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2001-12-16 || 6:14 p.m. || i heart john and amy. || saturday: waking up early to cross the bridge to san francisco with owen. listening to big star in the van and not being able to sing out loud because he is shushing me. he is reading my novel. he is gleaning the parts that resemble him. the character lewis is based on owen, his compulsive haircutting in the albany theater men's restroom, the rampant record collecting, the glasses. that's where it stops, really. he does not believe this. he is flipping through pages fast trying to draw connections and likenesses and any sort of secrets divulged between printed lines on paper. we stop at jason's to deliver tube amps and guitars and the organ. we stack them in the dining room. i sit on the couch and jason sits beside me, curls up like a little kid, and it catches me off guard, this crazy innocent affection. he says i look good while looking at my white belt. he adds that i look stylish, saying it not as a compliment (it's the white belt. why do white belts always have to be so feckin symbolic?). we mull around and then we are up again, running down stairs, running through halls, parting company at jason's building's porch. owen and i are in the van again. we drive to the richmond district and park. he won't leave the car until he finishes the last three pages. he is the first person to read the novel all the way through and i feel kind of naked about it. i want to write an extensive disclaimer thisisashittyroughdraft ihaven'tevenreadthroughityet iamembarrassed oh. i yell at him to get out of the bloomin van, we're late. we see jon walking around outside his building. okay. so this is about to become an entry entitled 'oh how i heart jon and amy.' jon and amy have the kewliest apartment and are quick to apologize about it. 'if you only saw it a few years ago. black spray paint and half of the room was used for storage.' they are standing in the most magnificent kitchen (built in cabinet and counter, but it's different. it's lovely.) looking damn hot, those two, hip as all get out, making us waffles and high fiving and offering coffee and mineral water and hot syrup and. they are feeding us. amy won't sit down. the two buzz around and chatter chatter chatter and i don't feel the least bit shy or awkward or nervy. we are stuffing ourselves with three kinds of waffles (three kinds.) and sitting around and o mentions my novel and amy says 'all that creative energy you must have! you need to play the guitar.' and she jumps up and grabs the guitar and hooks it up to an amp. she hands it to me. i am playing the guitar while they are sitting at the kitchen table. we are all talking and it is apparently entirely naturally that i am standing at the table making tortured bird sounds while telling them about my apartment and my cat and what owen and i did the day before. i frown and interrupt 'how do you get that chord' and amy shakes her head and tells me just to play music. not to worry about it. after strumming and picking a while she picks up her bass and hands it over. i am playing the bass and they are talking about owen's album and how the movie is coming along and what the bands were like on thursday when they played a show. i heart amy: amy says not to worry about being good. this is for fun. amy says she likes to go to the guitar center and act like she doesn't know anything about guitars, telling the doofusy salesyucks 'i don't know man, i just wanna rock.' i am incredibly inspired. owen and i make plans to revive the boyfriend stealers. he will send cassettes of his playing drums and i will stand in the kitchen and record myself singing and making tortured bird sounds on the poor epiphone. i will borrow c's 4 track. i will get over the singing shyness. we give up on the waffle madness (at this point the stomach is very upset about the waffles. the stomach would like very much for me to switch to broccoli and toast.) and get to see a rough cut of jon's movie. we are the first to see a rough cut of the movie. (matt, please don't be mad.) they are parts stuck together, owen songs on the soundtrack, and it is so bloody exciting. seeing people we know acting, hearing the behind the scene stories from jon and amy. i heart jon and amy. we talk about the other movies they've made and we talk about living in san francisco and we talk about how they met. amy says let's do the math game. she rubs her hands and asks how old we are. calculations are made and she tells is when they were making their first movie i was fourteen. that apparently blows their minds. amy refers to us as 'the kids.' she calls me an 'art girl.' she is entertained by us, our youngness, although she's 32. they talk about what it's like for them at this age. i have a crazy epiphany while amy is talking. about how it's important to not fall prey to what society/media expects of you, where you should be. i am twenty-five. i don't have a plan. i don't have a career. i am not getting married any time soon. and it's okay. i should just do what i really like doing and not worry about it so much. phew. we get to hear all kinds of stories and both of them get up to buzz around, change records, bring us vitamins, show us the illustrations amy has done, bring us presents. i heart jon and amy. owen and i sit on their couch and listen listen listen, and finally when we have to go so they walk out with us. we all hug in the street like we have known each other for years and years and closing the door of the van i feel so much much much better about things. they are little magical elves, those two. with the funniest rockandrollband and the cutest kitchen and all these crazy movies and so so so much love flying out of each of them like static electricity. hooray. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |