Saturday, February 23, 2008
My life goals...
(*) Make out to "Crush"
(*) Go to the Netherlands and smoke hash at a hash bar (aka not on the street in chestnut hill ahh oh the memories)
(*) Go to South Africa and listen to people play guitar on the street
(*) Attend an Afro-Cuban show in Senegal
(*) Make and edit a film that I'm PROUD of
(*) Become a published author, none of this school lit mag bs
(*) Meet Dave Matthews
(*) Travel across country/hitch hike
(*) Smoke a cigarette on the corner of Haight/Ashbury
(*) Smoke a joint and fall asleep in Central Park on a blanket in the sun
(*) Drink wine by myself and fall asleep on a beach under the stars
(*) Climb a mountain... any mountain.
(*) Learn more about Buddhism
(*) See every single Degrassi episode
(*) Drive a Jetta
(*) Sit in a cafe in Italy on a stone street with my legs crossed wearing pointy shoes made of Italian leather and drink mineral water and smoke a clove while wearing red lipstick, but not get any on the filter.
(*) Follow DMB around on tour and not wear shoes and say things like "Trippy" and mean them.
(*) Go to Bonnaroo down in Tennessee
[Those in bold denote things I accomplished]
I can't believe what a hippie I was! I used to be so perilously obsessed with Dave Matthews Band that that chunk of my life alone deserves its own entry. My naivety and general fervor for life feels so dim now in comparison to the way I was when I was 16.
It reminds me of this website I stumbled across while stoned a few nights ago. The woman in the photos is beautiful and I love how you can see her age progression; but the thing that haunts me most is the way that, by the end of the photo set, when she is at her oldest, the life seems so beaten out of her. Particularly in the picture where she's smoking a cigarette and looking down, and the one in the Laundromat; is this a symptom of growing older-- also growing more and more acquainted with the cruel, sickening realities of the world? Obviously it's bound to happen: heartbreak, death, tragedy. I wish I could get in touch better with who I was when I was 16; I imagined myself doing exactly the kinds of things I do now: smoking cigarettes outside of New York dive bars, drinking coffee and riding the subway and buying huge bottles of wine. Now that I'm doing these things, I miss the excitement I felt when I was simply wishing for them.
Oh, fuck nostalgia on cold, grey Saturday afternoons.