Sinister: well happy birthday anyway.

[lindsey baker]

hello sinister.

birthdays always make me sad.

i sat around for a while in front of the computer today, thinking about 
posting and what heady lyric should make the subject field.

i finally decided on the good life, like we all knew i would, though for a 
brief moment i considered conor's 'happy birthday to me.' i thought, too, 
that the parenthetical bit of pretentiousness after the song title -- (feb. 
15) -- was the date of conor's birthday, and got relatively excited that my 
birthday was two months to the day after his. that ecstasy was short-lived, 
though, once i realized that my getting jazzed about that might really mean 
i was a saddo devotee, a crazed fan lusting after her little nebraska 
superstar.

eeps.

****

the day started out beautifully. matt called at 11 the night before, and 
asked if i would come sit on the roof of a building with him. the dormitory 
building in which i used to live. i said ok, looking forward to the walk 
from the paper to the dorm. the weather here has been positively balmy at 
night, though a little too warm and too windy during the day for my liking.

i got to the dorm and cautiously made my way up the rather rickety, open 
steps to the rooftop. we smoked and talked and chucked cigarettes at the 
sorority girls tripping by below us, and for a few moments, i could make out 
orion in the sky. matt gave me presents, and, at midnight, proudly announced 
that he would be the first to wish me happy birthday.

and he was.

later, the first six hours of my birthday were spent talking, just as i 
think i would have wished. and i slept until noon, when my mom called for 
her second round of well-wishing today.

most people i know forgot my birthday was today. because today is only tax 
day, after all.

funny that so many people hate my birthday, some have said, and i laugh and 
our teeth flash and the moment passes without a second thought from one half 
of the conversation.

i feel old, and twenty has become suddenly an appearance as well as an age. 
sometimes, i hate my birthday, too.

****

a photographer noticed i was having a rough afternoon, what with the 
riveting story about a new snake at the zoo not coming through so well. i 
was lying on the couch, curled up in a loose fetal position, muffled, crying 
out 'fuck the fucking snake,' and he came over to see how he could make 
everything better.

he asked if i liked ducks or rabbits. i thought for a moment, and said 
probably ducks. rabbits brought to mind images of, well, images of a tea cup 
and a lot of humping. which led to thoughts of happy spring time couples 
traipsing the downtown streets attached at the hands. which brought to mind 
my own fleeting, frightening desire to maybe bump the happy couples a little 
bit with my car.

ducks, i said. (unless the rabbits came on cups, which he said they didn't, 
though he didn't get it.)

i left the paper to go home and lie down properly for a bit, change my 
clothes and try to freshen up. when i got back to the paper after about an 
hour, a little orange and yellow stuffed duck was lying on the arts desk, 
with a sign:

'happy birthday baby booms. from mike.'

****

sean called looking for the editor, and i said she wasn't here. he asked if 
i was going to the night meeting, and i said i might not. it was my birthday 
and i didn't feel quite like looking at the ex-boyfriend's bandanna-ed head 
for that long. sean said he had been negligent, and could he take me out for 
coffee.

i said of course.

the day ended, then, how it began, with talking. about life and love and tea 
and an added (albeit lengthy) conversation about the strokes. (how indie are 
they really? are you cool if you listen to them? what constitutes an indie 
sell-out? and why, for god's sake, would you spend $100,000 to make a 
muffled album that tries to sound like it was recorded on a four-track in a 
basement when it could have been done for much less and RECORDED ON A 
FOUR-TRACK IN A BASEMENT?)

but the end made me wish for the beginning.

and isn't it sad that when i look at that, i am reduced to the smashing 
pumpkins:

the end is the beginning is the end

and so twenty years have passed, and i am none the wiser.

well, happy birthday anyway.


xxx
love, lou

_________________________________________________________________
Join the world’s largest e-mail service with MSN Hotmail. 
http://www.hotmail.com

+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
        +---+  Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list  +---+
     To send to the list mail sinister at missprint.org. To unsubscribe
     send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to
     majordomo at missprint.org.  WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister
 +-+       "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper           +-+
 +-+  "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
 +-+    "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000     +-+
 +-+  "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000  +-+
 +-+  "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001   +-+
 +-+               Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa                 +-+
 +-+               Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut!                +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+