The Transporter Couch

I’ve managed to endear myself with the folks at Cuvee. (Hmm, endear with? endear to? whatever) I mean, we all are friends now and so I was lucky to get invited to a party last night at the proprietor’s house.

Now I have to set this up properly. Carolyn Walls died. God rest her soul. (And I understand it was a hard hard death.) And I got that news exactly three minutes after I accepted the invitation to come over Monday night for fajitas. And in the ensuing fray of my weekend I FORGOT the party invitation. Carolyn was not really a friend but she was my friend Carla’s sister and out of respect and deference I went to the viewing yesterday afternoon. And there, I ran into Hilda. And Hilda, who is one of the most beautiful women in the world, is quite shy, and she sort of clung to me. So after we left the funeral home we went DIRECTLY across the street to Lincoln Street and consumed Moscato d’Asti. Quite a bit of it. And then Hilda said, “aren’t you going to a party tonight?” And I thought, “SHIT! Yes I’m supposed to go to a party!

Well two glasses of Moscato d’Asti do not make Brian drunk, but I was certainly lit up. Hilda and I left the funeral home at about 5 and then went to have a drink and we sat in the “front living room” at Lincoln Street, which was once upon a time a house. Lincoln Street is, first and foremost, comfortable. We sat in the front living room and I closed the doors so it was quiet and we both had a little cry and then we talked about many things and Shawn came in and refreshed our glasses and shut the door behind him, and then we laughed about stuff and it was the perfect counterpoint to viewing a dead friend. So I was actually in a pretty good mood.

And then I went to Len’s house, and driving there I got lost…. .LOST in a podunk town! But I found my way, and suddenly it was a party.

Present were: Sheila and her boyfriend Terry, Jen and her boyfriend Matt, Julie and Lance (married), Sherry, Len, and myself. We were the singles threesome. Len’s wife and daughter are out of town so he was only tangentially single.

At some point I was talking sort of across the room to Terry about driving fast cars. It was a GUY moment and I was enjoying it, but busy doing that I missed some larger conversation about “juicy tits.” That became a recurring theme of the overall conversation last night.

There was lots of food! AND… AND!!! I drank about 483 margaritas. I think that was where I was ultimately going with this post. I feel like shit. I haven’t even summoned the courage to look at myself in the mirror. I’ve walked past one eleven times and just don’t look. I know WHERE my car is but more important than where it IS is where it IS NOT, which is….. here. And I have to go to a funeral in 2.5 hours and it’s raining and I feel like shit and loook like shit and don’t really want to go. Maybe I should blow it off. Maybe I should send an elaborate wreath and a condolence card. Maybe I should muster the troops and put myself together. Maybe I should have breakfast …… .no….. well maybe some watermelon.

The party last night was sort of a double party. Sherry is going to Australia for a month and leaves in about a week. So it was a bon voyage party for her. And I turned 40 in December and ….. well that being the holiday season and all those folks being busy, no one took notice of it. So it was sort of a birthday party for me. It was sweet. It was nice. It was alcoholic. We ran out of lime juice so Jen and Sheila went to the store to get some and came back with this helium birthday balloon (that if you touch in the right place makes noise, not unlike some people I know) and some watermelon, which I had been craving. That was extra sweet of them, no pun intended! But I haven’t dived into the watermelon yet. Nice watermelon, all cut up and seedless and in a little container!

The balloon is sort of creepy. It reminds me of Terrence Stamp. It’s pretty big …. biscuit shaped, about 18 inches in diameter and 6 inches thick, metallic, helium-filled (it’s on the ceiling now) and metallic in color. It says “BLOWS YOUR MIND! ANOTHER BIRTHDAY!” and depicts a blue face wearing weird glasses with confetti exploding out of his brain. And did I mention it sings?

My complete and total incapacity to focus this post is sort of annoying, to me at least. The wages of sin …. as they say… is death. I’ve never understood that subject/verb disagreement though it was at some point explained to me. Anyway, all it indicates is that I’m hung over, and pretty majorly.

Have a nice day

The day does indeed dawn silver. Different, but embraceable. And not a cold metal car hood but a warm metal necklace, a gift from a friend.

I wrote a LOT yesterday and today I have some obligations so I won’t write anything at all beyond this post.

I know I know you’re tired of it but I’m on this Robbie Williams kick. It’s resonating with me. One lyric (that hell, maybe he himself pilfered, I can’t say) is “I’ve got so much life running through my veins, going to waste.” And later in that same song, “I’ve got so much love, running through my veins, going to waste.” And later, “I can’t give enough.”

They’re lyrics in a complicated song and they’re just “bit” actors but they really resonate with me.

I love the fact that in “Let Me Entertain You” the only thing that can intimidate his vocals is a trumpet. No it’s more complicated than that. You LAYER music, and the only LAYER you could apply at that stage is …. well… to be taken seriously, a HORN of some sort, and in this case, a trumpet. I’m reasonably certain Robbie Williams isn’t reading this, but I’m reasonably certain I’m a fan.

Not long ago, I said, and I do indeed quote myself, “I don’t like working.” And that is true.

And later I said, “I don’t like manual labor, and I don’t like rote chores.” And that is true.

The first utterance is like saying “I wanna kill people.” Nobody LIKES working, and no sane person wants to kill people. Thus that. But I wish to elaborate on the second. First, I’m not really cut our for manual labor. I’m not “disabled” but I’m not physically strong. (Though I do have, I think, a nice body) I love being outdoors and indoors. I love finishing a project, whether that be a story or a pie or clean baseboards or a flowerbed. It’s all beautiful and valuable and joyful. But therein lies the connection. I don’t want to be a writer, or a baker or a maid or a gardener. I certainly don’t disparage anyone who makes a living thus employed…… Frankly, there’s lots of money to be made in all those fields.

There’s a lyric I can’t quite place, “I don’t want to be dead, but I’m not too keen on living.” Sometimes I just relish the softness of my life. U2 (back before their whiny sanctimonious phase and in the midst of their Bono is insane phase) sings in a song, “You’ve got to get yourself together”

“You’ve got yourself stuck in a moment and you can’t get out of it. Don’t say that later will be better you’ve got stuck in the moment and and you can’t get out of it.”

I think I’m stuck in a moment.

Yesterday or the day before I grew effusive over Robbie Williams. There’s actually a story here.

I have a rich friend named Mark and he bought a Mercedes E…. somthing (some numbers like 360), and it still had the paper license plate on it when he invited me and a couple of others to go for a joyride. (This was about a year ago.)

Now by joyride I don’t mean like a stolen car joyride, but just a drive in the country. The wildflowers are insane this time of year (in fact it WAS almost exactly a year ago!) and it’s nice to just drive around and bask in the color and beauty.

So we’re driving along in fact on Interstate 10, which can be an armpit but proximate to San Antonio (to the west at least) it is the most beautiful and panoramic piece of highway especially in the wildflower season which is March to May. And it’s all very pleasant and there’s a pleasant conversation and some ambient music in the background, and a state trooper passes us but it’s all good.

A moment later Mark’s phone rings. He takes the call but I was engaged with the others so no one paid attention to his conversation, which was quiet. All of a sudden, this Robbie Williams song comes on, the refrain to which is “Let Me Entertain You” and about a minute into the song, which is very very energetic (!) Mark just PUNCHES the gas and we’re zooming down the highway at like 110 mph and he ZOOMS past a state trooper! And I don’t mean he zooms past and slows down bashfully. He just kept going. My friends and I are …. there’s no one word for it, but let’s start with horrified and exhilirated. The trooper’s car is chasing us, lights flashing. State trooper cars in Texas are black and white souped up Crown Victorias, and the lights are imbedded in the grille. They’re menacing looking cars. And this one was CHASING US. And Mark has this hilarious grin on his face and the other three of us had gaping mouths and no color on our face.

And this song is belting LET ME ENTERTAIN YOU!!!!!!! and the sunroof is open and the median is awash in the color of wildflowers beneath a gorgeous blue sky and the valley opens before us…… and NOBODY knows what the FUCK is going on. I take it back, there IS one word for it: surreal.

Personally, I thought Mark had finally snapped his tether. Just ….. ya know, snapped. The girls, well, one of them was curled up in a ball and the other was shrieking stop stop stop and I’m just wondering where the meth is stashed so I can throw it out the sunroof.

And then, like when a rainshower stops, it was all over. Mark just pulled over. And the cop pulls up behind us, and we all expect him to come out with his gun pointed at us and tell us to GET OUT OF THE CAR! But he just sort of moseys over and Mark turns down the music and glides down the window and the cop sticks his head in the window and says, “nice car.” Did I mention surreal?

Then he and Mark just start laughing. Did I mention surreal?

“Don’t do that again, son,” he says and moseys back to his car.

I mentioned recently that someone gave me a bunch of CDs. One is Robbie Williams’s Greatest Hits, or something like that but in any case Robbie Williams.

I’m thoroughly impressed! Thoroughly, utterly, completely. Here’s an artist who composes compelling lyrics then drapes it in fabulous layers of music. And it’s music I want to TURN UP.

They say there’s nothing new, no new story, no new theme, nothing new in the world. As Prior Walter said, “It’s something you learn after your second theme party.,…… It’s ALL been DONE BEFORE!”

In general, I agree with that sentiment and it’s what has been my biggest obstacle in writing creatively. Writing this blog is helping me explore that more, but this isn’t a ME moment.

This is a Robbie Williams moment. He isn’t just a voice and his music isn’t just noise. It’s very complicated and textural. And it inspires me because though it has, indeed, all been done before, that doesn’t mean it can’t be done differently. He borrows riffs from Bachrach and Pet Shop Boys and everything in between. He adheres to the diatonic scale and “traditional” beats and melodies and he employs kitschy but lovely and sonorous refrains and chorus.

In 2530 when they dig up the remains of Earth and find his music, they will be very confused because they won’t be able to identify him with a time period.

50s, 60s, 70s, 80s……… who is this guy?