Souvenirs from an Era

A few weeks ago I woke 15 minutes ahead of the alarm, and when I tried to go back to sleep, I couldn't. Cheap Trick's "The Flame" was suddenly, inexplicably and without warning in my brain. Well, actually it was Maroon Five's "She Will Be Loved" - which is even more inexplicable, as they just plain turn me off - which then morphed into "The Flame." Sitting upright in bed, in the dark, I had three thoughts in rapid succession:

1) Damn, NPR for running that story about the Deering Mansion in Miami being haunted. I can't shake it. As either Huey, Dewey or Louie used to say: "I don't believe in ghosts, but I sure am scared of them!" The story made my restless nights even more restless.

2) Wow. Those two songs are structurally very similar. Someone should mash them up if they haven't already. Wow! I noticed an opportunity for a mashup! Look at me! Club DJ stardom is just minutes away!

3) Aww. "The Flame!" It's one of those songs from the soundtrack of my life. A song I may have enjoyed, but because it emerged on my radar at a certain critical moment in my development, I cherish it as a landmark of sorts.

Playing the song in my head, in bed in our dark room, I recalled how I'd relish listening to it at night, coming from my clock radio in my dimmed bedroom. I had a dimmer switch in the room I had from birth to 12 which I rarely turned all the way off. I remember how comforting that song was to me, in junior high, lying in bed, my room in artificial amber gloam, the rest of the house asleep. There are a handful of songs, images and other artifacts that whenever I encounter them, inspire a certain nostalgia that would not have seemed likely when I originally encountered them. Certain pop songs from 1988 - 1989 forever haunt me in ways that other don't. And I think it has everything to do with two things: the fact that that's when my family made our first big move; and that I was at the peak of puberty. (By the way: never move your family when one - the eldest, at least - is in the throes of puberty. It's more traumatic than a move at 10 or 15. I've asked around.)

If I really thought about it, I could find those musical or cultural artifacts that were in the background when I lived in these places that later proved to be memory markers.

• "Stand" by REM will forever be the song that introduced me to REM and the song that I identify most with arrival in my small town. I'd heard of REM, but never anything from them. I was 12 and whenever the video would come on MTV, Dad would get up and get my brother and me to do the Stand dance, encouraging me to accept our new, small town. I resented the new town so much, but couldn't resist Dad's enthusiasm. It's only years later that I appreciate what Dad was trying to get us to do: embrace place and bloom where planted.
• "Mary Moon" by Deadeye Dick is always the song that brings me back to 18, in a small west Texas university starting school completely - and I mean completely - clueless, but feeling utterly liberated and probably the most confident I've ever been in my life. I think I liked it because I had a "Mary Moon" reputation at my high school, but it was mocked, not celebrated. Here was a song that not only celebrated that archetype, but made her (sexually) desirable. Same me, new leaf.
• Fresh Air with Terry Gross on NPR became my best friend when I had to drop out of college after my first semester due to lack of funds. I still listen to the show as often as possible, but I remember discovering her in Houston, when I was in depression, knew no one and the future looked uncertain. When I think back on those days, those afternoons in my bedroom, I am so grateful to her and to the local NPR station for fostering and sating curiosity.
• The Indigo Girls were always playing from my stereo or from those of my best friends during my college years.
• Margaret Atwood and Kurt Vonnegut were my book buddies the year after college, when I joined Honey at his first station, in the city to which I would never return to live in a million years, but for which I have a soft spot in my heart.

I don't know what the cultural artifacts are that I associate with my current place. I'll probably find them in retrospect. Plus, we've been here long enough - almost 10 years - that I probably have cultural artifacts associated with certain periods in my life, as opposed to places. For instance, I associate Sigur Ros, Rilo Kiley and Ben Gibbard with the period I spent completing my thesis. A friend turned me onto Sigur Ros when he heard the topic of my thesis dealt with constructed languages and gibberish. They sing mostly in Icelandic, but occasionally in a fabricated language. They're so mellow and soulful that I was able to mope and comfort myself in their music as I plowed through. A coworker turned me onto Rilo Kiley and Ben Gibbard, breaking me of my prejudice against Death Cab for Cutie, much to the relief of my husband, who likes Death Cab. I can't place my finger on what it was about those two artists that spoke to me in that manic period, but I latched onto the music he shared, and that we already had in our collection, but I was too blindly stubborn to listen to.

I'm really curious what music or cultural events or artifacts will turn out to the be the familiar landmarks in my memory for this period of my life. It seems like this year and the coming year will likely be so momentous for us that there will be something that I always associate with this period. I'm just eager and curious to find out what it is. It'll probably be evident 5 or 6 years from now. And it'll probably surprise me. I never would've guessed something like "The Flame" would've been among my take-aways from 1988!

This made me happy

The sheer joy in this moment brought me to tears when I watched this this afternoon. It's funny, I can almost hear my mom saying, "that's innapropriate for a church wedding!" But really, doesn't God delight in our love and our unions? Doesn't God want us to celebrate it with unbridled passion? Plus, it's not like they chose something with crass lyrics or danced lasciviously. But enough of me arguing with my mom in my head. This made my day because it's a group of people who embraced not just the joy of the occasion whole-heartedly, but the theatrics. Wedding ceremonies are spectacles in just about every society. If you're gonna do it, go balls to the wall. Good for them! And maybe I liked it most of all because it was, as the blog I discovered it on championed it, unexpected. Love it or hate it: no attendee will ever forget that wedding.

Life-changing Art and Books?

Despite the silliness of everyone on Face book listing 25 random things about themselves, I must admit, I'd rather enjoyed quick-tour catch-ups on old friends, or learning more about new friends, and people I'm generally interested in. Now a college friend of mine decided she'd start her own "better-know-a-friend" note: name one book that changed your thinking.

My problem is that I can't. I'm not unaffected by what I read, but I'm hard-pressed to find a book that, when I put it down, leaves me feeling measurably changed. There are books that have spoken to some un-articulated truths I'd carried around inside me. God is a Verb, a book about mystical Judaism, articulated what I'd been growing to feel about our relationship with the divine. In particular, the notion of "creationing" or "raising holy sparks." It's been years since I've read the book, but if I remember, essentially, divinity is mutually nurtured by God and people (or, if you want to get into my micro-understanding: all creation). God communicates holiness to us via love and creation, and whenever we act in creation and mercy, we "raise holy sparks" back into divinity. And it's like an engine from there: God powers creation and creation powers God. A poor description on my part, but the book spoke to me, despite that I was wary because of the faddishness of Kabbalah. But it didn't change my thinking per se. It voiced what I already suspected to be true. Similarly, I ate far less fast food after reading Fast Food Nation, and I eat almost none, now. My response to the book didn't change my perception or action in grandiose ways. I'd worked in fast food before; I had family who had worked in meat-packing plants. The information wasn't new to me - just distilled. My pivot wasn't huge.

I'm always fascinated and confounded by people's claims that a work of art or a book or literature changed their lives. To be able to reflect and identify a piece of music, a poem, a painting, a play or whatever as a critical hinge in one's perceptions or an inspiration for action, suggests that that piece was personally earth-shaking. This leaves me wondering if I'm missing something. If other people can identify the piece of art, or the book that changed the way they viewed the world, then am I just callow? I'm not unaffected by art and literature. I'll reflect for days on something I've seen or read that's particularly good. And that reflection, I'm sure nudges my worldview in one direction or another. But nothing identifiably earthshaking. My earthshakings don't happen - or haven't yet happened - because of print or performance.

As earthshaking epiphanies go, personal experiences are my volcanoes, where art and literature are the geysers. Moving across the state, in the midst of puberty, to a much smaller town changed my life; living there for five and a half years changed my perception of it. Having to drop out of college after one semester due to lack of funds changed my life in that I had to start all over again. I ended up going to a different university where I made friends whose understandings of life shaped my understanding. There, I also met the man I eventually married. Dropping out of college changed my life. Getting married not only changed my life, but changed my perception of life. Moving across the country changed my perception of life. September 11 changed my life and my perception of life. The medical demons I've been wrestling the last couple of years have changed my perception of life, though not yet the way I live my life. If we ever have children, I anticipate that changing both the actions of my life and my perceptions of life. In fact I welcome the change - at least the latter.

Art was important to me during these shifts. Discovering that I enjoyed acting during my teenage years kept me emotionally intact and gave me a creative outlet for my frustrations. A few years later, the Chieftains and classical music lunch-hours serenaded my depression that resulted from dropping out of school. I read poetry during those months, which is something I'd never really done before or since. I also journaled like crazy, took a modern dance class that was a breath of fresh air and discovered, appropriately, Fresh Air. I can say with certainty that, during that time, Tchaikovsky's 4th symphony, especially the 2nd movement, followed by the 3rd, expressed the uncertainty of the those days, chased by the quirkiness and optimism that ultimately drives me. I fell in love with it. But did it change my life? Did it change my thinking? Did any of those activities or discoveries measurably change my perception of life? I'm positive they did, but their effects are very, very small compared to the events that drove me to them.

There probably is a book, or a play, or a film or piece of music that would rock the foundations of my world. But until or unless I come across it, print and art will slowly shift the ground beneath my feet, but the accidents and incidents of life will continue to the be the big shapers of the landscape of my perception. Am I alone in this?

Chocolate Nutballs - Tunes for Tuesday

Inspired by Virginia Gal's post of favorite Christmas songs, I decided to create my own list of some of my favorite Christmas songs. Not included are some favorite carols like "O Come All ye Faithful" or "Hark the Herald," mostly because I love singing those with a full congregation, or a group of people in the cold, holding candles. Better sung together than heard recorded.

I must admit that I don't have very many favorite Hanukkah tunes, mostly because I don't know many. Five maybe. I do like Woody Guthrie's Hanukkah songs. If anyone knows a bunch and wants to introduce me to them, I'd love to learn. I love singing songs of joy and happiness in the cold, bleak time that is winter. Makes it bearable. (This is why January and February suck: no good happy-fun-shiny songs to get us through.)

As for the chocolate nutballs? I tried my hand at Grand Marinier truffles this afternoon. I still have a few dozen left to make, but thought I'd share a photo with you good folk. It'll follow after my music summary.

1. Happy Christmas - John Lennon. "Let's hope it's a good one, without any fear ... War is over." What more do we want out of Christmas and the new year?

2. Baby, It's Cold Outside - Leon Redbone/Zooey Deschanel. Wanted the Ella Fitzgerald version, but decided on this. I love the seduction of this song - he gently begs; she's coy. And you know they're gonna do it all night long! Plus, I think her voice - which I find both fascinating and irritating - works well in this.

3. Mary's Boy Child/Oh My Lord - Boney M. This is just a great, jubilant carol to begin with, but I'm drawn to the Carribean disco.

4. Fairytale of New York - The Pogues. Aww. Angry Irish at Christmas. How adorable!

5. Christmas Wrapping - The Waitresses. Lonely hearts re-connecting to save Christmas? Yea!

6. Christmas is All Around - Bill Nighy (as "Billy Mack"). From "Love Actually." It's a dumb re-imagining of an already silly song. Which is why I enjoy it.

7. Santa Claus Got Stuck in My Chimney - Ella Fitzgerald. Oops!

8. Christmas is the Time to Say I Love You - Billy Squier. Like Christmas Wrapping, fun to bop along to.

9. Baby, It's Cold Outside - Ray Charles/Betty Carter. I enjoy that his begging is more overt. And I really love this song. In the search feature, Mixwit misguided me and said this was Nina Simone singing with him. Not the case, apparently. D'oh!

10. Do They Know it's Christmas? - BandAid. One reason, and one reason only: Bono singing, "Tonight be glad it's them, instead of you!" I thrill on the guilting. Who better to deliver that line than Bono? HY-larious! The reminder to consider the less fortunate during the season is fine, but being told this by a bevy overpaid egomaniacs is so wonderfully 1980s. 1980s!!

11. Merry Christmas from the Family - Robert Earl Keen. Everyone in Texas is related in some way or another to this family. If you can't identify a relative that would fit in this song, you ARE that relative.

12. The Christians and the Pagans - Dar Williams. The first song I ever heard from Dar Williams and ended up turning me on to her. I like that people try to find a away to relate through whatever commonalities they can.

13. Elf's Lament - Barenaked Ladies. Union now! Hermione Granger would love this!

14. Baby It's Cold Outside - Tom Jones/Cerys Matthews. Did I mention I REALLY love this song. (When I'm a megastar, I want to record this, not sure with who yet.) I like the disparity in their voices. He's so lecherous and she sounds not only juvenile, but mentally unstable. It's so predatory!

15. Happy Christmas - Polyphonic Spree. Just a cover of the first song. It's overly orchestrated and the end cacophonous, but who cares? I like this band.

16. Six to Eight Black Men - David Sedaris. Not a song, but a great story. Go ahead. Give yourself 15 minutes and give it a listen.

Here are the long-awaited chocolate nutballs!

A trunk full of Shiner Bock and Lone Star

I had the pleasure this week of finally seeing a musician I really, really love and have been meaning to see live, play live. That would be the ever-lovin' Robert Earl Keen.

Having grown up in Texas, I was somewhat familiar with him - more his name than his music. Just a few songs here and there. I knew he was on Austin City Limits a lot, but as I hadn't really watched that show since the mid-80s, he didn't really resonate with me. It wasn't until the summer before my senior year in college that I picked him up. I was apartment-sitting for some friends who were doing summer stock shows around the country. One of my friends had REK's Picnic in his CD collection. As I love raiding other people's music, I made my way through his CaseLogic binder and got hooked. This really surprised me for two reasons: 1) my friend didn't seem the country music type; his collection was typified by Elliot Smith, Dave Matthews and Jamiroquai and 2) I, as a rule, don't really like country music, but Picnic was just that - a fun, tasty, "comfort-food" feast. I burned myself a copy (Shh! This was 1998, so it was okay.) and went on my merry way.

But it wasn't really until we moved to the East Coast that we slowly started collecting his albums. This is when I really started to appreciate him. Keen's voice is gravelly, nasal, a little higher register than you'd expect from a country singer and painted thick with a drawl more reminiscent of West Texas than his native Houston. More importantly, he captures the Texas experience - at least the middle, and I presume, lower class Texas experience - so bloody well. He sings the low-brow Texas fantasies (as in his signature The Road Goes on Forever, which I want played at my wake, btw), redneck realities like those in Merry Christmas from the Family (every Texan has at least one relative like those), sweet, simple pleasures as in Gringo Honeymoon and just general appreciations for the land that bore him (and me), all its people (Mariano) and all its beauty and flaws (Levelland). He's a troubadour that sings about Texas sometimes adoringly, sometimes sharply tongue in cheek, and when he's great, he accomplishes both, simultaneously. He doesn't sing only about Texas, but life in Texas inspires about 90% of his music.

Honey isn't much for him, so I talked a college girlfriend of mine, with whom I'm reconnecting, into joining me. She's a trooper. I wouldn't've been cajoled into spending $45 on a ticket to an unknown commodity the way she was by me. I'm far too cheap! But she did it and she had a blast, so I was happy, and I owe her. (As I do virtually everyone I know.)

When I saw him, he performed against black duvatene curtains. No flashy backdrop, not even a banner with his name on it, like his opener had. Just the man, his band and the music. Even the lighting was simple. It had motion, but the lighting was made up entirely of simple gelled lamps. Something I'd expect for a brand new musician playing his first "for real" gig, not for a man who has a following. And he rocked the joint! I really, really wish there had been space to dance, because there were moments when I just really wanted to two-step. My girlfriend two-stepped in place with me for a bit, but complained that I moved too much from my hips. If I don't use my hips, I betray the only Latina-seeming part of me. Plus, it's the only part of me that has any grace; I'm fairly uncoordinated and my legs often move like those of a foal when I dance. The crowd was among the whitest I'd seen in this area in quite a while, but I suppose that's to be expected. It wasn't Texas, but it was a close enough facsimile, that I felt really at ease. My girlfriend said she felt like we were back in college in Texas, what with the frat boys and country music.

Aside from dancing like a fiend in a crowd with a red solo cup full of beer and discovering I'm really, really shitty at remembering lyrics of even some of my most favorite songs, I think the most amusing part of the evening was the "cowboys." My brother sees Robert Earl Keen live every year or so. He plays Texas a LOT. He's huge; a legend, approaching the status of Stevie Ray Vaughn, there. Bro said the crowd he usually draws is a mixture of cowboys and hippies, which in some parts of Texas (Travis Co., I'm looking at you) are not mutually exclusive categories. Our East Coast crowd was mostly transplanted Texas and southern professionals, and New Englanders who let their hair down. But we did have some cowboy-hatted guys show up. They offered my friend and me Rebel Yell. (Uh, no thanks.) They were at the foot of the stage and occasionally waved their hats around. Had I actually been in Texas, there wouldn't've been a group of 5 or 6 hatted guys in the front; there'd've been a sea of hats, and boots. All fine. What bugged me was that their hats were funny looking. By no means do I claim to be an expert on western wear, but the material looked a little cheaper and the hats overall more colonial-flavored. Like someone took the material for a tri-corn hat, began making a bowler and then decided to give it a cowboy brim. They loved the show, but I think they loved the opportunity to wear their hats in public, just as much. It reminded me of a second-hand anecdote my dad told us in the late 80s. A friend of his was visiting her daughter in New York City. They decided to go to a country western bar in Manhattan to see how the locals did it. Apparently, all the guys in Manhattan were happy to two step with the ladies and did alright, but they tucked their jeans into their boots! (This is apalling, if you missed the subtlety of the italics and exclamation mark. You don't tuck into boots unless you're a dancing extra from the cast of Oklahoma!) But really, even if people don't pull off the dress with authenticity, I suppose the attempt is evidence of the appreciation. Imitation is the highest form of flattery, even if the imitation is off. Heavens knows if I tried to emulate the fashion of subcultures I admire, I'd fall way short. I can barely keep up with the subculture I'm a part of! (Bad yuppie!)

My only complaint about the show was that he was not as talkative as I'd hoped he'd be. I like singer/songwriters who spin short yarns and give us background. I was told by a friend of a friend that REK was, indeed, chatty. However, he didn't really engage until almost the end of the concert, which was too bad. My only other complaint is that we didn't stick around for him to sign merch. I got a shot glass, 'cause I'm classy like that, but I was thinking about getting a signed t-shirt for my brother. He'd love that. But alas, I am no longer a lass, nor is my friend, and we were tired, and had work the next morning. So we ducked out during the second encore song. Next time, I'm staying for the whole megillah. And I want some talk, Robert!

3BT: Early "Voting," Soundtrack, Complacent Canine

In the spirit of Clare; some things that I noticed yesterday:

1. On a mid-day trip to 7-11, I caught a cardboard merchandise stand near the door. "Cast Your Vote '08," it pitches. I can choose to buy non-campaign endorsed keychains, buttons, bumperstickers and the like for either Obama or McCain. As you can see from the photo on the right, Obama's merchandise was all sold out. McCain's merchandise still had plenty to offer. It re-affirms my hope that we'll have a sincere change of leadership next week.

2. On my walk to 7-11, I plugged into my iPod to find I'd left it not on shuffle, as per usual, but on the Amelie soundtrack. I walked deliberately slowly down the blocks from my office to the store so that I could soak up the music. The capricious cold breezes and cool grey sky were completely opposed to the warm, semi-nostalgic light that bathes virtually every scene in that movie. Nonetheless, when the music began, I felt suddenly awakened to the world around me ... a little like the title heroine.

3. Babydog had to have a bath last night. Apparently on her walk yesterday, she decided to roll around in a pile of some other dog's poop, and our dog-walker discovered what enticed her too late. She managed to wipe off and gently clean the bulk of it, but Babydog still had some smudged in her fur, and she stunk. She hates being bathed and will wriggle away as much as possible. But last night, she dutifully stood in the bathtub as I focused the shower sprayer on her. With soaked fur looking like feathers, she looks up at me as if to say, "Is this what you want? Fine. See if I care. It was worth it!"

Leonard Cohen and The Perils of Being a Preacher's Progeny

I tried to find a soundfile to embed, but alas, I couldn't. So I posted this video, which I really only want you to listen to. The sound is grainy, clearly an old LP, but I actually kind of like that.

I am a preacher's kid. Before I get into the meat of this post, please allow me to address your first set of questions: No, my home life was not like that of the chick in Footloose! Nor was I a rebellious, booz-swilling, drug-addled, leg-spreading hellian. Nor was I (or am I) a white-gloved, goody two-shoes. I was just a kid who lived in a home with a dog and parents who loved her and her brother. I was brought us up in a religious household and my parents encouraged introspection and inquiry, and mercy toward others, so I've always been personally baffled by the constrictive Footloose model. (Though that more closely mirrors the preacher-kid [PK] upbringing my mom had.)

Peril #1: Having to swat off stereotypes superglued to you and to your family. (Do doctors', cops' or military members' kids get the same "knowing" wink and tongue-click that PKs get? Ugh. Letting it go.) Peril #2: If you're female, you are concerned that you might end up marrying a preacher. Why? Because your mom was a PK, or your grandmother, or someone close in the family line. It seems to be genetic. I had several PK friends in high school and college, and they all had that fear. Nothing against ministers - most of us were very comfortable in church, loved other ministers and repected our minister parents (some were mothers, of course) - but the tendency for preachers' daughters to marry back into the ministry unnerved us. Not only is it an itinerant lifestyle - a few years in Texas, a few in Oregon, etc - like a military family, but we know first hand the social pressure of expectations on ministers' families and the wives, specifically. They're mini-First Ladies, whether they like it or not or are good at it or not; especially in small communities. My peers and I were children of feminism. We didn't want to be shoe-horned.

There are more, I'm sure. Like people suppose you to be able to quote and accept the Bible front to back or conversely that you totally reject religion (the adult version of the PK stereotypes). But the peril that I stumbled upon recently was actually rather benign. And yes, it tarries back to the simple video embedded above.

Most preachers I know draw heavily upon pop-culture for their sermon references. Our last minister loved to reference Ann Lamott, who Darla recommended I read to help me better my writing. The minister of the church where Honey and I met and married frequently referenced Emily Dickinson, upon whose works he wrote his doctoral dissertation. One of Honey's favorite religion professors - also a retired minister - would open his semester with a class screening of Star Wars. My dad is partial to dropping Bob Dylan references. In fact, he has a sermon in his repetoire, "I Was So Much Older Then, I'm Younger Than That Now," though I can't recall what the theological tie-in theme is.

When you grow up hearing movie scenes, song or poetry lyrics and literary themes framed in terms of biblical or theological analogies, or in terms of modern parable, it's easy to kind of find them everywhere. And sometimes, there are moments that just coalesce and I think, "Dang, this is a sermon analogy begging to happen." This is the benign peril of which I write.

A few months ago, in advance of the release of the lastest Indiana Jones movie, Honey and I rewatched the first three. Toward the end of the movie, Indy and his father are escaping the crumbling temple where the grail has been kept for eons. The hot blond Nazi has just fallen into a widening crevasse, and now Indy is in the same danger. His father, who refuses to call him Indiana, now clings to Indy, trying to lift him out of the crevasse. "Henry, let it go!" he pleads. Indy ignores him, blinded by sudden greed, trying to reach for the grail just beyond his grasp. Then his father calmly calls, "Indiana." The trance is broken. Indy relents and is pulled to safety. Immediately, the voice of Leonard Cohen sprung into my head singing, "love calls you by your name." Then two seconds later, I thought, "Man, there has to be a sermon in here."

Now, I can't think of that scene, nor listen to that song without thinking that they are begging to be weaved into a sermon. Perilous!

I rarely fixate on song lyrics (it can take me years of hearing a song over and over before it really strikes me what the artist is conveying), but what I love about "Love Calls You By Your Name" is that it seems to bring quiet mercy to moments of vulnerability in spaces narrow and vast: "between the windmill and the grain/ between the traitor and her pain." At least that's what I hear. And I've always been touched that Dr. Jones the elder humbled himself to the name that his son recognized. I can't think of an exact scripture reference that this could tie in to; the bible is full of naming and calling issues (Sarai became Sarah; Gabriel pretty much tells Mary what she's gonna call her baby; God calls Samuel out in the night; the still small voice). I think ceremonial re-naming is still something done in Judaism, on occasion. But frankly, it seems like this could be used in several sermons. Love calls you by your name. God is love. God calls you when and where you are vulnerable and most in need of mercy ... I don't know.

But that's my peril. Benign; but it itches. The upshot of this is that I've since introduced my dad to Leonard Cohen. As my dad is the one who trained my musical palate to favor yarn-spinning and story-tellers, I'm a little surprised that he wasn't more familiar with him, beyond the ubiquitous "Hallelujiah." Especially since they're both baby boomers! But he likes him and I have a feeling is going to seek him out more. Maybe I'll get him some CDs for Christmas.

Since this is my 200th post, and since you've been so nice to read this far, I figure I'll give a little more media. Enjoy the mixtape I made for Dad ... who just got electricity back TODAY, two weeks after Ike blew through (WOOHOO!), and who will be facing open heart surgery in another 3 weeks. Yipes. Here's love calling out to him!

Homeward Bound

... I wish I was/ homeward bound ... home! where my thoughts escape me ... those lyrics were stuck in my head all during the last two weeks of July. Why?

I returned to the place of my birth, after an eleven-year absence, last weekend. I lived in the Texas panhandle until I was 12. It was kind of weird to me that I'd been gone from my native town for almost as long as I'd lived there to begin with.

We went for the wedding of a dear cousin and it was a much-needed escape. Frankly, I think I could've used an additional 2 or 3 days there. Going back home it felt like a favored sweater: safe and familiar. I remembered the streets and routes, for the most part. There's Grandpa's old church; there's our old church; there's my grade school; there's my favorite donut place in the world; that's where we saw a tornado in the early 80s (a field now populated by houses); there's the odor of the feed lots 60 miles away on the wind; there's where Honey and I spent an afternoon making out when we were young lovers and he came to visit me when I spent a summer here in college. It's a town that I relished revisiting and look forward to revisiting. After we moved, when I was in junior high (the wrongest time to ever uproot a child, by the way) to a very, very small town in Southwest Texas so amazingly far from anywhere that you had drive 3 hours just to do anything, my native town was even more dear to me. We returned several times a year during the 90s to visit friends and family. And my parents still trek there at least once a year.

But I also feel like my relationship with my native city has changed. I've grown and developed my own life. And as much as I love my native town, as much as it'll always be home to me, and feel safe, familiar and happy, my relationship with it is almost similar now to my relationship with my parents. I love my parents endlessly. I appreciate everything they've ever done and still do for me, but I wouldn't want to live with them again, if I could avoid it.

It's the same with the native town. It'll always be home and I want to keep revisiting it, because I love it, but I wouldn't want to live there again. There are definitely worse places to live, and if it came up that we needed to move there, I could easily do it; I just wouldn't seek it out.

However, visiting got me thinking about what kind of lifestyle I want. I think about that occasionally, but the last two or three weeks, it's really been on my mind. Going to home to a place where there is NO SUCH THING as rush hour, where family hews together and people are home by 5:15 at the latest, surged the question the front of my mind. Honey and I have always said we'll move west again, seeking a slower pace of life, and I suspect we'll do it at some point - probably after we have kids. But where west? And frankly, after a couple of years when I was aching to move west again, I'm really enjoying where we are right now, I simply want a break from the hyper-acheivement and suffocating time-crunch of this area. I typically get to work between 8:30 and 9, often earlier (though today, I'm allowing myself 9) and don't get home till well after 6, sometimes well after 7. It's often the same for Honey - worse even, seeing as how he goes in earlier than I do. It's been particularly hectic for the last two months and only promises to get worse into the fall. (That's why I've been posting and commenting so infrequently, lately.)

Calvin Trillin, in an interview with Diane Rehm, or maybe Terri Gross, once said he wanted his kids, though raised in Brooklyn, to think they were being raised in Kansas, where he grew up. I think that's what I want, not just that my kids think they're in West Texas, but I want some West Texas here, on the East Coast amidst the 70% humidity, the over-acheivers and the road rage. I really like where I live; I just want to like my life more. I want to breathe.

Oh, and as for the mixtape above. Just a sampling of the soundtrack for the weekend.
1. At the Zoo - Simon and Garfunkel. Every morning, we had a home-cooked breakfast at my aunt and uncle's house. They made sure to have music playing at meal times. One morning the selection was Dylan and Simon and Garfunkel. This was one of them. I simply included it, because I love this song and hadn't heard it in years.

2. The Dress Looks Nice on You - Sufjan Stevens. My dear, dear cousin used this as her processional. She's 22. She's one of the few youngsters who I think is mature enough to make this leap. The ceremony was really low-key (literally a backyard event) and though religious, they chose not to use any religious music. I think their recessional was from The Beatles. I'm ambivalent about the choice of song, but I love that she loved it, and that she bucked panhandle norms: a wreath of flowers and ivy on her head, little make-up, eastern-inspired jewelery, barefoot under her gown, walking herself down the aisle ... she, like me for my wedding, wanted to do henna tattoos on her hands, but didn't know anyone who could do it. (Had I known, I'd've offered Virginia Gal's talents!)

3. Our Town - Iris Dement. As we drove around town one afternoon, Mom was lamenting the changes that have occurred in our old stomping grounds. (Though I was also struck by how little had changed in decade.) This song happened to be on my iPod and popped up on our connecting flight from DFW. It just felt fitting.

4. Viva la Vida - Coldplay. Another one that popped up on my iPod, on the return flight. I'd heard it a time or two, but it hadn't really grabbed me yet. I think it ciezed me this weekend - and I've been unable to shake it since - because going home to the far slower pace of life, to sunrises unimpeded by mountains and hills and skyscrapers, to the constant 10 or 15 mph breeze and the negligible humidity, was nothing short of reviving. My happiest self is a sprite who soars among clouds and stars and skims close to the ground. This weekend tickled her again for the first time in years. I was weightless. And for some reason, this song, at this moment, found that chink in my armor to sing to that weightlessness.

3BT: Beating Wii, Bach and Bender

I know I've been off the horn for a while. Not only have I not posted for a few weeks, I've been bad about visiting other blogs. I owe visits and comments to Joe, Pearl and Sonnjea, I recall off the top of my head. But tonight I write just to get something posted, and because yesterday gave me a few items to make the day lovely. So, the beautiful things:

1. A few weeks ago, I got a Wii Fit for my birthday. I know I'm out of shape and could stand to lose a few pounds, so I wasn't surprised by the what the scale and BMI measurement feature of the Fit told me. (Still within the healthy range, but on the high end of both.) What did surprise me was the "real age" function of the Fit. It evaluates your weight, BMI and your balance and from there comes up with a "real age" for you. I am in my early 30s, according to my birth certificate. Wii Fit told me I was 42. I was quite disheartened. But I've been using it more and improving my balance a little, I guess, because Tuesday morning, Wii told me my new "real age" was 27! WOOHOO! I have conquered the balance board!

2. Yesterday morning, I was driving into work, feeling good about being 27, but not really looking forward to dealing with the challenging client I had waiting for me. Feeling stressed, I switched my radio dial to the local classical station. It was playing Bach's "Sleepers Awake," which is an immediate salve to my stressed out mind! It's a soft blanket. I hear it and immediately I'm driving in the mountains of Northern New Mexico (my soul's second home) with my family under the bright sky dappled with the leaves of Aspen trees. It really is a welcoming piece, even with the swelling brass, it's unpretentious - at least to me. I needed it and didn't know I needed it until fate placed it at the right place at the right time. Like God's little "chill out" postcard.

3. Getting to watch the new Futurama movie! (Poster w/ title above.) Honey pre-ordered it and it arrived yesterday. We wasted no time popping in the disc and seeing what Fry, Bender, Leela and the crew have been up to since Bender's Big Score. I liked this one better than the last. Without giving too much away, I'll just say that there really was a Flying Spaghetti Monster.

Mnemonic Music Memorial Day

I know I skipped last Monday. And I know I said I'd be focusing on regional music, but what can I say? I'm a flip-flopping backslider. Anyway, the only theme I could think of this week was that of songs that have been stuck in my head lately. I figured that's a pretty good topic for Memorial Day: songs that burn into your memory. If you're one who is easy to pick up on an earworm, you're welcome!

1. Hey Mama - Black Eyed Peas. One of my coworkers has taken to greeting me with the phrase, "hey mama." I'm not sure why. Regardless, every time she does, I hear this song. La la la la la!

2. On the Radio - Regina Spektor. I blame Pearl for this. She began a post with the lyrics to this song the other day. Ever since then, I can't shake it. Friday night I began humming it to myself as Honey and I prepped dough for the next day's bread. Not missing a beat, he chimed in with "uh-oh!" at the right times.

3. Daughters of the Soho Riots - The National. I just love this guy's voice. The tune is sad and simple. And I'm hung not only the line with the title lyrics, but the phrase, "break my arms around the one I love."

4. With Arms Outstretched - Rilo Kiley. Just in love with the driving rythm. I swear to goodness, I feel the breeze of the plains blowing through open car windows when I hear this song. Not hung up on the lyrics so much as just the happy strumming. Can't shake it.

5. I Am Trying to Break Your Heart - Wilco. The lyrics, "I wanna hold you in the Bible black pre-dawn" have been scrolling through my brain for over a month, now. Big earworm for me, lately. Plus I love the tinkling of the top of the piano keyboard; it's like music that comes at you from a 43 degree angle or something.

6. Shot in the Arm - Wilco. Yeah, two in a row. First of all, I love "we fell in love in the key of C ... followed me down the neck to D." I can totally see a couple of high school band or orchestra standmates who make googly eyes at eachother during rests in the music. But how great is the chorus, "something in my veins, bloodier than blood?" Hooked. Hooked, I tell you!! Plus the repetition just makes it easier for me to be this song's crack whore.

7. All These Things I've Done - The Killers. I've always liked how this song starts off and then builds and builds. Plus, again with the repetition. Easy way to get me hooked.

8. Stronger - Kanye West with Daft Punk. It seems lately that everyone around me has been speaking in multipliers of emphasis. The correct grammatical term escapes me right now. But I mean "more" words, "-er" words. And they don't just say, "let's do this better;" they speak in series: "we'll make it better, faster, stronger, bigger." And I can't help myself. This tune creeps in and I bob my head. Sometimes I even gesture with my fake "daft hands," but no one knows what I'm talking about. Well ... one did once, but in case you don't know what I'm talking about, a version (though clearly not a single-take at all) is below:



Anyway, we're on vacation, so I should probably put this puppy down and clean up for dinner with our friends. Have a great Memorial Day!

Musicky Monday

I was so thrilled late last month when I got my Texas Monthly in the mail. (After years of making a ritual of picking it up in airports on the way home, I decided to finally get a subscription.) This month's cover story celebrates Willie Nelson's 75th birthday. While I'm not the Willie zealot that some of my cousins are, I do like the man and the portrait on the cover is just beautiful. So, I decided to let that guide me for today's superhappyfuntime mixtape. I considered doing an all-Willie mix, but then decided I should do a regional exploration series - as inspired by last week's Cinco de Mayo, Mexican theme - so this is about half Willie and half random Texas artists. I do recommend Twisted Willie, a fun tribute album from my college years. Good times.

1. On the Road Again - Willie Nelson. My dad used to always sing this whenever we'd travel the next town over to visit family. Or when we'd be off to New Mexico for a camping trip. Or whenever we'd be driving home from a school function or ... anytime we were in a car. I never paid attention to the fact that it was about touring with a band. I thought it was in praise of the great American road trip.

2. Running Away - The Polyphonic Spree. I've always enjoyed them. Last fall I had the pleasure of seeing them live and it was probably in the top 3 most moving live art performances I'd ever seen. Possibly in the top 3 most spiritually satisfying moments of my life - right behind the crazy psychic connection I had with the color yellow for a fleeting moment in 1995. I think I want to be one of their choir-girls when I grow up.

3. My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys - Willie Nelson. Okay, there is no veracity in that sentiment for me. My heroes have always been people who spoke/speak truth to power. Not that that can't be a cowboy, just that I haven't idolized any particular industry laborer. However, this is another song I remember hearing around the house a lot as a child, much to the chagrin of my mother (see #5).

4. Rave On - Buddy Holly. I think I'm appreciating Buddy Holly more as I get older. Sure, he's the pride of Lubbock and we West Texans are happy to claim him, as well as Roy Orbison, but he's always just been the guy who died when the music did. But lately I think I can hear his influence in music more - "oh yeah, you do have your uncle's stubborn chin," as it were.

5. Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground - Willie Nelson. Not one I'm super familiar with, but what a great heartbreaker about a doomed love.

6. Sundress - Ben Kweller. I first heard this guy on Studio 360 on NPR. I was irritated that the host kept calling him Kweller. Since he talked about being from Texas, I assumed his name was Spanish: "Cuellar [kweh-yar], you idiot!" I yelled at my car radio. I - ahem - was wrong. In any event, I dig him. And the chorus of this makes me dance like Tracy Morgan.

7. Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain - Willie Nelson. This was apparently written by the same guy who wrote "Back in the Saddle Again." It's on "Redheaded Stranger," which Dad played relentlessly when I was a tot. It's so tender and mournful.

8. Private Conversation - Lyle Lovett. Okay. I grabbed this one because I couldn't find a good version of "If I had a Boat" or "She's no Lady." But this ain't bad. I actually met Lyle Lovett at an event last year. Very kind and polite.

9. The House is a Rockin' - Stevie Ray Vaughan. I dare you not to grab a bottle of beer, a nearby warm body and cut loose to this. This just fuckin' swings. God rest you, SRV.

10. Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys - Willie Nelson/Waylon Jennings.
Just another Dad would sing and play around the house in my youth. It would drive Mom crazy. "If Willie Nelson can sing, then I'm the queen of England!" she'd spout. She still spouts it. This is for you, Mom.

11. Attesa - Balmorhea. (Not sure this one is working.) This is an artist I want to explore more. Sounds like mostly piano-driven mood music, but I'm largely curious about them because they're from (surprise, surprise) Balmorhea, TX, near where I wasted my youth.

12. Rainbow Connection - Willie Nelson. I've heard a handful of versions of this song before, but this is my favorite. Its sad earnestness reminds me of that of Johnny Cash's cover of "Hurt." It sounds like a completely different song than the original in his mouth.

Monday del Musica!

Feliz Cinco de Mayo! Contrary to popular misconception, today is not Mexico's Independence Day, we just celebrate it in the US with a fervor similar to that of an independence day. I haven't been to a Cinco de Mayo celebration in years - probably a decade or more. In my tiny Texas burg, there's usually a cabrito cook-off at the town park. Or maybe a menudo cook-off. I choose to stay by my memory of a cabrito cook-off, as I cannot tolerate menudo, but find cabrito marvilloso.

Even though I'm half-Mexican, grew up in Texas and spent my teen years in a bi-cultural small town in the border area, I really don't know much by way of Mexican, Tejano or Mexican-inspired music. My Mexican side of the family never played or passed on music, so I didn't get any input from them. And what little I knew of Mexican -inspired music was from the teeny-boppers in school who were crazy in love with Selena (when she was alive, long before her ghost made her visible to gringos). So, for the last week or so, I've been trying to catch myself up to speed on the music of my people. Here's some stuff I found:

note: I'm sure you can count and are saying to yourself, "why are you calling this mixtape 'cinco por el cinco' when there are clearly seven tracks here?" The short answer is: I found too much good stuff for La Llorona (details later), so I'm counting the three versions as one entry.

1. La Charreada - Linda Ronstadt. Kudos to Ms. Ronstadt for bringing some mariachi to the mainstream back in the 80s. I'm ambivalent about the singer herself, but I've always loved this stuff. She did a few episodes of Sesame Street and in one of them, she sang this song with some muppets. A toddler I used to part-time nanny would "aaahhh" along with her whenever she'd hit those long verse-introductory wails. It cracked me up.

2. Kiko and the Lavender Moon - Los Lobos. Most people know Los Lobos as the band that sang "La Bamba" for the Ritchie Valens biopic. Lou Diamond Phillips lip-synched to them. (Incidentally, "La Bamba" is a traditional Mexican tune - and dance - for which I cannot find a decent traditional recording.) However, I always associate this song with them for reasons unknown. I like its lackadais with a little picante flowing through.

3. Jay Perez - Sabes. I know nothing about this performer. I decided I needed to include Tejano, so I visited the site for the Tejano Music Awards. This guy was the performer of the year this past award season. Frankly, this song sounds like sappy crap to me. "Te necessito mas que'l aire; Te necessito mas que'l agua," (I need you more than air; I need you more than water): I remember many of my schoolmates listening to stuff like this back in the day. This is the kind of teen idol they'd swoon over the same way the chickies fawn over the Jonas Brothers. But I added it because it definitely reminds me of Texas - and shopping in the latino areas of Houston.

4. Somos Mas Americanos - Los Tigres del Norte. Los Tigres del Norte are pretty well-known in the Mexican-American music world and I remember hearing them some, growing up. I just learned they're from L.A., so I don't know if they count as Tejano, but boy do they sound it. I guess lots of border music share common influences. This one I grabbed at random, but started listening a bit to the lyrics. This is great, it seems to be - if my broken Spanish is worth anything - an angry repudiation of anti-Mexican (immigrant?) sentiment in the States. "somos mas americanos que'l hijo del anglo-saxon," "we are more American than the son of the anglo-saxon." Then they go on to sing about how mezclados (euro/indian mixed race "la raza") were here along the border region and in the west long before Manifest Destiny. Rock on.

5. La Llorona - Elliot Goldenthal and various artists. This is the style of this song I'm more familiar with. This is the style we'd hear at Cinco de Mayo fests or Mexican Independence Day festivals. La Llorona tells the folk tale of the wailing woman - a ghost who haunts the land looking for her dead children.

6. La Llorona - Lila Downs. I would've included just this, but it cuts off and wanted to include a whole version, above. This is a version I want to purchase, soon. It's so bloody mournful and thick. It evokes the terror of the legend and it empathizes with her grief as well. Excellent.

7. La Llorona - Ginna Allison. This must be part of some sort of Public Radio anthology, because when I Googled Ginna Allison, I discovered she does Soundprint pieces as well as other Public Radio stories. This piece on La Llorona reminded me of when I first heard of her. I didn't know the full story until I was in college (apparently, this tale may have roots in Mexican Indian legends). But when my family moved from the very white, very Baptist Panhandle to the much more bi-cultural, bi-lingual and heavily Catholic town in Southwest Texas, I began to learn more folklore. And it wasn't just La Llorona - who scared the shit out of my 12 year old self - it was the tale that when God kicked Satan out of Heaven, he landed on the very spikey mountain near town - the one created by the erosion of an ancient volcano, that looked like a perfectly creepy pyramid. There were other modern legends, like that of Bunny-man: an angry drunk was killed by an on-coming train on the tracks. It left him dead and legless. His red-eyed ghost hobbled around on his knuckles so he had the locomotion of a bunny. If you crossed those tracks at midnight, his ghost would chase you, and if he caught you, he'd get to keep your soul! Eek! I digress, but I loved this radio piece because 1) I love folkore and 2) it jostled the pre-teen in me and spooked her out!

Mixtape Monday

Today is all about Honey. He deserves this for several reasons today, but he had a particularly crappy weekend and his Sunday flat out sucked. So, I'm hoping he enjoys this. These are all on the theme of Honey - he either likes these songs or they make me think of him.

1. Sex Bomb - Tom Jones. He knows why it's here. You think you do, but you don't. But go ahead and think you know why ... because that's probably not far from the truth anyway.

2. Would? - Alice in Chains. Because I know he likes that Puget sound. (HA! Get it? Man, I'm good!)

3. What Sarah Said - Death Cab for Cutie. I was averse to listening to or liking Death Cab because all I knew was that they'd had a song featured on The O.C. and their name was silly. Honey mocked me for writing off a band before I'd even heard them. (As always, he was right.) He had them on his iPod and I must've heard them in the car with him, because I changed my mind. And I think it was this song that did it for me. I like them. He won!

4. Hips Don't Lie - Shakira w/ Wyclef Jean. He likes the Columbian songstress. Plus, guess who else has honest latin hips? ;)

5. White and Nerdy - Weird Al Yankovic. Who doesn't have an affection for Wierd Al? As a self-professed geek and a spouse-professed tech god, this song is appropriate for him.

6. I Wasn't Prepared - Eisley. Just a band that's gotten stuck in our heads lately - his especially. Nothing particularly significant about this song. It's just a good example of what I think draws him to them: their voices float above the crowd and hang their like mist.

7. Portions for Foxes - Rilo Kiley. Again, nothing significant about this song. Just a band he likes. ... except I think there is some mystery left.

8. #1 Crush - Garbage. Honey likes pretty much all of Shirley Manson's musical manifestations. This song was popular when we started dating.

9. Storybook Love - Mark Knopfler. This was the theme song to The Princess Bride, one of my most favoritest movies ever, ever, ever! And it's also just a really sweet love song.

10. Gunshots by computer - Nine Inch Nails. Honey really likes Nine Inch Nails. This song makes me think of his almost nightly habit of playing first person shooter games online with his friends. Of course, that's not really what this song is about, but this is my collection of songs that remind me of Honey, so suck it!

VIDEO BONUS. I wanted to add an 11th song (because 11 is always better, right?), but I couldn't find a decent copy to add. In addition to being smart, talented and good looking, Honey is evolutionarily superior. You see, he is a supertaster. There are at least two people - Darla D and Jordan, actually - who when told this lit up and asked, "like 'John Lee Supertaster?'" Yup. In fact, sometimes Honey quotes the song to describe his super ability. Honey is good to have around when choosing wine, but like John Lee, he cannot tolerate coffee or beer. What's a supertaster, you ask? Well ... let They Might be Giants, with the help of a fan-produced Sims video explain it to you. (I couldn't find a musician or concert video.)



Happy Monday!

Mixtape Friday: Ni Higgim Gaelach (sic)

I've had so much fun playing with my newly-discovered toy that I've decided to make it a weekly theme. Which I think is actually good because then it gives me something to anticipate and write to and hopefully the content of these will inspire to me write more things outside of this blog. I had originally put the photo of Dublin's Molly Malone statue* on the cassette box, but when I went back this morning to edit the order of the songs Mixwit went stupid and lost it and for some reason won't let me put it back on and is now giving me a reason to be irritated on a Friday. But it should work, right? Deep breath. Letting it go.

*When we visited Dublin a few years ago, we passed this statue a lot and finally on the last night we got pictures of it. Blurry and bad. Honey gazing down her cleavage, etc. But my favorite part was that while Honey as posing with the legendary fishwife, a couple was seated at the end of her cart, breaking up. HY-larious!

I promise, there's a "tape" below.

Before I go further, I was chided after I posted this for not providing a link to the friend who turned me onto this nifty service. It were right wrong of me not to. So, an update: go check out Jordan's blog today - after you finish this post and drinking in the loverly melodies I have for you this fine Friday - and be awed by all that he knows. Seriously, the boy has an encyclopedic knowledge of and passion for music - pretty much all genres - and the technology by which one may experience it. If PCP doesn't open your mind to possibilities, I'm sure his blog will.

"Ni higgim Gaelach" is Irish for "I don't understand Irish." I can't verify that I spelled the first two words right. Over a decade ago, I went through an Irish phase. Lacking funds, I had to drop out of college in the middle of my Freshman year and move to Houston to live with my family. My family had just moved there months earlier. I had no roots nor friends there. Randomly, and without impetus, I started listening to celtic and celtic-inspired music - mostly The Chieftains; I read Yeats and Irish folklore. Maybe I supposed the Irish and Celts understood dejection and loneliness. Who knows? I just knew that by February of 1995, my life's fantasy was to move to Ireland, live alone in a cottage on a small farm with my herding dog and work the land for the rest of my days. (A year later that fantasy gave way to living in a cottage in the woods of New Hampshire with a golden retriever; the walls of my abode adorned with portraits of all my lovers past and present. I am more than content with my current reality!)

Though I'm no longer obsessed with Irish culture - not as much anyway - I still do very much enjoy Irish and celtic-inspired music. I have no track by track explanation for these songs. They're just songs I like. Some are modern originals, others are folk tunes revamped or whatnot. I was particularly pleased to find Factory Girls, Flogging Molly's collaboration with Lucinda Williams. (I really like her.) I want to get to know Flogging Molly and the Dropkick Murphys better. As for House of Pain - okay, really it's just the bagpipes at the end that celtify this; though I associate very much with Saint Patty's day, which is of course, more Irish than Ireland herself.

If you've made it this far and still owe me feedback (you know who you are), I have another secret word for you drop in conversation/email/comment: arugula.

Have a fantastic Friday!

Mixtape - Play With My New Toy!

Trusting that the embedding instructions I was given work, you should see a cassette tape above this. Go ahead. Press play and then read below.

A few days ago, a friend of mine introduced me to Mixwit where you can create mixtapes. I hadn't made a mix tape in about 10 years. In fact, I think the last one I made is still in my car. "Driving" - to keep me awake as I'd haul between college and Honey's first job. But I digress. I'm getting hooked on this diversion. So I decided to share one of my mixes with y'all.

Growing up in far southwest Texas, I had few options for music, period. There was only one radio station for about 100 miles (not exaggerating at all) - okay, three: the AM station that played high school sports, big band and CBS News; the FM (owned by the same family) that played popular country music and the FM station of the regional university whose signal was very weak and played mostly country and Tejano. If you wanted anything rock, pop or hip-hop related, you had to visit El Paso or Odessa or you had to watch MTV. My family was broke. We didn't have cable - the only way to get television as far out as we were - so I relied heavily on my best friend, whom I'll call Marie. Her father lived in El Paso and was a musicphile, so she was exposed to more stuff with him than I was in the heart of the desert. Her mom and stepdad had a satellite, so I'd get some MTV fix there. Since I could afford maybe one cassette every few months, she'd copy her CDs for me.

During my junior year, an arcade opened in town. It was really an oasis for me and my friends. This tape includes songs I remember choosing frequently from the jukebox there. Below is a track-by-track summary of why I chose that song. A caveat: I've found that some tracks screw up and don't play (this is streaming media shared by other strangers), so just hum the tune and move on.

1. Nirvana - In Bloom. I liked to play this track for the line, "nature is a whore." I still giggle at that one.
2. Pearl Jam - Alive. I moved to our burg at age 12. I was always a newcomer to this tight-knit town. And having more liberal ideas than most my peers only hurt my "social life." I frequently felt suffocated. I like the refrain, "I'm still alive;" reminded me that I was.
3. Salt n Pepa - Shoop. I think Sara or Marie used to choose this one. It's fun. "I like how you do what you do when you do!"
4. The Doors - Riders on the Storm. Frankly I think we would choose "The End" more often than this, but as I couldn't find a copy that worked and I assume you'd rather not slog through a 12 minute song, I give you this. Plus, storms (severe mofos) are a huge part of life in West Texas - particularly in the Panhandle, where I was born - so it was kind of evocative of that for me. Felt lonely and sad, like this is a modern cowboy ballad or something.
5. Porno for Pyros - Pets. I think it's the boi-yoing of the guitar string at the beginning that had (and still has) me hooked. Or maybe I love the verity in the line that says we're doing ourselves in much faster than the dinosaurs did.
6. Santana - Black Magic Woman. Just something we played this at the arcade a lot. But also my brother's best friend's dad had a band in town and Marie and I would go see them occasionally. They'd cover this a lot. I remember I'd love whirling like a dervish during the interlude.
7. Salt n Pepa - Let's Talk About Sex. Mostly a fun song. But as my high school produced about 2 babies a year (considering there were fewer than 300 students between grades 9-12, it felt like a lot of babies), I really wished more of my peers talked about sex before jumping into it. It frustrated me to see. I simply liked that this song encouraged dialogue. Plus it embarrassed people at the arcade. If you can't join 'em, beat 'em.
8. Annie Lennox - Love Song for a Vampire. I'm a romantic at heart. And I just fucking love this song because it's the kind of desperate poetry that at 16 I so craved to hear from a paramour. I still wouldn't mind hearing it, sometimes. Plus, I'm a sucker for Biblical references and we all know Song of Solomon (or Songs of Songs) is the book of seduction and sex, even if it's only sexy to people from that culture.
9. Divinyls - I Touch Myself. Did I mention that I never quite fit into my small town? Imagine how that affects dating and one's perceived date-ability. Yeah. This was pretty much the only action I was getting then. Most of the boys in school were raging assholes anyway, so it's just as well they took no notice of me. (Totally. Over. You. Fred.)
10. Nirvana - Lithium. Again. We just played alot of Nirvana, there. Probably all of Nevermind and most of In Utero. But then this wouldn't be a mixtape if I just added those albums. I think this track cuts short. Sorry.

There you have it. As the friend who introduced me to Mixwit has an even shorter attention span than me, I'm adding a secret word: succotash. I'll know you read through if you use it in conversation. Sorry for the length.

Excellent Night; "What's Molly Dreaming Now" November edition

I'll start with the excellent night. Some girlfriends and I went to a concert last night, and not being one who does live music a whole lot, I wasn't sure what exactly to expect. I like live music fine enough, I like concerts, but I very rarely feel like that, for me, they're the emotional events that so many other people - heavy concert-goers in particular - experience. Too often, when I see a band or an artist perform, I feel like I could have had the same emotional experience at home, listening to to them on my stereo/iPod/Pandora. The only thing that ever makes it more personal for me, is if the artist is a good storyteller, or my proximity to the stage, or if I get to meet the artist afterwards, like I did with the Indigo Girls once. (Yes I did have a witty quip for Amy Ray, and she liked it!)

The band before last night's big act was no different from what I normally expect, which made me nervous for the act I had come for. But one of my girlfriends, for whom this was her third time to see the big act, assured me that they would be way better. They were. Largely because their music bloody rocks, anyway, and because they know that spectacle is important, but is nothing if you don't have a good delivery. And they had great delivery. Plus, you can tell they just really enjoy being up there; they love singing these songs with each other. As a performer myself, I love that, too, so it's relieving and joyful to see they do. At some point, near the end of the show when people were still rocking out, it reminded me of what people used to describe Heaven as to me as a kid: a non-stop party where people were just in ecstasy to be in the presence of God. That was definitely ecstatic and their music is so positive and powerful, it felt Heavenly; and the energy was such that no one wanted it to end.

It turns out last night was their last night of the 2007 tour and people from all up and down the East Coast had turned out for it. The lead singer solicited city call outs from the audience. That was really great. People like to represent. I hope one day I can draw folks from miles around! I decided I wanted to be one of the back up singers when I grow up. One of my friends and I kept trying to mimic their hair-whipping and we paid for it afterwards. After two extra-strength Tylenol and a mostly full night's sleep, my neck still hurts. The show overall left me pumped: I wanted more of their music and felt like I'd been jumping on a rainbow!

Now for the weird dream: it was brief, but strange. Maybe it was inspired by yesterday's post. I dreamt that Honey and I needed to get from point A to point B, presumably in Texas for some reason and that it was a 5 or 6 hour drive. Honey had BabyDog with him, and I was still in some medium-large city. We were supposed to leave a little bit before 2PM, he was impatient and we must've been in separate cars. I had to stop by a casual friend's house for something and he kept telling me I needed to help him lure his stoner friend out of the basement. I did my part, and by then it was 4PM and I surmised that Honey was already en route to our destination. I called him on his cell and told him I had one more thing I had to do and I'd be on my way. Why all these delays, I don't know; I know they were mandatory and I resented them.

So I'm at a movie theater with one of my girlfriends from the concert last night. We step into an elevator. It's one of those elevators that has a window in the primary door that closes you in, as well as window in the outside door, so you can see everything. I press the floor number we need, and as we go up, I see that my favorite scarf is stuck in the outside door of the third floor. And for some reason, it's being held there by escalator teeth. And for some reason, I can reach through the doors and loosen it. I do that on my first trip up, but it's still stuck. All I need is one more go of it. The third passenger riding with us gets off at 4, and we go back down to one. We press 3, and when we begin to reach the scarf I begin to pull, but as the car comes level with the third floor, there's a group of sadistic, educated-looking, European men standing and sitting there. Severely standing and sitting. They were waiting for me. One looks like Adam Ant, another like Bill Nighy. The others, I can't recall: just that they look angular, European and mean. They say nothing, and as I reach for the scarf, evil-Adam Ant shakes his head and draws up a sheet of paper that looks like a scantron and a pen. I let go of the scarf and he teases with his pen as if to say, "which bubbles will I fill in?" He circles the number 96 and 10 and then lifts his hand with a gesture for the number 3. For some reason it becomes apparent to me that my friend and I are supposed to travel up to floor 96 and floor 10, 3 times each as some punishment for crossing evil-Adam Ant and evil-Bill Nighy and their gang. All I wanted was my scarf! I don't know why they thought it was bad that I wanted my scarf!

So, I push the button for the first floor, and by this time, my girlfriend and I are clinging to each other, scared and whimpering. The moment we hit the bottom floor, we remember, this building is only 14 stories tall. How do the evil English guys expect us to go to 96? But we daren't just get out at the first floor, because these guys just materialized out of nowhere to begin with and they're sadistic: somehow, they know I hate elevators and love my scarf! So we began our journey, deciding we'd just do the ride to the 14th floor several times anyway. What sucked was that other people could get on and off as they pleased as we were forced to continue riding. And the worst part was: I really needed to get on the road to meet with Honey and this was another, inescapable delay. And I was almost out of power on my cell phone! Argh and yikes! Damn you, Adam Ant!

So ... any thoughts on what the dream means would be greatly appreciated. Put your divining caps on!

The Luckiest

Thoughts of mortality - that of my own and of those around me - have never been too far from my mind. The last few days, however, these thoughts have been forefront in my mind as I drift to sleep. I find myself kept awake, particularly, by the thought of Honey passing and leaving me behind or me dying, leaving him.

Saturday morning, we were awoken by the sound of heavy engines idling outside our house. ... and of Babydog barking at the uninvited noise. A fire engine and an ambulance had arrived to tend to our next door neighbor. Our next door neighbors are an elderly couple; the wife has left the house only a handful of times in the 16 months since we moved in. She has been recovering from a series of falls in the last year and a half. Having been the couple to assist the cops when our next door neighbor on the other side (an elderly single woman) died at home not six months ago, Honey and I immediately thought the worst. We watched as surreptitiously as possible. Luckily, when our elderly neighbor was wheeled out of the house on a gurney, she was sitting up and alert.

Saturday evening, we brought her husband a plate of cookies from a local bakery that we like. He seemed pleased. Apparently, she had (unsurprisingly) taken another fall and an x-ray could not see enough around a pin in her leg to determine whether she had fractured or sprained it. He was hoping she'd be available to return Sunday or Monday. Yesterday evening, when I came home from work, he was returning from a day visiting her in the hospital. No dice. The doctors want to keep her until she's well enough to walk on her own. Currently, it's agony for her to stand. Explaining me this, my neighbor's eyes looked tired and puffy - like he'd been crying and not sleeping well.

We're not that close to our neighbors. Friendly. They have our house keys in the case of emergency. But we don't really hang out. Nonetheless, I have to think what's going on next door is affecting my thoughts on a subconscious level.

Honey is my best friend and my hero. I don't know what I would if he predeceased me - at least not now. Sometimes - maybe most times - I take him for granted. And I'm sure it's the same with him for me. You can't live every single day loving someone with the ultimate enthusiasm as you would if it were that person's last day on Earth. It's simply emotionally unsustainable. Why is it though that these thoughts of pre-bereavement come just as I settle in to sleep? Could I not have these thoughts around 3PM, so that they make me more eager to get home and spend quality time with him?

And then I wonder what would happen if I predeceased him. I worry that he would not deal with my death well at all, becoming some stereotypical curmudgeon; and I also worry that he would recover within a year, finding some younger, slimmer, more successful, more beautiful version of me and would be so happy with this hypothetical woman (I HATE her so much) that he would never spare a thought for me again. Both scenarios are ultimately unlikely - particularly the latter because I'm such an awesome specimen that I pity any woman who follows me; it'd be like DuMaurier's Rebecca, or something - but both make me sad. Statistically speaking, he'll probably predecease me; but as I have a bevy of cardio-pulmonary maladies in my family, I may go first. I just want each of us to be happy and cherish each other, both in life and death. And I hope that we are reunited on the other side when it's all over.

In the end, I hope that Honey and I live to ripe old ages. But I also hope that our declines are relatively brief and not too hard on the other. There's a song by Ben Folds called The Luckiest.
My favorite part of the lyrics are as follows:

Next door there's an old man who lived to his nineties
And one day passed away in his sleep
And his wife; she stayed for a couple of days
And passed away

I'm sorry, I know that's a strange way to tell you that I know we belong
That I know

That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

The old man who lives next door to us is not in his 90s yet. And frankly, if he died before she did, she would be in much more trouble than he would if she went first. But it's clear he loves her very much. And while I hope Honey and I don't pass within days of each other - I want us each to live as long and full as possible - I can't deny the romance of that scenario. For now, perhaps I should just dwell on the lyrics from the first half of the song, since that's the romantic part of our relationship we can always live in:

I don't get many things right the first time
In fact, I am told that a lot
Now I know all the wrong turns, the stumbles and falls
Brought me here

And where was I before the day
That I first saw your lovely face?
Now I see it everyday
And I know

That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

what i like about right now

listening to "the blood of eden" off the mix CD i made Honey many years ago when he was out of the country for a few months. it's such a warm, sexy, longing song - well, Peter Gabriel, what can you say? i rediscovered this CD about a week ago. i don't know where it had been hiding.

i made it one warm Spring afternoon at a friend's house; she had a CD burner. it was before everyone could just rip one of these things off on their PCs. i had an idea of which songs i wanted to include, but another of my friends was there making suggestions. he thought i should include something by Morcheeba, so i did. it's sexy, but not totally me - a little too british. eh, still okay. i mostly used CDs of other friends. most of my music was still on tape.

i wanted to give Honey a CD for his return of music that was passionate and echoed the ache i'd had for him in his absence, and probably the ache he had for me. (he did pine for me. within 6 months we were engaged.)

wow, i'm loving this. there's a lot of Dave Matthew's at the beginning of the CD - did i mention i was 22 when i made this? i forget how much i really do like DMB's innuendo laden croons. but after "blood of eden" i'm hearing U2's "love is blindness" and now something from dead can dance, very sweet and somnambulant quality.

i remember i made him another CD that i sent him while he was there that i sent him. i wanted to express my support (maybe even envy) for him and the assurance that i was waiting for him. so i opened it with the closing song from the movie Orlando, "coming" - a beautiful, soulful tune - and included Bill Wither's "ain't no sunshine", B-52s' "Roam", Foo Fighters' "walking after you." i don't know where that CD went. i'd love to find that one, again.

listening to this mix CD again, i feel 22 again. i can feel the carpet under my feet at my friend's house; the sense of security i felt at her house, the "at homeness." i can see the sunlight angling in from her backyard. i can feel the eager anticipation of graduation around the corner, of Honey's return, of my birthday, of setting out to be with him, of the coming century and the excitement of my own sheer youth. i haven't seen my friend in almost 5 years; i haven't had much e-mail contact with her in that time, either, but each time we return to that city and drive past her house, i feel warm and cozy. that city evokes warm feelings in me; i always feel at home there, like i've come home. safe. at-homeness.

this CD gives me at-homeness.

*painting found on www.herbleonhard.com; he apparently does paintings inspired by pop culture. not bad.