|
2001-02-12 || 4:28pm || well geez. || bryan price taught me how to smoke. we were sitting on the couch in oakland with our coats on, waiting for everyone to go to the alley for drinks. he showed me how to inhale, slowly, swallowing secrets and sin and the cold air coming in from the open living room window. my sister kelly taught me how to paddle out on a surfboard, to keep the nose up so that i wouldn't perl, to head straight into the waves and dip my head in close. to paddle hard until i reached the spot where i was safe in between swells. we stayed there for a while, lying on our boards, letting the water pull us further and further from the shore and earthly sounds. clint chrisman taught me how to drive a stick shift in his audi on a rainy night down the niguel road hill. he put his hand over my hand on the stick shift and yelled 'clutch!' and 'gas!' and i stalled three times any way. aline lambaren taught me how to make canela and arroz con leche. we wore aprons and pajamas and stood over the stove until our foreheads began to sweat. she told me stories about mama chayo as she added cinnamon sticks and sugar. michael bland taught me how to spit like a boy walking home from the video store on university avenue. owen taught me power chords on the red gibson knock-off we found at the ashby bart swap meet. jeben berg taught me how to read graffiti. julie harris taught me how to play dominoes at her kitchen table on thanksgiving, brushing away bread crumbs and filling my wine glass. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |