Waitin' round the bend, my huckleberry friend
I had plans, you know. I was going to go to sleep at a decent time, like 11 or 12, and then get up around 9, eat some oatmeal, go buy a couple books, mail Boone* and Patrick** their cd's, do a little homework, get lunch with Jill, but no. Now I will probably be useless until I can't be anymore. Stupid brain not shutting off. Stupid being sick.
*Boone is from Camp. He lost his Ramones cd and was annoyed, and then I ound it at the end of the summer. I've been meaning to mail it to him since about mid september, when I got his address. Better late than never.
**Patrick is a longer, stranger story. When I was 17, I was working for a small strange theatre group, nice people. I still talk to the head guy every now and then, and when I call him at work, he answers with the company name, and I always say "well don't you sound official" and he always says "hello Minion" to which I am expected to reply "hello Dark Lord and Master". It really isn't as kinky as it sounds. It was just a very, umm, quirky group of people. Annnyyway. The point is, they introduced me to craigslist. This was back when there was only the San Francisco site, actually just before they started branching out, that was a few months later. It was back when there was no rants and raves section, and the missed connections section was awesome. So one day, some one had posted something, and some one else responded telling him to go fuck himself, or something, but in Gaelic. Funny thing, at the time, I was taking a Gaelic class at the Irish community hall in SF. So I wrote to the person, telling them that blahdy blah (I'm tired. I mainly want to get this story written down, as I'm sure I'll want to reference it someday). So he writes back, and we converse a bit. This is Patrick. Or Padraig, if you prefer the Irish. I think he was 27 at the time, from Ireland, emigrated when he graduated high school, all kinds of hot. Sort of. Anyway, he introduced me to The Pogues by making me a cd, and bringing it to me when he came to see the show I was running for this small, strange theatre company (see, that part was kind of relevant). I had been smart enough to tell him my age before we met, and he confessed that he had been thinking about asking me out before he heard that part. Oh the flattery to my young ears. Anyway, we met up a few times after that, to get coffee, a burrito, I watched a movie at his apartment once. We were okay casual buddies with a few common interests. Namely, The Pogues, Ireland, and Bob Dylan. He is the biggest Dylan fan I have ever run across, ever. But that was about it. We once got into an argument because I mentioned that I was upset about/didn't like that my school was going to move to another campus, that happened to be right across the street from a juvenile hall. I think i didn't make my point clear, but what I was trying to say was that it was too convenient. I went to school with a bunch of defiant artist types, in the throes of adolescent angst. They did stupid stuff a lot. And I felt that having a juvenile hall that close, it might turn into a threat they held over us (well, not 'us' because I was graduating before they moved, but whatever). I was mainly against the move in general, and this was just a point to pick on. Patrick took offense at this, and said something like he wished his school had been across the street from a juvenile hall, he could have visited a lot of friends more easily. I think he thought I was looking down on the kinds of kids that got put in itn the first place. Classic miscommunication. And actually, I think that was the last time I saw him. But we kind of email every now and then, just generally, and then over the summer, I found the Bob Dylan cd that had been recorded in Jah's Minneapolis apartment. It's a pretty rare bootleg, and I thought immeadiatly of Patrick. He may already have it, I don't know. But he sounded glad to hear from me again, strange coincidence he had just found and reread a letter I wrote him (? Really? I do not remember this at all. Though it does sound like me. I like writing letters), so now I have his address and phone number. He visits New York a lot, so maybe I'll see him there sometime.
That was a long and interesting-only-to-me story. Sorry to the few who actually read this. Holy crap. It's 4am. I need to make myself sleep.
Oh, and it's pouring rain. Buckets. Great.
