did you know subway windows are magical? while the train's shaking back and forth, going through the space between stations, look over out into the negative space, the weird world in the tunnel, and, reflected in the window, really what you see is yourself.

see the papery skin and the dark circles around your eyes? see your hairline? see how you're looking a little gaunt? the subway window doesn't show you you as you. it shows you an extreme--if the years of drinking, of not getting enough sleep, of waking up exhausted, going to work, and eating garbage you bought from the cart out on the corner--if all that time ever catches up to you, this is what you can expect to see.

so don't worry. you don't look like that. but you could. if you don't watch it.

i watched forrest gump the other night, on a bar television with the closed-captioning thing on. i think i like forrest gump. actually, i like lieutenant dan. if i got my legs shot off in vietnam, the result would be me acting very much like lieutenant dan.

i told that to mia--i'd end up like lieutenant dan. she said, "yes. you probably would."

sometime in my early twenties, i was walking around a party in a very big, very old apartment. in the memory, the ceilings seem about fifteen feet high, and there are lots of rooms, and they are all decorated in arty college pictures and third-year-show type paintings.

i didn't know a lot of people--most of the people being from the performance art or poetry writing circle of the college. when i first came in i got introduced to a lot of people, only two of them making an impresison on me: one was a guy who i thought was kind of a loser--overweight, messy-looking, long hair, perpetually out-of-breath--and i remember feeling a little sorry for him upon shaking his hand; the second i met sometime after--a very spacey, beautiful girl, with boots and a skirt and long dark hair. by far she was the prettiest girl.

the party went on, and i seemed a little drunk, and i didn't talk to anyone, and i just wandered around, listening to what everyone was talking about, seeing who was around. i came into the kitchen, to get away most likely, and there were the messy guy and the beautiful girl intensely making out up against the counter, completely oblivious to everything, all over each other--her beautiful, him looking like him. the most perfect girl, and the least-likely man.

every once in a while i think about that for some reason. i thought of it the other day, in fact.

on friday i saw my friends the inklings play mercury lounge in the ten-thirty slot. or was it eleven? or was i still waiting outside in line, with the bouncer looking me over, saying you'll have to wait, we got too many people inside already? or was it cold? or was it the first time i ever walked in and said, "i think i'm on the list," and they didn't say, nope, i don't see it, nope, not here sweeetie.


them inklings

the crowd was crazy. this really tall guy with a lot of make-up on said, "man, i hate it when people push up to the front. i'm gonna punch the next person who pushes past us." and then this drunk guy with hair down to his waist pushed past us, and holy shit the tall guy punched him. he had him on the floor, punching him in the face, and a fifteen-foot circle opened up in the crowd. no one would do anything, so i went over and grabbed the tall guy's wrists and said for god's sake stop hitting him.

wait, no, that was a sisters of mercy show. sorry. not the inklings.


captain e-li

but the inklings show, that was something else. everyone had a good time, got a free cd, drank a beer, dug the show. and i pushed my way to the front, with my media pass, and my Big Fucking Camera, and i stood right in front of your girlfriend, and i took pitchers for my "blog." but no one minded, coz it was just so damn good.

so i wish i had a hipper-than-u music website, because you would love me forever, and because this would be the point where i would start an argument in the comments about WHY THE DAMN INKLINGS SOLD OUT, MAN.


it's spelled mer-cury lounge

i was at a show recently, all by myself, in the front row. it was positively packed, and i stood for a couple hours, reading a book, to be in front. however, i only stayed there through the fifth song. that was enough--you know why?: because i felt way too tall to be in front.

have you ever seen me? i am five-six. most of my major malfuctions revolve tightly around the fact that i'm so damn short. but everyone around me at the show was like five foot tall. all i could think about for one whole song was trying to be smaller. so, after i felt satisfied, i moved.

about ten minutes later, from the back, i watched the singer stage-dive into the crowd. might he have jumped on me? could the experience have been heightened? best not to consider it.