So, I don’t want to get into anything deep, but here are the snippets flashing through my mind at this late hour.
(I have written… I will not edit. I am sick in the head. Go easy on me. I should edit. Considering I’d overlooked “this lat hour” until this late minute, I should edit. But fuck editing. I’m an adult and I can do what I want. Tomorrow I shall aspire to better grammatical correctedness, perhaps even stellar spelling. Tonight I aspire to sleep, so fuck all else. There: I came I saw, I wrote that ass.)
I had a moment watching a show tonight. I began to wonder just who of my dalliances would be the ones I remember in flashes and sensations when I’m at the end of my days? Who’s gonna rate? When I’m that much more wiser, I’ve travelled more, done more, had more, who is it that’s gonna stack up against The Rest? What am I most gonna remember about them? What gave ’em that memorable edge?
You ever wonder who’s really gonna be memorable at the end of 75 years? 85 years?
A kid died after crowd-surfing at the Smashing Pumpkins gig here in town last night. I’m gonna be 34 on Saturday, and one of the things I’m promising myself I’m gonna do this year is to get back into the live music scene.
Nothing fills the void like a wickedly energetic gig in a small venue.
But here I am, now, right? I’m 34. There was a time when I was front-and-centre at the gigs. I got the close up shots and could see beads of sweat melting into their t-shirts, y’know? Sigh. I don’t know if I have it in me to get into the mix with “kids today” and their “unruly state” and all. Throw this dude’s mysterious “no obvious wounds” death into the mix (drugs?) and I have the “hmm, maybe I’ll find a stool and power up the Bic” bullshit mentality creeping into my head.
I guess I’m starting to want to embrace my inner rebel this year. Hell, I said screw it to the man, quit my schmoozing, networking job for something lowkey and behind the scenes, and who knows what’s to come. First, I’ll get over this cold. :P
In Argentina, a minor has won the right to have a sex change. It’s an interesting story, and one that I’ll probably look for more information on in the coming days. We like to think that kids under 18 are so ill-informed, but the thing is, we keeping lowering the bar, right? We’re looking at norms and averages, and perhaps a good many kids don’t have the savvy to make informed life decisions, but some do.
You can look at this two ways. One, life’s long. What’s the hurry? Let the kid wait till 18 or 21. They have the rest of their life to live in that body. Don’t rush the knife; it comes soon enough, yeah? Or, two, life is short. Why waste a single day? What if he/she’s hit by a car in a year, or is stricken with some rare cancer in the mid-20s? What then of the wasted days spent counting and waiting on something they knew was the only way they’d ever feel whole after a lifetime of feeling dysfunctional?
Yeah, they’re both great arguments. Who’s to say who’s right? I know what the safe, conservative answer is, but if I was safe and conservative, I’d have ridden out the last job for the usual year, but it occurred to me that I’d already lost a whole summer to overtime and fatigue, and I couldn’t waste another day. But this is a teenager, and how can a teenager truly know the range of emotion and need they might have? They think they’re going through horrors, but wait till their 40 and then let’s rate ’em outta 10, okay?
So, you see, complicated issue and I haven’t the foggiest whether I think it’s the right or the wrong action to take. I bet if I had a beer with the kid, I’d know within the hour what I felt, but going off tempered press, well, who knows anything, eh?
Hmm. So, I have a head cold and I’m going to bed now. Curse you, sinuses. Curse you, I say. But, hey, Happy Wednesday, y’all. Half way there, baby. (Three day weekend for little old me.)