Tumblr? I hardly even know 'er!

I will be moving everything over to Tumblr in the coming days, as I feel like that has a much cleaner interface and will allow people to more easily follow my activity. In yet another feat of profound clumsiness I locked my camera in my Vespa and then immediately lost the key, so I'm not sure how quickly I will have actual new content. Until then have this photo of my cat and I:

Andy

"Is that all you're having for lunch is a coffee and a cigarette? It's not very healthy."

The Re-Telling of an Old Tale : The Bead Story

You know that story about you that your sister just can't seem to keep from telling absolutely everyone she meets? That story that you wrote a personal narrative on during your junior year of high school when given the challenge to write "The Best Story Ever" by your English teacher, and subsequently won the prize of a five pound chocolate bar? The one that you sent in as your admissions essay for early decision at your choice university, then hurriedly attempted to have it exchanged for another more politically correct piece to no avail?

Yes? No? Well, this is that story, whether you know it or not.

I was a fairly crafty child. Those little briefcases filled with cheap markers, crayons, colored pencils, scissors, and other colorful, mess-demanding devices were staple gifts for me come the holidays. I'd tote it around, wads of scrap paper from my grandmother's kitchen clenched in my other hand, as I left a wake of absolute destruction in my path. Most of the time I am sure that my parents appreciated when I chose to indulge my pudgy little hands into something that wasn't wet and couldn't get any color from the rainbow on our furniture.

Most of the time.

One particular craft that I adored was melting perler beads into fun little shapes. My sister and I had a couple boxes of beads that we had accumulated along with many plastic patterns that allowed for the creatively challenged to haphazardly toss beads onto them and still end up with something remotely attractive. During the spring of 1995 my sister and I sat down in our bedroom with the lot of beads and templates to chose our designs. I picked out and umbrella and she, well, no one really cares what she picked out. This story is about me.

Actually, I don't remember what she was working on. The impending trauma must have washed away my memory of anything that doesn't closely pertain to my side of the story. Sorry, Lindsey.

As I slid each bead onto its spoke I began to see the umbrella coming together; The handle forming a curve that would fit the tiniest of plastic, two-dimensional hands so well. Suddenly, I notice something: these beads were all fitting quite perfectly in their places on the patterns, and they appear to be just the size to sit comfortably in my nose. I pick one out of the bucket, examine it briefly as to confirm my suspicions, and place it into my right nostril.

For a short moment I sat there with a smug smile on my face. I was right! The bead fit! Ha, I showed you, no one ever. Satisfied with the results of my bead-to-nostril size test I reached my finger back up and began to prod at the plastic cylinder, but it wouldn't move. My fingertip pushed the bead in slightly farther, which disallowed me the ability to get on either side of it. Horrified, I turn to my sister as tears began to slide down my cheeks. "It's stuck!" I wail.

She looks at me first with confusion, as she wasn't aware of the current nostril-bead situation, then with more  wonder at why I would do such a thing. We both get up and track down my mother, who was doing the dishes in the kitchen. "I got a bead stuck in my nose!" I scream as my sister snickers behind me.

"Come on," my mother directs as she leads me by the hand to the bathroom, my sister tagging along the whole while. She stands me in front of the toilet and tells me to plug my left nostril and blow into the toilet. Blubbering, I lean over the toilet and began snorting in a manner that can only be described as a horse trying to viciously clear peanut butter from its nose. After a minute of intense grunting I notice a tiny speck of blood hit the toilet water.

Oh no, I'm thinking as my sobs get heavier. Oh no, oh god, oh no. My sister leans over and confirms the fate I had expected by whispering, "You're gonna die."

"I don't wanna die! I don't wanna diiiiiie!" I'm screaming and looking up at my mother, as my finger still sits firmly pressed against my left nostril and a thin line of blood trickles down above my lip.

"You're not going to die! Keep snorting!" my mother hollers as my sister is practically in stitches on the floor behind her. "You, stop it!" she directs my sister.

There's blood, I'm thinking. There's blood, -snort- and it's stuck, -snort- and I did this, -snort- and Lindsey said I'm gonna die. -snort- Why would I do-

Plop.

There it was, sitting in the bottom of the toilet bowl among the minuscule amount of blood from my nostril-meats. Silence fell over the bathroom as I look up and let out a small, relieved, and utterly surprised, "Oh."

I finished my umbrella, Lindsey finished whatever the heck she was working on, and our lives went on. She never misses an opportunity to tell everyone about the time her little sister almost "died" from sticking a bead up her nose, and I never hesitate to toss in the anecdote about how it was my admissions essay to Rochester Institute of Technology.

I was accepted, but I never did get the five pound chocolate bar back in high school. I'm still waiting, Mr. Herman.

Vin Dictive.

I took these photos of Vin last weekend in downtown Rochester.  It's probably about time I start photographing more subjects apart from my cat.

I got let go a couple weeks ago,

which was a bit of a shock.  Yesterday I had an interview with Xerox and am eagerly awaiting their decision, iced coffee in hand.  I feel a bit like Nancy Botwin as I'm constantly clutching a caffeinated drink (triple shot, please), minus the whole pot-dealing, I-went-to-jail-for-a-murder-my-son-committed shindig.  For the past several weeks I've been taking my Vespa downtown to Java's, a local coffee shop chain.  That sentence sounds hipster enough in itself before I add the fact that I read a Bret Easton Ellis novel outside the cafe while wearing a scarf.

I wish I felt more motivated at the moment so I could crank out an interesting story, but another cup of coffee may be in order before that is possible.  So here's a picture of me with an iced coffee from Tim Hortons (or "The Dorton" if you nasty) on my head:

P.S.  Come check me (Eviscerate) out on the Discotoast community stage at the World Electronic Music Festival next weekend!  This means that I should probably do something with djeviscerate.com, eh?

Sunny Days

I met Nelson during the Spring of 2008.  We had a calculus class together and he also lived on the same floor in my then-boyfriend's all-male dorm.  During class he, my boyfriend, and I would sit in the back and text each other constantly.  It was amusing at the time, but I wondered why Nelson and I never spoke in person.  He would always wave as he bounced by with his headphones on (and I do mean bounced; He explained to me once that "this is how people walk in Brooklyn", but I have since visited and do not believe this), but the most interaction we had apart from texting was when I tutored him in calculus.  On one the of the last days of the quarter he sent me a text saying that he had made me a mixed CD to listen to on sunny summer days, and that he was going to give it to my boyfriend to give to me.  I had some free time and was interested to see what was on the CD, so I swung by the dorms and picked it up.

That CD was the soundtrack of my summer.  Listening to it brought back memories of warm, care-free days in which I drove around with my windows down and the stereo cranked as loud as it could go.  Nelson asked me if I enjoyed the CD and I told him that I did, but I honestly don't think he believed me.  I was mostly into metal at that time, and the tracks he chose were far from that (see track list below).  He knew I was having a rough time in New York, as I had no support from either parent and was struggling to make it on my own while going to school, so he promised that he would make the next school year the best of my life.

I wasn't much for parties back then and had only been intoxicated a handful of times.  Staying home and playing video games was more my bag; I just wasn't into the whole house party scene.  During the early winter Nelson dragged me to a big party off-campus, and it was so, so very awkward.  I wasn't dressed fashionably by any means and felt completely out of place.  When the limo arrived to take everyone to the club I told Nelson that I was going to split.  He put some of his belongings in my truck in an attempt to keep me from leaving, but I insisted that he should go have a good time and explained that this just wasn't my thing.  It took a while but he eventually hopped in the limo with a 30-rack and I took off.  That was the first and last party I ever went with Nelson to.

We didn't talk (read: text message) extremely often, but we were in contact fairly consistently.  He'd typically call me while drunk and we'd chat for a while, but those conversations didn't have a whole lot of substance.  The only times I ever visited him were to pick up gifts he had bought for me (Red Bull, the best trail mix I've ever had, a Conor Oberst poster and another mixed CD- all of which had sentimental value) because I honestly thought our relationship was a bit odd and that he had a weird thing for me.  During one of those visits he explained to me how he didn't know me but had this urge to get to know me, and he didn't know why.  He said I was the perfect mixed drink and that I had a "doofy smile".  I found this strange, but looking back on it now all I can see is how much he cared.  He called me every Christmas that he knew I was alone because he wanted to cheer me up while my own father did not. 

Nelson passed away last July while at a friend's birthday bash in Brooklyn.  Around 4:00am individuals noticed his body in the deep end of a pool, and his friends pulled him out.  His heartbeat had already stopped.  About a week before his death we had the following conversation:

Nelson: Hey there
Me: Hello
Nelson: What's good in the hood girl. Haven't talked to you in a minute, staying out of trouble?
Me: Trying to, working a lot but spending a lot too :P How are you?
Nelson: Kickin it in an urban paradise, partying like a rock star. Suppose to be writing this book, but I've been getting...easily distracted XD
Me: It happens, I don't finish a lot of my endeavors because I get distracted by something else
Nelson: ...Guess that was my (semi) literal wake up call.
Me: What?
Nelson: Yeaa...have a good day, peace.
Me: Didn't mean for that to be a wake up call, I'm just saying I get distracted as well.

That was the last time I ever spoke with him, and I really wish that the conversation had gone differently.  After his death I became quite the heavy drinker, and when classes resumed I would often go out partying- something Nelson always wanted me to do with him, but I never had the desire to do.  Since then I have stopped binge drinking, but I do enjoy a good party and wish that Nelson could accompany me to one now.  A couple weeks ago I went to Voodoo Monkey Tattoo and got "Sunny Days" tattooed on my right wrist in his handwriting:

It is hard for me to explain what "Sunny Days" means to me because it is more of a feeling and outlook than anything tangible.  It's encouragement, happiness, appreciation, understanding, finding beauty in even the ugliest moments, and so much more. Nelson impacted my life in a way that I never would have imagined during the time he was alive.  In retrospect I wonder why he cared so much and was more sentimental than the majority of my close friends and lovers, but I will probably never know.  Rest in peace, Nelson.  You assisted in forever putting a doofy smile on my face.

Tracklist:

Gorillaz - O Green World (Drinking All the Sunshine)
TV On the Radio - Let The Devil In
TV On the Radio - Dirtywhirl
Klaxons - Gravity's Rainbow
The Fratellis - Flathead
Santogold - L.E.S. Artistes
Modest Mouse - The View
M.I.A. - Paper Planes
Gorillaz - All Alone
Gorillaz - Dare
Gorillaz - Clint Eastwood
Bloc Party - This Modern Love
Bloc Party - Helicopter (Diplo Remix)
Architecture in Helsinki - Maybe You Can Owe Me
Architecture in Helsinki - Heart It Races
Architecture in Helinski - Do The Whirlwind
Rogue Wave - Lake Michigan
Tokyo Police Club - Be Good
Justice - D.A.N.C.E.
Evangelicals - Midnight Vignette