A minor
Monday June 24th 2013, 10:47 pm
Filed under: Berkeley,Boozy,change,friends,inner-polish-teenage-girl,seasonal,teaching Tags:

It’s all white keys and it’s sort of wistful. I really must stop being so musically lazy. A friend’s wedding in the desert by the river. A second attempt, this time with friends and family and ritual, rather than Vegas and Immigration. And two who long ago (a decade) stopped speaking to me. For lying to them? For sleeping with her? For being a self-obsessed asshole? I don’t recall (probably because I’d rather not), and though it matters, deeply, I’m not convinced it does. From finishing the last of the last Thursday to a drive on Friday and being back in today, trying to have my stars out, as it were, for the class including her son’s ex-girlfriend. Because “Young and the Restless” ran out of other sub-plots, apparently. And so another six weeks, days of talking and days of writing, evenings of reading and evenings of drinking, and Am, sounding so lovely across electric pianos and synth trumpets with articulations that will never match those in a sampler, but have me facing the keys, not the box. I don’t need analogue, really, I need only to look away from the screen, lean deeper into the headphones, and record with the impunity I lost since the first round of get it out / get it in / get it down came and went again when she wasn’t quite an ex (though I tried to leave that summer) and everybody talked to everybody (in grade school), though the two, so preciously recovered (even if the closeness is not necessarily one of many words, rather than many years) is back as a possibility. Or something. A minor, a ssociate.

Saturday June 15th 2013, 10:58 pm
Filed under: Boozy,nextish,something new Tags:

Again and again and again and again. I went yesterday. Twice. Having been part of the gang that chose the woman who gave the talk, it seemed rude not to go – but to a ceremony I’ve never attended before, the big one, almost 5k students in two installments, and near 20k friends, families, randoms. For those who revel in the crowd, I can see it, but it just ain’t my thing. Tomorrow, round 3, and the ?4th of 7 I’ve done. They graduate, I graduate, in crimson and teal peacockery, YCT’s hat (which never stays on properly), I’ll get all teary seeing another class off into the world. It’s hard to be cynical surrounded by the easiest audience ever, there to love, there to mean it. And, against much of what I’ll admit, I’ll mean it. They graduate out in to the world, I graduate on into associateness. Plus piano.
(Notice the cocktails. And polaroids. And the jewelry. Thank god the 90s are fashionable again.)

Not feeling that lost or confused this evening, a rarity less rare than it was. Papers to grade, a desert to drive to, a class to teach for summer, in a way that makes all too clear the money for time exchange that lies not far beneath the surface of my daily existence. But it matters, to some of them. Not all, not many, not always, but some. And it matters to me. ANd between the few that is them and the one that is me, it really fucking matters. I had no idea, but now, to be that person, to be someone who will be remembered, regardless, and not because I wanted to be remembered, but because I meant it while it was process, not product. Well, fuck. Fuck the fucking fuck out of that fuck and burn the shit. I’d no idea.