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Listening to: From the Choirgirl Hotel. Not for long, though... it's not really matching my mood quite like I was expecting it too.
Currently Reading: Just barely started Jonathan Lethem's Gun, With Occasional Music. Kind of saving it for the train, as well as a stack of others (both fiction and non). Also, I recently read Laurie Notaro's I Love Everybody (and Other Atrocious Lies): True Tales of a Loudmouth Girl (again) in like two days, and peed myself laughing. Highly recommended. I also devoured The Broke Diaries by Angela Nissel in, like, a mere few days. Laughed until I peed. Also highly recommended.
Wishing: income. Lots of it. Other than that, life's pretty good.
I couldn't be more right now.
Buy "Civilised Conversation..." Merchandise! Please? All the cool kids are doing it....
Please help me pay for college by purchasing items from Amazon.com through this link!!
24 June 2002 | 10:48 PM
A Guest Entry For Abigail
Okay.
This is a guest entry written for Abigail. Hope you enjoy.
Okay.
I�ve never done this, so I�m kind of free-forming. Please excuse what doesn�t make sense. Tanks (no �h� on purpose, it�s cuter tat way).
I�m here today to tell you all about Abigail. Because she was my best friend in school, and we haven�t seen each other in person in nearly two years, I�d like to think of myself as your personal time-capsule/historical curator to Abigail�s past. Muahahah. Kidding, this�ll be good.
Like I said, Abigail was sort of my other half in school. We were partners in crime (quite literally,) whether in the classroom, or in the world which we damaged so.
School.
Abigail and I were never part of the �A� crowd, (thank God). We weren�t total rejects, either, really. We were in Choir and Design (with Ms. Williams, one of the coolest teachers ever). We even had non-fun classes together, like Civics (gag,) and Health (taught by Mr. Wright, a wonderful man who, at around 300 pounds, taught the nutrition unit while enjoying a breakfast of tea and M & M�s). While were never the �coolest� kids at school (we really were, but no one was aware,) we were (and are, I think,) totally awesome people. We would joke about the superficial in our own special way.
POPULAR GIRL I (to POPULAR GIRL II, with valley girl flare): Ohmigod, are you going to Jenna�s party this weekend?
US (to POPULAR GIRL I, with attitude, nasally): Gnoh. (read: �no.�)
We also enjoyed a good eye-roll at the exceedingly stupid.
Free Time.
Eating and films were prevalent in our free time, as were the occasional equestrian event or road trip. A few very special occasions stick out in my mind.
September 19, 1999.
After a somewhat life-threatening ride to Concord, California, we composed ourselves in a darkened performance art venue, and after some lights and fog, we heard, �God, sometimes you just don�t come through�.� Not Senator Jesse Helms (R-NC), my friends, but Tori Amos. Our first real-life Tori Amos concert. It was positively spectacular, and it never would have been possible without Abigail. She introduced me to Tori�s music, and procured the tickets to this particular show. Her presence made the experience the best. I�m pretty sure it was the crowning-glory moment of our high-school career. Oh, wait, was that the Padre Bomb-Scare of 1999-2000? No, it was the Tori concert. Okay.
VIEW
The second thing that sticks out in my mind is Voices In Eastward Winds (VIEW). It was a high school club that wouldn�t have happened without Abigail. The club was formed our senior year because of our interest in looking at the historical/sociological/anthropological aspects of post-mortem practices across cultures, and within our own communities. Really, it was just that we liked to hang out in cemeteries, because they�re peaceful and pretty and filled with beautiful sculptures and monuments, et cetera. And we wanted to call the club The Cemetery Club, and we even had a faculty advisor (Ms. Sutton, another one of the best teachers ever), but Mr. Zettel, the principal, wouldn�t approve the club name because of the implicit endorsement of occult practices. Whatever. So we shifted the clubs focus and called it VIEW, because (a) it was the only acronym we could think of, and (b) some believe that, because Gideon will blow his horn from the West on Judgment Day, decedents are often buried with their heads facing East. Since it�s head to imagine not making some sort of vocalization in response to the Second Coming of Christ, we called it �Voices In Eastward Winds.� Abigail and I were both president of the club (in the interest of our egalitarian friendship, and for the sake of college applications). We never actually had any club members, or T-shirts. We planned a fundraiser, but it never happened. That�s fine. We both enjoyed ourselves nonetheless.
Breakin� The Law.
Another one of our memories that will stay with me forever was a particular Lean concert. Not so much of a concert, more like an appearance. They were a band from San Francisco I had seen at Rock and Arts, and I had vowed that the next time they were in the area, I would be front and center.
They came to Monterey not much later, and I was going to matter what. Abigail, my perpetual partner in crime (as mentioned), was joining me. (No invitation was needed, as it went without saying that we were always welcome at one another�s functions, legal or otherwise). We were going. That�s all there was to it.
Here was the thing, though: Lean�s venue du jour was a bar on Alvarado Street. Abigail couldn�t have been more than 18 years of age, and I couldn�t have been more than 17. Legally, we were not permitted to enter the establishment.
Meh.
We would anyway. Rules don�t really apply to us, so much. Abigail�s father is an attorney, and I sometimes like to think I�m invincible, so we felt secure in doing whatever we wanted.
What about Abigail�s parents? What they don�t know can�t hurt them, eh? What about Chris� Mom? She would let me do almost anything I wanted, so long as (a) I didn�t get caught without a failproof contingency plan or reliable escape route, and (b) I called her for a ride before I would ever consider driving home drunk. Bless her little heart. What about the bar? Well, we had devised this elaborate plan based on tips and experience. First, we dress like professionals getting off work. I�m in charge of Abigail�s make-up, as she didn�t find it easy, and between my shaky hand and her incessant laughter, she was more likely to lose an eye. Which I�m sure made her more comfortable. And us? We were honored to be any place we were willing to be seen. And even a few places we weren�t. When we god there, according to the plan, we would smoke a couple of cigarettes, (as any self-respecting not-under-21-year-old would) so as to outwardly display our maturity. Surely, with the clothes, (the make-up), and the mature behavior, there would be absolutely no question that we were well over 21. Having conveniently �left our ID�s at home� (if we were asked, because, after all, we don�t usually have this problem,) we confidently stride into the bar. We have imaginary birth years committed to memory, so if they ask us for the ID�s we can�t produce, and back up by asking us what year we were born, we wouldn�t have to stall.
Having taken these precautions, it seemed natural that there was absolutely no confrontation. Sigh. All that effort for nothing. Oh, well. At least we were prepared.
After seating ourselves at a little cabaret-style table in the back (for greater blending with the over-21 crowd), with a perfect view of the band, a cocktail wait-person asks us for our orders. I have a Cape Cod, and Abigail has a screwdriver. Any particular Vodka in those? This is something we hadn�t stopped to consider. �Meh! Surprise us!� I only had one drink (maybe two, it was a while ago), and Abigail had two, if I remember correctly. No questions ask. For being significantly lighter than I, she could put them away very well, if I do say so myself.
Having been so young, however, we did find ourselves ever so slightly sauced.
BAND FRONTMAN: Testes, one two. Testes, one two three.
CHRIS: Woo-HOOOOO! Test-EEEEEEEEEES!!!!!
All I remember after that is that the band played AFKAP�s �Purple Rain,� Abigail got a T-shirt with the Lean logo emblazoned across the bosom (read: buh-ZOOM,) and that at intermission, I tried to hook up with the lead singer, and sobered up enough to get us home safely. The world needs more of that kind of fun, I think: living on the �edge� without compromising safety or arrestability.
Here In My Car
People ask me why I believe in God. What proof do I have for God�s existence? Well, Abigail and I are still alive, despite our high school driving skills, and I think that�s proof enough.
The first day I drove to school sans mom, Abigail was with me. I drove a clutch, so I killed the engine roughly three hundred fifty-five thousand times on our way. I was deathly afraid of the gas pedal, so the engine would always get killed because of my reluctant right foot. I can�t remember Abigail�s driving flaws, except for a bogus parking ticket at Juice and Java in Pacific Grove after Open Mic Night.
This one time, we decided to go on a road trip with our friend, Lindsey, to Santa Cruz. Once we got completely lost in Santa Cruz, we decided that maybe San Francisco was where we belonged that particular day. After getting lost there, too, we decided to just hit the road back, and see what we came across. Just out of San Francisco, heading South, we were confronted with a very scary bus driver who tried to kill us. With his bus. On a bridge. But my car was faster. So we�re alive.
Things that were hit while Abigail and I were in my car:
- the stereo
- a bird
- the brakes
- a squirrel
- a dumpster (d�oh.)
- a truck
- my forehead
Things Abigail and I have said in the context of a motor vehicle:
- �Jesus Christ!!�
- �What the fuck?�
- �Look out!!�
- �Stay in the lane, Chris. No, your lane!�
- �Hold on tight!�
- �We can totally make that yellow.�
- �Be a dear and flip off that old lady to our right, would you?�
- �That�s not a cop, is it?�
- �OH MY GOD! DEAD PILGRIM CHILDREN!!� (We said this one after we watched The Sixth Sense, mocking Haley Joel Osment�s apparition in the school building. Additionally, I would like to mention that, Goddamn, Bruce Willis is a fox, despite his Republican political affiliations, three children, girlfriend, and heterosexuality.)
Yes, it is rather remarkable that our bodies remain in tact, to the best of our knowledge.
There�s a veritable laundry list of other things I could say about my very special Abigail experience, but for you, kids, this is all ya get. You�ve been a great audience. Please get home safely.
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Oh, Whoops. - 10:34 PM , 02 September 2005 In Like Hula-Hoops. - 11:28 PM , 12 April 2005 A - Z - 4:37 AM , 26 March 2005 w00t - 12:15 AM , 25 March 2005 Just Let Her Go. - 12:12 AM , 20 March 2005
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