Monday, May. 06, 2002 / 11:42 a.m.

~"Won�t You Take Me Away? And Take Away Me?"~

"Everybody rappin� like it�s a commercial, actin� like life is a big commercial" � that line always bothered her. She�d say, "He can�t rhyme, he�s using the same word, couldn�t he think of something else?" and I�d say, "Don�t take it so seriously, it�s just fun. They�re just being silly, you know?", but it bothered her.

I�m listening to it now, the Beastie Boys� "Check Your Head". Sitting here in the cube, 10:44 a.m., white light coming in from outside, the sunlight today is white. Awakened by alarm clock, turn it off, re-set, again, once more, wash, coffee, dress, drive, then come here and sit. Just sit. It�s hell. I go in to the bathroom, washing my hands after urinating, think, I could just leave. I could just walk out, say, "I�m wasting my life here, I�ve got to go", but then what? So I stay.

So I crank Beastie Boys in the Walkman, I write, I squint at the white sunlight, I drink water, I walk to the bathroom to urinate, wash my hands, come back and apply hand lotion, I tell Lulu and Penelope about my "date" with Skipper, and Lulu wants to be excited, but I�m sick of that, "It was just a movie, he�s not going to be my lover, he won�t be my boyfriend, it was just a thing." To quell her interest. Move along. Nothing to see here.

Last night as I lay in bed, my life was flashing in front of my eyes, or maybe behind my eyes. And maybe it wasn�t flashing at all, maybe I just started going backwards in my head. I had to stop, say, No, Be Here Now, this is all there is, but I was so aware of how long I�ve lived, of everything I�ve been through, all the people I�ve known, places I�ve lived, been, etc. It was, for a second or two, overwhelming. I remained in control. Who wants to go back like that?

One of the things I did online Saturday night, early Sunday, was register at Classmates.com, not for my high school, nor college (I�m already registered for my high school), but for my elementary school. The one I attended from 3rd to 7th grades, the one in the class picture I brought to work on Friday. I wanted to know where those people are now. Only one name I recognize is registered. But now I am too. And I came so close to paying for that Gold Membership, the $3/month, $36/year membership so I could write to people registered. So I could send "notes", or whatever. I was signed up, I was heading to the living room to fetch my credit card, maybe 4:00 in the morning, and I snapped out of it � What?! I don�t want to pay $36 so I can reconnect with people from my past. They�re in my past for a reason. It�s done, it�s over, no point trying to go back. Be Here Now. (Besides, we�ll let them pay for the membership so THEY can contact ME!)

In this present it�s Beastie Boys, it�s "I said, whatcha�, whatcha�, whatcha�, want?!", it�s my stomach growling because it�s only ingested caffeine and water, it�s air conditioning, cold fingers, occasional phone calls, an address update, talking to a stranger, in South Carolina, or California, or Texas, and by the end of the day I will have spoken to people in several different states, but that�s later and this is now. Now is restless, bored, aware of the futility. Now is the tremendous effort not to go backwards, nor forwards. "But this is all illusion� I�ve seen better days than this one� something�s got to give" � I love the Beasties.

For several months I had a snippet from "The Blue Nun", off this very album, on my answering machine, my outgoing message. Just the bit with the woman saying that the wine does go well with the chicken. "What�s the secret Peter?" "Naturally, I�ll say it�s the wine", and still I say it like he does, "Iyal say", not "I�ll say", stretch it out. It pops in my head all the time, "IIIIIIyal" say�

See what I�m reduced to here? Rambling, waxing on and on about Beastie Boys samples.

Speaking of samples, I found a little bio on my main man, Moby, Saturday night � he was born 9/11/65. His name is Richard, Richard Melville something� Hall? Can�t remember. Richard. Rick. Dick. Moby. MmmmmmmmMoby.

I used to have a crush on French actor hunk Vincent Perez. Until I found out he got married. I don�t pine for married men. Nope. Not even a crush. If Moby gets married, that�s it. Of course we can assume he�s fucking someone, I hope he is. But marriage is a commitment I honor. Er, in someone else, I can�t see me doing it.

I went into my whole marriage schpiel with Skipper Friday night, then of course found out he�s been married twice. I guess I come from the "Let�s just shack up" generation. The generation that thinks marriage is an improbable proposition. Are we an entire generation?

Regardless, I just got my second "I need to talk" phone call of this day. Two men so far, needing to tell me way more than I need to know. So I sit and listen, and think I should be getting paid far more for this.

There�s a tattoo convention coming here at the end of the month, famous tattoo artists from across the country, and I want to go. I�ve been looking at my naked right arm, picturing another arm band, a snake, something tribal. Hmmmm� it�s consuming. In a good way. It�s a "we�ll see" situation.

And I�ve discovered I can crank up the Walkman, turn the phone volume up, duh, then I don�t have to watch for the red light. Jesus, sometimes I�m so daft. I should have thought of it long ago. Yes, it�s a loud ring, but I can�t miss it.

Moving right along�

"I ride on the bus into the city every day, I sit on the seat and I dream myself away. I dream I�m on an island with that foxy lady too. When I awaken, I must be mistaken I�m on 3rd Avenue. Won�t you take me away? And take away me? Won�t you take me away? And take away me?" � "Mark on the Bus"

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