For fuck's sake, am I a freaking downer lately or what? Time to kick myself in the ass with some good old fashioned really awful pop music.
This movie was horrible. Beyond horrible actually. But the music? I am not a little ashamed to say I liked it. Sticks in your head bubblegum pop. Without further ado...
Like a face that I hold insidePMS is different for most women. We each go through varying degrees of grumpiness, being over-emotional, in general just needing our Midol. I’m really not so different except for that I’m hyper-emotional anyway so there are moments during the week or so before I’m on the rag that this she-beast inside of me, who I generally keep under control and happy with a few scraps here and there, becomes a slavering monster. Her claws rip through my body like hot knives through butter and at times, it’s all I can do to control her and the impulses she throws at me. For the most part, the center holds and the knowledge and defense mechanisms I’ve cultivated over the years manage to keep things copacetic.
A face that awakes when I close my eyes
It's like a whirlwind inside of my head
It's like I can't stop what I'm hearing within
It's like the face inside is right beneath my skin
But there are rare moments when it’s all too much and everything I’m feeling and thinking explodes and lies there, open and raw and vulnerable, a victim to the violence of my personal hormonal tsunami.
And like everyone else alive in this world, it’s then that keeping my shit together just makes me so fucking tired.
The sun goes down
I feel the light betray me
For seven years I worked at an independent living center in Los Angeles. It was the best job I've ever had. I went from Administrative Assistant to Executive Assistant to Office Manager while I was there. The person I was assistant to was Mary Ann, the Executive Director. She was a quadriplegic wheelchair user and one of the most amazing people I've met. She had been working in the disability community for over 30 years and was a tireless, motivated, inspirational leader to everyone who knew her. No, she wasn't a saint and she wasn't perfect but she was one of the good guys. Not only was she my boss, she was also my friend.
As you may have guessed, she died a few years ago. I hadn't been working at WCIL for a while at that point. I'd tried to keep in touch with her, which for me is a minor miracle considering how well I usually do at such things. There was a mention in the Center's newsletter one day that Mary Ann had pneumonia. Not too long after sending her a get well card, I got an e-mail from one of my former co-workers. Mary Ann had died. It was a bit of a shock and I was sad, I grieved, all that jazz. But I dealt with it, life moved on as it does but Mary Ann has always lived on in my heart & mind. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of WCIL or am reminded of it and the people I worked with.
Fast forward to last Friday and I had the occasion to catch up with another friend and former co-worker who I hadn't spoken to in a long time (told you, I'm terrible at keeping up with people). In the course of our conversation, he told me in more detail about Mary Ann's death. It was awful. She'd suffered horribly and for quite some time. Man, that seriously laid me out Friday afternoon & evening. She'd been going through this terrible time and I hadn't been there. I could have visited, should have been there to support her. My default is to beat myself up so I did that for a bit. However, a friend once wisely told me that should've, would've and could've don't count. One of the most important pieces of advice I've ever been given. So it wasn't too long before I had to kick myself in the ass so as to stop wasting more of my time.
Anyway, I know this song is about an extramarital affair and all but Mary Ann told me once how this song was special to her and her husband and ever since then it's reminded me of her. Since she's on my mind more than usual lately, as well as the fact I needed to write to exorcise the guilt demons, here it is. Thus will end the death and grieving posts for a bit. It's been that kind of week & a half or so and I'm done with it.
Many people in this world have family businesses. Some are plumbers, some are lawyers, some are doctors. My family, our business was a nursing home. My aunt was a partner and the administrator, my mom was the activity director and my mentor/one of my closest friends was the assistant administrator. Being a single parent, and having an understanding boss in her sister, my mom would often bring me to work with her on the weekends and school holidays so that I wasn't left home alone. The nursing home was a second home to me. I grew up helping with the activities, talking with the patients, racing wheelchairs down the hallways and in general getting in the way whenever possible. It was an invaluable experience in that I never considered wheelchairs as something odd to be stared at and I learned the value and the importance of the elderly. I'd listen to their stories, talk with them and their families and I had more grandparents than any other kid around.
When I was old enough, I began working in the business office. Over the years, as would be expected, I became closer to certain patients. One of them was particularly special to me. Her name was Clara. She had been a patient for a short time after breaking a hip and once she rehabilitated, she went back to the board and care where she normally lived. She liked our beautician, however, and so she'd come back every few weeks to get her hair done. Since she didn't drive, I'd go over and pick her up and then take her back. She was a great lady - funny, irreverent and a little bit crazy but in a good way. She was from Italy and had married a US serviceman in World War II. I still have her green card. She had the most beautiful black hair when she was younger. By the time I knew her, it had turned a gorgeous snow white with strands of black shot through.
Eventually, as generally happens, she became ill to the point where she needed to live at the nursing home full time. Her mind deteriorated so she didn't always know where she was but she usually remembered me. Her actual family wasn't involved with her at all so I ended up being her emergency contact, her caretaker, all of it. I'm listed on her death certificate as next of kin. Most days, the nurses would wheel her up to the hallway right outside the business office so she and I could talk while I worked. When Clara was feeling especially nice, and not a little nuts, she'd sing for me. My favorite song out of her repertoire was O Sole Mio.
Clara didn't have the most beautiful voice and she didn't always remember all of the words but her rendition of that song was, and always will be, my favorite. We had a routine we'd go through. She'd ask me what song I'd like to hear her sing, knowing exactly what I was going to say. Then I'd tell her O Sole Mio and she'd warble it just for me in her sweet 80-year old voice.
When Clara got really sick for the last time, the nurses called me when it looked like she was going to die. They said she'd been asking for me. It was really late and I drove as fast as I could through the empty streets so I could say goodbye. I went to her room, held her hand and she looked at me with those lovely brown eyes for the last time. She'd waited for me to get there before she died. That had never happened to me before nor has it happened since where I meant that much to someone that they held off death just to see me before they let go. It was a powerful gift and not one I've taken lightly. My sweet Clara.
There's this daft little dream that occupies a space inside of me. Of a house with a wrap around porch in a small town on the Pacific Ocean (or any temperate climate zone, really) where everyone knows everyone else's business. The kind of town where when someone dies, their family gets inundated with casseroles. This song speaks to that space inside of me and fills it up for a few minutes.
You wanna be where they still open doors for you
It's not hard for them to remember you at all
They light your cigarette and tell their friends
you used to love them
Where they remember your name
When I hear this, I close my eyes and I can see myself sitting on that wrap around porch, watching the sun go down while I'm drinking a lemonade, Patrick Monahan's voice drifting through the screen door from where the song is playing on the stereo inside the house.
I can see myself dancing and cleaning up the house on a Saturday while Van Morrison's Brown Eyed Girl blasts in the background with me singing along (badly), of course. Slow dancing with my sweetie (whoever he may be) to Tupelo Honey while the sun sets. Have I mentioned I like sunsets? Especially the sun setting into the ocean with just enough clouds to give the sun a canvas on which to paint those beautiful colors.
Every year that goes by, that space inside of me where this dream lives takes up a little more room. Someday...
Two blog posts in one day! A record! Sort of! Maybe for the most exclamation points in one sentence!
Okay, so I had an epiphany while I was in the shower the other day. Yes, I take showers. I like being clean. And don't all great epiphanies happen in the shower? I'll bet more do than you'd think.
Right. Moving on. I'd heard Cats in the Cradle on the radio the day before and it had hit the repeat button in my brain.
Like most people, the first time I heard it I was all "this is so tragic, crimes of the father visited upon the son, blah, blah, blah". So I was mulling the implications and interpretation of the lyrics whilst shampooing my hair and it came to me. What if, at the end of the song, the son is basically telling his dad "you never had time for me when I was a kid so now that you're old and suddenly have time for me, you know what? Fuck you. My kids need me - they're sick - and I'm going to be there for them like you weren't for me. Take that, you bastard." I like that interpretation better, quite honestly. I like the son being the man and father his dad had never been.
Do I think that's what Harry Chapin's meaning was when he wrote the song? Who knows. That's what's so great about music. You take from it what you want or what you need. And no matter what you get out of this song, it's a great one and truly deserving of being a classic.
I swear I have, like, four blog posts at a minimum swirling around in my head, mostly written. Have I actually sat down to put them up here? Of course not. Slacker Lil!
Anywho, when I first heard this song, I loved it and immediately went out and bought the entire CD. That's always a good thing to do, right? Yeaaah. This is one of those CD's where I only listen to one song on repeat. Fortunately, it's a great song.
...love is for fools who fall behind
It's kind of an aching song, I suppose, which is one of the reasons I like it. An aching for something your heart wants to be possible but your head knows is impossible. And isn't so much of life like that? Encountering things, people, opportunities that you'd love to have in your life but then the universe laughs at you and says "you fucking idiot, you thought you could have that - well think again!"
Oh what a cynical bitch I can be.
It's too far away for me to hold
It's too far away...
Redheads were abandoned for a post but now they're back and with a really good one, too. It's about time the males stood up and represented and who better to do that than Danny Elfman?
I first heard the Mystic Nights of the Oingo Boingo while away on a church youth group excursion. I was the only person who'd gone and Dave, the youth leader at the time, had the Dr. Demento show on the radio while we were driving home. I always thought of Dave as mild mannered and kind of boring, but really, I should have realized anyone who listens to Dr. Demento can't be all bad.
So here I was, this good little Christian girl...
{{Please, a moment of silence for the wholesome Christian girl I once was}}
...
{{moment of silence}}
...
Okay, thank you. As I was saying, I was pure of heart and ears (I listened to Amy Grant for Christ's sake - literally) so when Dr. Demento (how I loved that show - Fish heads, fish heads, roly poly fish heads) started playing this weird band with an even weirder name, I was all "huh?". Oddly enough, though, I didn't find the music repellent - just really, really weird. I may have mentioned that already.
Then years later on there came the era of the first of the band's shortened names. Only a Lad had HEAVY rotation on one of the local radio stations 'round these parts, KROQ 106.7, and Little Girls was one of the bigger songs off of that album. It's fun and catchy and oh so deliciously disturbing.
They don't ask me questions
They don't want to scold me
They don't look for answers
They just want to hold me
Isn't this fun
Isn't this what life's all about
Isn't this a dream come true
Isn't this a nightmare too
This song is wrong on so many levels but it's the perfect example of Oingo Boingo during the early part of their career. In order to fully enjoy it, though, you have to realize that taking life too seriously is not a good thing. That said, I do not condone pedophilia nor do I think that Oingo Boingo does either.
Obviously Danny Elfman has some serious dementedness going on in his amazingly talented brain. My favorite song of Oingo Boingo's is actually Just Another Day off of Dead Man's Party but Little Girls is too perfect an example of their dark brilliance.
War, children it's just a shot awayEven hearing the intro, with Keith Richards' rhythm guitar and the swelling of the music as the song gains steam, it gives me chills sometimes. There's a very distinct vibe to this song, which hits me as being eerily compelling. It's been used in several feature films, almost all of them having to do with the Vietnam War, about which this song was written.
It's just a shot away
Oooh see the fire is sweepin'
Our very street today
Burns like a red coal carpet
Mad bull lost its way
Every element of Little Earthquakes truly blows me away. From the range of her voice, her master use of the piano, the thunder like percussion sounds - this song really gets to me.
These little earthquakes
Doesn't take much to rip us into pieces
These lyrics, especially the bit at the top "give me myself again", resonate so strongly with me. I've had depression issues at times. Whenever these instances manifest, I eventually get to a point where I realize what's going on and know I have to kick myself in the ass to get on with life and not wallow anymore, to get back to being the me I like, the me I want to be. Perhaps that's why this song is a favorite of mine. Or maybe I just like it. :-)
And I like cream in my coffee
And I like to sleep late on Sunday
And nobody knows me like my baby
And I like eggs over easy
With flour tortillas
And nobody knows me like my baby
Night and day
Why is it so?
That this longing for you follows wherever I go
In the roarin' traffic's boom
In the silence of my lonely room
I think of you
Day and night
It so perfectly captures obsession and longing. And, between you and me, it appeals to my inner romantic that I've managed to bury under copious layers of cynicism and derision.
Last Dead Daddy entry and, for me, this was the song that really and truly helped me heal. In it I found the understanding I’d so desperately been seeking.
I won’t go into all of my feelings about The Joshua Tree, the album on which this song appears, and how U2 has changed since Rattle and Hum came out. If you’ve known me for any length of time, I’m sure I’ve bored you with my thoughts and theories ad nauseum. I’m sure I’ll get to it here eventually as it’s a big deal for me. Suffice it to say, you know that list of albums you’d want with you if you were stranded on a desert island? This is at the top of my list.
Bono wrote this song about Greg Carroll, his personal assistant and close friend, who died in a motorcycle accident. U2 doesn’t perform this song very often, in fact during an over 20 year career, they’ve played it live a total of 40 times. The reason for this being that it’s an emotionally painful song for them to perform.
I read an interview with Bono in Rolling Stone right after The Joshua Tree was released. In fact, I still have that issue somewhere buried in my closet full o’ crap. In it, they talk about Greg Carroll and Bono tells them that right after Greg died, he’d jump whenever the phone would ring. That he’d dread answering it because he was scared that it would be more bad news of someone else he cared about dying. That totally floored me because that was me. Being able to look back at that time more objectively, of course most grieving people have those same fears. But here was someone I admired, who created music I LOVED and he was having the same issue as me. I fell a little in love with Bono while I read that interview, which made their musical betrayal all the more painful later but that’s another story for another time.
I’ve even written to Bono to let him know how much that song meant to me and how much help and comfort it’s given me over the years. I know, total fan geek. But I had to. Even if he never read it, I knew that I did the best I could to let him know of all the songs in all the world, his is the one that helped to save my life.
Of course there was never any chance for me to actually talk with Julian, to pick his brain about how he dealt with his grief, but for me there was still a connection. Because of him, I knew there was at least one other person in the world who knew where I was coming from. Yeah, yeah, I know (and knew) I wasn't the first teenager whose father had died but there were times when it felt like it.
Besides, this was a good album. I was sorry to read some years later that Julian hadn't liked it. He felt that others had imposed their musical will on him and he ended up recording music that wasn't fully expressive of him. Personally, I think he maybe liked Stoli and cranberry juice a little too much at the time, but that's just me. (Yes, I remember reading in an interview that Stoli and cranberry juice was his favorite drink. I'll remember it until the day I die because it's absolutely non-vital to my existence).
At any rate, thank you, Julian. Thank you for being there for me when I needed you.
You got a fast car
I want a ticket to anywhere
Maybe we make a deal
Maybe together we can get somewhere
Fast Car by Tracy Chapman
See my old man's got a problemMy parents had divorced when I was 4. My mom had sole custody. It fit me in so many ways and on that Sunday, when I was hurting and angry, it was just what I needed.
He lives with the bottle that's the way it is
He says his body's too old for working
I say his body's too young to look like his
My mama went off and left him
She wanted more from life than he could give
Why is the music playing in your head and not out loud?
Well, mainly because at work I have no speakers attached to my computer. Also, my boss likes to listen to his music which can be heard all through the office. Suffice it to say, it wouldn't be my first choice but, well, he's the boss. As such, I play the music I want to be listening to inside my head.
But you don't work 24/7 do you?
No but I do talk to myself in stupid FAQ's on a website no one's probably going to visit.
So is this blog going to only be links to You Tube videos?
Pretty much. Plus you get to hear me wax rhapsodic about music. Doesn't that sound super awesome? Don't answer that.
Are you nuts?
Yes.
Do you really think anyone cares about your musical opinion?
No, not really. I mean, I hope so in that other people's likes, dislikes, opinions, etc are fascinating to me. Plus I like seeing who likes what songs I'd posted on Facebook and hearing any comments they may have. I just figure this gives people a little more room to speak their minds and share their stories. It's all about the music, man. So chill and enjoy.
