The backroads around here, the small highways are haunted with thoughts of you, your face but mostly the abstract idea of you. The Apostle. I used to drive those highways and the thoughts would come to mind as easily as the wind slipped through the open windows, rustling through my hair.

And you were too good, better than me. Your morals, your good sense or maybe your plain scared-ness were higher than me, I was grovelling at the gates of infidelity, practically begging to be let in. But over the years, yes years, the feelings came and went and I gradually grew into another sort of Gish.

A friend and I were seated at a table in the window of my favourite restuarant when she spotted you driving by. I only come into southern ontario for short visits and the sight of you in that orange truck wasn't something I was prepared for or even expected.

I guess even cities are too small, sometimes.

Labels: Apostle

Sitting here, pretending to decompress but I have nothing to decompress from. Sweet music the past couple of days, things I haven't heard before. I'm really relaxed now, now that I'm back at Rose's, my laptop set up like a beacon in the night and pepsi melting ice in a glass at my wrist. The cigarettes are burning in the ashtray and I keep thinking about men that read books and silly conversations in the middle of small forests.

It's amazing what sticks in my brain, sometimes.

I just got back from a weekend of camping (sort of). In my apparent brainlessness, I didn't check with my friend Cris as to which campsite she'd be at before leaving London on Friday. So I ended up driving around the whole camping place, smoking furious cigarettes and listening to The Twilight Singers on a loop, looking for a familiar tent. After an hour and a half, I gave up and went to a shitty motel for 50 bucks a night, sleeping on a dubious bed and reading The World According to Garp.

but lights out feels so good don't spare my fate...I finally connected with friends on Saturday and set up my sleeping bag next to my ipod (har, har). I spent the day reading in a camp chair and enjoying the sound of leaves in the warm air, festival music filtering up towards me like a little wave.

Later on that night, Cris and I went looking for her musician friends, we found a hot campfire and settled down to late night jamming. I sat next to a stand-up bass player who looked like a long drink of cool water. Alcohol smoothed over my rough edges and I blended in better than I thought I might.

Then I met this guy who had the sweetest voice and was shyer than I am. Thank god for beer.
Cristine made fun of the fact that I bought this enormous jar of pickles, but I'm too inexperienced to plan for camping. I, of the view that food should come in the form of takeout at 3 in the morning. So...I gave them away to the guy who had a tent full of cucumbers and pepperoni.

that would be Jesse Reid. Although I may be spelling his name wrong. And to his credit, he didn't fall down once carrying that jar of pickles. No matter how much I teased him.

soldiers filled the hotels on the weekends...
Then Sunday, I couldn't sleep in because the tent was in the sun and I was roasting, so I got up semi-early, scratched all the mosquito bites I acquired the night before and had a fried breakfast down by the stage. Then I parked my ass in a camp chair and listened to music all day. I made my escape at 5 and checked into that same shitty motel for 12 hours of sleep on a mattress with A & E on in the background. Dr. Pepper on my bedside table and the crumpled cigarette pack sitting in the ashtray.

Here's Cris, laughing at me, probably.


So, camping was fun, meeting new people was ok, but I totally do not dig sleeping on the ground. No matter how comfy my sleeping bag was. Cris tells me to stop pining for John Malkovich so I guess I should concentrate on something else. Maybe next time I'll sneak around and leave notes on tents and take part in the scavenger hunt.

Stay tuned for more vacation adventures like notes on sleeping in and staying up too late. Love,G.

Jacksonville Skyline - Whiskeytown
Pussywillow - The Twilight Singers

Labels: music, vacation

I have this little disturbing headache that has been rumbling around in my head for the past couple of days.

We have been fogged in for 4 days. FOUR. At first, I thought the fog was nice and insulating and pretty to look at when I went into the kitchen to grab a drink. Now, I just think it's creepy and stifling and for some reason I just wish it would go away. I don't know why, it's not as though fog has a whammy of some kind that can come and GET me. But bugging me, it is.

Thank God I have all 4 seasons of Rescue Me to comfort my poor little starved for 'something' brain. I think the brain is starved for take-out food. Anyway, I am totally hooked on Rescue Me. I have all of the seasons of The Office and I am just not digging it. For whatever reason. But Denis Leary and his long bandy arms and legs, and foul mouth...I grab my cigarette pack and Lite beer and I'm there. It's just good. In a bad kind of way.

Jack drove me around the other day, I grabbed some pictures of the huge communication satellites they have here. There are 6 of them, altogether. One set is so huge it's impressive how much steel it took to build it. And now they are just sitting there, blots on the landscape. It's said the locals are so used to having them there, they now use them as landmarks.
But here's a shot of one of them up close...


So, as you might have guessed I haven't been doing very much with my time other than the now standard dvd watching. I'm planning on a 2 week trip home next week but the logistics of getting from one place to another (without a car) is wearing on my head, so hopefully I get that straightened out. All of this could have been avoided if I just had an ordinary credit card like everyone else. Which I will likely never have because I am bad with money.

If you want to see more of my photos, there are tons at http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_gish/

The battery on my ancient 1983 Suburban burnt out so it's being recharged right now at the town garage (which is saying a lot, heh...town garage). So, truck being broken, I had to walk to work. Walking here is ok, it's about 10 minutes. I can handle that. But because of the fog, everything is wet, which means what was once dust is now muck. And I don't have any rubber boots. But who cares, thank goodness I have a washer and dryer in the house.

I also tried fishing the other day, from the ocean's edge. I didn't catch anything (thank god, because then I would have had to kill it) but I found it was very relaxing just casting the line out and reeling it back in.

After all the bitching about the fog, the thought of walking along the edge of the ocean in a heavy sweater and condensation dripping from my hair sounds so....nice.

Gotta run.

Labels: 'North', Denis Leary, fog, Rescue Me, weather