Sunday, April 20, 2003

Croque Monsieur:

Sorry for disappearing. I went to Aruba, where the wind never stops blowing. There I met Mr. Magic Finger, the master of candy time. He can take tomorrow, and dip it in a dream.

Today on Breakfast With the Beatles they did a "phoner" (as they say in journalism) with Ringo. I admire Ringo a lot. He's just having fun, doing cool things. He seems to have what the old song calls a "satisfied mind."* He mentioned that he just started a label and Liam Lynch was his first release--"United States of Whatever," remember?

Anyway, also today host Chris Carter played "McCartney" end to end. What a treat. My favorite song by far on that album is "Ooo You." "Teddy Boy" is also wonderful, feels very Ray Davies. I wonder what Paul thinks of Ray's songwriting.

People in L.A. have been driving like complete assholes lately and I'm hoping it's going to end soon. Has anyone else noticed? First I thought it was war anxiety and now I don't know what. General misery? Too much fabulousness? Dream-machine on the fritz?

It's hard for me to live in L.A. a lot of times. I am what you call an emotional sponge. I pick up whatever energy people are giving off. Like last night I was with this woman who was extremely loud and off-kilter, and just standing next to her was painful to me. She was radiating an intense, clearly chemical energy-mania that just hurt to see. She was displaying all the signs of a meth freak. And then she goes and buys a Red Bull at AM/PM and is trying to get me to drink it with her. I had to get away from her.

So anyway, being in L.A. can be tiring when you're really absorbent. You just pick up everything from everybody. That's why I'm so careful about which bars and restaurants I go to, and avoid driving in rush hour as much as possible. You absorb insane shit in traffic. I'm also extremely guarded around strangers, usually, even if it seems like I'm really open. I think this means that I get less attention from men, but I think that may be the way that I want it. i can't imagine what it would be like to be a model or something and have to deal every waking minute with the slobbering invasions of desperate men. I spose you build a wall. I wonder if it's any better to be a rock star. Maybe you can have more fun manipulating the energy you get from an audience, and feel powerful in it.

I am on deadline so I better go. I love everything people wrote in response to the stuff I was saying about Jack White. It's all really smart, thought-provoking stuff and I'd love to really get in there and debate it in real time with some of my kindred souls. I'm just figuring this stuff out, you know. Just because I say something with conviction doesn't mean it's my last word on the subject.

But it's good to say what you feel with conviction, and do what you do with conviction. That's how you figure out who you are.

right. love n kisses,


*When I went to Ireland, my cousin/aunt/whatever, Kate (who's 80 or something), took us in a van to the town where my daddy's peoples came from. The town is called Killarney, in county Kerry. She showed us the grade school, and also the stone hut where the old-school family had lived, like my great-great granny or something. The lived like middle ages people. I don't know where they went to the bathroom or how they ever had sex, because there were seven people in one room. (Maybe the fields? Some old barn?) Crazy. Anyway, when we were driving around, she sang the song "Satisfied Mind," just for the hell of it. Those Irish are very singy people. They're very into just singing and telling poems and playing guitar for the hell of it. This is why I am proud and grateful to be Irish. I also have a secret theory that Lennon and McCartney have a lot of Irish blood in them. But that's another story.

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