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Thursday, March 9, 2023

Get me to the TARDIS, NOW!

I always think I’m the very last to do something. I’m totally out of step. How do ya figure that, Donna?

  • In my teens—simply EVERYONE had been San Francisco except me. (that's how it felt anyway)

I believe my first visit there was in 1976 at the age of 17. Yes, it was still the '70s but it would’ve been way more cool to be there, hanging out at City Lights and Vesuvio’s in the ‘50s to late ‘60s. Right, back when I was infant up to age 10. (but…but…time travel! That’s a thing, right? I could’ve made the trip at 18 BUT, if I had a TARDIS, it could’ve been 1967 in San Francisco, right?)

  • I was positive that I was the only 15 year old virgin on the planet. 

This brilliant bit of logic came from observing other high school sophomore girls and thinking they all seemed so confident and comfortable around cool boys. Also, it came from reading highly agitata magazine headlines proclaiming that teens (in 1973) were all smoking that demon weed and making reckless whoopee.

  • In my 20s—was I the only flute player who was absolutely incapable of jamming? 

I got together with my musician buds to jam and found that I was fully unable to come up with anything to play off their riffs. I needed sheet music, dammit. How humiliatingly unhip of me.

  • Now, as an adult? Jesus fuel pump Christ, does everyone except me already have an electric car?

 No, in fact, Ten and I may own the only electric in our neighborhood. Yes, I've friends who have electrics—got 'em in the last few years. Me? Late to the party as uszh.

Why do I always assume I’m way behind, ever so very late to anything cool? Mind you, I only get like this about things I find interesting and/or important and, honestly, there really is just ever so damn much that I don’t give a python’s patoot about. Am I, at this ancient age, still an insecure mess? Am I trying to seem hip and au courant or, at least, look as though I WAS once hip and with it?

To have been truly hip shouldn’t I have:

Yes but, as I’m sure I’ve already mentioned, I despise hiking. I gave it a shot (relatively short climbs in the White Mountains) sure, but it’s just not my scene. Also, I experienced enough danger in my three seasons with the carnival (and all my other various missteps and miscalculations). I’ve no desire to purposely go out courting disaster. I’ve always found that disaster finds me just fine—no need to go helping it along.

I have always liked food and drink more than the waif look. Also, Bast gave me these headlamps and matching rear bumper—even at my most trim, they’ve been with me.

  • Maybe spent more nights at the Insquare Men’s Bar, the Rat and Middle East?

Nights in the clubs aren’t free. I went out to see live music as often as I could afford.

  • Done more mind expanding medicinals?

Drugs? No thanks. I did enough while I was on the road. The very first time I was offered coke was at a party when I was in my 20s. The ‘70s were over and, for me post-carnival, drugs were passé. Just to be clear, I don’t count weed as drugs. It’s much safer than booze, coke and pills and not addictive. Also, ‘shrooms just looked icky and I’d already done acid. I wasn’t interested in another go 'round.

Back to the question—am I insecure. Fuck yeah, who isn’t? Okay, besides Trumpty Dumpty, Space Karen and Empty Greene. Actually, I believe all three of those twisted twats are obscenely insecure. Their hate filled antics are their way of covering for having been born without a single molecule of intelligence, self-awareness or savoire faire. Hells bells, they make ME look like the child of Einstein and Madeleine Albright.

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