Desculpe, Babe

I LOVE Os Mutantes. it’s the right mix of pop, psychedelia, kooky humor, and sing-along catchiness. Plus learning the lyrics in Portugese is so charming.

Mike took me to their show at the Fillmore this past Monday, and we got front row, sweaty glory. Sergio was right in front of us in his black Sgt.Pepper duster with sparkly chrysanthemum brooches and that crazy guitar with effects built into it that his brother probably built back in the sixties. I can’t believe there wasn’t more of a write-up about them in the papers, it was in fact historical. And I also can’t believe I didn’t bring my damn camera. I now only have so so SO many kickass photos of Os Mutantes, but in MY MIND– vivid as hard candy, the musician’s faces full frame and smiling like they couldn’t stop smiling. If I had actually taken photos, I would have kicked some flickr ASS, but as it was, maybe it was better, because everytime I start taking photos, the camera becomes my way of experiencing the moments, and sometimes it’s nice to not have the crutch.

They didn’t sing my favorite song Desculpe Baby in Portugese despite the rather large contingent of Brazilian fans crying, “En Portugues! En Portugues!” At one point I looked behind me and people were wearing 3-D glasses and bathed in pickle-yellow floodlights, gettin’ down and sweaty. It was so freakin’ fun!

“Desculpe, babe
Arnaldo Dias Baptista – Rita Lee

Desculpe, babe
Não vou brincar com você
Desculpe, babe
Não vou mais ser joão-ninguém
Eu vou correndo
Buscar a glória, minha glória

Desculpe, babe
Mas eu já me decidi
Desculpe, babe
Eu vou viver mais pra mim
Eu vou correndo
Buscar a glória, minha glória”

En Ingles:

“I`m sorry baby (Desculpe baby)
Arnaldo Baptista – Rita Lee – versão: Os Mutantes

I`m sorry baby
I won`t be with you today
I`m sorry baby
This is my last time on earth

I`m gonna run now
To reach the glory of my mind
Baby goodbye

I`m sorry baby
But now I`ve made up my mind
I`m sorry baby
Do as I tell you, don`t cry

I`m gonna run now
To reach the glory of my mind
Baby goodbye”

listen to this song before you go good night

and now, good night

Birds of two feathers

There are two different birds that I love to hear lately.

The After-Midnight Bird

One of them sings in the middleof the night, off the back roof of this apartment building somewhere, the only other wide-awake thing in the darkest part of morning when I happen to be up too, pondering work. It trills with a brightness that is almost domestic– recalls yellow kitchen curtains, green lawns, and the wry postman. Its call is the equivalent of turning on a lamp, out in the street, in the middle of the evening, and then turning it right back off again.

The BART Bird

This bird is camoflauged in the grey and trilobite shade of the train station, under the speckled glass eaves of the rain shelter, its call curling, then spattering, over the rows of needles tacked along the edges and walls (pigeon deterrents). This bird must be so abnormal from pigeons that it horrifies the pigeons, with feathers and temperament of such a different league as to have come from some deep, chaotic place. Its call is truly amazing, makes commuter heads turn, thinking vaguely, “jungle? Aphrodisia. No, an exotic purgatory.” Finally, the train comes whooshing out of the tunnel and blows a hooting, hollow call, as chilling as the jungle bird’s, if you only learn to hear it as a message out of context– incomprehensible, but thrilling.

animal hybrids

I think there was something about mismatching huge “audiophile” headphones onto a iPod mini that got me thinking about mismatches in general. There are mismatches in love, business, and underwear, which leads me to believe that mismatching inhabits all threads, lofty or lowly, of life. It’s the contra-force tugging at the bottom-side of Evolution. When something mismatches a new and current intention, then change must churn until the mismatch is resolved.

I found these animal stamps in my cart of crafty crap, and I do believe I have had these stamps since grade school! That would make these little slips of paper (at the time, I’m sure they were symbolic to me as little passports of discovery) about 23 years old. They are still enfolded in the stamp book that my mom bought for me at the U.S. Postal Service. Sifting through the pile of creatures boxed into their perforated paper edges, I noticed some had had their heads cut out in circular fashion. I am the only one who could have done such a thing, but why? Curious.

In the mode of Dr. Frankenstein, I (mis)matched some of them together and got some pleasing results. So far, I have a Perchloon, and a Toucanallion.

And then I read this lovely coming of age story by Gaela, which you should all read because it was a hoot. Romantic idealism vs. the funnier-than-thou truth. There is an element of mismatching in every love story, i think.

iPod body, Monster ears, moustaches

I discovered a good way to vaccuum my place now…or rather, block out the noise of the vaccuum. My runway-attendant headphones, fitted with an adapter, plug nicely into my mini iPod. Although it looked gauche (no one ever wears their ipod without the white earbuds–i wonder why), I am seriously thinking of wearing this getup on the morning commute. It’s going to be fly.
Also, I noticed in this picture, that I have a moustache.

Which reminds me, the worst article (and by worst, I mean, it actually pissed me off) I ever read in a women’s fashion mag– was a re-visioning of Frida Kahlo without her moustache and her unibrow (which looked like a stylized bird). The gist was if Frida had gone to a depilatory salon, she would have looked like, well, more glamorous, like uh…Salma Hayek. My inner voice wailed in exasperated despair–”Nooooooo, you stupid ass-people! That was an actress playing the real thing!”

the real thing has hair, and prickles, and a beauty unbridled by design.

My paltry moustache pales in comparison.

Skyped

John called me from Berlin today, on Skype. I could still hear the residual excitement in his voice after Germany’s victory over Argentina. It sure was strange, and nice, to hear his voice. A feeling came over me that I cannot quite describe, but the best comparison might be suddenly going outside (where it’s sunny, hot, windy) after being busy inside your apartment all day. Suddenly, everything shifts in plane– like you were walking with a plate of food, and suddenly the plane of the plate shifts in your hand (it is barbeque season, after all) because of the grabbing wind, or your thoughts were somewhere else. The plane shift jolts you back a little into a feeling which is already lost, but you are aware again.

John mentioned he and Aimee would be traveling to Italy and France soon. That sounds so fun, and yet I am not in the state of mind where that would be fun for me. Not that I would mind if I were in a state of mind where traveling to countries of lush and copious romance, wine, and food (or the legends thereof) sounded exciting and lovely to me. But I’m not there, and that must be because I feel there is so much I need to do in my closet of an office that I have set up in my new apartment.

Mike was miraculously able to fix my computer, which was invaded by the residual guts of an antivirus program so sticky that the company which created it should not be named after an adorable black-and-white bear-like raccoon, but rather after Alien or Thing. If you’ve had the same problems de-installing Panda Antivirus 2005, read his no less than harrowing (but ultimately successful) trial. Go Magic Drake!

He is in Florida in St. Augustine, swimming in an ocean that is *warm* and full of transparent jellyfish. Because it is warm, in my imagination there are friendly spirits in the water with him as he swims. That makes me smile. I miss him.
Here, i always think the spirits in the water are more imp-like, sardonic, and fond of practical jokes. Like slipping ice cubes down your swim bottoms, for instance.

It is the coldest summer I remember in San Francisco. Wearing capris will get you legs covered in goosebumps. Forget about sundresses. But I believe I complain about the foggy summer here every year.

July 4th was puzzlingly depressing for me. I am still trying to piece together why in the hopes that it will provide the cure…the feeling is as hard to correct as a dropped stitch while knitting and you don’t realize until many rows later…

Today I dragged out a bunch of my collaging materials, and sorted through old photographs and posters that I still haven’t put up in this new place. I decided to finally “personalize” my Shuttle with some amazing paper I bought at that Japanese paper place on 4th Street in Berkeley (I can never remember the name). Particularly, two swatches make me swoon, the effect they have on me is like eating ice cream. It made me pretty happy to be cutting up shapes and gluing things down. So rusty! I *myself* am the rusty pair of scissors!