Empty Nest

I've only mentioned Jason in reference to how he sicked me up something fierce, but I actually had a great time reading with him all year. He's bright, funny and has drawn me a bunch of awesome pictures.

So how come today, at the end-of-year pizza party, did Jason become a big bad bag o' trouble? I could tell there were issues when he came back from the food table with an empty plate. He crossed his arms and sunk down in his seat.
"What's the matter Jason?"
"A-par-ently, they ran out of caesar dressing!"

True story. A bit later he was sword-fighting with a friend and I told him to fight for his honor. He replied, "Honor is for chumps." Hm, okay.

I will miss the little rat though, we had some good bonding this year. And at least he was well-behaved for his final photo...


(yes there is ice cream dripping down his face)

A Gift to You

If you're old enough, this should be a real treat.

Classic (redux)

So I've already given my mom the business, it's time my pops takes a spin on the blog. This weekend he was pleased as pineapple with his new hand signal, something he picked up from his friend's teen daughter. The signal represents 'whatever.' First you flash your three middle fingers straight up in the air, indicating a W. You then turn those fingers to the side for an E.

Get it? WhatEver?

He did it all weekend, to me, his wife, waitresses, cashiers, etc. I didn't have the heart to tell him that he was turning his fingers the wrong way, making a 3.

Stop yer snickerin'

Classic

This Mother's Day, my sister and I took the mom out to a nice restaurant in Northampton. My mom's a real good lady, we had a swell time on the town. I hope she won't mind (does she read this?) that I'd like to share my favorite moment from dinner. In the middle of a story, my mom raised an eyebrow, leaned in close and said in a throaty whisper, "Kissing...is...sex." Then she folded her arms and looked back and forth between us meaningfully. She didn't seem to mind our giggles. Love you mom!

The Damn Fuzz

A co-worker emailed this (admittedly hilarious) clip today and wrote, "I always knew the cops did this." It cracks me up when people say this stuff, the lament of the forlorn stoner.


Several years back I went on an ill-fated date with a young skateboarder named Bean. At some point she told me about the cops taking away her board and said (you guessed it,) "You know they're totally using my board right now." Yeah, sure thing sweetie. There's a huge secret skate park where fat Irish cops smoke blunts, ride around on pilfered boards and call each other dude.

Needless to say, I decided not to take another skate through 'Bean Park.' Our babies would've been far too dumb and angry.

Death (and subsequent rebirth)

Just like Jeebus!

thanks julie chen

For a Bit

Lots of stuff going on. I hate to say it, but finishing the Coachella stories is going to take a back burner for a bit. It started with an unexpected phone call from this dude. Now him and I are working on a writing project, I have to work on my resume, and lots of other things are happening. I also have some BIG NEWS to share (not about Canada) but it'll have to wait. Maybe you'll find out here, maybe in your mailbox...

Ta for now.

Broken Mirror

Remember this guy? Just in time for this year's zombie march, I ran into him again on the train. He told me he split with his Toronto ladyfriend and I started to think he was my shadow. "He dated a girl in Toronto, so did I. They broke up, so did we. He doesn't date my sister, neither do I. He's an architect, I like buildings." The list goes on and on.

Then he said, "Yeah I'm not too sad about the breakup. She kinda tricked me into dating her in the first place. Now I'm dating a Harvard business student."

OK, not my shadow. Just two guys on a train.

Wake Up (youth wanes)

I am supposed to go to a wine-tasting, a wedding and a baby shower in June. This is not insignificant.

Coachella 6- RHCP

I will dance a little jig when the first thing I do in the morning isn't blow my nose and cough up a lung. Seriously, I think co-workers are taking donations for my time in Hospice. Thank god for DayQuil, not just for its medicinal properties, but also for getting me really high.

Back to business. I gotta pick up the pace, this is stretching on forever.

Red Hot Chili Peppers
I loved these guys in high school, back when I fancied myself something of a Sir Psycho Sexy. When I was on my month-long teen excursion through Russia, we had one tape player and two tapes, so every bus ride was scored with BloodSugarSexMagik and The Eagles Greatest Hits. Great albums but I kinda burned out. I never bought any RHCP albums since that trip, telling myself it was the last album worth having.

My bad, because I didn't know over half the tunes they belted out at Coachella. They had a lot of energy for aging rockers and they were able to hold my attention well, but I still felt like I was missing out.

One weird thing was the mass exodus during their set. I would've guessed people werebeating the end-of-the-night rush, but there was still another performer after the Peppers. Maybe everyone else was like me, stuck in 1991, not adapting well to change. Or maybe they all had to pee.

Whatever the case, Jon and I managed to keep scooting towards the stage after every song. By the finale, I was close enough to make out with Flea. But I didn't. That's gay.

Flea told a cute joke at the concert. It made me angry.

Fame

Check it out!

Lest ye forget...

What are you doing this weekend?

If you're interested, people are meeting at my house before the march for imbibements and makeup prep. Contact me for details.

p.s. It's your chance to hang out with out-of-towner James "Awesome" Suffern. Never met him? You will.

Coachella 5- Arcade Fire

Alright simmer down people, I didn't forget.

When last we spoke, Jon and I were lounging with our favorite celebs, eating grapes and being gently fanned by the New Pornographers. Then it was time for Arcade Fire, one of the main bands I was there to see.

There was only one problem. Have you ever drank booze after extended time in the hot sun? Say, 105-degree sun? All the adverse effects of alcohol are compounded tenfold, making me feel like a serious space cowboy. "Jon, could you please stop talking in slow motion and melting like candle wax? cheers."

The other booze problem was having to pee like a greyhound 15 minutes in. I waited until they played one of their dreary ballads, then sprinted to the VIP flush toilet like a um, greyhound (gimme a break, my gift of metaphor is ailing.)

Then I could truly get into the show. Which rocked. Hard. There are about 100 people in the band, and each one knows how to play every instrument. Not the jug or washboard, c'mon now. But still, quite impressive.

We watched the set from a hill in the VIP area, which may have been a mistake. It was quite a ways out and I ended up feeling like an aristocrat without opera glasses. Plus the VIPs were talking jadedly amongst themselves, instead of dancing like real fans. I shimmied around a bit, but it wasn't the same without jostling compadres.

All in all though, it was a great set. This song made me want to stick a sword in my stomach and twist it around. In a good way?

All bets are off

If my trips to New York keep getting more intense and insane, at some point that city is going to swallow me whole. I'm still recovering from this weekend's rip-roaring Kentucky Derby party.

Synopsis-
There was over 20 bottles of bourbon consumed, fancy Southern attire, friends I hadn't seen in 5 years, lots of laughing, lots of tears, lots of sexing (not me,) lots of dancing (me,) NYPD issuing warrants at the party, a plan for a cross-country bus trip in October, punching a taxi driver in the face, not knowing where to stay at 2:30 am, knowing where to stay at 4 am, Oliver Cromwell, man-love, DayQuil, NyQuil, Tex-Mex, chance encounters good and bad, self-hypnosis, and a billion other things. I wouldn't know where to begin. I think I had an awesome time, but I need a couple days to reflect.

For the first time in years, New York again seemed like a place I might want to live. I talked to someone about a possible job, so there is an outside chance. One way or another, James is the mostest hostest.

p.s. I was too distracted to take pictures, but I'll toss you a bone. My old friend Jimmy, now an actor/comedian, produced this gem from the pocket of his three-piece pinstripe. So wee!

Later Skaters

Hi guys. Sorry I'm not forthcoming with Coachella tales today. I stayed home sick from work and I'm mostly watching movies with the computer off. My head is so fuzzy with mucus and meds, I wouldn't know where to begin. Curse that little Jason's germs! I told Jenny I wanted to be his Big Brother this summer but first he'd have to stop hurting me all the time.

You probably won't hear from me until after New York. Assuming I go of course, but that's still a safe bet at this point. I've jotted down all my notes about Coachella so I can still tell the tales upon returning. Maybe I'll have a few yarns and pics from the Derby Party as well.

Back to my sickbed! Have a great weekend!

Sex and Violence

Another brief Coachella interlude so I can tell you about my dreams (ooh, goodie!)

Last night I dreamt I was fighting with Didier and he was relentless and brutal. Alli watched our tussle impassively. At some point I grabbed a butter knife, the nearest handy weapon. Didier made a lunge for me and the knife skewered him right in the eye. I looked at Alli and said, "Joanna isn't going to like how I killed Didier."

Before I knew it, Didier had taken his paws and pried the knife out of his eye. As he walked away the eye started regenerating, just like the T-1000! I think this dream is about fear.

The night before last, I dreamt that I ran into my friends Anna and Charlie, who are engaged to be married. In greeting Anna, we had a big sloppy kiss and Charlie got annoyed. He was like, "Hey guys, cut it out, eh?" I think this dream is about worlds turned upside down.

In other news, F the Internet. Things would be so much easier if we were born ten years earlier.

Coachella 4- Loungella

After the New Pornos, Jon and I decided to lay down and drink in the grass for a bit. We'd been driving all day, the temperature was 105 and the only band I was mildly interested in was The Decemberists. Plus we had spent $150 on VIP wristbands,* giving us access to a special fenced-in area, so we wanted to check out what our duckets had bought.

Well um, it bought us the opportunity to find new and creative ways to spend our money, not available to the hoi polloi. It bought us flush toilets, as opposed to PortaPotties. It bought us a semi-decent view of the stage, which came in handy for the Arcade Fire. And it bought us the opportunity to rub elbows with trashy and/or B-List celebrities.

The celeb-watch was the best part of the whole affair. See, I chatted up some bartender who told me he had served Tommy Lee, (wasted) Tara Reid, Paris Hilton and Ron Jeremy, to name a few. He said his bar tent was closest to the celeb trailers so they all come to him for their boozin'. Well well well.

Jon and I staked out a sweet spot in the grass, right near the magic bar. And we waited. And we waited. The problem is, neither one of us are big on those celeb-gawker websites so we were never sure who was who. There was a constant stream of glamorous-looking beautiful people, but we were like, "Was that girl on Buffy or is she just some random skank?" A few definites were Vincent Gallo, Rob Sheffield and one of the dudes from That 70s Show.

Then there was Kathryn Calder. Maybe I'll tell that story later...

*We bought our wristbands from a a single mother in Pasadena who won them in a raffle. She was going with a friend and her toddler son, but only had two bracelets. Seems to me the answer was not to sell her wristbands. How about, ah, not bringing a small child to a grueling insane concert in the desert? Just a thought.

The Carrier

Brief time-out from Coachella.

I may not have told you guys, but I read to an inner-city third-grader named Jason once a week. Yesterday during our session, he let out a couple of sneezes. Panicked, I asked him twice if he was sick. Both times he looked at me like an overbearing mommy figure and told me he was fine.

Now this morning I woke up really early, stuffed up with a sinus headache. I immediately got anxious and started thinking about this weekend. I was already nervous I wouldn't live up to the guest-of-honor hype, now I'm gonna be dying of the common cold.

Life in the first-world never ceases to present me with challenges.

I better bang out some more Coachella posts before they put me in the iron lung.

Coachella 3- The New Pornographers

"stop your babbling, i want to see pics of the new pornographers!!!
carl rules!!!"

Thanks April, I've been dawdling and it's time to get down to business.


So it took us 4 hours to drive to to the concert, though it's only supposed to take two. I can't explain it except for the wormhole we fell into at Jack-in-the-Box, after Jon decided to order everything on the menu (2 tacos, burger, chicken sandwich, curly fries, milkshake, etc.)

When we got to Coachella, I was shocked to see it was an upscale golfing community with gated communities and all that jazz. I was picturing a dusty little frontier town with desert rats and trailers.

The cars at the concert were no less surprising. For a festival of hippies and hipsters, there sure were a lot of Lexuses (Lexi?) and Beamers. This weren't no Woodstock, my friends.

After getting my pen taken away by a thorough and frisky security guard (all these stories are from memory!), we made a beeline for the New Pornographers, one of Jon's favorite bands.

I have always wanted to like them, it seemed like they're doing some good things, but their tunes always fell a bit short. That's why it was such a relief when they rocked so hard! I wish this had been my first exposure to the band because they would've had a fan for life.

Not to mention that I really liked everyone in the band. They were all so down-to-earth and hilarious. I want The New Pornographers to come over for brunch and dazzle everyone with their wry wit and subdued charm. Jon says they're Canadian, but I'm not so sure.

Oh and also- Hello Kathryn Calder.

Coachella 2- Touching Down

The only issues of the weekend came shortly after arriving in Long Beach. Jon and Elliot had a car calamity so they weren't there to meet me. The car rental agency wouldn't rent me a vehicle because, and I quote, "We are big meanies and we hate you." Long Beach Airport closed so I had to wait outside for several hours. And I had a phone conversation which ranks in the Top Five "Jesus, that sucks" calls of my life.

Even after Elliot arrived in his bruised and battered Honda, limping up curbside on a suspicious-looking donut, things didn't immediately improve. Why? Well even though I didn't get much of a chance to explore, I decided LA is exactly as shallow and ugly as I always suspected. If it looks like crap and feels like crap...

It wasn't until the next morning, on the road with the Milkman, headed for the Coachella desert in the blazing SoCal sun, that I started to feel the fog lift. We were about to see a bumper crop of the best bands in the world. Who could stay grumples?

Coachella 1- There It Is

So the plane ride to Long Beach (via Salt Lake City) was pretty uneventful, besides the viewing experience I was treated to. Delta, God bless 'em, figured their lack of food or friendly service would be compensated by an empty piece of tripe called The Holiday.

The movie didn't have enough substance to hate, though it's a shame Jack Black had to be castrated for his role as a saccharin cardboard schlub-next-door.

The movie slipped from my memory like a shaken Etch a Sketch, except for one part. Briefly, the plot involves LA movie mogul Cameron Diaz meeting dreamboat Jude Law while on 2-week holiday in England. Despite their best intentions, they fall in love and Jude starts talking about the future.

Cameron, a wise sensei indeed, makes a speech along these lines:
"So we're gonna fly back and forth for awhile, seeing each other as much as we can afford to, then six months later one of us is going to realize they can't do it anymore, we'll break it off, then we'll both be alone and miserable? I don't think so."

I hate when a soulless movie that was created by market research and monkeys accidentally hits on a piece of truth about your life.

p.s. When I promised Coachella updates, I bet most of you didn't expect to hear about the crappy movie I saw on the plane. That's because I'm unpredictable and provocative.

(Real updates tomorrow.)

Ca c'est tout

Okay, so I don't really like talking about my personal business on the blog. Hell, I don't enjoy it that much in real life. At the same time, I figure everyone deserves a little explanation of what's been going on.

After nine months, the long-distance took its toll and Rebecca and I called it quits. It has been incredibly difficult, but it's the right decision. This breakup has not been nearly as taxing as the last one, in large part because it is more bittersweet and tender. We're parting without ill feelings, and that's rare.

You'll probably hear more Rebecca talk later in the game, we're too connected not to know each other. For awhile though, confetti will be certifiably Canada-free.

And now, get ready for a week of Coachella stories!

Da Boyz