Tonight I was reunited with Sarah Saint after a several-month hiatus and she made me download booty rap and then pretend to dance to it. We’ll never work in this town again. from Lindsey Turner on Vimeo. This is after we listened to the albums that defined our youth — Sixteen Stone, Vitalogy, Core, Undertow — and tried to relive the emotions we felt while lying on our beds with black lights illuminated and teenage…
So it’s not quite as easy on the eardrums as the far more common fifth-of-November trope, but everyone remembers the fifth of November. Why can’t the ninth of January get a little love? Sure, it exists in that no man’s land between New Year’s Day and Valentine’s Day, but that doesn’t mean it’s not important. In the sense that every day you’re not dead is important, I guess. I figure anyone’s life can be judged…
Good god almighty, this morning I woke up with what may have taken the honor of being the worst headache I have ever had. I’ve thought that I had migraines before, but now I’m not so sure. It pulsed and pounded and sent me writhing all over the bed, opening the windows to let in cool air. Waves of nausea. The crush of light from the window. The inability to find a way to lie…
My friend Tamara and I geeked out on band memories while chatting tonight and somehow this video came out of it. Our high school band played “Purgatorio” (Robert W. Smith) our junior year. (I found the CD and set the song to random pictures of flowers and fruit and the sky; don’t get too excited about production values.) Purgatorio from Lindsey Turner on Vimeo. Here‘s what this piece should sound like. I recall having several…
Back in eighth grade, I had a literature teacher who kept me after class one day to ask me a question about something I’d written in my poetry journal. Back in the day, my schtick was to make drawings in the margins of my journals, illustrating whatever it was that I had written about. On this particular day, I had illustrated myself thumping a bitten-off fingernail. Beside the sketch of my fingers moving swiftly to…
Ah, I miss Opryland. I remember going there once clad in my finest white spandex shorts.
Supposedly Patrick Swayze is on the verge of dying of pancreatic cancer. :( When most people think of Patrick Swayze, they think of him possessing Whoopi Goldberg, or maybe doing pelvic thrusts alongside Chris Farley. Not me. I think of the man who ensured my heterosexuality. There was one summer in the late ’80s when Dirty Dancing had just gone from being in the theater to being on HBO, and my sister managed to record…
I’m at my parents’ house. All evening we’ve been watching old home videos that I coaxed my brother to get out of the safe. So far we’ve covered 1992 and 1993. I have been rolling in the floor laughing until I couldn’t breathe and tears streamed down my face. There is a Fourth of July clip in which all you can see is some fireworks going off in the yard and our stupid fire-eating dog…
I swear, I make it through my digital clutter at an even slower pace than my physical clutter. Here’s a (silent) video I found of Felix and Gonzo playing back in the spring of 2005. Gonzo’s been gone nearly a year now, believe it or not. Man, oh man, I miss him a lot.
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