mermaidia.

did i mention i was going to be in the mermaid parade this year?

more on that later.

the sea inside.

"you seem as though you keep a lot inside," you say. "there's a lot you don't tell people."

this is a jarring observation, given what i've just been talking about, given that i feel i've been on transmit since night fell. jarring, but true. there is a lot i don't tell people. there is a lot i'm not telling you, a lot i'm not telling anyone.

to be perfectly honest, i feel as though i more or less stopped talking last year, when it became clear that what should have been my best audience simply didn't give a fuck what i had to say; that i had been labeled vapid and shallow by the one who was supposed to love me most. when that point drove home, i felt it better just to stay quiet.

but that is neither here nor there.

from this vantage point at the top of the inevitable countdown, i have only one question: will you hate me more if i start to tell you everything, or if i continue to keep my own counsel? because i've been loathed and left for both in my time.

the 1500.

this marks 5 years (roughly) and 1500 entries i've spent doing this. if you've been following along, you know it's been an eventful five years. i've grown a lot, fallen on my face (and picked myself up) a few times, spent a lot of quality time being neurotic and eating brunch, written and played a lot of music, and a whole host of other things.

back in the day, i did a list of 100 fun facts about me (it's in May, 2002. i'll put up an actual link once i've found it). in honor of how much i've changed and grown, i'm going to do it again (well, 50. i'm not in the mood to think of 100).

let's see how much we've changed.

1. i have been a redhead for years; nobody i know can remember my natural hair color. this includes my sister.
2. vices: my tipple of choice is bourbon. i smoke marlboro lights.
3. i have been married. i am not anymore (or, i won't be as of july)
4. i am left-handed, but only for writing and using chopsticks.
5. i am in a comic book
6. i am also in a band.
7. i own no fewer than ten pairs of boots.
8. if it came down to it, i could happily live on sushi, avocado and pineapple for the rest of my natural days.
9. i run for exercise and sanity.
10. i once got fired for calling in sick (despite my virtually spotless attendance record). it was the best thing that ever, ever happened to me.
11. i have a massive crush on alex kapranos (you know, the guy from franz ferdinand)
12. places i've traveled include: hong kong, paris, london, barcelona, venice, various parts of greece, brussels.
13. places i'd love to go include: shanghai, florence, berlin, vienna, johannesburg, prague, oslo, tokyo, bangkok, istanbul. nebraska also holds appeal (don't ask).
14. i have never seen the grand canyon.
15. i would rather travel by train than any other method of transport.
16. i vastly prefer salty to sweet.
17. i make kick-ass risotto. also carrot cake.
18. though i am renowned for being obscenely disciplined, i am definitely capable of being a serious slacker (the summer mix is coming, i swear! it's just taking time to finesse! i promise!)
19. my underwear drawer represents a wider variety of hues than the rest of my wardrobe.
20. i find myself turning into my parents at the most alarming times. in particular, i am developing my father's glibness (and, i hope, charm) and my mother's complete intolerance for poor grammar.
21. i am utterly useless with power tools.
22. come to think of it, i'm pretty useless with my hands in general.
23. my new hobby is photography.
24. i have large feet, slender fingers, and a crooked mouth.
25. most of the time, i have absolutely no balance
26. i love thunderstorms.
27. i cannot sleep when it's hot.
28. my favorite room at the met is arms and armoury.
29. i am occasionally inclined to do questionable things. like march in the mermaid parade, or photograph the idiotarod without using warm gloves.
30. i don't like to drive. usually. i am, however, a fantastic navigator.
31. i am apparently no longer permitted to date men from the british isles.
32. the right side of my body is significantly stronger than the left.
33. i realized recently that i don't have a favorite color; i do, however, love jewel tones, and i dislike yellow intensely.
34. i am typically so pale as to appear nearly radioactive, particularly around the legs.
35. turns out i'm a half-decent frisbee player.
36. it is easy to startle me, but not to shock me.
37. i am on a neverending search for the perfect black mascara.
38. i never, ever get enough sleep.
39. i believe that the best way to stave off a hangover is to go running while you're still a little drunk, much as it may hurt.
40. my favorite flower is the stargazer lily; i can identify its smell from 50 yards away.
41. i love what i do, which is a new development.
42. i'll see pretty much any movie that's based on a comic book.
43. i aspire to smell like baked goods at all times.
44. i am obsessed with the notion of learning how to fight with a quarterstaff (or a broadsword), and remain utterly shocked that it's so difficult to find classes for either in new york city.
45. i refused to read nonfiction books for several years--after reading the entire works of claude levi strauss in a single semester, the notion was rather spoilt for me.
46. i spend a lot of time wondering if my ability to build websites cancels out the fact that i can't sew a button.
47. i am messy. Messy!
48. i am a terrible flier, but otherwise a pretty damn good traveling companion.
49. writing lyrics is unbelievably difficult for me.
50. i think things are looking up; i hope i'm right.

questions? comments? contributions?

pank.

oh, shut up.

yesterday's tally.

pro: i woke up on time.
con: ...after three hours of sleep.
pro: beautiful weather for running.
con: a pigeon shit on me as i was winding down.
pro: i got an award.
con: i had to contend with the magic trick of having everything happen at the office at once. at 5pm.
pro: gayest. concert. ever. (i heart cyndi lauper)
con: got home way too late for a schoolnight.
pro: GAYEST. CONCERT. EVER.

all things considered, i think i came out ahead. so why am i feeling so shitty?

i must say...

...that perhaps the biggest disadvantage of being the spare girl (besides, you know. envy and loneliness etc etc) is the fact that i don't really have anyone to obsess over stupid shit with me--i.e., nobody to parse out my neuroses in the way we did when we were all young and single.

i swear to god, i'm turning into bridget jones and don't think it doesn't kill me. if i ever refer to myself as a 'singleton,' please just drag me out back and shoot me.

wow.

in my twisted little world, there are few experiences that rival the first time you hear your new favorite song. the slow emergence of the melody, the way your heart starts to beat in time with the percussion, the strange rush of adrenaline you feel when it gets to the good part.

the only feeling i can compare it to is falling in love.

stuart introduced me to my new favorite song today:

today was already shaping up to be pretty good. it just got a whole lot better.

the quiz, by hello saferide.

You look nice alright
and I like the way you nod after everything I say
like it actually means something
to you

And if I’d fall, would you pick me up?
If I fall, will you pick me up?

i didn't write it, but it's resonating today.

the absence of my presence.

it's a fairly common observation among my clan that sometimes, when i am performing, i seem very far away; this one in particular is consistently telling me to just forget about the technical, to just tell the damn story when i'm singing.

just tell the story.

and realistically, telling the story is something i have immense difficulty with. for a while i wasn't wholly sure why, but it's undeniable: when i'm on stage, i have a worrying tendency to go on to autopilot. for ages i thought it had to do with my concerns over my guitar-playing abilities, and the startling consistency with which my performance suffers if i start to think too much about what i'm doing--overthinking makes already clumsy fingers clumsier. recently, however, i'm thinking a little differently about it; right now, i'm starting to realize that a certain amount of absence on stage is a defense mechanism, self-defense against a vulnerability that i've masked over the years with big words and catchy choruses. against the fact that when i sing my songs, i offer the world my heart on a platter. and it scares the living fuck out of me.

the penny dropped last night, when a friend asked that i play a few songs for him. i ran through some of the slow songs, the ones that still sound good when it's just girl and guitar. i sang some of my best-loved pieces, realizing with each passing song that it was getting harder and harder to look him in the eye. that i was growing increasingly mortified by my own music, by these shimmering melodies that held the perfect crystallization of my feelings. by these things i was so proud of, that had helped me so much as i wrote them.

i didn't have words to express how uncomfortable i grew in the course of my little concert, as the realization dawned that he was really listening to the songs, that he was following the stories and could see the scars they'd left. that through them he could see what i really am, what i've been through. and it was jarring in the extreme.

that, i suppose, is the great contradiction. i hang my horrors out for everyone to see, distilling wrenching emotions down to 200 proof, but i can't stand to really consider the fact that they're being scrutinized; i can't bear to deliver the item i've so lovingly crafted, because you might see it. and in turn see me. i'm thinking this is why it must sometimes seem that i'm in another room when i'm performing. because it scares me too much to really be there.

the irony of this all being, of course, that the major reason people seem to respond to my music is because it's so honest. it is my feelings, my heart, my twisted soul, held up for your scrutiny. for your recognition as something you've been through, too.

i wish i could ask you to listen, but not to look.

how do you get to carnegie hall?

bu coughing your face off (really loudly, and more or less in key). if you're me.

mad, bad and dangerous to know.

he peers at me over his glasses, clasping my hand warmly and giving me his final piece of sage advice:

"don't ever settle," he tells me. "never. you deserve so much better than that. you are too talented, and too intelligent. do you know how rare that is?"

we stand at the end of the celebration at the end of the era that saw this man as my stand-in father and frequent foil, my cohort in numerous late-night, last-minute battles against the forces of insanity around here. my companion in geek chatter about obscure cameras and obscure phrases, travelogues and work-related horror stories. an academic at heart, he could drink all of us whippersnappers in the department under the table--and occasionally did, as he did last night.

of course, with that sentence he was referring to more than my working life, having learned earlier that day of my current circumstances--a revelation which surprised him, and sent his paternal feelings toward me into overdrive. it was strange, and sweet, and carried with it a certain kind of finality; as though these were his parting words, that i should give myself more credit across the board.

you know. the kind of thing you would want your dad to say when you stand at the cusp of change.

today marks a seismic shift around here. things are changing, and he is moving two floors away. twenty feet straight up, but i know i'll hardly see him around.

and that saddens me.