353: threshold of revelation

1. watching all the boys pass by (5/9)

I was supposed to have spent Monday evening in the company of my friend Cynthia. We were supposed to see Jill Scott read her poetry at the School of the Art Institute. I had won tickets from a local magazine, so the tickets were free. Cynthia and I, accompanied by Oscar, stopped at Marshall Field’s after work, had a quick snack, then onto the reading. Which was cancelled at the last minute due to a dispute between her reps and her publishers. Boo. So we go eat gelato at Café Baci, sitting outside on Michigan Avenue and checking out the hotties as they walk on by. Yay.

2. something to accompany an evening of furtive groping on your futon

Imagination, ‘Body Talk’
Massive Attack & Madonna, ‘I Want You’
big Sir, ‘Everybody Here Wants You’
Sophie B. Hawkins, ‘Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover’ (a early 90s classic)
Har Mar Superstar, ‘Love Jam No. 1’
Earth Wind & Fire, ‘Would You Mind’
Sondre Lerche, ‘Love You’
R. Kelly, ‘Step In The Name Of Love’
The Rolling Stones, ‘Wild Horses’
The Beatles, ‘Savoy Truffle’
George Michael, ‘Father Figure’
The Faces, ‘Maybe I’m Amazed’
side 2 of ‘Led Zeppelin IV’
Joy Division, ‘New Dawn Fades’
Buzzcocks, ‘Love You More’
Prince, ‘Adore’

I know you probably won’t believe me. “Joy Division?” you ask. “But didn’t the lead singer dude kill himself? That’s not hot at all.” Fine. Whatever. But listen to the beat, man. Put it on shuffle. If you’re still not convinced, take the ‘Jasmine booty mix’ challenge. Send me your address and I will send you a CD so you can experience its power in the comfort of your very own home with someone you like or possibly even love. I would try it out myself, but I’ve not been feeling very, well, *very* lately. Maybe it’s the anti-depressant, but I’m not feeling especially spicy. If I were KFC, I’d be Original Recipe. I’m a dish of plain buttered noodles. A rice cake. All items I should be eating regularly, with the exception of the KFC, of course.

How do I know this? Well, I met with a dietician last week. A referral thanks to Dr. P. Another day, another visit to the hospital, though this time I am in an office suite near the Allerton (‘Tip-Top-Tap’). I am weighed — ooh, 5 pounds less than three weeks before. My height is measured and I am disappointed to learn that I am just a touch taller than 5’5″. And I thought all this time that I was 5’6″. I slink into Michelle the dietician’s office and we go over pieces of the questionnaire I filled out.

It didn’t take as long as I thought it would, but we spent a lot of time talking about the psych bit of the questionnaire. In all the visits I’ve been paying to doctors and clinics, to labs and exam rooms, I had never been asked about things like whether or not I’d been molested, abused, or been the victim of a sexual assault. At least, not until I had to fill out this questionnaire for somebody who I expected would just tell me to eat more vegetables and less sugar. All she had to give me was a plan to follow, something to do, show me the new FDA-approved food triangles. I hadn’t expected to disclose more than my blood pressure, my family history of cancer and diabetes and hypertension, and my father’s heart attack two summers ago.

It was a lot of shit to talk about. A lot of memories to invoke and reexamine, to question and qualify. And I even wondered why I wasn’t more fucked up than I deserved to be. But it was all good. Don’t be sad. Don’t worry too much. I kept my chin up the next day, when I met with Dr. P and we talked about scheduling my MRI. The liver ultrasound didn’t get anything conclusive, so at some point in the near future I will have to lie in a big white magnetic cube for 30 minutes and do absolutely nothing. Can’t read, can’t eat, can’t move. I wonder if I can sleep?

3. with a girl like you (5/14)

My friend Matt got married this weekend. I spent Saturday night doing the electric slide at the Odyssey Country Club in Tinley Park. Before the dancing, the best man’s touching speech, and the kissing, the bridal party made their entrance to the theme from ‘Star Wars’. Matt and Diane boogied in to the strains of Quincy Jones’ ‘Soul Bossa Nova’. Clearly, these were Matt’s decisions to make. It was hilarious. There was also a chocolate fountain. I kept meaning to get myself some fruit (good for you) and douse it in chocolate fondue (not as good for you) but I kept getting distracted by the flashing strobe lights. And I didn’t want to miss the first dance, Matt dancing his mom, Diane dancing with her dad. I hung back during the bouquet toss, watching a gaggle of girls ranging from 8 to 80 clamor for the flowers. I didn’t dance as much as I do usually, though I did have to do my thing when the DJ threw on The Beatles’ ‘Twist and Shout’. Oh, and there were bagpipers, one of whom was my co-worker Tim. They played a few reels, a few jigs so Matt’s nieces (and his older sisters, too, I think) could dance. So cute. The nieces and the bagpipers. Before I left I danced with Matt. Well, not danced so much as acted out “Respect”, channeling our inner Aretha’s on the dance-floor to the horror and amusement of anybody who cared to sit back and watch.


PS: Happy birthday, Sarah.

PPS: Nadine, I’ll think about it. Fill me in on Center City after you and Nick are moved in and unpacked and settled — end of next week?

Massive Attack – Better Things; Unkle – Be There; The Doves – Cedar Room; Buddy Holly – Crying, Waiting, Hoping; Ralph Stanley & Ricky Skaggs – Children, Go Where I Send Thee; Big Star – The Ballad of El Goodo; Liz Phair – Erecting A Movie Star; Belle & Sebastian – If She Wants Me


Frida (I think Salma Hayek’s moustache should’ve been nominated)
Wet Hot American Summer
Mansfield Park (1999 version featuring Frances O’ Connor)


~ by Jasmine on May 16, 2005.

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