Dear Diary
Walking down the hallway to the little bathroom in the practice space, I always feel like I’m in a horror movie. The flickering light, the chipped tile, the sound of bass pulsing through the crummy walls. If I was going to get murdered, it would be here.
The truth is, I’m not going to be murdered. I’m not that important. More likely, I’m going to live. And if that’s the case, I’m going to keep writing very strange songs.
The latest Hayley and the Crushers endeavor is a spoken-word diary entry ripped from a parallel world of Gidget. There are bongos (thanks to Dan Keller). And the sound of waves crashing. And the squeaky voice of a 28-year-old woman who still remembers being a teenager. Vividly.
When I was in sixth grade, Mrs. Lawrence would always wheel out a T.V. and VCR during rainy days. Some days, it was Milo and Otis. On others, it was old 1960s episodes of Gidget. And so began my love affair with the “girl midget” surfer.
Recently, Reid bought me the complete DVD set, and we’ve been oscillating between watching that and the Wire. It’s a strange trip…from neon colored camp to the basement of a Baltimore police precinct. But isn’t that how life truly feels?
Our next show will likely be in Colorado this January. I love how random this idea is. Why not? It will be good practice for this summer, when we pack up the van and DRIVE. We are blessed with drummers right now. A Colorado drummer who can tour, a local drummer who can record, and a new drummer who can play shows. It's like the drummer gods finally listened.
Last night we played with the newest dude for the first time, Mr. Gabe Olivarria. We used to watch him play in Wolfcross (METAL AS SNOT, CHECK THEM OUT!!!), before they moved to L.A and made SLO a more boring place. He's a jovial guy with talent to spare...and more flare than a TGIF server's vest. He even knew how to play the Pete and Pete intro on bass, which thoroughly impressed this child of the 90s.
The adventure continues...I don't know where it will land, but I do know one thing: KEEP OUT OF MY DIARY! Just kidding.
And now, a page ripped from my old diary, written on June 10, 1997. I was 10 years old. It's a poem, but it could easily be translated into a song. It digresses into an angry rant against my then neighbor, a little boy named Ryan. Not quite sure why, I had a huge crush on him. What do you think?
June 10, 1997 // 7:59 p.m.
I wonder if the world will blow up. That is something I DO NOT want to know. What if it blows up tomorrow? No one in their right mind would ever believe me. THEN what would I do? Well, I guess SOME thing are just meant for wondering.
Some things are meant for wondering, some things you don't want to know. Some things are just meant for wondering, like when will the whole world blow?
When will the sky shatter to pieces, like hail stones above our heads? If aliens will land, if the sun will give up, if the whole human race will go dead!!!
So if you want to know everything, I think something's messin' with your head. Because you'll just be worryin' and worryin' until YOU are unhappily dead.
Cool poem, huh? (I actually wrote this after the poem...)
Ryan pulls his pants down. Boy! Does he look DUMB!!!
And if you're reading this Ryan,
SHAVE YOUR HEAD!!!!!!!! (?????)
End of entry.
