01 April 2007

Surreal Night

One of the strangest nights i've had in awhile. to begin:

We all made it to Coleen's, which was totally rad. the food was absolutely delicious, i drank good red wine despite my better judgment and then talked with Marcella about dialects in spanish and turkish, the way one spanish-speaking country says i have to catch the bus now, and how another spanish-speaking country hears "i have to go fuck the bus now."

A better example is the difference between ankara turkish and azeri turkish: true story: an azeri friend of a friend told me how when he was in turkey, he told his friends in azeri turkish that he wanted to go to bed, but since the regional varieties are quite different, the turks heard "i want to fuck someone now" and yes, it always come back to that. anyway, talking to Marcella in spanish, i realized how bad my spanish has become. not that it was ever great, but at least when i was teaching literacy to mexican-american niños, i FELT like i was speaking spanish pretty well. no mas my friend. no mas. later i had a good conversation with Eva about semiotics and freud, but not the pretentious kind that ph.d students have at bbq's and at kegger's, we were just saying that we thought freud self-projected and basically didn't understand the sexuality of little girls, and then we talked about how emergencies creates clarity of speech, which is true, and how when she had to tell the doctor about her apendicitis in anjer, and when i had to tell the gendarmes about a burglary in montréal, our french was greatly simplified, our language, almost perfect.

It also felt really good too to play piano at coleen's. i kinda felt like no one can really understand me without hearing me play music that i write, it's like looking at someone without hearing him speak. at least for me it is. and though i don't necessarily think people will care less or more about me after i played, still, i feel like they were forced to get my composite, which feels similar to knowing, even if someone rejects one of your manuscripts, that at least, they read all of it. and i wanted to play for coleen cuz i know it makes her happy. she was sweet, and hugged me, even kissed me on the cheek, i think she had tears in her eyes. she's been getting emotional with me recently cuz she's starting to get sad about the fact we're al leaving. that touches me alot. this is the end of the sane part of the night. now shit gets crazy.

So Marcella practically pleaded with me to go with her to the oyster bar. now, i'm not a fan of that place: there's 3 floors of lameness instead of one, the jukebox is backlogged, i pretty much suck at pool, and i don't smoke. but i went since she seemed pretty intent on it. but how do i get there? i drive with Marcella and Pablo, and i'm thinking, this is so strange. he's like the novelistic superfluous man in this program for as long as i can remember, and all of a sudden, he and i are cracking jokes about how drunk Marcella is, which she denies, though she keeps asking me if she has lipstick on her teeth, and i have to tell her no, at least threre separate times. possibly related to this, she says "Jackson you a genius" and i ask her what she's talking about and she says "you play piano, you write, you speak many languages," "so does pablo" i say, and then she says "you can do so many things. . . oh," switching to pablo, "you too," then pablo says "No. Too late." finally we get there, and on the second floor, there are 20 people in the biology department, and Marcella re-introduces me to half of them, most of them seem uninterested, a few stick around and chat, or ask me about my tattoos. here's one pic of us before Marcella introduced me to her biology friends for the second time:


Eventually, i talk to one hawaiian shorty who's interesting, eye-flirtatious and perceptive. we talk about the big island v. the small island. i try telling her that one of the most liberating things i ever experienced is when i moved to a village without mirrors, how as an american, we are the most self-scrutinizing people in the world. we're always trying to be more attractive, wealthier, stronger, funnier, better dressed. and look at self-help? it's a multi-billion dollar industry predicated on our inability to love our lives as they are. but in a tiny african village without mirrors or enough money for people to care about things like fashion, deodorant, sexiness, self-improvement, you are liberated from yourself. you are free like a child before the great fall of morality. she didn't totally appreciate what i was saying. she was very nice, but wasn't buying it. she kept pointing out how metrosexual i am, and she's right of course, but this liberation i was talking about, it was mental first and foremost, and though i don't claim to have it, i know that for a matrix second, i did, and that changes something inside of me. this is when she started looking around at other people, and i realized the window had closed. soon, it occurred to me she was with the guy with a pitcher who was circulating the 2nd floor. i didn't want her anyways, i though, you can have her, i was just talking, which is true. but she has flirty eyes and i think he knows.

Then shero and i played pool. he won after i knocked the 8 ball in, which is just like me. i liked my come-from-behind momentum though while it lasted.

Then, shero and i walked in the rain and he asked me if i was his friend and i told him he was but that i was waiting for him to forgive me for asking him about l'affaire Silpa, and he said he hadn't, and this time, we had a civil exchange of ideas about that, and so he called silpa and said good night. so now i'm walking into the "library," a bar i've never wanted to be inside of, even once i was leaving. eventually i find pablo, he's standing by himself. i talk to him. he says, you better go talk to her. fuck, i think. on the dance stage she's dancing and doing these crazy moves with her feet, kicking to the side. once i go up to her, she hugs me, and the guy that was dancing with her pats me on the shoulder like, you can have man, she's too crazy for me, and walks away. we dance for a little while. i can tell she wants me to spin her, so i do even though i think it's kind cheesy to do that to bad 80's muzak. i make sure she doesn't fall off the stage. and then, she asked me if i knew where the bathroom was, and i mean, i have no idea, i've never been there before, i only came cuz i told her i would, and i'm pretty sure my students from last year are everywhere and i pretend not to see them. i hope they're marvelously drunk and delirious with barlust. she disappears. i dance by myself. i'm super comfortable with this. and then a good reggaeton song comes on. i get real happy. i dance. i look over at pablo. he's just standing there, kinda thinking. i sorta hope Marcella comes back soon cuz this shit is danceable. ah, she doesn't. Pablo says good bye, hands me my satchel that he was watching for me. finally, they put on "the piano man," turn on the lights, and i'm like, all right, i've got to get the fuck out of here. but i wanted to make sure she had a way to get home. then i run into the hawaiian girl with her now-obvious-boyfriend. she still looks cute which is impressive cuz dim-lighting makes alot of people look good who aren't, but i wasn't really thinking of her sexually before, okay, maybe a little, but now, i'm like, shit, this is really weird, and i ask her if she's seen marcella, and she says, oh, your girlfriend is kinda of crazy, and i'm like, oh no, she's not my girlfriend, i just met her tonight, and she says, oh, wow, okay, well, she's over there, and then i see her, she's in a circle of people, all swaying and singing along to the piano man, thanks i tell her, then i walk over to marcella, tap her shoulder, she hugs me again, i say, okay, well, you take--and then she's like no, no, no, no, Jackson, no, come on, so i join the circle, i sway, i sing, almost like it a little, the white guy to my right says hablas español? más o menos, i reply, pero no fluidamente, he looks disappointed, the asian guy next to marcella, shakes my hand, tells me spanish is his maternal tongue, i say cool, we sway, sing, and then i feel like marcella wants to go home with me, maybe i'm wrong, but i keep asking her, so, do you have a ride home, i just wanna make sure, and she says, oh, don't worry about it, i'll take a taxi, even though all of her friends are there, and they have cars, and they're driving home, and finally one of her friends takes pity on her, and then i hug her, tell her to have a good night, and i walk home and now it's 4:36 in the morning and all i wanna do is eat chocolate cake and sleep until the early afternoon.

My ears are ringing like mad + I'm proud of myself for turning down some action. It's been a while since I've gotten laid, but I can wait longer.

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