Episode 9:  ”I Found a Reason”—Cat Power (adapted from The Velvet Underground)

“Oh I do believe 

In all the things you see 

What comes is better than what came before.”

Wicker Park, Chicago, Illinois…2000…

I’m a creature of habit and routine, especially now, when the majority of my decisions and actions seem completely devoid of logic and strategy.  Outside observers would never guess that I secretly hate spontaneity.  ”One night she went to Earwax for coffee…and ended up coming home three days later after randomly going to Michigan with the guy that asked to share her table.”  Yes, that was spontaneous.    And even I cannot explain why I did that.

But the true detective, the expert in espionage and surveillance, would see the patterns.  

Every night at 7:15, I hop on my bike and pedal over to Earwax for superfluous coffee (and I wonder why I have trouble sleeping), copious amounts of nicotine, and a salad with balsamic dressing. 

I wash my hair on Sunday and Wednesday.  

Around noon on Saturdays, I bike up to Belmont to buy comics.  I never talk to the boy behind the counter, despite a fierce three year crush on him.   Next I visit Zach at work.  Sometimes I get a haircut.   I might browse new shoes and/or pick up a pack of Gauloises for my roommate.  And then back down to Wicker Park, to get ready for Saturday night mayhem.

On Sundays, I go to Reckless Records (on Milwaukee) to listen to new releases, pick up my special orders, and generally drop a lot of cash on music.  This is proceeded by a light breakfast at Earwax and followed by a brief visit to Myopic Books.  I spend the rest of the afternoon sprawled out on my bedroom floor, listening to one album after another while reading yet another biography (for some reason, I only want to read based-on-a-true-story tales of emotionally troubled luminaries).

No matter how frenzied and messy the rest of my days and hours might be, I find comfort in these rituals.  It allows me to believe that I’ve still got a grip on myself and my actions.

And so, I find myself at Reckless this particular Sunday, after drinking too too too much gin the night before.  I’m in the mopiest mood imaginable, despite the sunny spring weather.  

Last night my quasi-boyfriend Ryan told me that he had a crush on another girl.  I was supposed to give him some advice or encouragement, but I stopped listening early on, when he waxed poetic about her red pants.  I gave my own black (and therefore, unsexy) pants a sad once-over.  Somehow the color of one’s bottoms were an indicator of one’s sexual prowess.  

Five minutes later I announced, “I just remembered that I have to meet Cheryl at the Rainbo.”  I tossed a five on the table to cover my coffee, before sailing out the door.

Of course this was lie, but I knew that only a quick ring of Cheryl’s doorbell would be required to lure her out for drinks.

And so I spent the rest of the evening at the Rainbo, tossing back gin and chainsmoking.  

“Oh, Cheryl, why do I do this to myself?” Imagine that this rhetorical question is dripping with self-pity and overall tediousness.  So sad.

But Cheryl is a good friend, and she lets me wallow as much as I want.

“I don’t know, dear.  Why DO you still hang out with Ryan?  And more importantly, why are you drinking gin again?  Doesn’t that make you sad?”

I shrug my shoulders.  Why do I care of Ryan likes another girl?  He’s not my boyfriend…we just talk every day and sleep together once a week.  He’s really full of himself.  Sometimes he’s downright boring.  Most of my friends think he’s a jerk.  

But I’m hooked.

Recently he said to me, “From the moment I met you, I knew I would know you for my whole life.”

And “There’s some cosmic connection that has brought us together forever.”

I always smile diplomatically when he says these kinds of things.  Because, really, what can I say?  I don’t believe in anything.  Being raised atheist makes suspending one’s disbelief very difficult.  

Then again, I DO believe what he says, even though I have no proof to back it up.  Just a little twinge of “this is true” lurking behind my left eye.

So now it’s Sunday afternoon, and I’m feeling wretched.  My pants are still black and I’m pretty sure that I smell like stale liquor, despite two showers.  I’m wondering if I should move back to New York, because I just feel as if I can’t stay in Chicago as long as Ryan is there.  This could be a good plan.  Meanwhile, I’ll temporarily cheer myself up with some new records.

I go to a listening station with a stack of new releases, including The Covers Record, by Cat Power.  

Something about Chan Marshall’s voice and her mournful piano playing makes my heart ache.  While I’m distracted by the pain in my chest, she sneaks into the back stairwell of my mind.   With ninja-like stealth, she tiptoes around a dark corner and slips a key into a secret lock.  We’re both surprised by the monster that comes bursting out of the open door:

“Fuck! I’m in love with Ryan!”  I’m not sure if I actually said this out loud, but I cover my mouth just in case.   I’m so dizzy, that I consider dropping to the floor and putting my head between my knees.   A classic Girl Scout first aid maneuver!  But this is “my” record store.  I don’t want my reputation to be destroyed by random acts of swooning.

I pay for my records (including the Cat Power) and race back to my house.  I spend the rest of the day on my rug, wondering what I’m going to do about this problem.  And of course, I listen to The Covers Record  no less than 10 times.

Furthermore:  Ryan did really know me for the rest of his life.  His phone bill indicated that I was the last person he called by a long shot.  I held on to his voice mails until I could no longer afford my Chicago phone number.  And even though he’s spent the last eight years in a Decatur cemetery (wearing a wretched green outfit picked out by his mother, most likely just to spite me), we ARE connected forever.  I see him daily in the face of another person.  We meet in dreamscapes about once a month. And he appears every time I hear a handful of specific songs.

Since then, I always have a hard time ignoring similar statements of connections and fate, no matter the source.

Moreover:  I’m not going to suggest further listening material, because everyone knows/loves Cat Power.  Right now The Greatest is my favorite Cat Power album, but that changes weekly.