Summer Jam

So I wet myself.

I didn't actually but the rush of adrenaline and my period always makes my bladder whine like a toddler in a toy store. I was lucky. I had the previous night crawled in at some unsavory hour from a nicotine-stained karaoke dive in an attempt to sleep off my birthday hangover when I was awakened by a seismic hiccup.

Okay, more like a damp belch.

"Am I dreaming?" I thought as I watched my wooden bureau sway dangerously to and fro.

"Oh. An earthquake." I realized sluggishly and rolled over. Normal earthquakes do that. Five seconds later the bed frame rattled with me on it, jostling me violently. My house felt like it had been picked up and handled by a giant baby. When I heard the explosion of glass breaking, I decided a normal earthquake did not do that and that I had best take cover.

I had to pee like the dickens!

Fortunately, it was brief but that was enough. It was bad outside, folks. My house, having been constructed from plastic and rubber bands in the early 90's, was spared the front page news. Older dwellings from the 40's and 50's-- wooden cracked things in need of repair--had been reduced to splinters. Sifting through the mess that was my kitchen, I was sent back to the floor by an aftershock.

Stupid crust.

I was in need of some uplifting as I sorted through the shards of my fallen dishes but I gave up. It's too sad to put it plainly. I just turn down the volume and slow the tempo. HUMBERT HUMBERT's cover of the famed Japanese children's song, Aka Tonbo/赤トンボ/Red Dragonfly. It's drowsy and tucking you in even though the bloated sun isn't quite dead yet. Acoustic folk with a glassy-eyed supernatural intro. I don't know what instrument is responsible for those sounds but I'd be unsettled or sad if I weren't so mesmerized.

I will unconditionally adore Kenichi Asai no matter how passionately he sings through his nose. Though I am not sure I can tell exactly where his original band, Blankey Jet City, ends and his latest incarnation, JUDE, begins I know he'll always lead me by the hand into dark acid trips I'm nervous about getting into. His guitar sings like a siren, you see, I really have no choice. Kaisuiyoku/海水浴/Seawater Bathing is a dark, cinematic song in the predatory echoey vein of Violet Fizz.

Certain altos have magic. Lazy and too hip to be here Rufus Wainwright. Slurred on opiate and half dreaming Hope Sandoval. Then there's UA. It's a bit goofy to hear this ska through molasses track known as Private Surfer/プライベート サーファー but UA's deep jazzy voice fits it like a glove, compelling you with the slap of a Texas salmon to calm or sway in the breeze. Or slow dance if you need to be a sap.

Man, I wish I had a porch. If I had a porch, I'd exist barefoot on it. I'd make lemonade from simple syrup and mint and get someone nice to play the harmonica for me all day. I'd find a watering hole, wear a straw hat and fish for trout in Abercromie and Fitch while Keison set the mood. The Americana dopamine of the blues is as worldly addictive and undying as the myth of the cowboy. No matter what language you speak, someone somewhere will always want to groove to that beat. Endless Summer/Owaranai Natsu/終わらない夏.

Ok, I feel a little better now.