Dawn Xiana Moon: Melodic folk pop infused with passion and honesty. From Chicago.

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Wednesday, September 22, 2004

"We are the Swing Dancers. Life as you know it is over. Your technological and biological distinctiveness will be added to our own. Resistance is futile."

Lindy hop is ridiculously addictive. And with any luck, a small handful of non-dancer friends will become similarly obsessed dancers by the end of the year. I spent last weekend at the Cleveland Lindy Exchange--it’s funny, initially I wasn’t that interested in going but figured I’d somehow end up in Ohio since the exchange was only four hours away, so while at the Pittsburgh Blues Weekend I made my registration official--and desperately want to make it to the St. Louis Lindy Blues Exchange this weekend (unfortunately the likelihood of me getting there is slim). You’d never think that you would travel so much for dancing or that it would become a slightly expensive hobby when you first start, but since individual events are fairly cheap thanks to free housing, I’ve been to five exchanges in less than a year (six if you count stopping by the Detroit Exchange for a day) and a small number of miscellaneous out-of-town events. Dancing is one way to make friends all over the country--after a few exchanges, it starts to become strange when you travel and don't recognize most of the people in the room.

Tonight was a prime example of how my life is slowly being taken over by dancing. I was at a lindy/blues workshop for three hours and then came home to teach two of my roommates and a friend from two houses down. Then Steph and I watched video clips from various jam circles, which got her really excited about starting to dance (and since dancers seem to fall into two categories: engineering/computer types and artistic/creative types, the guys are going to be all over her—-not only is she beautiful and adorable, but she’s a she-geek).

But hey, at least all this dancing means that I can indulge one of my other obsessions--chocolate--guilt-free.

^ Top | 12:25 AM | | |

Wednesday, September 15, 2004

A scene from a story I'm working on. Comments are welcome.

Dissolution

After fifteen minutes she got up and started to walk the few steps to his room but turned and marched downstairs instead. She navigated her way through the barrage of boxes in the hallway, stacked from her failed attempt to move, and into the kitchen where she grabbed a clean wineglass from the mess of dishes at the side of the sink. What can I say? She turned on the tap and waited for the water to run cold, filling her glass twice before making her way back upstairs. On the second floor, she paused for a moment, undecided, before heading back to sit in front of her computer. The blank Microsoft Word page was damning. She got up abruptly and took two steps toward the door, rehearsing in her head. And turned to the trashcan, pushing the spilling mass of papers further in. Finally she took a long breath and walked through his open door.

He was reading, sprawled on his tiny couch, a lanky juxtaposition against its vertical stripes. With a determined air, Alexa pulled what used to be Linus’s chair from his old desk and curled herself onto its wooden harshness, letting her arms rest on its back. Skyler turned his face to her with an inquiring look, Dostoevsky still in his hands. Point blank. “How am I supposed to interact with you?”

He let out an uncertain laugh and shrugged, closing his book. “I don’t know. It’s not like I have this all figured out. I guess it just takes time. We’ll figure it out as we go.”

But he would be leaving soon, for good. “You won’t have time.”

Another shrug, another halfhearted laugh. “We’ve been talking more lately.”

She stared at the chair railing. “Sort of. You’re the one that hates small talk. I can’t figure out if you wish I would disappear, if you just want me to tell you random anecdotes but nothing important, what.”

“Small talk is awful. It can die,” he said with large gesticulations. He stretched his legs and white socks peaked out from gray pants inches too short for his height. “You can’t learn anything from such prattle. Who cares about clothing or whether people have seen the latest movie or heard so-and-so on the radio? What a waste of time.”

“I wasn’t asking you to expound on the vices of small talk. I know it’s terrible,” she said, shaking her head. With a sigh. “What do you want from me?” Focusing on her hand on her knee, intent on the texture of jeans. A pause. “I lose a best friend every time.”

“You can’t say that. Only twice. Just because things change doesn’t mean they’re bad.”

She gaped at him. “You know I have issues with trust and being vulnerable. What’s the use of investing in people when they just leave?”

“But you have to.”

Eyes on her hands, she mumbled, “Funny, I keep telling that to Cassie but I don’t even believe it myself.”

Skyler adjusted his glasses. “I don’t think I’m a good writer, but every day I pound out my two pages and looking back over the last few months I see improvement. That’s the point, isn’t it? To improve. Maybe I’ll never be Dostoevsky but at least I’m getting better at something I love.”

“You don’t understand,” she said, jumping out of her seat. She ran into her room.

“Alexa.” He followed. Gently. “Alexa. What don’t I understand? You aren’t talking about your music or your writing? What do you keep telling Cassie?” He sat in the padded computer chair and watched her, huddled on the far side of her bed, dark-rimmed eyes focused on the space between the closet and laundry basket on the floor. She refused to look at him. “Tell me.”

She struggled for articulation. “I keep telling Cassie that she has to invest in people but I don’t believe it myself.”

“Because they leave?” A long pause.

“I wish we’d never dated.” Another pause.

“You know, your hair’s too short right now to hide behind. And trying to pretend you’re brushing your hair back from your face doesn’t work either.”

She let out an embarrassed laugh at her tears and threw her pillow at him, hard. A memory of times past, times when even the most serious conversation could lighten, shifting to laughter for a moment before returning to gravity. He caught the pillow and tossed it back on the bed where it’d been. She grabbed a fistful of blanket with her right hand and pulled it around her knees. “You know you don’t have to stay here.”

“I know.” He sat in the chair for a long time. Finally he rose. “Well, I cherished it,” he said as he walked out, shutting the door behind him.

Still. He still doesn’t get it. She collapsed on the pillow and sobbed for the first time in two months.

^ Top | 1:11 AM | | |

Friday, September 10, 2004

Of Cops and Men

Last night I was driving Strobe home from my place when we saw a police car at one side of the four-way stop on S. University and Church. It was dark, and not wanting to be pulled over, I waited for the police car to go through first. The cop didn't move but rather flashed a floodlight through the intersection, stopping on my car for a moment. At that point it'd been a minute so I moved through the blinking red... and was promptly pulled over. I was confused because I didn't think I'd violated any traffic laws, and Strobe kept saying there was no way I could get a ticket. When the officer came to my window, he asked me if I realized that my headlights weren't on (I hadn't) and that my license plate was not in the appropriate place (it's in the window instead of its holder because 1. there's only one screw in the holder and 2. the remaining screw is rusted in and requires power tools to remove). After checking my info, he took my license and went back to his car, at which point I was pretty sure he wouldn't ticket me (though one can never be sure about these things). When he came back, he said, "I'm not going to ticket you tonight because you're the Empress of China." I burst out laughing, since the only way he would have come up with that is by reading my profile on the U-M Online Directory. Which means that cops have internet access in their cars (who knew?).

That's the sixth time I've been pulled over, and my record is still squeaky clean. And no, I've never cried or looked pathetic. God's been merciful.

^ Top | 3:42 PM | | |

Friday, September 03, 2004

Doing the Right Thing: A Tale Told in Song
(Courtesy of the Juliana Theory)

I'm reveling in this new status is a frivolous symbol in becoming who I want to be selfish are the wraiths encircling because they're hungry for blood lives inside the circle of their song and dance I am fighting temptations and desires that can only fail though I win each skirmish what I'd have just functions as cheap imitation is the sincerest form of flattery but you're an alias and I can never be the apple of your eye but what if I forgot all said and done I missed you for days I'll take I don't know anything gilded and lacquered because sterling may not exist inside of time brings infatuation with a this is a bad idea that can only bring counterfeit joy because reality seems a dream away and a year too late but this battle is only obvious to the skeptical and at the bitter end I drink these dregs and I think I want what I want but I don't want what I want yet if I wanted you said just enough to make words linger in my head love is everything.

^ Top | 9:21 AM | | |