Monday, January 12, 2009

Dear Diary: Natsukashiiiiiii

I suppose it’s still PMS, in addition to the contracted feeling of winter and impending birthday, but today’s theme is things I miss. It isn’t that I don’t appreciate what’s present, but I’m having some kind of hollow fearful feeling around the things I am missing.

I miss Bolinas, that little field on the mesa just above Agate Beach where I found the wild strawberry. I can’t forget that flavor, more like a strawberry than any strawberry I had eaten before or have eaten since.

I really miss my first boyfriend.

I miss hanging out at NeverNeverland in Shimokitazawa with the Davids, drinking Oolong-cha.

I miss Stephanie’s blog; I recently wrote and told her so. I missed it so much I started reading its archives.

I miss the crowds at the Zinc Bar when Brendan & Douglas were curating. The new space is better, but NY feels different now.

I miss my cat Nikolai, although there’s nothing wrong with Dante and Nemo and I love them both intensely. I do miss their kittenhoods, though.

I miss The Farm, where was it, way down at the end of Army St.? It’s not called Army Street any more, is it. And I miss the Deaf Club, where Zippy Pinhead once copped a feel, and The People’s Temple, where I would sit on the stairs and split a bottle of Jack Daniels with my juvenile delinquent pals.

I miss my bedloft in Sausalito that later became a bulb box in Bolinas.

I miss learning about blues and gospel at Shasta school.

I miss the really tense, gray atmosphere at 80 Langton St. in the 80s, and my weird asymmetrical haircut at the time. I miss that reading of Clark Coolidge’s of The Maintains I think it was accompanied by piano. I miss going to what was the restaurant, La Fiesta?, afterwards with the poets. La Fiesta?

I miss having my hair bright orange, as recently as three years ago. Two years?

I miss this particular pair of boots I got in Japan and wore completely out. They were burgundy with waffle crepe platforms, round toe, just above the ankles with a lug-sole. No one, no one makes boots like that. They were perfect.

I totally miss karaoke boxes. I miss hearing enka outside or at karaoke and not just in my iPod.

I miss these mentaiko omelettes I could get at this one place in Shimokitazawa; I think they mixed the mentaiko with mayonnaise. It was creamy, Served with shredded cabbage. Divine.

I don’t mean this as a creative writing exercise, I really do miss these things. I think I might also miss creative writing exercises, though. I miss the period I went through when I could never be so guileless as to write something like this.

I miss growing tulips on my veranda. I miss having a veranda.

I miss it being any season but winter. Winter can suck my ass. I really miss tree leaves.

I miss all my lovers except one who should be expunged from the record.

I miss all my Halloween costumes, even the ones I only remember from photographs, like when I was two and I was a clown covered with big polka-dots in primary colors.

I miss last weekend already, and it's only Monday.

I miss the whole-wheat crust pizzas at the Resh House in Tam Junction where Uncle Vinty played with Pamela Polland and the Cockettes dropped in with their eyelashes and doily-patched jeans.

I miss the experience of eating artichokes being something new, like it was when I was seven.

Gary walks in and says to say I miss him, too. I miss writing to Gary. He reminds me that I’m missing the Preston Sturges movie that is here waiting for us from Netflix, so I will stop this ridiculously indulgent journal entry, which could go on infinitely, I guess, and go watch it, even though it will probably make me miss the 40s, even though I wasn’t even born yet.

What do you miss?


K. Silem Mohammad said...

I miss that poem of Jordan's with the line "I miss your pussy."

K. Silem Mohammad said...

Do you really think it's accurate to say there's "nothing wrong with" Dante and Nemo? What about their homicidal tendencies?

stacey said...

I miss sex before AIDS. I miss walking to work, smoky bistros, teaching transvestite taxi driver junkies instead of engineers. I miss tomatoes with taste. I miss my mom.

Nada said...

I miss Kasey and Stacey.

Nada said...

Yeah, Dante and Nemo are a little unsubtle. I'll give you that. But that's part of their ferocious charm, I think.

Nada said...

I miss that poem of Jordan's, too.

Underblog said...

I miss Cadex. More truthfully, I miss working with bright young talent, however much of it was wasted there. I miss walking to work with a home-made espresso in my hands. I miss the rooftop of the Townsend Building. I miss the sawdust floor of Bouncer's and the employees of West Coast Ship Chandlers, who used to drink beers at TC's place at 10:30 in the morning.

VanessaP said...

You miss your selves.

Jordan said...


~MDM said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
holly troy said...

i miss being in a band.
i miss the writing exercises you gave to class at the poetry project.

i miss writing to my sweetheart, too.

i miss knowing exactly what i want.

i miss, nada, your voluptuous curly red hair.

K. Lorraine Graham said...

I don't miss my lovers, but I miss being lonely and thinking about them; I miss humidity and malty assam tea and open air markets full of food stalls; walking to work; poets and friends in DC and Biddy Mulligans and Malcom X Park; running in the mountains above Mexico city and being strong enough to do that in the first place; swimming in lakes, especially lakes in Maine; wood floors; autumn; brunch at Polly's on U Street in DC; Moby Dick's House of Kabob (the original Georgetown Location)...ok, I'm getting hungry, I'd better have a snack.

Keachie said...

Miss Uncle Vinty too. Somewhere in the grand collage of all the stuff I've dragged around with me are photos and even a cassette tape, or so I hope. Ali Baba Cafe, where we all bent for the sensitive artist.

Name, Doug Keachie 415 Ash Street, Tam Valley 1975 - 1980