July 01, 2005


I went to the Steve Snere-thrown party at Chop Suey last night, and saw the 14 people I always forget live here and always forget I know but am always glad to see. Arlie is up from LA, and he is making a record as GHOST WARS and if you liked that record he made back in the 90's - This is the way it goes and goes and goes, in his old band Juno... oh man. Last night we drove through downtown in this great ancient BMW he just bought, and I insisted he play me rough mixes and three minutes in, I really wanted him to keep driving me as long as it took to hear all 22 songs, and then I wanted to drive to the Black Hills in ND and we could watch the sun come up. And even though god never made chatterboxes quite as self reverencial and chatty as myself and Arlie, we could do the whole 18 hr drive from Seattle to the Dakotas in silence, we could stand atop some hill, some apex of a rolling plateu and watch the sun come up and cry and talk about all the dead people we know. It'd be awesome. But that did not happen. I got two songs and ouila, all the sudden we were at Kate's door, and my lissuning sesh was over. I heart Ghost Wars major. S'real dreamy.

I asked Arlie about what it was like to spend several weeks in Switzerland with six barely post teen Swedish girls who are pro snowboarders and skaters, whom he was writing about for some extreme sports magazine like HOT SWEDE SKATER GIRLS MONTHLY. He was elucidating a point about being old-at-31, recovering snowboarding-pro, pivoting amidst young snowboarding fluers -- he spoke in caps and touched my shoulder to make sure I feel'd the real weight of the pronouncement:
"HOPPER.... I AM A MAN. A MAAAN.... I AM (pause)A MAN . I AM A MAN LIKE... CHEST HAIR. A MAN. LIKE... BALLS. MAAAAANNNNN. A MAN (raises eyebrows, nods, pauses, stares into my soul) -- OLD." It had was like he was summarizing a Fante novel in 12 words or less. It was intense.

I saw young Nick DeWitt, whom, when I asked how he was doing and he told me, with zero hesitation "I haven't gotten laid in five months." Ladies of the 98122, seriously, rally for young Nick's cause. I have known him since he 14, he's got manners. He's walking around this city, needlessly, and mercilessly un-laid. If you take it to the boneyard with him, tell him the Unicorns Tear sent you.

Joan Hiller, for those that are missing her, is looking lovely with her Mary T. M. style flip and smart pants suit. Last night she took me to a BBQ at the home of her man's bandmate, who were being interviewed for the cover of Spin the Magazine by Brian Raftery, author of Spin. We were on a picnic table, and Brian asked how I was doing, and Joan, ever my proud mother immediately answers: "Jessica just got in DaCapo for the second year in a row, you know." and told Brian of my legit lit drive-bys, and finished my sentences to highlight accomplishment, so that no one could confuse me for a publicist or a hobbyist or something. It felt like this really particular act of feminist-friend love. Like, here I am sitting next to this dude, who I regard as "legit" because he is a glossy-mag big baller, and Joan sees me doing this oh-shucks-yeah-I write-too-guppy-routine/publicist shame and she just started gunning support. If Joan and her Ben were not divinely paired, I would really suggest we platonically gay-marry, on the subtle-sweetness of that act alone.

Seattle, Seattle: I like you still.

Posted by Jessica at July 1, 2005 06:43 PM | TrackBack