The Rob Gordon Species

I didn’t think much of it at first; I didn’t really started connecting the dots until my last date last night with a very special kind of human belonging to the Rob Gordon Species.You see, there are many types of men, I think, but the Rob Gordonites are definetly one of a kind.

These are the ones that consider High Fidelity the greatest movie or book of all time, who have found a character that has personified all of their insecurities and sensibilities, justified their screw ups, paralleled their past loves and break ups with the ones seen and lived by this character.These are the guys that hold a high regard for Stevie Wonder (of course, vintage Stevie Wonder) and would possibly like I Believe (When i Fall in Love it will be Forever) played at their wedding, the guys who have had a inevitably their heart broken at some point or another and who constantly struggle between their inability to commit and their faith on true human love.

The guys that will quote Is that Peter-fucking-Frampton? As they stumble into a bar, and absolutely, unapologetically, pride themselves in their music tastes and knowledge, which they have worked hard to construct and deconstruct.

Let me just clear something out, I have nothing against this species. In fact, I have noticed a pattern in my dating life where I am immediately drawn to their subdued bitterness, to their cigarette smoke, to that hidden sweetness. The last three men I have seen have at one point or another stated High Fidelity is kiiind of the movie of my life. And of course, you start thinking, in which category do you fall...Are you the sweet Penny, the sad one that he ends up sharing a bed with for 2 years, the iconic Charlie, the exotic and new Caroline Fortis, or and only if you are lucky, the one and only Laura.

I didn’t really become aware of this pattern until recently. But then you start remembering lines quoted from the movie; an exasperated Are we having the state of the union talk? As you laid in bed, the chuckling when you play Belle & Sebastian and have that categorized as Sad Bastard Music, the inevitable top fives.
Pieces of Rob Gordon are reflected in all of my past conquests. In my first love with all the right jokes, In the boy with the tattoos which whom i discussed sadness and the things missed and how he said that he missed intimacy most of all, the sleeping with someone and the little idiosyncrasies from past loves like the rubbing of feet an equal number of times and then the guy who works for a radio station and has an undying love for pop music and all its ramifications.

After thinking how is it that I always end up meeting these Rob Gordonites I came into a very clear conclusion.


I am one of them too.


I too think that the best flirting technique is talking passionately about shared tastes, I believe (and follow) all the rules when making a music compilation, I too have the understated insecurities and have inner conversations with Bruce Springsteen (well, Bob Dylan, whom, was the first choice in the movie but couldn’t compromise due to scheduling conflicts) and have at one point or another played Dry the Rain just to witness all the heads slowly move and ask Hey, what is this?

I did, at one point, think I had my Laura, and at the same time, my Charlie. Saw all of the insecurities, the feeling of fraud and who am I kidding? I dont belong here. Saw someone with all the fascination and glow in the world, I have also said I will never get over this and rationed it to the first night a band opened for Nirvana, something as monumental as that. Thankfully, I came into the same realization as Rob on that one, and even if I wasn’t necessarily left for "the Dreaded Marco" but for a far less exotic, attractive or threatening kind, I still felt it could have been me at one point in the past, standing in the rain, screaming Charlie, you fucking bitch, let’s work it out!

I think I want what all of us, Rob Gordonites, want. I think I want nothing more than the image of browsing used vinyl’s while debating the greatness and mutual exclusivity of Art Garfunkel and Marvin Gaye, something along those lines. I want to never untie what I love, and who I love, to the music I hold closest to my heart. See, I too, organize my albums in an autobiographical way and think that there is no better complement to life other than that which is music and what it provides for us. Our entire history can fly from speakers, and the question of What came first, the music or the misery? May never really be answered, but hopefully we will remain strong among the few. And we’ll play some damn sweet tunes along the way.

but i, i never felt so much life than tonight, huddled in the trenches.

todo menos morir.

i haven't really slept in three nights and all three dawns i have spent sitting in a plastic table on the side of a dirt road by the ocean eating two dollar sandwiches with extra sweet potato and laughing about the most ridiculous, amazing inside jokes, which still make sense now, thank god. the brilliant synchronicity of humor and friendship always shines brighter at ungodly hours of the morning when the rest of the world is asleep and of course that when attraction is added to the equation it makes it even more electric and exciting. The succession of the longest nights all present with copious amounts of alcohol (of course) and music and moving from place to place refusing, absolutely refusing to call a night a night like any normal, rational human being. is it because it is summer? i don't know. but it feels somehow justified, completely justified to have stumbled back to the house at 7:30 in the morning each of these three nights and taking long naps during the day with the ocean crashing by our window. i am inconsistent about my feelings but always (and above all) i want to protect this freedom, this lightness that has taken me so long to achieve after so much time nesting a broken heart and how ironic it all turns out to be now that i am the one giving that speech to boys with good intentions i say i want none of your commitment, that boy said if we are dating then you have to be willing to make some sacrifices i said what if...i don't really want to.
I have decided to take the brutally honest approach. i don't blame the past for this jadedness although we are all somehow creatures of cause and effect i don't really see myself willing to change now that i am finally at ease with who i am just as i don't really see any other way of spending what is turning out to be, quite possibly, the best summer of my life.

irrational decisions feel somehow justified if you are listening to Bessie Smith blues in the summer and drinking day old wine.

blue moon rising

currently enamoured with Steve Martin and his banjo playing skills, reading Born Standing Up: A Comic's Life.



when describing the girls he dated on the road, he writes:


Were they beautiful? We were all beautiful. We were in our twenties.






2009 started with the beach, with books books books, a tan, determination to finish (and put a title to) my short story, early planning for gradschool admitions (first of all, narrow the list of schools, but definetly keep NYU, Columbia, and Cornell) East coast 2010, here i come. Finish my wall, learn how to cook something other than chicken chili lasagna, smoke less, etc, etc, etc.

the ashtray says you were up all night.

underground bars and watching heavy metal drummers who dedicates his songs to the crowd sitting over there and we nod and clap and click our glasses in unison. finals (almost over except for one paper due monday) being over, and summer palp-palp-palpating, blossoming, too many plans, too many things to do, my apartment is a MESS but always so entirely worth it, if its just for the table covered in bottles and the tuning of guitars and the taxi rides that go way too fast and all the inside jokes and all of the brilliant chaos that is now.

visuals.

Fiorella turned a quarter of a century!

(young folk)

Sassy deer on campus.

my weekend

white album concert

currently listening: sexy sadie, the beatles.

resplendent: having brilliant color, beauty.

i missed the feeling of closeness/amazingness/fucking efervescent living bursting flowing serotonin brimming in such close quarters. The intimacy of a good concert, blue lights, small stage, alcohol, smoke, and a classic album from beggining to end.
I have never really been the biggest beatles fan, but this event has made me place the beatles White Album somewhere so close to my heart, i will always remember what was evoked friday night, and how perfect it was, how everything unraveled. From the cheap but incredible wine to the taxi ride, and the 10 soles paid at the door, and how we got there just in time for everything to start even if we were an hour late and how they played the entire album from start to finish and everyone in unison and elation when a favorite song started and the grabbing of arms, and all of us in synch and in tune with each of each other frequencies and voices saying It really all starts with Dear Prudence we say, we couldnt agree more and everyone belting the lyrics and it is so out of tune and so loud, and so perfect.
It is such a rollercoaster, the ups and downs we hear, but my favorite moment was when the band played Sexy Sadie and the world was waiting just for you being sung by everyone all at once and the piano in the beggining and then Long, long, long starting with all its sadness and everyone swaying from side to side.

i scribbled this when i got home, before passing out. what a deliciously wonderful, beautiful night it was.

wine and cigarettes and music and wine and a taxi ride and the entire beatles white album live and in concert and blue blue lights and shared beer in plastic cups and just exactly enough change to get home before 4 in the morning skies.