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Lindsey Kuper

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How can you live in a place like this? [Oct. 12th, 2005|10:43 pm]
Lindsey Kuper

I had dinner with J-J meterbridge on Monday night. We went to Tapas Barcelona.

Lindsey: So! Appetizers?
J-J: This is a tapas restaurant, Lindsey.
Lindsey: Oh. Um, right.
J-J: Sooooo...yeah! Appetizers!

And, well, that's pretty much us. Me, naive and clumsy, yet enthusiastic. J-J, sophisticated and world-weary, yet enthusiastic. It was the last time I'll see him in a long time, and I teared up a bit when we hugged goodbye. Like he said, we helped each other out.

I really like this neighborhood. I walked by Rachel geminus's house and her Golden Nugget on the way home the other day, and it hit me like a ton of bricks that this high school I'm next door to right now might be hers. I wish I could stay and discover the Chicago I don't know so well. It wasn't until this year that I figured out that there's more to the city on the other side of the Kennedy. Hell, I don't think it was until 2003 or so that I figured out there was more to the city than the four blocks either side of the red line.

I used to visit Chicago then and love it so much and want to get here. Now I'm figuring out that wanting was better than having. I guess it's hard to appreciate anything that you're in the thick of.

I can't wait to leave and come back.

I like your twisted point of view, Mike.
I like your questioning eyebrow.
You've made it pretty clear what you like.
It's only fair to tell you now
that I leave early in the morning,
and I won't be back till next year.
I see that kiss-me pucker forming,
but maybe you should plug it with a beer,
'cause Papa was a rodeo,
Mama was a rock 'n' roll band.
I could play guitar and rope a steer
before I learned to stand.
Home was anywhere with diesel gas.
Love was a trucker's hand.
Never stayed anywhere long enough
for a one-night stand.
Before you kiss me, you should know:
Papa was a rodeo.

The light reflecting off the mirror ball
looks like a thousand swirling eyes.
They make me think I shouldn't be here at all --
you know, every minute, someone dies.
What are we doing in this dive bar?
How can you live in a place like this?
Why don't you just get into my car,
and I'll take you away -- I'll take that kiss, now --
but Papa was a rodeo,
Mama was a rock 'n' roll band.
I could play guitar and rope a steer
before I learned to stand.
Home was anywhere with diesel gas.
Love was a trucker's hand.
Never stayed anywhere long enough
for a one-night stand.
Before you kiss me, you should know:
Papa was a rodeo.
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