union and contract

marriage advice, as it is, went like this. first email:

you definitely should tie the nup-knot, but that's purely for selfish reasons. another excuse to head over for your wedding and or bachelor party! from an unselfish perspective, and without meeting the lil gal, can you really do better? and then depending on your answer, i'll stress, are you sure you can do better? i guess if you have someone that you get along with, it'll be hard to beat that.

follow up email:

shoot over some pics of your girl, i'll let you know if she's worth it. haha, obviously kidding. have you spoken about marriage with her? of course, that type of conversation inevitably leads to trouble, as in she wants marriage - and what girl hasn't been daydreaming about that day since, I don't know, 13 years of age - and you respond, "uh...," that kinda kicks the relationship into a different gear, the impending end kind.

still, if you two have been at it for awhile, in a sense, ain't marriage a formality? the past x time frame, weighing it as if you were already married, whatcha think? not bad?

ultimately, you're lucky. you still have so many years if needed. most gals' bloom have been set to fade by the time they hit 18 years old.

that's one way to put it.

anywayz. following the most joyful events/news, like ever, ever, ever, that being the 27th championship by the new york yankees, i gave thoughts to cave and purchase the jay-z alicia keys combo empire state of mind. jeter likes it, which would be good to go for me. casual listening, the tune ain't awful.

but then, i thought it'd be prudent, clickity click, to google the lyrics, and you know what? i fucking hate jay-z, and misogyny, and by extension why the hell would alicia keys back that rap.1 most of negativity fell on the later verses which preached the good girls gone bad cautionary tale, which is fine and all, except. except it's juxtapose with the earlier parts that glorifies stash pot, selling rock, and all that hood/thug/nigga-for-life lifestyle. other words, everything that fosters the situation where women-folk are marginalized and objectified and commodified and made into or thought of nothing but hoes and 'itches. jay-z is such a pedestrian at best, but more often boring, rapper; the storytelling is not much and the worldview is limited and callow.

different rappers offer:

So will the real men get up
I know you're fed up ladies, but keep your head up.2

or:

I love it when you call me Big Poppa
Throw your hands in the air, if youse a true playa
I love it when you call me Big Poppa
To the honies getting money playin niggaz like dummies uh
I love it when you call me Big Poppa
You got a gun up in your waist please don't shoot up the place (why)
Cause I see some ladies tonight who should be havin my baby, bay-bee.

some unfairness, pretty much any rapper today pitted against pac or biggie, respectively, will fail.3 but either one reaches for the brass ring, or is horse poop. and i guess i get it, jay-z ain't trying to elevate the rap game, he's just there to get paid. in which case, stfu jay-z.

and alicia keys, i love her and all, - well, i love that she looks slamming, i've no opinion on her music - how can she sing jay-z styled bright lights as an inspiration? seriously. pretty repulsive, really.

All I need in this life of sin, is me and my girlfriend,
Down to ride to the bloody end, just me and my girlfriend.4

'noth'r thing, black eyed peas. they (and individually for their side/glam projects) have about the stupidest lyrics, like, ever; the kind that just plumb insults even the half-attentive listener. that they've been exploding ever more into the pop scene - cough, directtv, halfway is mad stupid, cough -5 whether it's ok or not to be a luddite, i'm thankful i am, to degrees, one.

before leaving for northern capital (or beijing), c (for cousin) googled, you know, entertainment options for her holiday. supposedly n.c. is drawing considerable attention for its underground, "experimental"/experimental music scene, no wave and other soundscapes. best of all, she said to me, she'll get to catch a few shows from hot or important acts, as some concerts coincide with her visit. she whipped opened her brother's computer notebook and youtubed a lil something by carsick cars, the one she likes most/more or perhaps the one she thinks i'd be most/more tuned in with, and then a lil video feature on chicks in n.c.'s rock scene, basically an interview of two cutie drummers: shi lu, aka atom, of hedgehog and li qing of carsick cars. i don't pay attention that way, since we were having dinner together, and asked her to email me the links. which she did.

she would shortly ask if i checked the links. "uh, not really?"

later, she hauled back from the vacation a bonanza of n.c. rock/cd trove for me. maybe i'm too preoccupied with my own musical interest, or i wasn't ready to be receptive to new/fringe music but days later, she explored whether i listened to any of the cds, "do you like carsick cars, snapline and pk-14?"

having not played any of the cds left in a stack on a corner of my table, "uh, (some made up poor and incredibly bad excuse)."

"but anyway," she said that, "we're in luck, they are touring the east coast. and shows in new york too. we can go see them." them equating to, from the flyer emailed to me, carsick cars, pk-14, and xiao he.

"uh, i guess," i committed. not really, cause i totally flaked on the free, more experimental session by xiao he and carsick cars' mastermind shou wang in a noho area basement, that she later would quiz why i didn't attend and describe as amazing. i can't really dispute, free shows have a built in advantage of being, well, free.

no matter, a couple of days after, the bands were going to put on a real(er), more conventional rock and roll show in a williamsburg stage. and she was going, and i went. by the entrance way, c knowingly pointed to a cute-ish, four-eyed chinese girl outside, "that's li qing of carsick cars."

"goodie." inside what turned out to be a rather small, but small in the way i like because of the intimacy, club slash dive bar slash, for those who may differentiate, hipster hangout, xiao he was most of his way done with his opening act set. m (for movie girl i had earlier met) was there. serial. m, i soon learned, knew most of the n.c. rockers quite well, and she was there - stationed close to the stage, filming or following along with an earnestness more than, or different from, simply enjoying the bands - as much for business as for fun. a little later that night, when the three n.c. acts finished, she would shake loose her documentarian obligations, and boogie down.

anyway, 2nd up were the supposed veterans of the n.c. scene, pk-14. when they had technical difficulties with a newly purchased amp, i heckled, "was it made in china?" irreverent snark is kinda my thing. an earflap beanie topped girl turned, chuckling, to find me to approve my verbal volley. before i knew it, she totally swiped the joke in hollering the same thing to the stage, but in chinese. biter.

this applies to next to follow carsick cars as much as pk-14, they were ok. by far not as experimental-soaked as i expect, a little too cool or perhaps rehash of their influence to impress me too much. joy division already did pk-14's seething intensity. and i yelled into c's ear halfway into a carsick cars song the summation "yo la tengo," which, while i really, really like hoboken yo la tengo, uh, their haze sound is so mid 1990's. otherwise, it's like they didn't allow their guitars to, as it were, go to 11. not that i necessarily like spine tapping loudness, though generally i do at live shows, but i prefer things slightly more raw or messy. midway into pk-14 sets, xiao he bulldozed through me and the crowd, probably to stagger outside to, i assumed, excavate a portion of the too much alcohol downed.

Was this amazing girl flirting? How come he couldn't tell?6

then, the resident brooklyn bands took the mic and the stage light glare, were slightly louder, and more raw and messy; in particular, these were powers were incrementally funner. soft circle and these were powers were, ultimately, more of the same okay. the fact that it was a cheap admission price, i'd upgraded it all to pretty fun. and then, was m looking at me meaningful? i mean, at me, as in when i turn to look over the crowd, she was clearly looking at me. to come clean, i have no recollection of ever being on the receiving end of that sustained gaze. i likely had been, back in the daze, but then caught up in other preoccupations, i paid no mind. but now, probably due to a slumped confidence, aka desperation, now, i notice her ... noticing.

with some personal history being behind the cornea side of things, first, there is the part where it is just being the thirsty receptacle of not just the light waves bouncing of, from my past experience, the girl,7 but the additional waves seemingly emanating from her. then, reviving a faulty greek notion, the belief that my optic nerve could and would salvo back messages of intent, desire, and more, embedded in so many particles than necessary. no light task, with the particles having to go against the wave, so to speak.

it was not, what the happy hours prowlers are said to excel at, "checking out," as that would be too loose and brief. nor could it be described via the blunt implications of "staring." rather, eyes voluntarily transfixed. finding instead of seeking, as if time would stall for nascent curiosity, speculation, lust, and comprehension. and there! like puneal and seneh ablaze, warning signs to shield my too long held eyes, except i could and would not. it was clear then it was a kind of wish. the distance shortened, narrowing to hushed contraction, or never was. and contact, imminent, even inevitable. or so i felt it to be from the last time i was so struck.

from the lookee side of things, unable to speak on behalf of the girls i looked at, from the experience that evening, one moment i was bounding in place, the first instance, to the bright drum beats of a soft circle's song and, m again, her looking again at me, a these were powers pop concoction. next moment, off guard and confused for being not only the possible object of attention, but perhaps affection. unsure whether or how much to be flattered. the initial unease fast giving way to even more unchartered territories, ie now what? but somewhere the sense that keeping or regaining m's serious and steady look was of utmost importance. or as - perhaps even very - likely, i sequenced events a little off, and the whole business of m's look was the old "what the fuck is he looking at" look. though that look, i kinda feel i'd recognize, easily.

"we should get together," m left things a couple of days later. at a sorta bon voyage dinner for a friend, she was there, more and more beautiful in my mind, already a stunner in real real life. after dinner, i walked m and the nigh homebound friend to a local wine bar in my downtown neighborhood. my botched response, "yeah, we should," before the last round of rushed hugs and farewells, and i started the slightly wistful walk home. was this amazing girl flirting? how come i couldn't tell?

She sat down, took a look at him. The Eastern eyes, the tension of whose lower lids had found a perfect balance between heat and appraisal, certainly were promissory of heartbreak.8

by now, i have played and still regularly play one of the souvenir carsick cars cd, you can listen, you can talk, their newest. not bad. and have clicked thru to the youtube videos. and so forth. uh, ... well, about that. i do not know anything about drums, for that matter guitars, rap, wave-particle duality, or really anything else either. like, zilcho. the strongest and chief memory i have about drums and drumming was from my bloody valentine. colm o'ciosoig's contributions were so there, so assertive and vital to mbv's sound and songs, especially against the band's rep for guitar fuzz and feedback. about the same time most likely, dave grohl with nirvana. shortly thereafter, janet weiss with sleater kinney. later, arlen thompson. most recently and in a big, throught shifting way, wondrously off-kilter kim schifino. one more time! generalizing a bit, i like my drums, you guessed it: 11. exactly, one louder. one more time! something more to the fore, and that stands out in the song and of the drummer's personality. one more time!

in n.c. is a place called heaven's peace doorway (or tiananmen), which infamously and tragically was the setting back in 1989 of what is now inadequately known as the june 4th incident. if you were glued to the tv at the time, or got some of the reporting afterwards, it really was some awful and heart wrenching shit that went, and in many cases still going, down. serial. but, you know what, why does the u.s. media give special coverage to remote china every june 4th, when their own government were the gunmen behind:

orangeburg massacre,
jackson state killings,
kent state shootings,
lattimer massacre,
bay view massacre,
memorial day massacre (of 1937), and
bonus army (of 1932).9

not to mention the government's longstanding complicity and or omission that gave company thugs/gunmen and bigots free rein to murder: greensboro massacre, thibodaux massacre. not to mention the native americans genocide, which is perversely celebrated by national holidays: thanksgiving day and columbus day. not to mention a whole fucking lot of things. not to mitigate or deflect the base stupidity and evil of the red-heads' decision at h.p.d., but i can't shake the suspicion that ongoing u.s. media attention is driven by a different, ulterior agenda.10 you know, if extreme sentiments are being solicited by the media turds, namely that china was/is uniquely barbarous and the u.s.a. is an immaculate virgin to cast judgment, i'd take the other polar tack, namely how things went down at h.p.d. is, and was, typical worldwide, and the lower class's struggle for reform is, as was, perpetual and universal. what is reported is significant for what is not being reported. they got money for war, but can't insure the poor.

this has been simmering since june, when the coverage, conversations and outrage for that h.p.d. incident boiled anew. though, depending on whether one is a calender half done or half to go type of person, either still means considerable steam loss here now.

and in the daylight we can hitchhike to maine
i hope that someday i'll see without these frames
and in the daylight i don't pick up my phone
cause in the daylight anywhere feels like home

when, or possibly if, i attest to being a new yorker it is from the angle of city pride. but before the end of the year or, what the optimist might describe as, soon, the state senators will be privileged in doing the amazingly right thing, following the lead of the assembly-folks, by passage of S04401 to allow gay marriage, and restoring civil rights and equality. mad props to black and blind gov dave paterson for having the audacity and moral fortitude that pres barak did not muster in putting the executives branch weight behind same-sex legislation. i hope one doesn't have to be black and blind to understand what human/civil rights and basic dignities are and mean.11 for whatever reason, i'm keeping faith for good news out of the normally dysfunctional senate, well, because i can't believe, despite ample contrary evidence, that reasonable people can be long unreasonable and flat out vile. that is saying i believe in long shot miracles, isn't it? but i'm all set to be the beaming proudest and happiest new yorker, like, ever. new yorker as in a citizen of new york state. as for roughly 53% of the 60% registered voters of pine tree state maine, go fuck yourselves.

plus: world. series. champion. new. york. yankees. !.

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1. fuck, down on kayne, down on jay-z, down on the black eyed peas, down, so far, on nobel prize winner barak, does it seem like the only black folks i do like are dead black folks, tupac, biggie, malcolm, & martin? ... awkward. mmm... i really like spike. and tyler perry. and, well, badass carsten charles. 27, baby.
2. course, things ain't never that simple. a lot of tupac's rap trek the same misogynistic and gangsta terrains. tupac was also too entrenched, by association and or choice, in that thuglife scene. and the sexual assault conviction, even accepting tupac's version of events, is bad, bad business. for jay-z's real life, what can be said other than he's a soldout shill, which is awful but mostly innocuous. which still, i love tupac. there's his music. but also, 1) he served his sentence; 2) (maybe it's just an excuse, but) he was a young dude; and 3) he was still sorting his way and place in the world, still learning and growing. this might being a poor way of reconciling things, blinded a bit, but tupac was getting there, you know, black jesus, lennon, marvin, getting there to be transformative, something greater. except, well except tupac couldn't get out of his own or bullets way.

3. keep ya head up and big poppa, respectively.

4. me and my girlfriend, yeah, thanks jay-z for fucking up tupac's classic track.
5. so many dumbass commercials during the baseball postseason broadcast.
6. against the day, tom pynchon
7. that would, of course, be my crush-for-life girl, t.

8. see fn6
9. this had the added benefit of federal tanks rolling in to handle things.
10. yeah, there is a scale differences between china's crackdown and certain of the massacres/killings/shootings perpetrated in the united states (some but not all), but come on, there's so many chinese people, per total pop, it's really not that ... yikes, better not finish this. probably worth mentioning, and under reported, is that mass protest are frequent events across china, as are the associated unrest, riots, and severe government responses.

11. oh snap.