What the hell is this?

I Can't Stand [Meeting] You is a collection of all the ridiculous things I've written to and about drummer and composer Stewart Copeland.

I actually did meet him for about five crazy seconds in 2007, again for a few exciting moments in August 2009, and my most recent (and most thrilling!) encounter took place in October 2009, where I proved myself capable of being, yet again, a total dork in the man's presence.

I can't believe what I get up to. And neither should you.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Dear Stewart and Dufmanno,

I've gotta be honest - the other day (okay, okay: yesterday... wow, this truthfulness stuff is hard) a reader (one of my favorite readers; Dufmanno, you know I mean you, right?) commented on my "live blogging" episodes from the weekend (one was reproduced here for your entertainment but both of them - yes, I said "both of them" - are over on the other blog, which you are in no way obligated to read also. I live to entertain you, Stewart, let's just get that out of the way right now) and questioned her own ability to do that.

"That" being "live blogging;" I understand that interrupting every third word with a parenthetical statement makes understanding me slightly complicated. Hey! I'm an Aquarius! Understanding me should be complicated! Anyway, I don't believe in that astrology stuff. Dufmanno, you said that you didn't think you could "live blog" due to an inabilty to stay on topic. Well... I think that's what you said; it must be, because the semi-intelligible torrent of words below were written on the assumption that that was you meant.

Stay on topic?! What a concept! As if that matters, my friend Dufmanno! All my posts are, essentially, live blogging events. Not all of them are gems, sure, and hey, occasionally I do go back and tweak or edit, but this shit is posted mostly the way it flowed out of my fingers (like the bright red blood that bubbled out this morning when the nurse from the Red Cross pricked my left middle finger to check my iron level [it was fine, and I proceeded to give blood like the little soldier I am. Hey, if I have to eat my snack in the "canteen," I'm allowed to call myself a "soldier"]. Later, I was talking to my co-worker Alex about it, and I mentioned that the nurse commented on my "healthy red blood," which she clamed she could tell just by looking at it. I wondered how she could do that, and he laughed and said, "Was she licking her lips at the time," which was totally inappropriate and hysterically funny. That kid makes me laugh). Stay on topic! What do you think this is, Luke's run on the Death Star from "Star Wars"? No! This stream of silliness is better (way better) the less structured and unmanicured it is! I feel strongly about that. So strongly that I subscribe to the "less structured and unmanicured" school of thought for other things, too. My hair? Less structured. My grooming? Less manicured (alright, I love pedicures. Shut up). Works for me! If I try too hard to look right or write right, I spoil it every time and spend the whole night adjusting my blouse.

So? What's the topic here? I think we're all in agreement that the topic, not matter what other words are coming out of my mouth/keyboard, is my undying devotion to YOU, Mr. Copeland. All the rest of it is just filler. Hopefully amusing filler (or even slightly amusing filler), sure, but filler.

Love you both (no, really. I do),


Anonymous said...

First off, any nurse using descriptive loving words to describe your blood is a vampire. So run fast in the opposite direction if this should ever happen to you again.
Second,I am going to go retweet and repeat this one all over the interwebz since I can't get enough of my own name RIGHT NEXT to the Cope.

Irene said...

Turns out she wasn't a "nurse" at all, and merely a "tech," whatever that means. Once upon a time I was told by a snobby person that I should only allow licensed and certified phlebotomists to draw my blood; this woman (her name was Patricia)'s only distinguishing features were her handdrawn ode to the Lakers on her disposable smock and her sweet and kind disposition. She can have my blood.

And so can you.

What? Too gross?

I was being metaphorical.

Irene said...

oh, and duh! The thrill of having someone to whom I wrote a letter actually respond, especially when that letter was also addressed to Mr. C himself? fuckin' awesome.

Anonymous said...

I don't know; the Cope and his crew pop up in the craziest places so never rule out a visit.