is the word 'diary' better than the word 'blog'? probably not.
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Why I Am And Must Remain Unloveable, And Other News.
Why I Am And Must Remain Unloveable, And Other News.
I'm at the Bookmill again. Here is a cute farmhouse scene in Leverett, on the way here from Amherst. 
1) Here's one for the OMG file.
I was telling the wine-and-ice-cream political scientist over lunch about how my rockstar ex-boyfriend was in town and had been kind enough to give me a list of loveable things about myself. I told it as a longish story with all the funny rockish events of the night, without mentioning the band name, because, really, I don't think anyone who teaches at Amherst College has ever heard of Camper Van Beethoven, may not have heard of Cracker either. Then, as we were walking back from the sushi restaurant to the campus, he asked for the band name and I told him, and he said, hey, that's weird, I wrote an essay about them once, and it's in one of my books. OMG full circle small world and I'm not even in San Francisco! He gave me a copy of the book. Anyway, the essay, it turns out, is about Camper Van Beethoven, but actually more about Eugene Chadbourne, and also about Jean Baudrillard (and why one might want to be wary of things Baudrillardian). But still. I guess there are people who teach at Amherst College who have heard of Camper Van Beethoven. And the world is also very small, even in Massachusetts.
And wow, a good essay. Wine-and-ice-cream political scientist can really write, and think. His essay gave me back something I had lost, in the way good writing does. I just had that experience of reading a whole chapter of a book while sitting in a slightly unrelaxed state, kind of bunched up with the excitement of what is happening, not able to read quite fast enough, but not wanting to read too fast for fear of missing something. Also, finding inspiration in an essay not afraid to wonder where inspiration comes from in a world so full of nihilistic resignation. Lucky day for me.
FYI, CVB's gear got stolen in Montreal. Lots of it was irreplaceable, even though, yes, one can always buy new instruments. If you think that is all that is at stake, you are not a musician. Certain guitars have TONE, ok? Anyway, for those of you who are equipment types, here is the listing of what was stolen. If you see any of it listed in online auctions or other pawn sites, please let them know.
2) Why I am and must remain unloveable.
So I was talking to one of my intellectual mentors in New Haven this week. Of course, since I was so happy about just about everything having to do with Steve up until the moment he spilled his terrible words unto me, I of course told every freaking person in the world, including intellectual mentors, about him. So of course the first thing she wants to know is how are things with my guy. Sucks. However, she, too, was incredulous that I could be "unloved." In fact she said, "I am OFFENDED!" Ha.
But here's the thing. I am not universally loveable. And that is how it must be. This is why: If I were universally loveable, then everyone on the following list would have to be able to love me: Steve Perrone, George W. Bush, Cat Stevens, Ruth Bader Ginsberg, Ariel Sharon, Evany Thomas, Yasser Arafat, Dick Cheney, Karl Popper, Ludwig Wittgenstein, Bono, Halliday Dresser, John Stewart, my Dad, John Kerry, Kenny Chesney, PJ Harvey, Sunshine Haire, Justin Timberlake, Slobodan Milosevic, Conan O'Brien, Pat Robertson, Antonin Scalia, Richard Zach, or, on the opposite end of the spectrum from Richard Zach, the Amish guy who's in jail for raping his sister, and the god-fearing Amish people who have a very different idea than the US court system about how to punish people who trespass against laws. And the only way one person could be loved by all those different people with their different ideas about what is good in this world would be if that person were so denuded of all her meaningful characteristics that she ended up being nothing at all. In other words, to be loveable by all is to be loveable by no one (do politicians know this?). That is our philosophical observation for the day.
Of course I understand what is meant when someone says to me that they can't believe that someone wouldn't love me. Because I know what I mean when I say it to someone else. Still. We all have to accept that we don't really want to be loved by everyone. And sometimes we end up being wrong, for a time, about who we would like to have love us. Other times we want someone to love us, and he or she simply does not. Sure, that means he or she is an idiot. Which, in turn, means that maybe we don't want him or her to love us. Right? The end. And the beginning. Again.
3) Etc.
There is a candle store somewhere between Montague, MA and Ashfield, MA called "Scenter of the Universe." Whoa. I kind of wanted to pull over and go in. But the force of repulsion was stronger than attraction.
The most exciting thing ahead of me this evening is that I get to walk a dog named Boots while wearing my big pink boots. Boots is so cute that if Liz Dunn were here, she would commence with her squealing and dog-voicing post haste. If Liz Dunn were here, I would make Liz Dunn pick up the poop that Boots leaves as his offering to the outside world. Because she would. Click here to see Liz licking the tiny plastic doggie I got her for her birthday. As for me, I look up at the sky while Boots is doing his doody duty. And so, here is a night-time sky and autumn leaf Polaroid:
11:58 p.m. - October 23, 2004
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