Wednesday February 29 2012

[i]

DREAM: Taking pictures in the city with my little camera. I catch a beautiful double rainbow that encircles the skyline. Then all of a sudden I’m helping direct a film. The scene is set at a drive-in theater. Atop a mountain is a projector screen and a small flame lit beside it. The camera view switches between two cars, one with two lovers, and one with a man and a boy ridiculing the two lovers on screen. I feel proud of this set-up as it was my idea to include this layer of drama.


Waking up just after noon. The rain taps discreetly on the window where the Boba Fett jet pack sits.


Sharing breakfast together. Hot English Breakfast Tea. Hard Boiled Egg. Grilled Peanut Butter Sandwiches. Peach. Orange Juice.


Hitting the road to New York. Nasty. Rainy. Dreary. New Jersey Turnpike. 




Traffic on the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway.

Potato Chip Trio. Strawberry Cereal Bar. Aloe Vera Drink.




Arriving in Brooklyn. Getting ready at a friend of Stephanie’s then heading to the venue. Traffic is over saturated as expected in a city like this. The Charleston is right on Bedford Avenue where the Brooklyn hipster veterans thrive. The bar is open but the basement venue doesn’t open for another few hours. So we chill and have a few beers...talking with some of the bands. Eating delicious Falafels from across the street.

Caitlin Pasko, one of my best friends from a different time, shows up. It’s been almost two years since I’ve seen her. We walk across the street to a bagel shop and chat it out about relationships and music...how being in New York has benefited her dreams and ambitions. I express my distress back home with being tied down, not feeling accomplished the way I want to. She encourages a drastic idea that I’ve always blown off and been afraid to do: moving. I’ve never been interested in moving to a big city. I like suburbia. I like Virginia Beach and I feel responsible for being a part of fostering the culture there. But it’s only a curiosity. I miss the analytical interaction with Caitlin. She’s doing well for herself here in New York, signed to a record label that books her shows and working for a PR group.

...

Back at the venue. Downstairs in a tight black stale basement the first band rocks out pop punk jams. We’re up next. Putting on an energetic set and pleasing the laid back crowd with comedy and cute catchy tunes. We seem to be well received here. The Finks and Infinity Hotel put on great sets as well. 




Afterwards, we meet up at a dive bar called The Gutter that has an attached bowling alley to it and gather around a big table with our friends in Infinity Hotel drinking select drafts. Discussing Brooklyn life and other fun topics. Turns out Sarah, the girl drummer in the band, has the same birthday as me. Van, a mutual friend of ours from Virginia Beach, joins us. He just moved here. It’s an invigorating chill social atmosphere. I wouldn’t choose to be anywhere else right now. It’s getting late, a little after 3 in the morning. The bars around here stay open past 2 unlike back home.




We drive to Van’s apartment. After about fifteen minutes of scouting out a parking space I use my hidden parallel parking skills and merge into a really tight spot.

...

Settling down in Van’s pad. There’s one little futon that Stef takes and Sarah and I take the floor. I manage to pile up a blanket underneath a sleeping bag as cushioning.

Earlier, Margot was shooting me insecure texts like crazy...

“I need to know I’m your baby, that you adore me and I’m the love of your life and no one else will ever be. Ever. Then maybe I’ll stop being so insecure.”

She also sent me cute sexy pictures of a new bra she just bought. I feel bad because there’s been minimal response on my end while I’ve been on tour. I want her to know I miss her, which I’ve said a few times, but I also want to be where I am and focus on what’s going on around me. She just needs attention and a lot of affirmation...

Feeling drunk and exhausted. It’s time for sleep.


[i] Show Flyer. All other images by Stephanie and me.

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