bad anna, chilling in the car with the new-old live 105, when you should be inside st. gregoriose indian orthodox church with your devout mother, she who even now kneels every ten minutes to atone for your sins and sickness.
eeek that's a serious sentence.
but it's the truth. i'm in the civic, parked in an unorthodox spot, with the venerable vaio whose battery doesn't work. thank goodness for my coleman power inverter, even if it is massively loud, whirring away on the driver's seat. i've watched a subdued sort of sunset here in belmont, put together this magic electricity box/enabler...and blushed as latecomers glared at me, the girl who is obviously fucking around instead of worshipping G-d...
death cab for cutie wafts out of plastic circles..."this is the sound of settling"..."i've got a hunger, twisting my stomach in to knots".
before this, they played system of a down...and it was beyond apposite. armenian orthodox boys crooning in minor tones, the same way they were taught, a long time ago, to chant the hymns that i am oblivous to right now. "father...why have you forsaken me" the lead singer cries. the priest will mimic that exact pain in less than 48 hours, on good friday. today is wednesday, but we are celebrating maundy thursday. this still makes me shake my head. it does not make sense.
go inside, anna. that's what my heart is telling me, or is that voice coming from somewhere north of here? she didn't expect me to stand with her, but i wonder if it would make her happy. i wonder if this is a hoop i should jump through.
i am arrayed flawlessly, in one of the new saris that she proudly unfurled the night that she returned home from india. vivid, regal blue, so different from any other sari i've worn, b/c this isn't heavy, somber south indian kanjeevaram. no, this is silk georgette, and the sari drapes like it is my skin. instead of ubiquitous gold thread there is delicate silver filigree, so painstakingly created, it looks like there is glitter on my sari. for the first time, i have worn platinum, pearl, and silver with a sari. yes, these are swarovski crystals, b/c i am not a hypocrite, i shall NOT wear diamonds. silver things don't match my other, older, daddy-favoured traditional saris. i feel brand new.
eighteen feet of gorgeous peacock elegance curling around me, dancing away whenever the wind runs in to me...unexpected flash bouncing off of my fingers, wrists and clavicle...just-washed hair perfectly straight, product-free and darker than it's been in years. the "bollywood flashback" makeup that MAC
designed for me six years ago, when i m.c.'d my last gig, when i was consumed with being on stage then and forever, when MAC was still something special.
i loved the makup artist i worked with, loved her vision that exploded all over my face as "aap jaisa koi" played on a portable..."for inspiration". i showed her yellowed pics of hema, zeenat and even sridevi. she paused, moved quickly and decisively, and then turned my chair minutes later, so that i was positioned in front of an excessively artistic pewter-framed mirror.
i had showed her bollywood dolls and she showed me...me. me with feline eyes, subtlest line trailing out
and up, and for the first time in my life, blue eyeshadow colouring my lids so that each was a private lagoon. pumpkin coloured lips flashing the same gold-undertones as the shadow (genius!), but generously covered with the thickest, clearest, x-rated sort of lipgloss ever. huge round eyes glittered like raindrops, downturned lips pouted as if they were brand new and still wrapped in cellophane. insane.
all of this work. all of this art. (M akeup A rt C osmetics)
for what? for whom?
am i so hungry for any occasion to look indian that i'll put this much work in to PASSOVER? not that it was much work...that makeup took me all of 15 minutes, and the sari went on in a fraction of that. i don't look like anyone else inside this building. i'm too sparkly.
ah, who am i kidding...i thought ONE of you would come through and i'd have alternate plans from 6-10pm, the hours that this service unfolds. i emailed several of you last night, after all...with my virtual entreaties to "rescue me from holy people". so much for alleviated ennui.
why ARE you in the car anna?
none of your friends are near. you haven't left. you're still right outside the church. what keeps you in this seat, with this sony toy?
you know what.
you know, and it scares you.
you know, and it hurts you.
you know, and you worry that the world will see your mascara run down your cheeks, b/c that kind of public confession is inevitable at moments such as this, moments when truth obliterates denial and ignorance.
there is a space inside of me that will never be full. there is a light that never goes out.
pixies-esque modest mouse "floats on" live 105..."well we'll float on...good news is on the way."
i'm going inside anyway.
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