Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Fabricate, Emulate . . . Recreate, Mediate . . .
So there's this girl. I wish, for selfish reasons, she really did have a clone. That way, when she's off gallivanting around Paris and the UK, I could still have her close by. I should have been born of her blood, but no need, we get to be sisters who found each other later on in life. And everyone loves a reunion - examples might include The Eagles When Hell Freezes Over tour and lost pets with distraught owners. My sweet H and I met in college, and got to experience as well as shun the vast landscape of a small Santa Cruz campus known for seasonal nude rain dances, magic tree trunks and livable quarters known as the bat caves. Unlike our fellow quad-centric students, however, we could often be found watching Eddie Murphy's Delirious and re-runs of 90210 while drinking wine in room 311 on the library-like all women's floor of building A (all women's floor, yes, as a prudish youth I never wanted to share a bathroom with boys, and come to think of it, I still say "no thank you"). Then we got to move into a house with one of their stinkiest prodigies, yo Dyl! HEM and I had a relationship that blossomed instantaneously. Flash forward a decade, and this little miss still makes me weep with laughter and pine for those nostalgic days of Tuesday night living room entertainment. Be it zombie movies, filming our very own music videos or having impromptu dance parties, 127 Laguna Street has walls that should be writing biographies.
Right now I wish I could send you on your merry way to a youtube link that showcases a most excellent sample of our late night creative output, so you could witness and enjoy firsthand the beauty that is Mediate, our most impressive videographic experiment to date. The lyrics to this INXS song are just so epic, and the rhyming, well, we're no rappers. So we took it upon ourselves to cheat, for the sake of the audience of course, and aimed not to butcher the illusion of lip singing. Cue cards a necessity, we found that lipstick glides on a mirror's surface like sweet cream butter and comes off like magic with a spritz of your favorite all purpose cleaner. Hence, we wrote each dense verse on the slick surface mounted just above the rusted, inert fire place, that provided us with lyrical information and more importantly, reflected how awesome our jet black Ray Ban's looked when dismounting the bridge of our noses simultaneously. Pure genius! And, yes you're correct, you did have to be there.
For my funeral, whenever it may take place, I beg of you H: please include that short, perfect video of our youth. And while I'm at it, don't forget that brilliant song by Starship, not a dry eye in the house! Je Taime Ms. M!