…are up here.

I was in a textury kind of place.

‘tuesdays with tara’ are, well, tuesdays spent reading the most popular extension of this blog, from what is soon to be one of your favorite ‘go-to’ gals. it’s tara. it’s not me. I’m aric. thank you

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It’s late and I’m tired.  I have also put this off until the very last minute.  I am so very ashamed for my behavior and yet, what has come to pass cannot be undone.  I could have blown this off entirely this week, so you’ll just be taking what you’re getting, basically.

Of all the songs I thought about sharing with you, this particular track was the most exciting by far because of what it represents:  a shiny new album by Blonde Redhead.  We haven’t had anything from them since “23″ back in long-ago 2007.  I know I, for one, am terribly excited about this news.  I am also digging this single offering and wondered if you might, too.

Here are five reasons to consider loving Blonde Redhead if you don’t already:

1) They were discovered by Steve Shelley (the drummer for Sonic Youth).

2) Guy Picciotto (of Fugazi) produced three of their albums.

3) The band features identical twins (Amedeo and Simone Pace) who are Italian and not bad on the eyes.

4) They are signed to 4 AD/Beggars Banquet.  That’s just a rock solid label, in my humble opinion.

5) Their lead singer, the beautiful dulcet-toned Japanese hottie, Kazu Makino, was trampled by a horse and lived to tell about it.  She told about it on 2004’s “Misery is a Butterfly”.

If you’re still not convinced that Blonde Redhead kicks serious ass, we can just politely agree to disagree.

Blonde Redhead – ‘Here Sometimes’

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we had this one night in Paris

someday I’ll say

and then try to explain everything that went on.

but it’s not today.

I can’t write that well.

fortunately, my man Nico was taking a few photos.

none of the 4am bike rides through the quiet streets of Paris

both of us in tears - some for a friend, and some for the bikes.

the most unfortunate accordion player is just a blur

as was his switching from Edith Piaf to Radiohead without missing a note.

earlier macaroons

and even earlier petanque.

so you get the pictures.

and can fill in the blanks as you go.

because, well, that’s basically what we’re doing.

we went late, at least we though it was.

to the underground storytale that was yesterday’s Paris,

with it’s old walls

and red couches

photos on the wall

of people who probably had no idea someday we’d be sighing at them.

will someone ever see a photo of us on the stinky floor

with the photos behind us,

or were we too late?

I think we were.

they played Count Basie

and we drank things fashionable back then.

I don’t even like Pernod.

but boy, watch them dance

the ones that can

the older black man

with the stubby white woman

he has to duck to get under his own twirl

and her little legs move so thickly

on little feet

but boy, they can move.

we clapped when we were told to

as if someone were watching us from tomorrow.

and the stubby lady kept dancing

I don’t think she gets to much

probably from being stubby

but at least she’s out there

while we watch and drink

dream and clap

all of us were tired

and no one wanted to go home before the stubby lady.

I think she’s probably still there.

next to the photos.

and the stink.

how we wish we could be.

… a few snaps from last weekend’s sail.

Josie took a lot more.

there are stories, sister.

lots of stories.

which I’ll share.

but am off to Paris in the morning.

so they’ll have to wait.

this is Crossroads Mall in Oklahoma City.

I spent many hours here flirting with girls looking at Michael Jordan posters as a child teenager.

but that’s not what this is about.

it’s about a crossroads.

but notice I didn’t put a poignant photo of some road less traveled.

I don’t know why I did that – maybe I’m better than you.

as I sit here in this house on Portland Island, Southern UK, I find myself in a situation defined by many long words – for reasons I can only assume being that perhaps the big and vague definitions might detour one away from realizing how crap said situation can be.

but let’s look at them, shall we?

‘conundrum’

‘crux’

… okay, there were only two that came to mind, but still. and they all start with ‘c’ which interests me… anyway. seriously. someone wanted you to pay more attention to the words-with-friends possibility of this than admitting that wow – yes. things have a good chance of turning out to be poop.

and so, I sit here, in another house that’s not mine. out behind me, to my right, is the harbor where a little red boat lies. to my left is the cafe I make beers for people who I don’t know. there’s a bus, the #1 that takes me into town, as well as the train station where I’ve come to be happy for. and up those train tracks, 3 hours north to London Town is the-girl-with-the-great-name.

but this isn’t about that.

this is about things that are temporal. and things that aren’t.

or – maybe it’s about other stuff.

see, in about a month, most of those things will cease being my norm. I’ll say goodbye to this quirky island for a while, hopefully returning with more pennies and vittles, but not too long as the little red boat likes to go. the #1 bus will thankfully be a thing of bitter nostalgia and I’ll always want for train rides through Southern England.

the girl I’m holding onto.

and she’s hanging onto me – which is weird. and sometimes I don’t know why.

but nonetheless, it’s where I am at… correction – it’s where we’re at.

and we both find ourselves at the very annoying beginning of what could possibly be an adventure.

wait.

I did this wrong.

I was going to list all of the annoying things about being at a crossroads/conundrum/crux and then finish it off with a traditional fantastic sentence which makes you go ‘gosh, he sure is good with the whole blogging thing with traditional fantastic endings!’, but I got lost there somewhere.

fuck.

I like being at a crossroads. it’s sick and could go horribly wrong [usually it does], but it’s kind of, well…

fun.

['did you read that last line, honey? he ended it with just saying 'fun' - ha! where does he come up with this stuff?]

[this isn't me writing. this is a girl named Tara writing. she should have her own pudding flavor and you should like her as your friend.]

Can one think too much?  As one who thinks, I’ve thought about it, naturally.  I have come to the conclusion of, well, sure.  You see, you can think yourself in circles.  You can think yourself into a corner.  You can think yourself out of doing what you ought to be doing instead of thinking.

I was born with an overactive mind.  It never really shuts off.  Needless to say, I am hopeless at meditating.  Give me something to ponder and watch me burn.  Observe the smoke coming out of my ears in cartoon fashion.  Try to stop that process once it’s been put into play.  I dare you.

The upside of all of this thinking is that the brain stays nice and limber.  I rarely get caught with my mental pants down.  I’m all up for answering your questions or giving you my two cents on any number of subjects.  My mind is like a twenty-four hour Laundromat.  It could be three o’clock in the morning on a Tuesday night and there are still things tumbling around in there on spin cycle.

Here’s the rub for me:  I’m not a cool logical aloof kinda’ gal.  My intellect is occasionally shackled by my damned heart.  So not only do I have to think about things all the time, but I have to be feeling them, too.  It often feels like a pretty sucky karmic arrangement, and yet, I have accepted it as my lot in life.  No sense in feeling forlorn about something that’s never going to change.

So it sometimes also comes to pass that I am prevented from speaking my mind because my heart has sprayed some sort of paralyzing fluid all over my brain.  If it sounds dramatic and violent, good, because that’s how it feels.  I sit there clutching my throat and gasping for air because my heart is lodged there and no oxygen can get to my brain.  It’s debilitating and more than a little humiliating.  After all, I don’t wanna’ go sullying my reputation as a straight shooter.

You know what can be a lifeline in such a situation?  A patient person who cares enough about you to not stomp all over your feelings in your delicate predicament.  Yes, those people can be awfully handy at times like those.  Somebody who takes the time to gently coax the words out from the dark place where they have been cowering.  A person like that’s a mighty good thing to have in your corner.  A person like that just could ease your worried mind.

Megafaun – ‘Worried Mind’

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so.

it’s funny how it goes, isn’t it? I most certainly didn’t expect to find someone in/around my little island of solitude. solitude being the most-attractive quality of the island. but then she stepped off that train. and, despite my best attempts at clumsily pushing her away for reasons I didn’t know, she stayed by me. and I fell in love with the-girl-with-the-great-name.

her name is Josie, by the way.

Josie.

great name, that, no?

so.

[again I start a paragraph with 'so'. mostly because it denotes that something had just happened. which is has [read the above]].

I was originally going to Oregon by myself for a bit, remember? [I say this like yes, you keep up with me. sorry. I was originally going to move to Oregon by myself for a bit.] well, now that everything that has happened has happened, we decided on San Francisco. nice people. good food. public transport and…

a job.

for me.

she can work from anywhere. which is nice.

but I’m going to need a job.

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so.

for my birthday, seeing how I never ask any favors from friends, I’d like to know if you know anyone there.

in San Francisco.

’cause I’d like to have a job in San Francisco.

to play ‘house’ and stuff for a while.

I can do some stuff.

but I don’t really have a resume.

but I think if I could maybe talk to someone doing something creative,

I might just be able to fit in somewhere.

it’s just an idea.

and if you have a few ideas, that’d make a handful of ideas.

and if you don’t, that’s okay too.

you can just send some gum or something.