December 30, 2006
The Painted Desert
There's a place I dream about from time to time, and I dreamt about it again last night. I used to think I had actually gone there once, when I was awake, but now I am not so sure. It's possible that I did go there once, but also possible that I have dreamed about this place so many times that it is as real to me as Venice, or The Vine. It is kind of weird though, that I would dream so vividly about one place over and over in my life if I had never really been to a place like that.
It's so beautiful there, it's easy to see why it would make an impression on me, even if I have only been there in my dreams. To get there, you have to walk through a valley, and the only valley I can think of that resembles this valley is the valley at the ocean entance to Big Basin State Park in the Santa Cruz Mountains. I know that no one who reads this blog has ever been to this place - well, maybe one or two of you have - but let me just tell you there is a reason that California has a reputation for it's beauty, and this valley, though not nearly well known as Yosemite or Death Valley or even a smattering of COUNTY parks in California, is one of the reasons. The coastal range meets the ocean here, and foothills covered with wildflowers flank you on each side as you walk east towards mountains covered with redwood and pine trees. There is no one there. I've had SEX there. Maybe that is why I like to make it part of my favorite dream locale.
Anyhow. Keep walking - in the dream, not Big Basin - and eventually you'll get to a small mountain range that is more like the high desert than the coastal range. Keep walking (this is where I start to think this is only a dream, and never really happened in my waking life, because that's a long way to walk without hitting a bar for some refreshments) and you get to a military base of sorts. That's right, a military base - and this is where you think, well, maybe it IS real. Or maybe, there is NO WAY it is real.
At the military base you have to get on a bus and they take you to yet another mountain range, and from there you hike to the top and have a little picnic. At the top, you have a view of the other range, which is always tan and pink with the sun going down, and everything glows.
That's it. That's the place and I don't know why I dream of it so much but I do and it is always the same. The only thing I can think of, is that somehow it has taken the shape of the hills behind where I grew up in El Granada, California. In the end, I guess it comes down to this: after several months I got this email from classmates.com that I had a message from someone I used to know, which got me on the website, and I started checking out all the other people on there. One of them was this guy I used to know when I was seventeen or so and living in a dark apartment with an alcoholic boyfriend and no electricity or hot water. Life was pretty dismal, so I used to go up in the hills with this guy Matt and talk. Our relationship was very easy and almost quiet, really. I'd never hung out with anyone I could just be silent with before. We were the same age, just two kids with some bad circumstances, and then we planned to run away and work at the World's Fair in Knoxville, Tennesse. We never did anything but talk - we were both too scared of my boyfriend for that - but we wanted to.
We never made it to Knoxville but sometimes I think of what my life would be like now if I had, because at that age I was already a wanderer, even though it would take me several years to become myself. And I don't even know if it is the memory of those hills, or Matt's name on a website, or the approaching end of this speeding bullet that was 2006 that brought the dream on again. Maybe the dream brings me back to something I know, even if I don't know what it's from. Maybe, it's been in my waking life all along, but I just haven't gotten there yet.
Posted by Shannon at 6:14 PM | Comments (1)
December 21, 2006
Fight or Flight
This morning I had another crazy dream. I always have crazy dreams, so when I have one that is really over the top, it makes an impression on me. I think that this one came to me so that I would write something, and I haven't been writing anything, because I haven't had anything to write about. I feel like I am drifting in a sort of sludge, and also when I haven't written, then I start to resent writing. And when I start to resent writing, it really is all over until something intense smacks me in the face and makes me do it. Writing is sort of like a lover that way.
Also, it has been very cold here in San Diego. I fear that people from the far corners of my reality will be like are you fucking crazy? Do you REALLY think it is cold there? And I can only counter with - no, it is not REALLY cold here. But when it is fifty degrees it seems like twenty because a) we are simply not used to it and b) neither are our houses. My little beach shack is freezing inside. No matter how long I run the heat it never warms up. All of a sudden I am aware of the fact that I am aging, because in this little cold spell we have had, the joints in my fingers and toes got all swollen and hard to move. It is really, really, REALLY scary. Aging I mean. For a good forty years you look all baby faced and shit and then all of a sudden, Rheumatoid fucking arthritis. These changes are scary, also humbling. Maybe I am not so invincible as I thought I was.
So, then, the dream. I was on a plane, a big 7trillion7, going from here to Europe or something like that. There was a long time in the dream where I was on the plane, walking to and fro and watching movies and stuff like that, but then all of a sudden I was outside, and the top of the plane had no top. It was like a cruise ship plane. So I was hanging out up there for a while and then all of a sudden George Bush Senior was there and he was like, GET DOWN! I looked over the edge and there were little planes shooting at each other and also, at some targets on the ground. I bent over and kept walking and as I walked, I felt a bullet graze my back. George Bush Senior saved my life! But, in the end our 7trillion7 got shot down, but went down slowly and landed easily, as plane crashes in dreams do.
Then we were on the ground, in a green, lush, and I guess, war-torn country. Someone else from the plane was there with me, and we knew we had to save everyone else on the plane, but they had all turned into kernels of corn. Only coach though - first and business had been wiped out - vaporized. Only the people in coach were left and they were now corn. I had to rescue the kernels from ziplock bags that they had somehow ended up in after the crash, and put them into piles so they could breathe. At one point my associate said, how do we know if they are still alive? And I said YO! CORN! GIVE US A SIGN! At which point all the kernals started to shimmy and then we knew that we had saved them all.
It's the end of the year and I feel that big changes are coming, and that is possibly why I am dreaming about saving corn, and also about the possibility that Bush Sr could save ME. Well, who knows what it all really means. It could be, most simply, that I am a creative person and I am doing fuck all with that. But I am thinking, thinking, thinking... about how to make the most of the years I have left before the really bad stuff sets in. I am thinking. Fight or flight... and the flight sounds better about now. So where should I go?
Posted by Shannon at 8:17 PM | Comments (2)
October 23, 2006
Who needs LSD when you've got dreams?
So I almost couldn't bring myself to post this because it is just too weird.
Last night, or this morning... sometime in that other reality, anyway, I had this insanely crazy thing happen in one of my dreams. It wasn't weird like flying over pits of a purple substance that looked like melted PopRocks or weird like making out with Vanessa Redgrave or other types of bizarre randomness. It was even weirder - I was holding a bean and cheese burrito, and it farted. TWICE.
At the risk of becoming known as the blogger who once confessed she dreamed about a farting burrito, I am not sure I can let this one pass without asking for some outsider tips about what the fuck this all means. Not only did the burrito fart twice, but before it farted, it sort of stiffened up in a pre-fart pose. It was an Animistic Burrito. A farting burrito with a SOUL. How else can I explain it? There is no possible way. I don't think.
Right before I went to bed I was reading this book I got at a garage sale yesterday for fifty cents, called The Complete Idiot's Guide to Reincarnation. My favorite line so far? "And now this Complete Idiot's Guide gives reincarnation another boost of respectability." Um, OK.
So was my dream somehow connected to reincarnation? Or maybe the burrito symbolizes a penis? A farting penis? Or maybe, this is just a subtle move on my brain's part to tell me to lay off the bean burritos. I don't know.
In other news, I made the most kick-ass homemade ravioli this weekend, with pumpkin, crushed amaretti and Riesling. And I also made two ice creams - a chocolate one laced with grappa and a creamy custardy one with an acorn liqueur I bought in Spain. I think I might have a future in ice cream - Shannon's Super Sexy Ice Creams. No kids can have it though.
Posted by Shannon at 7:17 PM | Comments (0)
September 4, 2006
The Silver Thread
This one is for Kasch. She wants me to write something.
Writing is hard sometimes. I struggle with my own voice. I wish for more discipline, but I hate what discipline does to my voice. It's a bitter battle, so thanks god I am not relying on this for my income. I do this for myself, I do this for my friends, I do this for a woman in Berlin who I have not yet met by maybe could be someone I know for the rest of my life.
Life is weird that way. All day, actually for a few days, I have been thinking of the connections between people, how they can all of a sudden just happen, just like that. There you are, just like that, you have a friend and a sister, living in a different reality. She sits in a European city, lonely, thinking of someone we both love while it rains outside. The image has entered MY reality. The lines are clear. The connection is strong.
When I was young, I met a rich guy who was in and out of my life for a number of years. I first met him when I was fifteen, then for the next few years, I ran into him here and there, in weird places, like the Orange County airport. He was kind of a weird guy - he had various businesses and was into holistics, but at the same time he was also, basically, a drug trafficker. When we finally hooked up in a more-than-just-running-into-you way, I was twenty, and he was on trial. He went to jail for a while, but when he got out, I saw him from time to time (again) in San Francisco, where we would go out to a fancy dinner, then a bar, then I would castrate him vocally for a while, which he loved. Then I would drive his ginormous expensive car all over the place when I should definitely not have been driving. It was the late eighties. We got away with a lot back then.
Anyway. What I am getting at is this weird connection thing, and it is about to get weirder. I believe in reincarnation, and there was something with this person that transcended normality. When I looked at him in the beginning, later on when our relationship took on this bizarre mother/son/castrator mode, whatever it was, it was deep. Then one day I learned that in a past life I was a German nightclub singer in World War II who was killed by an American bomb at the age of nineteen. Telling this to my millionaire friend, HE tells me he was an German officer in World War II, who was killed by his own government because he was not doing what they wanted. Now, I know this all sounds totally crazy and farfetched, but seriously. I screwed around with that guy before we both died back in 1944 or whatever, and that is why we kept running into each other in this lifetime. We have a thread that ties us together and it will go on and on until we resolve whatever it is we need to resolve (which we, I am quite certain, did not accomplish in this lifetime. More fun is yet to come.)
So, Kasch. There is a thread that ties us together, made of silver silk. Made of memories, from the past and the future, and from right now. THIS is the memory, the moment between jumping off the cliff and hitting the water, the moment between entering the club and the lead singer taking the stage. Or the drummer. Heh.
I see the silver thread that connects us. It is weird, but it is there. Now I want the whole suit.
Posted by Shannon at 4:47 PM | Comments (1)
August 29, 2006
Amped Out
Last night I started thinking about luggage. As in, what am I going to do about it. Basically I am thinking about how I can buy wine in Spain and bring it home - now that I can't actually bring it into the cabin, I am sort of screwed. So essentially I am visiting three different wine regions of Spain and I can't bring any wine home. Well, screw that. Ship it? Not (too expensive.) Put it in a box and bring it home like that? Not (too complicated, too hard to move around when you are exhausted.) No, I have to buy some sort of a rolling suitcase that is big and also, hard-shelled. Then I can throw away all my clothes and just fill that sucker up with wine.
So since I have been thinking about this so much it is only natural that my overactive imagination would take over, especially since I have had immense quantities of mindless time over the weekend with nothing to take my mind off it. I started to think about those big black cases that musicians haul their gear around in. And I started to think, how cool would it be to have a suitcase that was not only big, and not only hard and tough, but also looked hella cool? As in, if you rolled it around in the airport everyone would think you were a rock star, or at the very least a roadie? I figure, with one of those big black cases, I could slap some wheels on the bottom and outfit the inside with some styrofoam wine holders, and voila, I could bring home ten, maybe twenty bottles of wine.
The only problem, of course, would be the weight. I guess each one of those cases probably weighs something like twenty pounds, and this would probably be kind of a drag when the airline wants to charge a hundred and fifty dollars because you went fifty pounds overweight. So then I started thinking, well, you just have to make this luggage DESIGNER, and charge $5000 for one suitcase just like Prada does, because rich people don't care about extra weight because they not only have people to carry their shit, they also have private jets, hence they don't have to worry about overweight charges. Then with all the money I make on the Prada Roadie Luggage, I can then afford to pay for these charges myself.
So in my mind I have the whole line of luggage going, complete with bumperstickers of rock bands you have never heard of, and stencils that say stuff like PROPERTY OF BRITT DANIEL. And it would be sold already banged up and thrashed. I swear, sometimes I have some brilliant ideas, what can I say, maybe Irving, Texas is good for me.
Now I just have to find some investors but in the meantime, if you ever see luggage that looks like this, let it be known right now that THIS WAS MY IDEA.
Posted by Shannon at 8:54 AM | Comments (1)
July 21, 2006
Le Spoon
I dreamed about Britt again! Happy Friday to ME!
I think I dreamed about him because last night I couldn't sleep because it was so hot, so I got to thinking about I might go down to Bayside where Radiohead played last month and Spoon is opening for Death Cab for Cutie next month. I guess it's an indication that I am not as in love with Britt Daniel as I was last summer, that I was possibly thinking of NOT going to next month's show. The thing is, Spoon is opening, and the tickets are expensive, and what if they only play for half an hour or something? I have been trying, HARD, to get into Death Cab for Cutie but I am finding it difficult. Though maybe they are really awesome live. Anyway, last night I was like, OF COURSE I have to go and then I have to go out to the buses and see if I can find Britt Daniel. Like, screw Death Cab for Cutie, I am just going to do some stalking. But what would I do if I actually MET him? Uh, hey Britt, can you please sign my Poptarticus T-Shirt? Yes I am THAT Poptarticus, the one who writes about stalking you. Not the Poptarticus that is on that Reality TV Message Board or the one on the Marching Band Forum or the one who likes Soccer. THEY are imposters, while I pay $9.95 a month for my name. So can you sign it?
Anyway that is probably just the kind of fool I would make of myself. And this is probably why I had the dream.
In my dream, I was at the South by Southwest Music Conference, in a giant convention hall, and Spoon played a couple of songs. Then some other stuff happened but I can't remember what, and then Britt played two songs, solo. He was right there and then Ladytron was going to play, so nobody cared about Britt anymore, they only wanted to see Ladytron. It was then I realized I wasn't wearing a shirt. Oops. Some chick from the Ladytron group gave me a Ladytron sticker and I put it on my arm. But I was really bummed because I didn't care about the sticker or Ladytron, I just wanted to see Britt.
So then I ended up in his room. Don't you LOVE dreams? I was in his hotel room, and he had nailed his own pictures over the pictures that were in there. Not pictures of himself, but pictures of other stuff. Nailed them in! Then I was sitting on this long couch next to Celeste, my best friend from high school, and Britt's parents. Thank god Britt's parents showed up because without them inviting me, I would surely have been arrested as a stalker. We were all sitting on one long couch when Britt came in and sort of just looked at us. At that point I sort of wished the parents weren't there, just to see what would happen, but then a very pretty blond girl in a sundress came in. The girlfriend, presumably. She sat down next to me. "Are you happy?" She asked. "Yes," I said. But then I said, "no, I'm not that happy. Are you happy?" She said yes. "No you aren't, we all think we are happy, but we really aren't. We just think of things to make us forget we are unhappy." She just looked at me.
So, I dreamed about him, but nothing will ever compare to the magic of that first dream, the one that I can still remember and that was almost one year ago. I went back to the conference after I left his room, and it was raining, and as I entered the hall I thought, I gotta start a label.
Posted by Shannon at 7:35 AM | Comments (0)
July 13, 2006
Lullabies for the Apocalypse
"We think the same things at the same time..."
Thom Yorke, Harrowdown Hill
Best. Hook. Ever.
I am pacing. It is fucking hot, the weekend has immense promise, and I cannot stop listening to The Eraser . There are those moments when you just want to drag your fingernails down the front of your throat, and draw blood. Is it the heat? Is it the waning moon? What the fuck is it, anyway? Those giant exhales you make when you are on drugs are normal in day to day life when it's this hot.
Back to The Eraser. I AM DYING HERE, I AM SO OBSESSED. Picture a scary thought but sing it in a way that you can never, ever get that melody out of your mind. A lullaby for the apocalyspe. I was never one to want to have sex with the music on but damned if this isn't the record that I could actually, uh, do something successfully to.
The whole package of last month, this day, is sort of putting me over the edge. I wish I could explain it better than this. Heat, obsession, and sex driven by a killer bass line is about all I can do. Oh. Did I say I was dying? "We think the same things at the same time." God, I love that.
AWESOME.
You can listen to an MP3 of Harrowdown Hill here on the I Guess I'm Floating music blog.
Posted by Shannon at 8:51 PM | Comments (0)
May 31, 2006
All You Need are Dreams
Last night was insane with the dreams again, but at least they weren't nightmares. The dreams went on and on but there were two I remember very clearly. In one I was living in the country sometime after the civil war - like camping outside living. There were a lot of people doing the same thing. At one point I ran into a priest who had this coffee table book about the Beatles. And I was like, how can you have a book about the Beatles? They won't be formed for a hundred years! Someone took the book from the priest and threw it to the bottom of a river. Someone else dove into the crystal clear water and retrieved the book and the priest was very happy.
Then this morning a dream that was so real... I was somewhere in Normandy, in a town by the sea that had crazy architecture. While I was there I met a family, an older couple and their daughter and I think the daughter's boyfriend. The mother outfitted me with wings and me and her flew over the town. I landed OK but she landed in the water. Then I was in Manchester, England with my mom and we had missed our connection so we went into a little square in the town. And there was the same family - they were FROM Manchester. So they totally hooked us up and we were eating and drinking and there was live music. I remember I asked how the wine was in the bar and they all made cracks that it could remove paint from the wall, or something like that. But it was sunny and I did not miss the wine because I ordered some crazy Manchester drink.
Anyhow, in the dream I was going to call the office to tell them I missed my connection, so I was going to be in my dream for a while. But unfortunately I woke up.
And I haven't had a dream about Britt Daniel in a really long time. What up with that?
Posted by Shannon at 8:02 AM | Comments (0)
January 29, 2006
Powder Vision
I had one of those dreams this morning. I've been longing for one, but I have to say, this one left me feeling more hungry and alone than I would like to admit. After all, these days, I am the lone traveler, the one who says I don't need anybody, the girl who flies solo.
It's all about touch, in the end, and all kinds of other bizarreness that only a dream can bring out.
It was so real. I'm with a guy, a much younger guy, one who is untouchable and who, to date, I have had no desire to even think about that way. We are in his house on Potrero Hill and we have a shitload of cocaine. I don't remember doing drugs in the night, all I remember is waking up in the same room as him, in seperate beds. But he comes to me and he has the most amazing back. I ran my hands all over his back, trying to get the tension out, and if I could only remember the sensation of running my hands over a back that I only felt in a dream for the rest of my life, I could be slightly happy. Well, maybe not, because now I want to feel a back like that in real life.
It's morning in the dream, and he is gone, because he has a girlfriend and they are going skiing. He goes to the shower and I find, on the kitchen counter, a big pile of cocaine. It is yellowish-white, crumbly, dense. Perfect. I take a fingernail and scoop it into my nose. Even in a dream, I can smell it, feel it, taste it in the back of my throat. I am hiding, and lusting. All I want is twenty-four hours, in bed, with that back. I don't need anything, but I need that back. And why cocaine? I haven't done any in a million years, and have zero desire to do so, but it sure did taste good in my dream.
I've been longing for that kind of intense experience in the other world, and I love it when it comes to me. I always want what I can't have and long for what is bad for me. But in a dream, I only get the best of the destruction.
I'm kind of in love and it is affecting me. I am hurtling through space, and it is affecting me.
Posted by Shannon at 9:28 PM | Comments (0)
September 7, 2005
The Dream of Montreal
I dreamed of Montreal, a city I have never been to. I rode the city bus looking for a place called Savage something but I rode the bus too far and ended up downtown and then outside the city gates. Outside, there was a canyon and at the bottom of the canyon, a shallow lake of turquoise water. There were all kinds of animals down there, like water buffalo and emus, and there were dolphins swimming in the lake.
Then I went back through the city gate. Somewhere in there, I was with my boyfriend from a million years ago, Chris Albano, and when I said I wanted to stay another day, he offered to drive me back to San Diego. In my dream this would only take eight hours. We drank wine in a bar called The Vine. (There's an easy one.) We ate in an Italian restaurant and drank a really good bottle of wine and the waiter was really cute. Then we went to a square with a giant church made of Istrian marble, and an ancient Roman structure. The dream went on and on. I saw an awful lot of the Montreal in my head. Maybe I'll go to the real Montreal someday and wonder, hey, what happened to that square?
Posted by Shannon at 7:35 AM | Comments (0)
July 3, 2005
Scarlet, White and Blue
I think the antibiotics I've been taking after my oral surgery are messing with me. I can't sleep, I'm having nightmares, my body feels funky. Yesterday I saw my cousin Robin and her kids. Robin told me one of her kids has Scarlet Fever. I got all wiggy inside because I am convinced antibiotics lower your resistance. Hence, I am going to get Scarlet Fever. So I keep telling myself "you are NOT going to get Scarlet Fever." The kid was running around so it didn't look like Scarlet Fever was all that bad. But still.
I HATE taking medicine. I haven't taken any of the pain meds, so far haven't been desperate enough. Wine is the BEST medicine. The best medicine for a regular fever is a bottle of Champagne. I wonder how many you'd need if you had Scarlet Fever?
Anyhow. I've been riveted lately by Rar's Blog. Rar is spending a few months in South America, traveling around by himself. I am jealous of him. Because he's a guy, because he's young, because I am too much of a pussy to try to bushwack my way through a Bolivian jungle. Right now he is chillin' in La Paz. He has a great way of putting things into perspective there and also of describing the things he does and the places he sees. I wish I was chillin' in La Paz. Though I would be scared of the rubber bullets.
If is a foggy morning and I have to get my house cleaned up because my co-worker Bryan and his girlfriend Annika are spending the night. I talked them into it last night when they were drunk in a hotel room in Sorrento Mesa, where they attended a wedding. I love Bryan. He's the perfect combination of fun, smart, and eccentric. And Annika is a sweetheart. I'll do my best to keep them out of trouble.
Posted by Shannon at 8:34 AM | Comments (3)
May 25, 2005
Something about The Head
Last night I had the most horrible nightmare. I was the guest on Saturday Night Live, you know, the one that is usually a famous person. So I was doing all these skits with really funny people. Only I was choking badly. In one skit I was on the Weekend Update part, and they had me talking to Chris Farley (who is dead, thank you) and they made him sit in a wheelchair and I was suppose to, I guess, make up funny shit about crippled dead people. But like I said, I choked, I failed miserably, at my first SNL appearance. It was the most awful feeling, like a black cloud descending and smothering me.
It was so real, with Amy Pohler showing me where on the stage the next skit would be... very, very scary and weird.
So then I felt this pressure on the back of my head, like a small animal had jumped in my open window and clamped on to my head and wouldn't let go. I thought it was real! I woke up in a total panic. It was a tough night in Alternative Universe Land.
I've had a headache all day from that fucking animal. I kid you not.
Just to make my day a little brighter though this picture was all over the internet today.
Oh my god! I guess Mr. Spector's going to go for the not guilty/just totally insane thing.
Posted by Shannon at 5:18 PM | Comments (1)
May 11, 2005
Almost Forgot Myself
Doy. Laurie commented on the last entry, well what happened with the Doves show?
The Doves cancelled a few days before, but I had to learn this from their website, and too late. I don't know what was up with the Fillmore - no sign, no indication that that show was cancelled. Somehow the word got around - there were only a few people, besides me, who didn't know what was going on. But still, the Fillmore could have least put up a sign.
So the Doves are coming back in June, and the tickets I had will be honored for that, so I sold them to some Irish guy in San Francisco. Then they will be in LA but on June 14, when I have a ticket to see Wilco at the Greek Theater. Can't be in two places at once, homies.
It's too bad as I just got my hands on a live Doves CD and it is hella rocking and cool. But Wilco wins.
The Doves have become uber-successful since I wrote this in Sicily in September 2000: "Back in my room, my first view of Orion this year, millions of stars, listening to the Doves (very important new British band - now Clea and Alex know.)" That was the same summer Coldplay was just starting, right before Kid A
It's going to be a crazy summer. Already it is getting really hot. It was crazy in The Vine. Not crowded crazy, just the regulars Being Crazy. A couple of them, anyway. Or maybe that is normal. I think I live in a place where crazy IS normal. That place is in my brain.
Next week I am going to Las Vegas for the first time in a gazillion seconds. I dreamed about an alternate universe where people are made out of wax and you get around in roller coasters with no seat belts.
Posted by Shannon at 11:08 PM | Comments (0)
April 9, 2005
Just thinking about it gives me the spins
I am home. I sure will miss those little juice boxes full of cheap red wine.
That shit makes your hair look perfect.
Posted by Shannon at 4:54 PM | Comments (0)
February 28, 2005
Live - Poptarticus!
My blog turned one year old over the weekend. I thought of this before I thought of how yesterday would have been my 12th anniversary, if I was still married. But instead that experience crashed and burned in 1995. I wonder how my life would be different if it had worked out. Like, would I be a mother now? Would I be spending my vacations camping at Yosemite instead of flying to Europe?
You can try to map a path but a storm will always come and wash it out. It's better to just let life make the path for you. If there is one thing I have learned in forty years, it is that.
Posted by Shannon at 7:41 AM | Comments (1)
February 15, 2005
Night Vision
In those times in my life when I don't have to work - like vacation, and when I lived in Italy, I turn into a night creature. Right now it is 11:00 P.M. and I am totally exhausted because I have to work. And on the weekends if I stay up 'till 4:00 A.M. it kind of wrecks me the next day, because I don't feel like I can sleep until noon and then start it all over again. This really sucks because I totally love being a night creature. And not like a night creature that WORKS at night. Only a night creature that gets to SEE at night.
The best things happen at 3:00 A.M. Things that not too many people see. There is nothing better than drinking wine in Piazza San Marco at 3:00 A.M., at a deserted cafe table at Florian's, all the waiters and musicians home asleep, you with a Valpolicella in a paper bag. Extra points if it is a full moon, or if it is Acqua Alta, when the water seeps up around you until you are surrounded by a lake. The Basilica glows and eventually, you'll have to be carried, or jump from chair to chair, to avoid getting wet on the way out.
3:00 A.M. smells like stale cigarettes and cheap Cognac, but sometimes that is the best smell in the world. It sounds like old David Bowie. 3:00 A.M. is best when all responsibility is gone, or even when it seems responsibility will never rear it's ugly head again. 3:00 A.M. is the murmur of voices across the Campo, policeman voices, but they don't want to bust you, instead they want to drink with you. The first two seconds of "Kid A," seeing a tattoo clearly but nothing else, thinking everything is a dream, but maybe it's not.
Just thinking about it makes me want it again. Just thinking about it gives me energy, because here is is 11:30, and I'm still awake...
Posted by Shannon at 11:07 PM | Comments (0)
February 9, 2005
Singing in Falsetto
I am feeling awfully distracted these days. Life seems to be throwing some curveballs, only I have a feeling the catcher is whispering premonitions in my ear.
Went out and spent some money on CDs though, which always makes me feel better. Also, had a feeling my brother was at Tony's bar, and went there, and there he was. Even hanging with my brother, I felt I was hanging on the edge.
Maybe it is just that I am leaving soon. That pre-boarding jitter thing; the feeling that something is left undone. If so, a valium on the plane (or before) will take care of that. Or maybe there is some weird static in the air here. Things not yet done, not yet said; things that would be better off not done or said.
I dreamed about Jeff Tweedy this morning. He slept with some chick and I was pissed off. Then I found myself living in a motel on a busy street in San Francisco, sort of like Masonic and Geary-ish. I was fretting all night, in my dreams.
Today I was in Staples buying some shipping supplies and the checker-outer was not too with it, or tired or something, and he kept ringing up the same thing over and over, then voiding it. It took forever and finally, he finished but the item he kept ringing and voiding totally voided off my bill. I struggled within myself - should I tell this guy he didn't charge me for this roll of bubble-wrap? Or will it take another half hour to fix it? Should I feel guilty for screwing Staples?
I got my change and receipt but then looked it over and told the guy he hadn't charged me for the thing he'd charged and voided eight times. And gave him the money. That's pretty silly, isn't it?
I wish I could make sense out of all of this.
Posted by Shannon at 10:18 PM | Comments (0)
January 12, 2005
Life During Dreamtime
I am totally exhausted. I think it is because in that other universe, the nighttime one, things are a little crazy. I think I am dreaming constantly. I woke up Sunday at 3:00 AM in a total cold sweat panic attack. I can't remember what I was dreaming, but knowing me, it was something totally insane.
This morning, I dreamed about pain, because I was in pain. It?s a female thing. I was in pain all night and then was dreaming about the pain. Even though I am very good at self-medication, I hate to take painkillers. I don't like aspirin or motrin because for some reason I think it is harmful to me. So I just suffer. But try to take away my wine and I will bite your hand off. I know, I am really weird.
So I had crazy dreams laced with pain.
In one dream there was a little girl of about seven, the fictional daughter of a mysterious friend, who had these crazy feet. Her feet were huge, and ugly. They looked like the feet of a fairy-tale witch. I said to her, "dang, you have big feet! What size are they?" And she said size 5, but they were way bigger than that.
J Lo was also in my dream, and she was upset about something so everyone was walking on tiptoes around her. She was having a conniption fit because she wanted some Pozole. In my dream J Lo's current role was as a Mexican waitress, who always, after her shift, went to another Mexican restaurant to eat Pozole, still with her Mexican waitress costume on. Then she always complained about her meal. This was J Lo's role, within a role, within my dream.
Later I think I was walking with J Lo, the girl with the crazy feet, and some other people really far to get a meal. For some reason we were walking five miles on a crappy road. And I was in major pain, so I was like, this is not cool. Then some dude hurt his leg and was leaning on me, and I was like GET OFF ME DUDE, IT FUCKING HURTS! Then a streetcar pulled up and we all got on, thanks god.
After that I woke up and took some Aleve.
But what does it all mean?
Posted by Shannon at 8:08 PM | Comments (2)
December 24, 2004
Obsessive Poptart
I can't stop thinking about the word Poptart. It all started on Thanksgiving when I went to my friend Cheryl's friends house for dinner and the guy was of Ukrainian heritage and he made these apple turnover things and gave me some to take home. I was eating one late that night when I said to myself, it's like a Ukrainian Poptart! This is how the whole Poptart thing was born.
I am sort of an obsessive person. For instance right now I am totally obsessed with this band The Arcade Fire. I can't stop listening to their first record, Funeral, but since it is on a gazillion top ten lists I won't even try to go there. Now, I am obsessed with seeing them live, partly because of this guy's experience. (You must listen to Wake Up. You MUST.) Sadly they are playing a show at the Casbah on January 17, when I won't be here. Rotten luck. They are playing not one, not two, but THREE shows in L.A. the weekend of January 15 & 16, and I may have to attempt one of those, even though they are all sold out and tickets being scalped on ebay and craigslist for way too much money. I want to go, bad. I am totally obsessed and can think of nothing else, except for the word Poptart.
So back to that then. It looks like I will soon have my very own website, and I am trying to name it. I immediately thought of Ukrainian Poptart but was shot down by webmaster Pauline. "I don't like that," she said. "Besides, you aren't even Ukrainian!" Well, she's got a point there. Plain old Poptart is already taken. So now I am thinking about Traveling Poptart.
We shall see.
So last night I was at the Vine Wine Bar (where indeed I am spending most of my time these days) drinking wine with one of the owners, Hannah. She gave me a glass of wine to sniff, and for the life of me I can't remember what it was, since there were like fifteen different glasses in front of us. I smelled it and said, "smells like a Strawberry Poptart!" She smelled it and said "you are right! It does smell like a Strawberry Poptart!"
hmmm... Red Wine Poptart, anyone?
Posted by Shannon at 8:11 AM | Comments (4)
November 13, 2004
Generalization X Part Due
There are two kinds of people - those who stop their car at an intersection and let a pedestrian cross before they go through, and those who motor through an intersection with absolutely no regard for anyone except themselves.
Hmmm... well, wait a minute. There are also the pedestrians. This would make it, three kinds of people. Also what about the people who sometimes waver before letting a pedestrian cross, and sometimes decide to be nice, sometimes to be an asshole?
What about people who go around in limos? That would make four kinds of people. Then there are the limo sub-groups - people in limos because they are rich, people in limos who are too crazy to be driving, and people in limos just going to the airport. But I really shouldn't worry about sub-groups, or this entry will be totally out-of-control. In my limited experience, limo DRIVERS almost always stop, probably because they are paid by the hour. So maybe I shouldn't even list limo people, since even if they want to run you over they can't.
Then there are the rickshaw drivers (five kinds of people!!!) but I don't know if they ever stop for pedestrians. Maybe you can't stop a rickshaw because you have to have momentum, and stopping for pedestrians may screw this up. One of these days I'll investigate more thoroughly. Probably if the momentum theory holds up, rickshaw drivers might be let off the hook when it comes to stopping for pedestrians.
Hmm... I think my theory this evening is pretty lame, now that I think about it. There are people (#6) who never leave the house, not even to be a pedestrian. And there are the Amish (er, #7...) who have horses and buggies but I am sure they almost always stop for pedestrians. Then there are the motorists who don't stop for an Amish horse and buggy, and those that do (8,9). So making generalizations is just a totally lame waste of time, since there are so many ways to deviate from them.
Hope this all doesn't keep me up again tonight.
Posted by Shannon at 7:58 PM | Comments (1)
October 27, 2004
And the Dining Room Set goes to...
Almost 10,000 people have visited my blog since May 9, 2004...
Maybe YOU are the 10,000 visitor.
All night it rained hard, and I had crazy dreams about sex and drugs.
Posted by Shannon at 6:12 PM | Comments (1)
October 25, 2004
Sleeping Alone
Somehow, life for me has taken a rather abrupt turn. It wasn't like I didn't want it, or didn't expect it to eventually happen. It's just that it happened sooner, and quicker, than I thought it would. From one way of life back to another, in a heartbeat. It's a good thing I am adaptable. I'm not sure I can handle life not changing constantly. It's been my only constant, change. I foresee Paris soon, perhaps at Thanksgiving. Just because I can, and because I cannot sit still, especially when I am alone.
I think it might surprise people that some days I go without speaking to a single person. I hate chatter. I think this may be a fatal flaw. At least where relationships are concerned. Why is talking so important, anyway? I have always been fascinated with deaf people. Once I fell in love with a deaf guy in a bar who had cat's eyes. He looked at me all slanty eyed and he could not speak and I will never, ever forget the way he looked at me. Once, one of my ex-boyfriends was writing a book about a guy who started a cult, and I wanted him to make the guy deaf. I thought that would be so cool, a deaf cult leader.
I guess I will probably go deaf eventually, because I am truly reckless when it comes to Giant Speakers. Or maybe I was deaf in a past life, hence my fascination with and my proclivity for deafness. Whatever, in the end it was just a guy with cat's eyes that did it.
One of the best things about ending one thing is thinking about something that could possibly begin and just thinking about things beginning leads one to think about things that might have begun, but didn't, like Cat Eyes (and that was fifteen fucking years ago.) At least it is for me.
Posted by Shannon at 9:20 PM | Comments (1)
September 11, 2004
Igby Goes Down, the Sequel
Last night I watched the film "Igby Goes Down." It's about this rich kid with an institutionalized father and a bitter, valiumed-out and chardonnayed mother. After a youth of boarding schools and hating his mom and his life Igby escapes and runs around New York City with all kinds of characters. It's a comedy and it seemed a lot more real to me than, say, anything Edward Burns might film. In the end Igby is falling asleep on an airplane smiling, on his way to California.
This morning I dreamed the sequel. In my dream, Igby traveled all over Europe. He died his hair yellow. I watched him ride a scooter through Paris, his yellow hair blowing in the wind. Then years passed and Igby was like 45, still with yellow hair, but with tan wrinkles on his face. Now he was hanging out in Florida. I'm not sure he lived anywhere, I think he just lived in Florida going from place to place sleeping with women and then leaving because he was afraid of commitment. His brother who was the budding Republican alcoholic in the film lived in the Florida Panhandle so Igby went there to see him and instead slept with another woman. They were done and the woman said to Igby "would you like another custard?" Igby said, "that would be wonderful." Then he pretended to go to the bathroom and left. Outside he ran into the Jewish girl from the film, the one that he loved first but who was then seduced by the asshole brother. She was talking to someone about how pissed off her liberal parents were that she had ended up with a career in marketing. Then I woke up.
After I watched "Igby Goes Down" I watched "Showgirls." Sadly, I cannot remember dreaming any sequel to this one. Maybe I did and I just don't remember. Maybe Nomi Malone goes to the White House and gets a job fighting terrorism. In my dream, if I had one, I don't think she had to put ice on her nipples anymore.
Posted by Shannon at 7:58 AM | Comments (0)