Thanksgiving means I’m grateful for successful seasons of my show as a balloon artist. But as winter dawns, my business loses its platform at farmers markets, fairs/carnivals, and down the shore, so I starve.
When I returned to NJ after 10 daze in Cali early last November, my schedule was wide open, my money was dwindling, and my jaded state from “making ends meet” was meeting me at my wits end. Your thirties are about knowing your options, and having the self-respect to pass on most of them. By this time in my overall experience, I had and moved on from every job possible for an undergrad. I've done dozens of lateral moves from one company to the next, but the most clear evidence in my struggle to land somewhere proficient for my desires, is my evolution into a character who is undoubtedly unhirable.
It’s like all the roles you could fill based on typecast and experience, if you’re growing the right way, shouldn’t speak to you anymore. It’s like you gain your exact emotions, and can only go in one direction with them, and the roles lined in that direction become increasingly slimmer. Been there, done that, maximized learning potential, got my lesson/stories, then pointless repetition until peace out… that’s the cycle. I couldn’t be as fed up from soccer coaching as I had become, and then deny myself that fact in order to keep faking it to make a paycheck. I can’t keep clinically dissociating under the pretense of conforming to a mold that stops the real way i wanna be - above the influence of imperialism.
“They’re playing in Montreal. It’s about 8 hours away. I’m not bogged down by the structure of employment. My favorite band in another country!! Let’s go.”
I bought 2 portugal the man tix to be at their final show on their Canadian tour. We will buy groceries from an unforeseeable future source, but fuck yes, we goin’ to my concert!
I had a nickname for my then bf at this point - my bare minimum boyfriend. Because he always considered me and showed up for me, so points for that effort. But his attitude when with me was subpar. These concerts, and many of the dates I planned for us, felt like I was dragging him there. His addiction to his cell phone (ie. reddit, facebook, national news, youtube shorts) was his main squeeze, while i befriended my own thoughts, meditated, made art/poems, and listened to music, whether we were posted at the crib or on our travels.
Phubbing, when a person uses their phone pointlessly in the presence of live people, destroyed my love for him, and i'm dead serious; this is a millennial unfortunate reality. His brain was fried from the stimulation. He lost sociability. He whipped his phone out like a pistol, telling me his priority to escape intimacy again is by means of app distractions. Anyway, whatever, man. Split the driving with me so I have material for my life story, and come along.
Writing this today, I realize the last balloon I dished out on that third Saturday in Nov, was the last one to date. That’s it for the farmers market, folks, now all cold and whatnot, and I’m headed north for my concert tomorrow night.
We decided to drive as close to the Canadian border as we could, then spend the night at any cheap hotel we’d search then and there. We slept well, got breakfast, and headed into Oh Canada! I’d been there once before, with my San Diegoan aunt, uncle, and two cousins. We did the whole tourist thing with Niagra Falls when they visited the east coast a few summers ago. I did the Bahamas last year, marking my american ass only outside of the country twice, and by the nearest ways on the map. So far, my review of the world? It’s nice; wherever you go, there you are.
The canadian border was patrolled, and when we got to the gated drive-thru, we had to pause to talk to the guard. He checked our passports. Then was a stupid pig.
“Do you smoke marijuana?” he asked.
“We have smoked marijuana in our lives, sir.” Said my bf, answering the generic way.
“Your car smells like marijuana.” he insisted.
“I believe it is legal in Canada.” my bf was accurate, and not rude.
“It is.” admitted the troll. “But you cannot transport it into the country.”
What a idiotic ruling I thought silently. Like how they legalize it but make no public spaces for it. Like how it’s legal, but buying it is sinfully pricey. Like you can have this much, but not that much, to withhold resale. Like it’s legal, but you can’t garden it yourself. See, my opinion on the booming pot culture is that you’re asleep if you’re happy it’s happening; we really should be mad at how it’s happening. Stoners are paupers in the eyes of the government. We’ll seize it by the masses, capitalize it, with frickin names like “goomy bubble gum yum”, and you should be glad for this service. ?. Any proper stoner knows the classic saying, ‘legal or not, im still getting high!’... and then actively oppose the empire of weed authorities. Anyway, I was baked at this border patrol, so my care-levels were not in combat.
He directed us to park on the side of the building, where we would show our bowl, grinder, few tiny nugs in a baggie, and lighter, to 3 other cops. That’s all we had to last for about 3 days on our trip. They asked for our social security numbers, and then had us go into a glassed waiting room. With our ssn written on their notepad, they disappeared, and returned quite a little while later.
My background check was apparently clear enough. But when they asked Earl to come into the back room for further questioning, I was not surprised. His record, from what I knew as his gf, had a felony from the 1980s, the spark of him moving and living in Europe, before coming to Virginia at Y2K. Then a few arrests, on purpose, as a stunt in political activism. Like, volunteering to go to jail from a protest riot in a few different cities on separate occasions. A level of white male privilege I never emphasized with.
Both guys returned, and we were free to go. Iontkna, what it is, about men, or how they maneuver some of their ways through this dysfunctional society. I, as a woman, am conditioned to play dumb to get by sometimes; and I gather that some men are smooth talkers, know their points to win, and make it. So, they didn’t even confiscate our bud haha. We’re just a coupla nonthreatening potheads on our way, thank you.
It was the most obvious stereotype - literally the minute we got into Canada past border patrol, it started snowing. It was a blizzard! We were laughing like, “omg of course it’s snowy here, how cliche of the country”.
Montreal is pleasant, and I’m perfectly satisfied vibing the new city adventure swag. It was like 2pm, cold, we explored, and then settled in a couple cafes until doors at 7pm. The venue was a typical place, standing room with balcony seating, and people were speaking French. This show I’m up front in the audience, having been certainly the sole proprietor present from outside the country. I wore a purple, velvet hat, to denote my status as the actress from Purple Yellow Red and Blue.
The band Good Kid took the stage as the openers. They were cute. Twentysomething boys, playing original music that rang to me like bands such as Saves The Day, Say Anything, and The Starting Line. Their frontman said they were actually fans of P.tm , from hearing them on Canadian radio stations, which made sense because I could see how Alaskan and Canadian culture are alike. I think it is an amazingly beautiful act when a smaller artist gets to share the glory with their bigger comrades. That’s a cycle we can all support.
Then an indigenous tribe from Quebec took the stage. A staple of these concerts is a fantastic warmup presentation from our native and spiritual friends . It was at this one particularly where I thought, ‘oh yea, it’s not just american patriarchy killing the natives and their legacies… we gotta preserve existence worldwide’. It was here, when I had no job or clue where my future would lead in that domain, and no cause keeping me back home, that I actually started feeling more serious about the side of my personality who hates shit.
Okay, I’m an optimist. I’m a go-getter, and an overachiever. I’m a people-pleaser, a good citizen, a productive and careful person. I’m a rebel just for kicks, but I don’t really exhibit a life where my values go against things. As in, my values are reflected in positive actions, for things. I support xyz so you see me in roles of support for that. I support health so I exercise; I support children so I coach; I support love so im making it out of the cards I’m dealt. Howeverrr.
I realize, during a drum circle with tribal chants, I don't do actions out of opposition. Like im avoidant of negativity so fiercely, I abandon chances to reflect my stance against anything. I don’t speak up when bothered; I let disrespect to me from others slide; I substitute my justified annoyance with excessive gratitude, constantly balancing life as a give-and-take road, in sacrificing one thing for another consistently. And girrrl that’s bad!
It was during the song All Your Light that I decided to cast a spell on myself. To set an intention, to mark a moment when I promise myself to improve, a quink, all that. Jadebabe, I endeared myself, we gotta start standing up for our rights. Don’t go back home and subscribe to wage slavery, for real. I’m part of the problem, living everyday like, “capitalism sucks but im, in literally every setting, exposing my personal subscription to it”. Pay for food, bullshit, but Imma do it anyway. I guess I gotta “earn rent” because it is what it is. My assessment hit a note inside me, which understood this living as a toxic cycle that robs our birthright to live freely and lovingly. Always “knowing” this, but tonight, really “feeling” it, to the degree where i was in spired to change my ways onward. A new track for my mind’s monologue was initiated- my body is opting out of being anywhere representing my peasantry.
I knew the precise lyric, oh so holy in its verbal empowerment, I would raise my left arm up to, like a student who has the correct answer in class, with a fist firm in solidarity and civil disobedience.
“No one said that I aim to please.”
Bang! That’s it, chief. Let that line guide me through my next chapter raging against the machine.
(…all your liiight can[‘t] save meee, i can wait i can’t wait, for my time to come ;))
The show went on and I of course enjoyed myself there fabulously. The song Noise Pollution was a crowd favorite, I assume because there is a part where they sing in French. Since then, Noise Pollution has become a newer favorite of mine. I was like, oh yea I agree with you guys on loving this one.
One of the most memorable moments was Edgar’s singing solo in the song Champ. His voice, dark and melodious, had all the french girlies howling. I was laughing, not because it was funny, but because the women standing in front of him were moved to moaning, hands twirling overhead, in response to Edgar’s smooth vocals. I laugh at moments of raw human emotion. He evoked their sultry cheers; from a stanza profoundly in their hearts, in a tone which warmed their blood. Love these shows yall!
Another memorable segment was how Feel It Still came out. During a portuguese show, you’ll find them toying around jamming in between their songs. Like, they’ll play half of The Home, spiral it into the verse of Once Was One, blended skillfully into a sweet unnamed tune, which serves as the transition into the next track you know.
So, they’re doing that right, just sailing amidst the setlist. I always really love them performing so freely because its unpredictability is fun to dance to; since sometimes good dancing is brought on by feeling the music improvisationally. I’m grooving, and I hear in the background, intro notes of Feel It Still. It sounded like drums and bass were playing Feel It Still, and the guitars and keyboard were noodling. This remix rocked! It went on for a full minute or so, and then skipping the first verse lyrics, they jumped into singing the chorus (“ooOoo im a rebel just for kicks” etc. lyrics). That’s when everybody, and I mean everybody, quickly got their phones out and began taking pics and vids. It was funny! It was the fastest display of groupthink: ‘oh, this is why i came here!’. Lol. Nobody knew it was the song that brought them out tonight for the first minute, all sort of glazed from unrecognizable rockin n rollin in the sequence before the chorus. But as soon as that “I’m a rebel just for kicks” was heard, everyone’s Instagram story was made.
On the way out, I visited the merch table, just for the eye-candy. My recent promise to myself was at its first test. Will I BUY something admitting my victim of the system status HELL no! Even in support of my bandmates, I cannot support the construction they’re trapped in with me. They’ll eat again, without my nine dollar contribution from an item I kinda wanted but could live without. Oh, a TankDog air freshener to hang on the rearview mirror of ya car. Makes sense because we just got in trouble for our car smelling like weed! How perfect it would’ve been to own, but an even higher perfection comes from resistance. Lords of Portland are prouder for my message, over my materialism, always guaranteed.
(ps does it smell like a dog? an army vehicle? weird bros, haha)
We drove back to America that night. No border patrol on the way down, home of the free for real yo. We don’t care if you buy weed legally in canada and carry it to another legal land. Just about the only thing we do right in this great nation.
I shared with my extended family on Thanksgiving day how fantastic my expeditions following my favorite band are. 9 shows and counting, they seem to like who i am as a fangirl. Ryan has seen Silverstein, his favorite band, about 10 times, but has never left the tri-state area for the Jersey born and bred band. Jason follows Excision, the headbanger DJ, to multiple edm festivals, and I think his count is up to about 10 as well. Kathryn has a masters degree in music, a naturally gifted Soprano, who has been in more musical theater productions, taught more singing lessons, and performed at more events than all of our concert outings combined. Ben is an agent in NYC, involved in Broadway and the whole lifestyle surrounding it. My family is indeed one who's been nurtured by music, and our passion for the art keeps us together as much as our genes.
The relevance of today’s essay is on point in connecting my past with this present. We’re reaching the part of my series where we’ll be caught up to now. After Montreal, we move into the era where my partner and I breakup, actually during a week where I attended 3 portugal the man shows. It’s where the universe sets me free from falling with a monochrome sketch, into flying with a multicolored masterpiece.
Today, I have another test for my rights. More challenging than passing on snagging a Febreze product. As a result of said breakup, I got rid of my housemate who paid half the rent. Sorry not sorry, mfs, it’s me living rent-free in my mind and physical home hAhA. I knew in ditching Earl and his little friend, my numbers game would become a mystery. Home of the brave, too. I pay rent every month on time for three years, and then three months during my situation changing, “property managers” wanna “evict” me. Good! Bye!
My self-declared Oppose Imperialism era is currently at its peak, and will only rise higher. It is as though the universe provides you chances to prove your worth. My worth is the substance I create in my life. My worth is not determined on being a sucker feeding anything associated with “$”.
Since April, i have gotten weed exclusively from my mother for free, gas money from her for free, and food from my low income ebt card charity, living fruitfully minimalistically, & feeling damn great about it. I closed my bank account, thus canceling all monthly payments too. I am using my mental illness as my superpower, again. My delusional religious practice(s) will guide me, and grant me what I desire.
My style is not fight, but flight. I will leave. I can be gone. No attachments, no anchors, only magical thinking steering me where i wanna be, as per usual, but this time exceptionally awesome, because i am coming to feel a new joy from my Against Stance, replacing the lower form of happiness i knew from Going With The Flow. In my elevated exhilaration, i am a better person than my mortal lAnDlOrD, earning invincibility by ditching reliance on resources, and solely banking on my breath.
I have an idea of a destination point, yet never before less of an idea of the path I’ll get there on. Looking for a low-income housing apartment in south jersey for me to settle down in alone is not really what i'm focussing on. I have dreams, waking ones speaking to me intuitively, I must follow-up with. My past life echoes continually, and I can’t be in denial about the very nature of why i’m processing a SSDisabilty case, based on my schizophrenic episodes. I accept mysteries on one hand… and I won't die wondering, on the other.
Approaching 33 this autumn, being here now… I grow into relating completely to people from this perspective, from somewhere ago. And believe if i was me then, comparing me now, the only thing that would make sense is that if you’re reading this- SOS plz you are! - we really are onto something here, about shared goals, on curating a realistic lifestyle we mutually want it to be. If i went out to a philly poetry open mic tonight, and met who i was at 22 there, I’d be craazyy to not believe my own life story. Capeesh, lol ya diiig, homies, word up i believe reality now, for sure.
Anyway im rambling but i think you get the point - im out, im free, im flying… i got a car… maybe a monthly deposit soon simply as a tool to assist in gaining what I, and those connected to me, deserve… the Luv we know, in the flesh n bonez.
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