Jack of Hearts
12-22-2010, 07:11 PM
Untitled Composition 21
You wanna know why I listened to it for a month straight? Because it's nearly a goddamned perfect album. Two songs I skip over routinely- track six, 'Yellow Submarine', awful, Ringo tracks usually are... The last track, where John is ****ing chanting with the seagulls in the background I could really do without that. Otherwise... most people don't get it. I mean, Rolling Stone and rock history get it, but if I asked somebody in my immediate vicinity to talk about Revolver I would get a blank stare, or even worse, a confused comment about Velvet Revolver. In high school this used to make me feel special.
Kind of tangential, but related because a copy of Revolver had just hit me in the face.
"You are such a dick!" she said as she moved about the bedroom grabbing her things.
"I know," I said while picking up the CD and looking at the sketch on the cover. Classic Voormann.
"Did you ever even like me?"
I watched her hips. Angry hips. Angry hips dancing around my bedroom and destroying things. "Of course I did. Why did you think I asked for your number?"
She had her clothes gathered up in her arms and her bathroom stuff tucked away in a plastic grocery bag. The blue tampon box pressed a corner and was visible through the material. Tampons bothered me. "I don't know! Apparently you've been sleeping with me for my sake!"
It was kind of true. The entire affair had been a sham. I was perhaps a little too charming- no, I was learning to be charming. I was just charming enough to pull her into my orbit. At first I couldn't believe I had done it- but the more real it got, the closer she got to me, the better I thought I could do.
"You think you're such hot ****," she said. "You aren't anything! You're ****ing pathetic! Your entire ego comes from the fact that you listen to Bob Dylan and read James Joyce. Well I got news for you *******, you are not the things you like. Get a life loser!"
Then she gave me the finger, slammed the bedroom door and walked out. That was it. Ally was gone.
It felt good to be doing the dumping for once. Sarah, high school, slept with my best friend Jake at the end of Senior year. She said I was uninterested and that she needed the attention. I asked her how she could say something like that. She said well do you even care that I slept with him do ya? I had to think about it. But no. No, I didn't.
Then college. Kiki left because I wasn't ambitious enough.
"I can't believe you missed the deadline," she said while rubbing her forehead. I liked Kiki. She was blonde and wore turtlenecks and boots with her skirt. I loved her dark framed glasses. Ever had a really hot subsitute teacher in Elementary school? You know, all those confused feelings? Imagine going to bed with that. It was euphoric and Freudian.
"That's ok, I'll just work another year," I said.
When the waiter came by she waved him away.
"Ethan, I can't do this," she said and dropped her napkin on the table. Threw in the towel.
"What, just 'cause I don't wanna go to graduate school you wanna break up with me?" I said while flirting at the candle's flame with my fingertips. I didn't wanna extinguish it, just feel the burn a little.
"You're not serious about school. You're not serious about love. You're not serious about me." She lowered her head so I couldn't see her eyes. "You're not serious."
After she got up and left the waiter came over and asked me if I would be staying. I ordered a steak sandwich.
Forget her. Serious has its place. Give serious to Telemundo, because melodrama's not how I make my bread and butter.
But presently Ally was gone and I had dumped her. I didn't believe in that pairbonding bull-sh1t anyways; we were monkeys and we were made to screw as many different monkeys as possible. Not that I had been with many girls or was one of those guys who just went trawling for ***. Don't get me wrong, we're all about ego, but I was much worse than that- those guys wanted numbers where I wanted quality. They avoided relationships whereas those little fake marriages were what I gunned for, with the right girl anyways, a girl who could make me look good. Once I smartened up and applied my wit to that goal, it was like serial murder.
Maybe a half an hour after she had gone there was still plenty of afternoon left. I called up Jake.
"Hey homo. Let's go eat."
"I just had a sandwich," he said and I could hear the TV in the background. He was watching Forty Niner football. Poor bastards, long ways away from the Montana or Young years.
"Man up. Last semester. Gotta fill up on pizza while it still fits the stereotype."
"Alright, alright. But I can't do half and half like Ally likes. Pineapple is disgusting and it spills over onto the other side and ruins it."
"Ally isn't coming," I told him.
"I didn't sleep with her," he said defensively. Every time. I swear we go through my break-ups together.
"Seriously? How many times do I gotta tell you, I don't care about Sarah. I never cared about Sarah. Jesus."
"That makes it worse."
I went and picked him up, blasting Highway 61 Revisited the entire way.
"Why do you listen to this ****?" he asked as he climbed into the passenger seat.
"Know your roots, son," and then I turned it down a bit.
"So you broke up with Ally?"
"Yep."
"****ing idiot. She was hot."
"Easy come, easy go," I said while flicking my blinker on.
Jake flicked the radio off, "You only listen to that **** because you want people to think you're sophisticated and cool."
"Used to be like that. Now I really like it."
"Crazy bastard."
Salty's Pizza. Afternoon burned to evening. We ate lunch, shot the ****, and it was just like it ever was. Except coming out of the restaurant Jake tapped my shoulder. "Hey, look over there!"
He was pointing across the street at Bugo's, a fancy Italian joint. My parents were dining in the window. Dad was in slacks, Mom was in an evening gown all made-up.
"It's your parents."
"Thank god they screwed," I said while reflecting back to about 22 years ago. "I haven't seen 'em in a few weeks, I should go over there."
"They're gonna ask about Ally, Ethan. I'm out man, I'll catch the bus home."
It was a good point. The best thing to do would have been to get in the car and drive away. I was no good at lying- I never had to do it. As a kid I was written off as a mischievous but charming little scamp, for the most part. Furthermore, neither of them had seen me standing across the street, peering at them in the late evening like a peeping tom. But, it's the strangest thing. You know how when you get like a sore in you mouth, on the inside lip or something? And you poke and it really hurts, but then there's that part of the brain that sort of whispers, 'Again! Poke it again!'? That part of the brain told me to go over there, talk to my parents, and answer whatever questions they had about me and Ally while tactfully avoiding the subject. There was a strong possibility that it wouldn't even come up.
"Dipsh1t," Dad said. Mom was looking away into the window.
"What? We didn't even like the same things," I told him. "You think Ally would ever listen to Bob Seger or the Boss? She doesn't know who 'The Clash' is. She's all about trend. She listens to La Roux, goddammit."
Mom slapped my shoulder, "Ethan, watch your mouth!"
"You think I like even half the goofy **** your mother likes?"
"Roger!"
"Hold on, Mariam," Dad said while leaning on the table and raising his fingers. "Let me say this. This is just more of your bull****, Ethan, like I always said. You could never commit to anything 'cause you were so concerned about your goddamn ego. So goddamn insecure-"
"Enough!" Mom slapped her fist into the table. "Both of you, enough. This is bad language and bad conversation. Ethan, you're ruining our date. Go home, we'll talk tomorrow."
"Sorry, honey," Dad said as I got up to leave. His eyes tracked me,"Ohhh, I'm not done with you buddy. See you tomorrow. Take an aspirin tonight, I wear a size 13."
The walk back to the car seemed further than usual. It was now nighttime and the streetlights had lit up- the light from various stores and signs spilled onto the passing cars and the sidewalk. I thought about Ally. Great rack. But even still, she was kind. Kindness can be so rare sometimes. She was definitely pretty. I loved her dark, wavy hair. Loved her smell, kind of like soap with a hint of grass. Even though she didn't know **** about music she was still pretty smart, I guess. She had given me a Chekhov anthology that I had never got around to reading. I imagined I would go home and start.
You wanna know why I listened to it for a month straight? Because it's nearly a goddamned perfect album. Two songs I skip over routinely- track six, 'Yellow Submarine', awful, Ringo tracks usually are... The last track, where John is ****ing chanting with the seagulls in the background I could really do without that. Otherwise... most people don't get it. I mean, Rolling Stone and rock history get it, but if I asked somebody in my immediate vicinity to talk about Revolver I would get a blank stare, or even worse, a confused comment about Velvet Revolver. In high school this used to make me feel special.
Kind of tangential, but related because a copy of Revolver had just hit me in the face.
"You are such a dick!" she said as she moved about the bedroom grabbing her things.
"I know," I said while picking up the CD and looking at the sketch on the cover. Classic Voormann.
"Did you ever even like me?"
I watched her hips. Angry hips. Angry hips dancing around my bedroom and destroying things. "Of course I did. Why did you think I asked for your number?"
She had her clothes gathered up in her arms and her bathroom stuff tucked away in a plastic grocery bag. The blue tampon box pressed a corner and was visible through the material. Tampons bothered me. "I don't know! Apparently you've been sleeping with me for my sake!"
It was kind of true. The entire affair had been a sham. I was perhaps a little too charming- no, I was learning to be charming. I was just charming enough to pull her into my orbit. At first I couldn't believe I had done it- but the more real it got, the closer she got to me, the better I thought I could do.
"You think you're such hot ****," she said. "You aren't anything! You're ****ing pathetic! Your entire ego comes from the fact that you listen to Bob Dylan and read James Joyce. Well I got news for you *******, you are not the things you like. Get a life loser!"
Then she gave me the finger, slammed the bedroom door and walked out. That was it. Ally was gone.
It felt good to be doing the dumping for once. Sarah, high school, slept with my best friend Jake at the end of Senior year. She said I was uninterested and that she needed the attention. I asked her how she could say something like that. She said well do you even care that I slept with him do ya? I had to think about it. But no. No, I didn't.
Then college. Kiki left because I wasn't ambitious enough.
"I can't believe you missed the deadline," she said while rubbing her forehead. I liked Kiki. She was blonde and wore turtlenecks and boots with her skirt. I loved her dark framed glasses. Ever had a really hot subsitute teacher in Elementary school? You know, all those confused feelings? Imagine going to bed with that. It was euphoric and Freudian.
"That's ok, I'll just work another year," I said.
When the waiter came by she waved him away.
"Ethan, I can't do this," she said and dropped her napkin on the table. Threw in the towel.
"What, just 'cause I don't wanna go to graduate school you wanna break up with me?" I said while flirting at the candle's flame with my fingertips. I didn't wanna extinguish it, just feel the burn a little.
"You're not serious about school. You're not serious about love. You're not serious about me." She lowered her head so I couldn't see her eyes. "You're not serious."
After she got up and left the waiter came over and asked me if I would be staying. I ordered a steak sandwich.
Forget her. Serious has its place. Give serious to Telemundo, because melodrama's not how I make my bread and butter.
But presently Ally was gone and I had dumped her. I didn't believe in that pairbonding bull-sh1t anyways; we were monkeys and we were made to screw as many different monkeys as possible. Not that I had been with many girls or was one of those guys who just went trawling for ***. Don't get me wrong, we're all about ego, but I was much worse than that- those guys wanted numbers where I wanted quality. They avoided relationships whereas those little fake marriages were what I gunned for, with the right girl anyways, a girl who could make me look good. Once I smartened up and applied my wit to that goal, it was like serial murder.
Maybe a half an hour after she had gone there was still plenty of afternoon left. I called up Jake.
"Hey homo. Let's go eat."
"I just had a sandwich," he said and I could hear the TV in the background. He was watching Forty Niner football. Poor bastards, long ways away from the Montana or Young years.
"Man up. Last semester. Gotta fill up on pizza while it still fits the stereotype."
"Alright, alright. But I can't do half and half like Ally likes. Pineapple is disgusting and it spills over onto the other side and ruins it."
"Ally isn't coming," I told him.
"I didn't sleep with her," he said defensively. Every time. I swear we go through my break-ups together.
"Seriously? How many times do I gotta tell you, I don't care about Sarah. I never cared about Sarah. Jesus."
"That makes it worse."
I went and picked him up, blasting Highway 61 Revisited the entire way.
"Why do you listen to this ****?" he asked as he climbed into the passenger seat.
"Know your roots, son," and then I turned it down a bit.
"So you broke up with Ally?"
"Yep."
"****ing idiot. She was hot."
"Easy come, easy go," I said while flicking my blinker on.
Jake flicked the radio off, "You only listen to that **** because you want people to think you're sophisticated and cool."
"Used to be like that. Now I really like it."
"Crazy bastard."
Salty's Pizza. Afternoon burned to evening. We ate lunch, shot the ****, and it was just like it ever was. Except coming out of the restaurant Jake tapped my shoulder. "Hey, look over there!"
He was pointing across the street at Bugo's, a fancy Italian joint. My parents were dining in the window. Dad was in slacks, Mom was in an evening gown all made-up.
"It's your parents."
"Thank god they screwed," I said while reflecting back to about 22 years ago. "I haven't seen 'em in a few weeks, I should go over there."
"They're gonna ask about Ally, Ethan. I'm out man, I'll catch the bus home."
It was a good point. The best thing to do would have been to get in the car and drive away. I was no good at lying- I never had to do it. As a kid I was written off as a mischievous but charming little scamp, for the most part. Furthermore, neither of them had seen me standing across the street, peering at them in the late evening like a peeping tom. But, it's the strangest thing. You know how when you get like a sore in you mouth, on the inside lip or something? And you poke and it really hurts, but then there's that part of the brain that sort of whispers, 'Again! Poke it again!'? That part of the brain told me to go over there, talk to my parents, and answer whatever questions they had about me and Ally while tactfully avoiding the subject. There was a strong possibility that it wouldn't even come up.
"Dipsh1t," Dad said. Mom was looking away into the window.
"What? We didn't even like the same things," I told him. "You think Ally would ever listen to Bob Seger or the Boss? She doesn't know who 'The Clash' is. She's all about trend. She listens to La Roux, goddammit."
Mom slapped my shoulder, "Ethan, watch your mouth!"
"You think I like even half the goofy **** your mother likes?"
"Roger!"
"Hold on, Mariam," Dad said while leaning on the table and raising his fingers. "Let me say this. This is just more of your bull****, Ethan, like I always said. You could never commit to anything 'cause you were so concerned about your goddamn ego. So goddamn insecure-"
"Enough!" Mom slapped her fist into the table. "Both of you, enough. This is bad language and bad conversation. Ethan, you're ruining our date. Go home, we'll talk tomorrow."
"Sorry, honey," Dad said as I got up to leave. His eyes tracked me,"Ohhh, I'm not done with you buddy. See you tomorrow. Take an aspirin tonight, I wear a size 13."
The walk back to the car seemed further than usual. It was now nighttime and the streetlights had lit up- the light from various stores and signs spilled onto the passing cars and the sidewalk. I thought about Ally. Great rack. But even still, she was kind. Kindness can be so rare sometimes. She was definitely pretty. I loved her dark, wavy hair. Loved her smell, kind of like soap with a hint of grass. Even though she didn't know **** about music she was still pretty smart, I guess. She had given me a Chekhov anthology that I had never got around to reading. I imagined I would go home and start.