tomorrow night argentina is playing at life. i've been wanting to see them live since i discovered the sound back in march of this year, neatly packaged in the red virgin megastore bag that ed gave me at churchill's. still, as of right now i don't have a ride, and it doesn't look like mom will let me borrow the car, even after serious coaxing. but i would love to go finally see them tear into their guitars, to stop the near-run-ins with him and hang out instead, have a beer. and see if spencer turns up, although i imagine he will want to spend time with the fiancée instead on his day off.
today spencer rounded up my dad and three other patients in the seventh floor common room for group physical therapy. we all sat in a circle, in chairs or wheelchairs according to handicap or not, and spencer and the patients did their leg exercises. then we all tossed around a beach ball while a big band cd, one of katia's, played on the tiny stereo. i asked spencer why he didn't turn up the music, none of the patients seemed to be able to hear it, and he told me he hated big band. he said all he'd been listening to lately was ibrahim ferrer (and, i imagine, the grateful dead, which he confessed is his favorite band). so then he asks me, "and what do you listen to? britney spears? creed?" i fixed him with the Look of Death and he told me to go get the cds i'd brought with me to the hospital.
he squealed when he saw. "fugazi!" and the next thing i know, he's singing the words to "promises" and then "instrument" while flapping his arms and legs, to the amazement of his four patients, the youngest of whom must have been 60 around the time of minor threat. he told me deadheads were not necessarly incompatible with "punk rockers" (his words, thank you), to which i laughed, and later handed him a small stack of spy-fi show flyers and told him to come see argentina. i have a feeling he won't, since he said that his girlfriend's idea of rocking out is alanis morissette. ouch.
machete is also playing tomorrow night, but there will be more chances this summer to see j.g. in action. i expect. i have an immense crush on his music: all of it: the meandering bursts of indie, the whiteboy techno-r&b and/or hiphop, the digi-dancehall . . .
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i've been having these escapist dreams lately. i am off on my own traveling around, in a different location and situation each time. once last week it was mount vernon, except it wasn't: it was a vast expanse of vibrant, lush green hills and forests and these drop-dead gorgeous mansions i would walk past and study. a couple of nights ago it was an exuberant new york city, where i walked for miles, window-shopped, and had drinks with friends i've never met. i'm glad that i get to travel and be frivolous in my sleep, so maybe this way the monotony of the real-life days isn't quite so bad.
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i ran into roberto again today. quite literally almost ran into. i left the elevator in the lobby, on my way to buy café con leche at the coffee cart and have a smoke outdoors, and when the doors opened, there he was. we did that double-take, stop-and-stare thing we do, and then the delighted grins kind of crept up on us, and then small talk small talk small talk. honestly i wish we could just communicate telepathically and/or physically -- talking isn't doing it for me. i think i live inside my head more and more every day. anyway, so eventually we ran out of small talk and were just looking at each other and i couldn't stand it, i said "bueno . . ." and he said "bueno . . ." and we both kind of wandered off in different directions. why am i being such a pansy? he's allowed to be shy, that's part of the appeal, but i have no excuse. none! bleh.
hon, i have torn up so many supposed lists of requirements this year. a few, anyway. so finally i am led to conclude that the idiosyncrasies are generally negligible, but that there are a few basic tenets to which the Possibility in Question must adhere. but that's just fodder for another entry, some other time.
also: i think there is never closure to anything (except maybe in death, for the expiring individual). just a gradual and irritating petering-out.
