Once upon a time, I decided that I was going to run monitors for touring rock bands. My roommate (herself, a future road manager) countered with “dude, no way…you’d die.” Even if I’d had the proper disposition to be a sound engineer (I totally don’t), I think she’d have been right. Like dairy products and wedding cakes, I don’t travel well. I’m a nester. I need a Batcave, a base of operations. Preferably, one with a cat. So, what happens when Batman, er BatWOman, has to go on a cruise?
The subject line of this post is my new mantra. I have written it on the inside of my watch band.
Jimmy Urine is the singer for Mindless Self Indulgence. They used to be “out they damn mind,” and now they’re decidedly more pop, but I still love them. Even in the age of having one’s album sold exclusively at Hot Topic, Jimmy Urine’s kept his teeth about him. He’s still just as smart-ass as he ever was, even if he can now afford the good drugs.**
I still have more than a month to get ready for the cruise I’m being taken on (see what I did there? the subtext being “against my will?”), and I’ve already lost the ability to properly digest things. Imagine how it’s going be when I’m sitting IN AN AIRPORT. I’ll be doing so with my left wrist, sans spiked bracelet, being the wrong weight. Feeling naked. Will security give me lip about my platforms? “But I’m 5’1″! I have the god-given right to wear stacks!” I don’t own luggage, I don’t take vacations, I don’t have a passport (yet), and I damn sure don’t get on planes. I enjoy my cage of fear. It has a nice throw rug.
Every so often, little goth chicks have to look the universe in the face and say, “bring it, bitch.” In the last year, the universe has taken some really sizable bites out of my ass, but I’ve fallen back, regrouped, and I’m ready for some payback. My name is (evil)amy, you killed my friend. Prepare to die. Please remind me of this paragraph in a month, when I’m curled up in a ball, muttering about snakes and hiding in my closet.
I can’t take full credit for the mantra, as “WWJUD” is a variation on Katy’s mantra “What Would Debbie Harry Do?” which she employs to fantastic effect, particularly when picking out shoes. In other words, here’s my inner dialogue:
“Jimmy Urine would suck it up and get on that plane and not care. Jimmy Urine would go on this cruise, turn it into performance art, and use the trip to Mexico to buy authentic Day of the Dead merch. Jimmy Urine would find the humor of this situation, and write a funny song about it. Jimmy Urine wouldn’t be in a cold sweat all the way to Florida.”
Yes, Florida. I am THIS nervous about a 45-minute plane trip. Shut up. Watching planes take off in movies makes me nervous. I haven’t been on a plane in 15 years, but I’ve always said that I would do it if I really needed to. OK, so I defined “needed to” as “Tim Burton offered me a job in L.A.” or “DHGs are sending me to London.” Ft. Lauderdale and Carnival cruise lines isn’t quite what I pictured. Can you get a functioning crystal ball on eBay?
**At least, he claims that he does all the drugs. If history is any indicator, though, his on-stage craziness probably means that he’s really quiet in real life. See also: Alice Cooper, Marilyn Manson.