on eve 6 and the enormity of the universe

I have most of my brilliant ideas/thoughts/words/sentences in the two most inconvenient places for someone who has a memory terrible enough that if she has three thoughts in her head she has to write them down IMMEDIATELY because the instant a fourth one pops into existence one of those three turds of brilliance will be GONE FOREVER: the car and the shower.

Like, I am a good driver and all, but I am not good enough to just knock off some detailed notes in the middle of the 210 freeway while I am driving 85 miles an hour on my way to my afternoon class that I almost overslept. (It’s an evening class, if I’m honest, but I’m not, so…) Generally, I unlock my phone, fumble around blindly trying to remember which god damn page (folder now, THANKS STEVE JOBS!) I put the voice recorder on/in (OH I NEVER USE THAT, LET’S HIDE IT) while trying not to crash the car AND keep track of whatever idea prompted the suicide recording mission in the first place. IT NEVER GOES WELL.

Having a brilliant idea in the shower is like suddenly having to shit while you’re in there. You either admit defeat and get out, sit down on the toilet soaking wet and get toilet paper stuck all over your damp ass (writing equivalent: finding a notebook and pen while running naked through the house, then dripping all over it) or you finish the shower and shit when you’re done, basically defeating the entire purpose of the fucking shower (writing: lose the thought somewhere between getting shampoo in your eyes and accidentally douching with Dial). There is no in between, but 90% of the time I opt for the naked sprint. The other 10% of the time I just convince myself that the idea was fucking stupid anyway and should immediately be forgotten.

I also get excessively emotional in these two places way more often than should be even remotely possible. Like, sometimes I’m just showering and it’s a pleasant enough experience and I am suddenly like, “DAMN, no one is ever going to hire me for even a menial position after I’ve invested all this money and time into getting my MFA. GOD DAMN I FUCKED UP.” and then I start crying a lot and it’s gross and basically looks like one of those awful post-regrettable-sexual-experience scenes in bad movies. Not cute.

my actual real life

ACTUAL REAL LIFE EXPERIENCE.

And then in the car it’s always because I am all wrapped up in some bullshit song like “The Ice Is Getting Thinner” by Death Cab for Cutie (BULLSHIT SONG) or like, “Twilight” or “Miss Misery” by Elliott Smith which is so cliché it’s EMBARRASSING.

But then one time I was twenty years old and driving home from college for the weekend and I was REALLY INTO LED ZEPPELIN at the time and I was jamming and then “Stairway to Heaven” came on and look, okay, this is my mom’s FAVORITE SONG OF ALL TIME since she was like… sixteen or some shit and I grew up hearing it ALL THE TIME and I know that someday when my mom dies she wants this god damn song played at her FUNERAL she loves it that much, but I had this moment where it was like I heard it for the first time and I started SOBBING UNCONTROLLABLY and there was snot and it was so bad I had to pull to the side of the freeway and have a panic attack.

I BET I LOOKED WAY WORSE

I WAS THIS FUCKING MOVED OKAY.

And that’s some serious bullshit! No one should ever cry at Led Zeppelin unless Zeppelin IV was playing while you watched your entire family murdered. It’s just unacceptable.

So whatever, anyway, my car and my shower are basically my two most important creative outlets and I spend a lot of time thinking in those places and sometimes some brilliant shit comes from it like some of my favorite lines/moments from the in-progress first novel and the idea for the second novel which I am not even allowed to think about until the first one is done and a couple of pretty boss academic papers and a poem or two and a short story and a lot of really great music mixes… and whatever.

I think about a lot of stuff while I am occupied by menial, ordinary tasks. THAT’S HOW THE HUMAN BRAIN WORKS. And it’s probably one of the only normal ways in which my short-circuited mass of brain cells does work.

So anyway, I’ve been like this for my whole life, essentially, and at some point (I think in college, but this revelation has become so much a part of me that I can’t even remember when it happened. It was like realizing my body breathes without me telling to do it!) I was in the shower and I was washing my hair and I was like, “DANG, someone in the world’s favorite band is Eve 6! That shit is crazy!”

I know that doesn’t seem like a big deal and it’s not even really interesting and it was a fucking long road to sow to get to this point and it’s a weak point, I admit, but COME ON. There is someone out there in the world who is REALLY into Eve 6. There are probably multiple people who, when asked “What kind of music are you into?” actually say, “Well, I listen to everything, but my favorite band is Eve 6.”

I think it really boils down to like, the world is SO FUCKING BIG and there are SO MANY PEOPLE LIVING IN IT, that SOMEWHERE OUT THERE is a person whose FAVORITE BAND IN THAT GIANT WORLD is EVE 6.

How is your mind not blown right now?

Bob Dylan or the Beatles or the Ramones or Lady Gaga or Justin Bieber or Elliott Smith or Tom Waits or Black Eyed Peas or the Black Keys I can accept, but somehow EVE 6 is the one that blows my mind.

My in-depth research for this post (lurking this message board, basically) I even found the one thing that could further blow my mind.

dedicationAN EVE 6 TATTOO.

This dude HAD an Eve 6 tattoo, possibly one that he got when they were marginally popular on modern rock stations in 1998 and then he got a great big angry jester tattoo many years later in a place that would allow for a PERFECT COVER-UP of that Eve 6 tattoo, but instead, his love for Eve 6 is still so strong that he instead incorporated it into his new piece. That’s love, guys.

FOR REAL, in the world RIGHT NOW in 2010 there are people walking around in the world with Eve 6 ephemera indelibly inked into their human meat! There are enough people to keep an Eve 6 internet message board semi-active! THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO FREELY AND PROUDLY ADMIT THAT EVE 6 IS THEIR FAVORITE BAND IN THE WHOLE WORLD! STILL! NOW! IN 2010!

Anyway, I am NOT mocking these people. Korn was my favorite band for like eight years. And, had my parents let me have my way, I would have an ugly, faded reminder of that fandom somewhere on my back to mock me EVERY SINGLE DAY OF MY LIFE.

NO REALLY UGH

Ugh, I am so glad I will only have been a teenager once.

So, seriously, not mocking, it is just mind-breaking to me in the way that the size of the universe and the infinity of space is.

Anyway, FINALLY, I would just like to point out:

“I would swallow my pride, I would choke on the rinds, but the lack thereof would leave me empty inside. Swallow my doubt, turn it inside out, find nothing but faith in nothing. Want to put my tender heart in a blender, watch it spin around to a beautiful oblivion. Rendezvous then I’m through with you.”

Lyrics to Eve 6’s “Inside Out”. The song which launched them to temporary stardom in the late spring of 1998. All typed straight from my memory. The same shitty memory that cannot keep track of birthdates, the locations of my keys or wallet, more than three thoughts at the same time, or whether or not I put on deodorant before I left the house.

They must’ve done something right.

summer wishlist: pool

like this, basically

My summer wishlist is currently exactly one item long.

POOOOOOL.

A POOL. A shape of water more than a foot deep in my backyard where I can drink bitch beer and splash myself repeatedly in the face while screaming, “I LOVE IT. I LOVE WATER IN MY FACE. GIVE ME THE HOSE AGAIN.”

There are basically eight thousand backyard pools in my neighborhood and surrounding city, but you know how many are located at the house in which I live?

NONE. NONE MANY.

i want my dollar back, motherfuckers

FECAL. FECAL MEANS POOP.

Our public pool is called THE PLUNGE and it is an embarrassment. Rec swim is one hour and fifteen minutes in the hottest part of the afternoon and it costs a dollar a day. This seems like a steal until you read the flyer and learn that they won’t refund your money even if, in that precious 75 minute swimming period your broke-ass is trying to enjoy, someone SHITS IN THE POOL. They don’t even seem to discourage pool-shitting. It’s just like, “Hey, people like to drop a lower intestine soft shell crab in the pool every couple days. NO BIG DEAL, MAN. Why would you even ask for your dollar back? THAT’S SIMPLY AN OUT OF THIS WORLD REQUEST.”

If someone shits in a pool I’m swimming in, I am going to ask for my god damn dollar back. Just sayin’.

drink, drank, drunk on the left

the last time I felt joy: drunk in a pool

Gratefully, one of my best friends has a pool in his lovely backyard and is often generous and kind and wonderful and invites us over to swim where I usually get in and don’t leave for anywhere from six to twelve hours.

But this year! This year! It is already SUMMER and he hasn’t invited us over yet. WHAT IS THAT ABOUT HOW IS THAT EVEN ALLOWED?!

That motherfucker and I are DONE.

Until he finally invites us over. Obviously.

I’m not asking for the pool at Hearst Castle or an infinity pool that looks over the ocean or one of those rock work and waterfall monstrosities that occur frequently in upper middle class suburban backyards or even a god damn kidney bean, straight out of the box DIY inground classic. I AM NOT EVEN ASKING FOR A DECKED AND STAIRED PERMANENT ABOVE GROUND, OKAY.

No no, I am so wildly desperate for a POOL, a body of stagnant water of questionable cleanliness that I would be ENDLESSLY OKAY with the modern equivalent of the classic doughboy.

you know this is a tragic replacement for a real pool, don't pretend

This thing is an embarrassment to backyard pools. It’s made out of PVC pipe and recycled condoms. LOOK AT THAT LADDER! That thing wouldn’t support a family of squirrels on their path to aquatic suicide.

I’m pretty sure you’re better off digging a hole in your backyard, filling it with water, and swimming in mud.

(I suggested that, by the way, but no one else was into Mudco Polo. Pussies.)

On Sunday, in true desperation, after spending all day playing in a pathetic DIY sprinkler garden made from a decrepit hose with a half-dozen massive cracks in it and a rusted out folding chair, I decided I’d kill for even the most basic of flashback pools:

the soft-sided wonder, the Slip and Slide splash zone of my youth (We were way too poor for Crocodile Mile.), the sit-on-rocks-trapped-under-the-vinyl-and-splash-your-sister. We went through one of these a year as kids, usually, and I have fond memories of trying to hide from bees in those coveted eighteen inches of hose water.

But we’re all strapped for cash right now and my only chance for poolside splendor is probably dumpster-diving the Toys ‘R’ Us and praying I can snag a busted floor model of one of those cheap molded plastic things that people plant gardens in on vacant lots in big cities and duct tape it into some water-bearing marvel of at-home engineering so that i might get my feet slightly damp and playfully splash my dogs who are all mostly terrified of water.

actual reality.

I LOVE POOOOOOOOOOLS. I love the water! It brings me joy. And peace. And zen or whatever other bullshit water is supposed to do. I’m a ~Pisces~, obviously I am supposed to be one with the splashy splashy.

My dad and uncle taught me to swim as a baby by throwing me into a three foot deep spa. Only gentler and with one of them in the water to help me and stuff. And I was always the first kid in at pool parties even though I was fat and pale and should’ve learned all that body shame we’re supposed to have a handle on by the time we’re five or whatever. And I was always the last one out.

me and my sister in it to win it

TRUE CHILDHOOD JOY. LOOK AT IT.

My dad tells this story that would be really embarrassing if I had shame wherein I got into every lake, river, and stream on a childhood road trip across most of the western states and proceeded to yell at EVERYONE IN PROXIMITY that they should come in and swim with me. Even when it was forty degrees in Green River, Wyoming. (He does this horrible high-pitched voice to imitate me. It’s just awful. “DADDY DADDY COME IN THE WATER IT IS GREEEEEEEAT. Ugh, kill me.)

CUYS IN WATAH

SO HAPPY AND DAMP

If I cannot reclaim the childhood joy that came with that inflatable pool and basketball hoop, I would gladly settle for the joy of these too cute to even exist cuys having a swim in their own tiny little poooooool. LOOK AT THOSE GUINEA PIGGIES. Let’s hope it’s not cancer water or something. That’d really suck the fun out of back-stroking guineas.