I had been dieting for a week or so. But today couldn't be helped. I had to eat something bad. Starch. Grease. My spirit was no longer willing to deprive my body of these things. But there's a price. I was paying it on a Hillsdale Annex toilet bowl.
clump, clump, clump
Through the door I could hear that somebody had come in - probably Silliman.
clump, clump, creeeeak
There he stood, door gaping, looking in at me.
"Heyeea..." I greeted the intruder. He shut the door quickly.
"Why the hell didn't you lock the door?" S. shouted from behind the bathroom door.
"You live with me. You know this. You're lucky if I even shut the door." I wondered if the half-dozen people sitting around had seen me. They were sitting around a table just outside the door, playing dungeons and dragons or something. I calculated the space of door's opening, the time it was open, and visual trajectory like a scientist. A hunched over, groaning, scientist moving this massive deuce. I knew this is how people get hernias. Like 30 of Pharaoh's slaves pushing a massive cube of sandstone up a pyramid. Thousands of pounds - stone on stone, grinding - up hill. What colossal force! Absurd.
I emerged from the stall. S. seemed embarrassed. I never stop to think of other people's shame. I always assume that I'm the one who must justify my human-ness, and that other people were robots and basically programmed without feeling. But that's part of my submissive nature. The reality is, it's pretty embarrassing to walk in on a guy taking a dump. I probably only have to explain that to myself, not you. But S. would let it roll off his shoulder with a good, healthy shrug.
The Annex was modestly active tonight. I read some. I translated a few lines of Cicero (all I could stomach). I read more. Listened to music. Luke, Hugger, and S. proposed that we should call the Annex, the "Xanax." It was that kind of place. Every time I went there it was a retreat. It also seemed like a good idea to them to actually take some Xanax and go there one day. Get jacked up on coffee and play scrabble for twelve hours straight. I think I would just lay on the floor, turn the lights out and listen to lush, strange, earnest music, and imagine I-tunes visualizers on the ceilings. Blissful and awkward, like your first kiss in junior high, when your sense of the opposite sex is untainted. These are the times, I thought, that were at the pinnacles of our 20 odd years thus far. Simple. Archaic even. A rebellion against all the stiff, bloodthirsty days that lead up to it and follow after it.
An overly optimistic singer-songwriter (Jessie was his name) got up on stage and began playing. I had heard him before. Nothing special to speak of, other than he did write some songs (I think). His influences seemed a bit rote and typical to me. His voice, however, had a Joe Strummer meets Patterson Hood feel to it. He missed the pitch often, but his voice retained a sense of humility. That's a nuance that most people don't reach. That's why Cash was good. He gets way off during "A Boy Named Sue" at San Quentin. I think I'm one of a few who really noticed it. But who cares? I think my point's been made.
Jessie's wife was pregnant. She was sitting and walking intermittently. She walked like most pregnant women do. Back arched slightly. Feet spread a bit, waddling side-to-side as much as she moved forward. They were going to name the newborn Athena.
Jessie finished his set. Instead of getting off the stage, he proceeded to talk into the microphone. Talk to his wife. Talk to Annex Dan. Talk to whoever will listen. Man. There was only eight or nine, maybe ten of us in the whole place. You didn't need a microphone to be heard. And what is it about singer-songwriters who feel the need to talk in excess through a microphone. Obviously, the successful ones are paid to do this. Maybe this is a phenomenon I see in myself at band practice. I always talk into the mic. Probably because all my bandmates couldn't stop playing for a mere five seconds to listen to what I wanted them to do. So I just talked into the mic. But there was this other element. It was a way to be heard by more than just your bandmates. It was a way to be heard by everyone. Man, that is egotistical. But man, that feels good. So I had affection for Jessie. We share this.
