Oh blog/ music/ life/ brain… What am I going to do with you? **Long, exasperated, sad and frustrated, failure of a sigh**
I guess I should sleep on it and answer myself in the morning.
“If at tenth you don’t succeed, try not to bury your head in the sand… We’re in Florida where the sand tastes like salt, after all.”
Blast from the past. Rockin some jams with @ENlittle (Taken with Instagram at My Chair In My Lanai)
Hello old friend. Been a while. I got a record collecting dust that remembers this room ;). Don’t worry, tho. It wasn’t your fault 😔 #rock #studiotime (Taken with Instagram at Valencia College- East Campus: Building 1)
Can we talk about this for a sec?
Something like a full and whole line,
Complete with melody, meaning, rhyme and lyric,
Fluttered in the corner of my eye from across the courtyard.
I chased after him.
I found his apartment,
But he sat silent in the shadows in the corner of the room
Like James Stewart at the end of that one film.
I charged at him.
He kept me at bay with bright, white, burning flashes of insight
As he sat silent in the shadows in the corner of the room.
An invalid with no chance at life but through me,
And yet he taunted me silently in the shadows from the corner of the room,
I tried to make sense of him
Batting at his neck.
I wanted to chase that line all night
Even after I let his neck slip through my fingers and over the balcony,
Even after I broke his bones on the courtyard below,
I would have chased him all night,
But instead the prospects of blue-eyed strangers’ fleeting attentions
In all those whiskey-soaked doldrums of all those sticky hot Florida nights
I should have stayed.
I should have pawed at his strings until he came
Until he looked like somebody I heard about
once in a song,
But Florida wins… Florida always wins…
(to be continued)
Even though I was there, I still have a hard time deciphering what is actually happening in this video, yet it never fails to amuse. The few things I catch every time:
- David Draiman calls my friend “Baby”
- I loudly and unintentionally mimic Fred (in a seemingly mocking way) before he’s even finished saying the word “cigarette”. I swear it was just a knee jerk reaction out of pure fascination with the beautiful way french people say every word.
- I’m not entirely sure, but I think there are a few crossed wires in regards to said cigarette and its use as a euphemism for… other things?
- Fred says he wants to marry me. Oh, the French… Très romantique! *Le sigh. >.<
“I’d walk the wire for you,” he said without flinching on the other end of the phone line. I giggled the silly tween kind of giggle that made me cringe even as I did it. Coming from any other boy, the Bryan Adams song lyric would have been a cheesy line to the point of being comical. Coming from 18 year old Nik Wallenda, who had been walking the high wire in the circus since he was two years old, it was just plain charming, perfectly inline with his intentions. I met him in youth group at church and the boy, who I knew by another name (Wallenda is his stage name handed down by his mother), had charmed my head into the stratosphere. But I should mention that at the naive, boy-crazy, ripe old age of fourteen (going on fifteen?), it didn’t take much for my heart to reach lift-off status.
Since I’ve been on a semi-media fast lately and I don’t watch TV the news came to me late in the game. A couple of days ago I flipped on the radio for just the last 30 seconds of my ride back to the office from lunch. Somehow in that hiccup of time, I heard that Nik was about to walk the high wire again, something he knows how to do blindfolded, but this time on June 15, 2012 (tonight) it would be on a wire that stretched across Niagra Falls. Filled with pride and excitement for my friend and his family, I began reminiscing about those carefree teenage years and our group of friends romping around town doing youth group activities, engulfing the corners of local restaurants, or watching the Wallendas practice their world-famous pyramid on the wire in Nik’s family’s back yard. Then, for shits and giggles, I went on a mad search through my old journals for a poem I could have sworn I had written about him and the sweet childhood memory of first heart break and the lessons learned from such experiences. I am one of those strange souls who looks back on certain memories, even unpleasant ones, with a smile. It may have something to do with the wonderment of time and it’s effect on our feelings. I guess with age, the tides of emotions that used to swell and crash like the surf during a dangerous Florida storm, tend to calm themselves into the mellow lap of a Caribbean island shore on a summer day. Our chemistry is (at least mine was) so intense at that stage of life, and gets so much more stable as we get older, so it’s always pleasant, remembering those times when we had the ability to feel so much so strongly. That’s why I often look back with a sigh and a sweet, “awww,” even at the thought of those turbulent times, the extreme highs and terrible lows of the I’m-fourteen-and-my-life-is-over whoas. This is how I look back and remember my first heart break. This is how I look back and remember the 18 year old charming, talented, kind and cocky circus boy Nik Wallenda. I searched in vain for that childish poem, so instead I decided to write this blog post musing on and remembering that familiar first we’ve all experienced at least once.
It started in church as did most of my social interactions at that age. In those days, I pretty much only went to church, school and youth group… which was at church. The Tabernacle (the church where I grew up) is known for its Christmas production called “The Living Nativity” where they turn the backyard into Bethlehem. It started when I was about 4 years old and to this day it’s performed every night for a week straight, just before Christmas. The show-stopper of this annual production is the “Flying Angels”. A lady in silky white garb with flowing wings is hooked by a harness, that’s hidden underneath her gown, to a zip line that starts 50 feet high from across the street. She then zooms across the night sky into the church yard and stops over the hill of frightened shepherds. Our church, which had members of the famous circus family The Wallendas in its congregation, naturally utilized their expertise in rigging this fantastic stunt. After seeing the first ever performance of this Christmas tradition in 198(something) it had been a childhood dream of mine to be a Flying Angel one day, but I had heard that you had to be a circus performer in order to do it. Nik’s leg of the family was apart of a similar production in another town about 45 minutes away, that also used the Flying Angel stunt. Nick asked me if I wanted to be one of “Rising Angels” for that show. The Rising Angels stunt was a tad less risky since they “merely” (again with harnesses and wires) made a slow yet epic 30 ft rise above the manger scene on a fog machine-induced cloud, but it was no less thrilling to me. Oh I’m sorry, did you just ask me if I wanted to fulfill my childhood dream? I of course said, “Yes!” enthusiastically, feeling a bit as tho I had been asked to run away and join the circus.
Given the time we spent together, between the week-long production, the 45 min car rides to and from the church each night, a month or so worth of long phone calls following that Christmas, and considering his never ending charm, it wasn’t hard to see how I got so infatuated with him. I remember having to ask my over-protective parents for permission to ride alone with him in his car and thinking how silly it was seeing as HIS parents were just on the other side of that drive preparing the production. If I remember correctly, I think I pondered just leaving that fact out or even lying to my mom and dad (which I did often) by saying we were all traveling together with his folks, but he insisted on being on the up and up with my parents. Not sure exactly how it went down, but I do remember there being an overly serious moment about such a silly thing and thinking to myself, “This silly thing could stand between me and my childhood dream (also pretty silly).” In any case, I got their permission and the “gravity” of the situation made that silly thing a tad more meaningful to me. Outside I was trying like hell to play the cool teenage girl who doesn’t need permission from anyone to do anything, but inside I was screaming and flailing on the roof of the car (a la teen wolf… there were cartwheels),”MY FIRST CAR RIDE WITH A BOY! AAAAOOOOOOWWWWW!” (<— again, a la teen wolf).
Almost completely forgot about this little gem from the other night. Only vaguely do I remember actually recording this drunken dribble (courtesy of Four Loko) while waiting for a video to upload. By the end of our respective tall boy cans, my clever boyfriend came up with the #4LokoHourWorkWeek hash tag. I think we’re going to make it a regular thing in our relationship.
Check out Part 2 of 2 videos I made to celebrate my first full week away from The Vortex. In it I’ve shared some insight into what it’s like to suddenly stop something that had been so automatic before. Also, I have made some updates to my blog for those interested in knowing why, how, and what exactly I am doing with this whole Facebook and Twitter avoidance. If you would like to skip the video, check out erinsolari.com/thechallenge to see all the official rules and parameters I’ve set for myself. There may or may not be a few nuggets of fun sprinkled in there for those that read it all.