The Contents of mihow: An Autobiography of Songs (Day two)

I am 21. I have just returned from living in Manchester, England. There’s a house on the 800 block of West College (later demolished) with a porch. Many people meet there regularly to sit outside, have cookouts, drink beer, listen to music, etc. Eric-(future) record label founder, then limo driver-puts on a song. It’s loud enough to hear from the inside, out. Vanessa, an attractive girl-token, gay hipster, cool, singer, band chick-begins to sing along. No one speaks a sentence for the duration of the song. The only real movement is the tapping of a foot or the bobbing of a head. Cars drive by, our eyes follow their paths of unknown destinations. Why care?
(It was a moment, which in my memory, has torn edges like an old photo. It’s kept in a worn photo album with gold photo corners. The moment is special, equipped with smells, sounds, it entirely lacks fear. A moment with absolutely no tomorrow and no hint of a yesterday. I love this moment).
Here is that snapshot. (4.1 mgs)

The Contents of mihow: An Autobiography of Songs

(songs will not appear in chronological order)

mihow is 19. She lives in a house on Buckhout Street in State College with 4 other people. She bought home the new Pavement CD and listens to it often while playing cards and sipping drinks with her friend, Soung. They sing along. Loudly. (Specifically the final verse). She thinks she’s in love with a boy but it turns out she just wants someone to sing this to her in a park (specifically the final verse) even if he calls her empty. And she wants the boy to build her a lamp like he did that other girl. Here is a snapshot. (3 mgs)

Stuff about things.

Yesterday, after bringing up the season finale of 3rd Watch, I received two phone calls, one post, and one email. And then, go figure, I became super busy. I sort of summed up the ending in yesterday’s post. If you wish to go there and read about it, that’s cool. It’s not super exciting, but Toby did explain where and how our conversation about American television came to be, and that’s probably more exciting than my rather pathetic description of 3rd Watch. To be honest, you had to see it. It was purely a visual thing and truly well filmed, in my opinion.

Anyway…

Last night I saw a shoe advertisement, I can’t even remember who it was for. I think DMW or some other acronym. Anyway, it was super cute. And it worked! I put a zip car on hold and headed out for some late evening shopping at Target with Toby. We spent a small fortune. I bought some more candles and some clothing, spring-like shirts, and some work out clothing because I’m getting tired of doing laundry every time I go to yoga.
When we returned home, we found that some wacknut had parked his or her GIANT suv in the Zip Car spot. Which sucks for a number of reasons. 1). I get charged if I have the car past my normal time and if I can’t park it, lock it and be done with it, well that could easily happen. 2). It’s an SUV and I hate them. 3). A tow-truck would have a serious problem trying to tow this damn car because of how the parking spot is laid out. 4). It was late. I wanted to light my candles and try on my new cloths. So we sat there, angry. Toby went upstairs to find someone who cared. No one did. So we decided to take matters into our own hands. I called Zip Car to work out the issue, they were super cool. As we were dialing the last digit to the tow-truck, a guy walks out of the Dorchester claiming the giant car. And it was then I realized something, when I saw a face and he began to explain, most all of my anger left me. It’s really very easy to HATE someone without a face and a name, to hate the mere idea of them, which, you and only you have created. My mind was filling with ideas such as filling the front driver seat with cat food or writing a nasty note about how stupid he or she is. That’s not nice. This was not nice. I can’t say I’m proud of this. But it’s a damn fine recipe for a bloody war. ;]
So the next time I become fuming angry with an object and I begin to hate a person I have basically created in my head using the worst parts of my own mind, I’m going to remember that no one is that evil and that I’m being a poopie pants man.

That’s my long, silly lesson for myself today. (Damn, this post is long. Sorry).

Please note: That does NOT mean that if some bitchy-lip-lined-slut-mama-ho asks me for a bathroom pass or five dollars to use the restroom at Loreal Plaza I will not seriously consider kicking her stupid ass all over the sticky floor in margarita land.

Due west please

Do western people think of the east and say,

Wow, the mountains through Pennsylvania and West Virginia sound beautiful! I wish I could travel out that way to see it!

Do they wonder about Vermont and a cape on Massachusetts? Do they wonder what the swampy south looks like and if people really, really talk that way?
I am constantly somewhere else. I always wonder what it looks like in Idaho or Iowa, Montana, Arizona, Oregon, South Dakota. And some days, it’s such a powerful yearning, I run off to some ticket agent in search of some deal, in search for someone to say

Michele, I’ll send you to Boise for only 150.00! This weekend!

I saw the desert a few years back. I drove a convertible right through the lowest part of land I had never imagined. I thought about it being at the bottom of the sea. When I drove by a small convenient store, I wondered,

How much money can they possibly make there? Who shops there? Who lives here? What is this place? Holy shit! There’s a ram. We have deer and beavers, they have rams.

There are two parts to this. Part one: I want to see America. I want to see it so badly, some days sitting in an office, beneath recycled air-conditioning makes me want to Gumprun till even this gal’s face grows a beard. I want to not wonder what it’s like to see the earth curve against something green and wavy. I want to touch a cacti. I want to see Crater Lake, the Badlands, Death Valley, and those amazing rivers Brad Pitt pretend fly-fished on in Montana. I must do this. See these things.
Part two: What is it the west wonders about here, in the east? Really? What do we have that you long to see? (I’ll trade you). New York City? You could go to Vegas, they rebuilt it somewhat, and the gum is fake there and the booze is free—a word foreign to New York. Is it New Orleans? Is it Miami? Is it here? What does the east have?
I wander west every day. I think

How can I get a hold of a car for two weeks in order to travel out there? How can I do this for myself? It can’t be that hard, right? Me. Due west. Please.

Some days are worse than others. When there’s a turn in the weather, I’m so antsy it’s impossible to focus. (I need to figure this out).

Home

Sometimes when I’m with people I don’t know well, and who don’t know me, I feel sort of like I’m on vacation or on a business trip and I’m comfused about the system, or the way the money works, or how to ask if I can go to the bathroom. Sometimes I feel like they speak another language (or maybe I do). And all I want to do is return back home again. There’s something so reassuring remembering the comfort of where you came from. And that no matter how foreign the matter is (over a work-lunch, as a “team player”), no matter how uneasy you feel about the lack of laughter or the way someone looks away after what you just said, in the back of your mind you know that someone where you came from knows the way your mind works and how your clumsy body is forced to exist within an unforgiving, judgemental space on a daily basis. At home, there is nothing to forgive. (i.e. Oodles of Noodles Jogged Comfort Zone Mihow)

Space Heaters in Summer

I love how it’s like 80 degrees outside and I have the friggin space heater on at my feet. People are sort of stupid that way. In my opinion. It’s finally nice out, so what do they do? They crank the fucking air conditioner. Stupid.

Taxes Driver

Last evening I had a tiny, Indian man do my taxes. It’s interesting how the having of a full-time job pays the taxes on my freelance work. In other words, the amount of money I’m supposed to get back from the government goes straight back to the government and I break nearly even. I was worried this year I might get screwed. I didn’t. Not until I got into the cab, headed home.

The D.C. taxi situation works on something called zones. I could spend the time now explaining this strange set up, but even after understanding it, it doesn’t make much sense (to me). Anyhow, I have taken cabs to and from work a few times and it’s always between 6.90 and 7.90 (depending on rush-hour, number of passengers, etc). Last night the taxi driver talked my ear off about how HR Block is made up of a bunch of nazis who work for the government and how I should take my taxes elsewhere in order to win.

That’s fine. O.K. But my only goal was to not owe a lot. And I didn’t. He kept on keeping on, telling me stories about his job and what he had to deal with and how there is no reason anyone should get any of his money, yadda yadda yadda. (What a chump).

How much do I owe you.

I know the answer to this, but I ask it every time. I just don’t like to assume anything, one never knows if they’ll get a deal of some sort.

6.90 plus (something inaudible) ummm 7.90. NO! 8.00.

Ahhhh the old taxi driver, zone rip-off.

9.00. Yes, 9.00.

I guess you have to pick your battles, this was not one I cared to pick. I gave him a ten and moved on inside to have dinner with the coolest boy in the world. And it’s that simple. When you lay it all out on the floor in front of you, and you realize how nice it is, who can complain about ten bucks?

An Ode to Spring

I love Spring. It’s even taller right before dusk. I love it when the grass is just cut, pieces are thrown onto curbs like hair on the barber shop floor. I used to really want sidewalks. As a kid, I wanted them. I wanted to walk on them all the way across the world. Sidewalks, they way the line the street, they’re like sandy beaches. And the way black tar holds onto the heat from the Sun. And we all know day will be back tomorrow. (For now).

That’s what the cooler ocean reminds us of, sitting adjacent to blazing hot sand. And white colored sidewalks, too. It’s during those points where we rest, it’s a reminder into a tomorrow. I can see ants crawling back towards pavement cracks, wondering where that giant cracker crumb is, Bug2037 stole from park kid day prior. He bragged about it being double his weight, while park kid bragged about how red his face got from hanging upside down from monkey bars.

Outside, I used to walk on those yellow, cup-like things while holding onto the green plastic sting that connected me to the cup, and then the cup to the street. I am not sure what they’re called. Not sure I ever knew. I used to think it were the cone, the earth, my scoop, only I was the one upside-down.

I used to enjoy doing that until one went missing. I always imagined some small animal with a long neck took it and wore it as a hat. But that’s impossible as they haven’t figured out how to breed miniature giraffes yet. When they do, I will call him Earl. He will wear hats. He will be forbidden to do head-spins in front of any monkey. I want to bottle spring up right now and hand it out on my way home. I want to remind everyone how it’s all that time during the in-between that matters. It’s that time you’re standing on the dark part of the black roads, it’s high noon, that’s when you remember about now. It’s the time spent unthunk.

And it’s Spring. Spring, it’s what’s for dinner.

ButtPaste

I just ordered 45 dollars worth of stuff from here. Some of it is for Nicole, the woman I work with who’s having a baby, some of it will be for Toby and I. I just couldn’t resist a t-shirt or two. :] (I blame Missy, for encouraging the spending of my money).

honeymooners

Michele has disappeared. I took over.

Where should we honeymoon?

Give your ideas. The winner gets to pay for it!