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music. memories

I love this coffee shop. I sit here with my decaf americano and my sponge earplugs in, staring at the screen, cruising around on facebook, and looking for cars on craigslist and in between that writing papers and diatribes and glowering at the scruffy hipsters, wearing skinny jeans and fat earphones. Ever notice that f-m transsexuals seem to grow their facial hair? I think especially the new-ish ones. Sorta like teenage boys, they let their new facial foliage sprout, trying it on, strutting their stuff, ’cause they can–I dunno. Maybe they’re trying to draw attention away from their womanly hips…poor li’l muffins. who told them this would be a good idea? makes me sad. and angry, yea…

i’ve been looking a bit at facial hair since this whole “mo-vember” crap started. I notice lots of pale upper lips today. I let my ‘stache grow–in solidarity with the brothers-hah! and i don’t even have a prostate. It’s the same kinda rigid gender role bullshit that breast cancer fundraising has assumed–fuckin’ PINK every where. i HATE pink. so, i’m growing my ‘stache to draw attention to…um…I dunno, really. The whole thing is ridiculous. I’m not going to tell you what colour my bra is, expecting that it will somehow help to end breast cancer–i’m not gonna buy a christly pink frying pan, or get my nails painted fuckin’ pink–no one noticed my moustache, though. my hair is too fine and light. also, the facial hair is kinda patchy. oh well.

oh dear. i wanted to write about the MUSIC, though. then i started a rant. one of the hipsters pissed me off. He didn’t do anything bad, just asked a stupid question. but then i got annoyed at him, and then i felt all regretful about being annoyed and then i started being all distracted.

Don’t be distracted. Death is coming. that’s what a button that i’m wearing now says. I love that. that’s what i aspire to. focus.

anyhow, the music this cafe plays, it’s all from the 70s and 80s, and mostly the late 70s. I LOVE it. “dancing in the moonlight” , the Steve Miller Band, Earth Wind and Fire, Heart…takes me back to my prairie adolescence. those forever horizons, the orange sunset firing up the sky, sliding along the horizon for hours the wind the space the openness, the possibility of the infinite. and the potential of youth. i remember that feeling of youth, that drama, that yearning, that excitement and confusion….it comes back with this music but with melancholy from thirty more years.

anyhow. this is random. last night, i did a short workshop on “psychiatric oppression” for a local rape crisis centre’s volunteer training session. And i saw an old friend I haven’t seen in, oh, god, nearly ten years! she looks great. she just had surgery on her thumb…something went wrong with her tendon or joint or something–shit starts to wear out on us if we work hard all our lives…anyhow, that was lovely to see her–and THEN–one of the volunteers in the training group, she recognized me from ten years ago–when i went to her WEDDING (sorry for shouting). it takes a lot for me to go to a wedding. In this case, my sort of lover at the time, she said, “think of it as committing to be part of their community, that you’ll help them be accountable to each other, and to their people” and that helped. Also, I was an active drunk at the time, and all the guests got two tickets for free drinks. and lots of the guests didn’t use their tickets. so I did. i got hammered. and my friend caught the bouquet and I caught the garter. relieving everyone in the party of having to prepare for another christly wedding in the near future.

anyhow. She recognized me, and i said, “oh dear. I don’t drink anymore” and she’s not married anymore, either (well, she is, but they’ve separated–haven’t got around to the divorce part yet). “Coulda seen that comin'” I said. She laughed happily, bless her, she was a good sport. That was great. and she was really sparky and smart, too. asked a bunch of interesting questions and i remembered her after she said, “you were at my wedding” that’s cool. I said i’m not too fussy about the whole heterosexist patriarchal institution (she agreed), and then told her what R. had said about the wedding; about being witnesses and part of their glue to help them stay together and be part of something bigger–she thought that sounded nice. Then I said, “I’m sorry i wasn’t there for you, though.”

I am, too. Sorry, that is.

anyhow. it’s nearly 11 pm. i better get this damned paper done. oh hey, remember that song? “Three Times a Lady”? it’s playing now! that was big one of the years i went to Summer Drama School in Drumheller, AB in the late 70s. All these hormonal teenagers in a Drama School (jesus. we didn’t need to be schooled in drama, we were teenagers fer cryin’ out loud) in the desert. hahahahahaha. beautiful. I can smell the sage. feel the sun bouncing off the sandstone cliffs…not something Lionel Ritchie had in mind, i’m sure.

okay. really. i’m going now.

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About easilyriled

My mom was Edith, my dad was John. I have a brother, who is Shawn. I have many friends and allies and mentors in my life. I'm white, over-educated, under-employed, messy, funny, smart, lesbian, feminist "Not the fun kind", as Andrea Dworkin said. But I, like the feminists I hang with, ARE fun. I play accordion better than I did, and i'm learning the concertina. Slowly.

2 responses »

  1. What do you think the ‘muffins’ would think to hear you pity them so? I love your writing woman. Don’t EVER stop xo

    Reply
    • Oh, Quade, I think the poor li’l muffins don’t give a fig what a curmudgeonly feminist thinks…but if they did, they’d likely be all mad and righteous right back at me. heh. I’m loving your pictures of your new home and stuff, my friend. almost doesn’t feel like you’re so very far away.
      xo

      Reply

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