lord have mercy on my solo.

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17 june 1997

1:01 a.m.

Dear diary, I've been seeing a lot of Derek lately. Not that I'm complaining. I spent yesterday, Father's Day, with his family, the lot of them taking pity on me, preferring I stuff myself fat with barbecue ribs rather than sit at home and simmer in the seething contempt for the world I tend to develop each time the holiday rolls around. Nervously, Dennis ventured a question about why the word "dad" evokes the same reaction from me that "enema" does from most people, and I got to quote the best daughter-father movie line I know: "Hate him? I don't know the man well enough to hate him." I fancied myself rather cleverly wry, but the reaction was an awkward, silent nod and a quick shift of conversation (straight into lamenting the cost of propane, I think). I wasn't the only one whose attempt at wit netted a cleared throat or two, though. Sometime during the course of the evening, Derek's dad unsuccessfully tried to say he'd be glad to serve as the surrogate beneficiary of my suppressed Father's Day glee. Instead, after stumbling through a mangled sentence I couldn't possibly reconstruct, he closed with, "... so you can call me dad, for now, for play I mean, get used to it, and, well, you never know, right?" I think his wife kicked him under the table. Derek, properly cherishing the opportunity to say so, merely sighed, "Oh, dad." And family socials aside, I think we've spent six out of the last ten days hanging out together at each other's respective caves. It's nice. Comfortable. I know I made a big mental step somewhere, because until this week I'd always get mildly skittish having someone -- anyone -- in my space. Right after work, we'd meet, go to his place or mine, scrape together a dinner, maybe watch a rented video (Friday was "Hackers," Saturday was "DefCon 4" -- a cheesy 80s post-apocalypse flick), talk, and get into varying degrees of trouble. Then, moments before consciousness is lost, the non-resident scurries home to crash. I left at 1 a.m. tonight, and it's the earliest I've gotten in. You know, lately I've been taking little out-of-body sightseeing tours during our time together... especially now that we're getting acclimated to each other's domestic space (he leaves his toilet seat up, I neglected to clear my underwear out of my bathroom). I see us lounging on the couch, or trying to cook simultaneously on the same stove, or reading, or napping... While I think part of me is just trying to condition my brain to get past the nasty flashback response, I otherwise like what I see, how I feel. Father's Day also marked a year since we first met, over a round of miniature golf of all things. Even if you say we weren't officially a couple for a few months, this is hands down the longest relationship I've ever had. In the past, I'd rail against any feeling of security or stability, to the point where all the second-guessing in my head consumed any of the few brain cells that were even remotely registering "happy." The chaos theoretician deep within still rumbles in paranoia now and then, but ever since I made the conscious decision to not try and understand what's going on at every level, and simply experiencing it as it unfolds, I'm really getting a clearer picture of what love is all about. I have a new neighbor. He's a musician. I'm half certain he's not half bad. He moved into the apartment directly under mine about a week ago. I'd guess half Chinese, half Hawaiian -- Keanu-esque, except darker and in possession of at least some talent. He's very friendly (I walked past him sweeping his place out, and he came up just to say "Hi there."), and may or may not have a cohabitative surf bunny. That is to say, he's got a girlfriend, but with the both of them shuffling in and out at wholly unhealthy hours of the night, I still don't know if she's a resident or a frequent visitor. All in all, he's not half as noisy as his predecessor. He hasn't lit up a cigar yet, and he hasn't taken to leaving his trash bags outside his door for me to trip over, either. He does, however, practice his music. A lot. I know he's a vocalist, and that he plays the guitar. As far as his musical abilities in those areas, however, I'm only aquatinted with the former. See, he practices out on the balcony. Depending on the wind, that means he might as well be on my balcony (if not in my bathroom). I know he's very much into Nirvana, Green Day, Led Zeppelin and Ka`au Crater Boys, and I know he can sing. Which is a blessing worth a million bucks, given the terror I'd be in the morning if he couldn't. But, since he's also a very considerate musician, he always hooks his ax into a set of earphones. Thus, I don't know how well he can play a guitar. In fact, I'm only inferring that he's a guitarist from the otherwise mysterious noises that accompany every song. Behind his voice is a clicking, scratching sound that matches how I'd expect a guitar to be strummed. To be honest, depending on the hour, the monotonous clicking can get a bit grating. Even so, part of me is awfully curious as to what he'd sound like on all channels, as it were. Hell, if he's playing an electric guitar, I can only imagine what his Hawaiian repertoire sounds like fully plugged. Well, he sings the gentle songs gently, but I still gotta wonder what a grunge metal version of "Lei Hali`a" would sound like. I never made it to the Chemical Brothers concert. In fact, I don't know a soul who went. Maybe the genre is still somewhat on the fringe... at least in Hawai`i, where we get fads second-hand. I did, at least, score a Chemical Brothers concert card. They had them up all over Borders -- cute little yellow aliens with big eyes and antennae -- so I took one and taped it to the inside of my windshield. This way, at least people in the know will see it and think I was cool enough to have gone to the show. But alack! My chance at true musical redemption draws near. The "Big Mele" is coming around again (despite the absence of Radio Free Hawai`i). No word on the lineup (other than "311," who I don't particularly like), but the music fest rarely disappoints. After being pegged Loser of the Year for missing the Mele last time, I'll sell a kidney if I have to in order to get a ticket.