.

Around 3:30am, Yuka, Taeko and I wound up at Foodland on soi 5 getting some grub. Next to me, some guy sat down and almost immediately started complaining to the cook, “I don’t like this salad… It’s uh… I don’t like this salad.”

He should have joined us about 7 hours earlier.

Check here for the Japanese version of this wonderful little tale, probably in much more concise format: taeko's blog.

Thanks to Taeko for the pics!