Actually, maybe nothing makes me angrier.
“Several states have passed laws in recent years requiring women to undergo an ultrasound before having an abortion, and at least three — Alabama, Louisiana and Mississippi — require doctors to offer the woman a chance to see the image. But Oklahoma’s new law says that the monitor must be placed where the woman can see it and that she must listen to a detailed description of the fetus.”
“I spent the next five years holding my breath, then did the same for another five. I enacted every New Year’s resolution, past and future, all at once. Quit work that had grown stale and became a writer. Wrote a book. Went to India on assignment, fell in love with the language that was swirling around me, went back to live for a year and learn Hindi. Didn’t realize the reason I’d come to dislike that hyperbolically overachieving Lance Armstrong was that his behavior was too familiar. Take a nap, Lance! I’d think to myself, though in truth I couldn’t either.”
“On the Web site, I tell the women how deeply I believe there’s no such thing as false hope: all hope is valid, even for people like us, even when hope would no longer appear to be sensible.”
That last bit is such validation.
So the night started out when Jessie and I went to get pho and were seated next to a married gay couple with their adopted 3-year-old daughter. We both chose watching her every move and listening to her talk about eating rice over speaking to each other. Then we went to the Phoenix show, which was so many kinds of amazing. I saw my friend Chris there, and he is the pop critic at the Washington Post. I feel like I wouldn’t be able to come up with an interesting way to describe the show because you had to be there. I mean, when was the last time you paid $40 to see a show and the lighting design was enough to make it worth it? Jessie says: EPIC.
“After the song had reached its grand finale, the band soaked up the applause before roaring back to life. Equipped with what must have been 50 yards of microphone cable, Mars went marching down the aisles of Constitution Hall, into a throng of photo-snapping fans. When he invited the audience to follow him back onstage, they obliged, over 100 strong.
For a moment, it felt like that sweaty Rock & Roll Hotel show all over again.”
Yes please.
Let’s be real here, though, this night was only a precursor for the lifechanging event that will take place on August 15, 2010: TOM PETTY AT JIFFY LUBE LIVE.
In the past two weeks, I’ve started a new job (and told the DC unemployment office that yes, I did return to full-time work) and moved in with my friends Brett and Amy. They’re putting me up in their loft while I make my transition and try to get my act together. While I think the time I was unemployed was very good for me, mourning-wise, because I finally had time to settle into my thoughts, working and being productive makes me feel so much better.
For a while I was spending a few hours per day paging through old chat records and reading through Clark’s inbox. I would wake up every morning knowing what I wanted to get done, and sometimes I’d accomplish a lot. Other days it was a struggle just to make it to yoga. Now, eight hours of my day are instantly swallowed up by working, and everything else I want to do has to fit into the squares of time surrounding my jobs. It’s a good thing.
When I’m filling orders at Dischord, I look to see what the customer last ordered so I can ask if they liked it. I did this last week, and the last thing this guy ordered was the Statehood record, so I had myself a little cry, and then asked him how he liked it.
I know I didn’t experience it first hand, but something about it makes me suuuuuper emotional. I laughed, I cried, I longed to come within inches of Damon’s gold tooth.
I’m employed! And I work at Dischord. And everyone is so wonderful, and the job is perfect for me. I’ve dreamt about working there ever since I arrived D.C. I wrote my honors capstone about it senior year of college. I interviewed Daniel from Black Eyes for a profile in my first ever journalism class. And when I met Clark, he was so in the scene and knew everybody that they just became my friends. Being there in that office gives me a huge sense of contentment. But I wouldn’t be working there if he hadn’t died. I mean, maybe … but probably not. And it’s so crazy to think about how my life takes turns informed by this horrible tragedy, and how some of those turns lead to a place of happiness, and all of those happy places exist to help me honor Clark and his memory and my love for him. In honoring him, I am happy. In doing things I know would make him insanely proud of me, I am finding some peace.
Clark and I loved to spend Friday or Saturday evenings drinking cases of PBR cans and having pop song singalongs. It was really easy for him to look up the tabs to something and quickly figure out how to play it, and we had a few favorites. We’d harmonize for renditions of When in Rome – “The Promise” on a weekly basis. I really miss it, especially since we would make each other laugh by imitating the way the lead singer enunciates words like “shout.”
Also, my new friend came to visit me this weekend. He was so delightful. I had the best time.
