As individuals, there are sights and sounds and smells that trigger us. The sight of a man walking by in a leather jacket and blue L.A. hat once sent me into a two day melt down. I know the exact smell that reminds me of every single boy I've ever been with. And there is a specific time on the clock that I look at on accident almost every single day that sends a chill down my spine.
All of the above are old fixations that will probably never leave me.
But I found a new one. It is a word that, only beginning this year, that others have used to describe me.
"Strange."
However it is said, it sticks with me for days on end, echoing to the point where even the word itself is... strange.
Even the definition of the word outright says whether this trait is inherently good or bad.
strange |strānj|adjective1 unusualorsurprisingin a waythat isunsettling or hard to understand:childrenhavesomestrangeideas |he'sa very strange man | [ with clause ] : it is strange how things change.2 not previously visited, seen, or encountered; unfamiliar or alien: she found herself in bed in a strange place | a harsh accent that was strange to his ears.• [ predic. ] (strange to/at/in) archaic unaccustomed to or unfamiliar with: I am strange to the work.3 Physics having a nonzero value for strangeness.
This word has been thrown at me half-endearingly, out of frustration and then, this week, out of anger. To me, for some reason this word feels like an old-fashioned way of saying "fucking weird" and each time it has been used on me I have felt an intense emotional response that I can't even begin to explain. It makes me want to defend myself immediately.
But then it makes me proud in a twisted way.
Cause really, when I think about it, that's the life I want. Anything worth living for should be unusual and challenging and new. It's only an insult when you realize that everyone is raised and wired to strive for convention. And with the residue of Valentine's Day wearing off, I realize I want one thing more than anything.
I have this knack for being happy about something and then overthinking it, until I convince myself I am not happy. When it comes to my career and what I want, I know that I am doing fine, but I always feel like I should be doing more. I'm not sure when it will ever be enough. Right in the knick of time, I was recently asked to make playlist art for the Free People Music Committee.
I wasn't that creative for the January playlist as it was being archived away anyway, but I gave February my best go. Found out it's hard to make art about love when you aren't in it.
Oh and you can check out a fun little feature I got to be a part of on the BLDG25 blog, here.
I traded out my air guitar for a keytar a while back.
When I was sixteen, a girl named Sarah steered me in an interesting direction musically. At this time, I had just started playing random instruments in Jazz, Concert, and Marching band and spent about 3-4 hours every day playing everything from mellophone to drums. I was not a band nerd, but I was definitely not popular, yet everyone knew me. No one, bandmates or friends, really ever understood why the hell I kept showing up at 7AM for zero period jazz band to play the same second-chair trombone part on Take Five for two years in a row. Honestly, I really have no clue now that I think about it. All I know is that I loved it so much.
Sarah gave me a handful of albums that I immediately fell in love with including Jack Off Jill's Clear Hearts and Grey Flowers, a random mixed CD with her favorite songs from The Adicts, John Frusciante, David Bowie. Together we discovered The Blood Brothers and, randomly both got into CKY (why the fuck?). Anyway when she gave me the self titled Dresden Dolls album and I listened to it straight for about a year.
This should tell you a bit about a lot.
This song and this performance and this woman is perfect.
This playlist doesn't really have a theme this time around. This month has been busy with work and people and reflecting and sleeping and not sleeping and being grateful for and in awe of one of the most pivotal years of my life.
Here are some songs I've had on repeat for the last month or so.
Everything this man says and does in this performance kills me.
"I've zig-zagged all over Los Angeles and I cannot find a safety haven. Say, would you let me cry on your shoulder? I've heard that you'll try anyone twice…"
A thrilled Steven. Hector looking like a straight azn cherub.
Steven took these pictures of me. I don't care how emo I look, I like them so much.
If you're in the area and want some cool bootleg Morrissey merch (like what I'm wearing) or want to know when the next Smiths/Morrissey night is, you can follow Hector on IG, @smiths_moz_bootleg.
I'm beyond excited to see this on Thursday at Hollywood Forever. I remember being 13 or 14 listening to the entirety of Fever to Tell, before I really knew how sex or love worked- before I had even kissed anyone, and thinking, "Holy shit, I can't wait to feel this way."
Ten years later, she puts out an album about all the feelings that maybe I wish I never felt.
Yesterday, Tania and I decided to make a mini road trip to the Integratron Sound Bath in the middle of the desert about three hours away in Landers. Hoping that I would find clarity in a meditation chamber with 40 other people was wishful thinking, as I already know that turning my mind off is not something that I have ever been able to do on command. But the vibrations of the giant crystal bowls pulsing through my skin and bones at least reminded me how crazy everything is. Like, you can make real music with carved out rocks and lay in a dome in the middle of the desert with a bunch of strangers all trying to make themselves better. Life and nature and humans are crazy.
After the sound bath, we rocked on the hammocks and there was a man speaking Italian on the phone next to us. He reached out his hand to rock me and I let him. Tania asked him about the Vipassana Retreat where he just came from. People go there to find enlightenment. You don't speak, smoke, eat meat, or see the opposite sex for 10 days. His name was Marco and he asked if he could come with us to check out the Giant Rock, supposedly the biggest free standing boulder in the world visited by creatures from Venus. Like any intelligent females alone in the middle of the desert with no means of self defense, we said of course. Duh.
The Giant Rock was giant. There was graffiti all over stating that punk wasn't dead, two initials plus another two initials equals love, feminist symbols (I'm thinking it's because we are all adventurous, but maybe it's also the Venus visitor thing), the all-seeing eye. We listened to music out of my car and offered Marco a smoke. He said no like a good yogi should. So we smoked and danced out in the desert next to a giant rock. There was a second where I looked over at Tania and she was fucking radiant. And I wondered if I was too.
When we dropped him off back at the Integratron, he invited us to come back soon and he'll take us to the hot springs. Totes.
We drove slower through the town on the way back and stopped for what Tania said was the best Soy Chai she's ever had. When the guy told us that they were out of their regular Chai we were so obviously bummed, he brewed us a different kind and gave us giant samples before giving us our actual drinks. Why everyone was being so nice to us, I don't know. I would like to think that there really is a wave of good electromagnetic energy that emanates out from the desert, but it could have also been that one of us wasn't wearing a bra.
Singing to Tania's random ass iPod mix on the way back, I realized that I didn't need a sound bath to find clarity. I already had it, I just misplaced it somehow, getting wrapped up in things I shouldn't.
Marco texts later last night, "U gals are cool kittens."
