Mainly I dream of you a lot

It’s lunchtime and the car is hot.  I’m getting sticky and sweaty on my short drive to the bank.  My head hurts. I’m listening to Peter Gabriel singing The Power of the Heart. So sweet and tender.  The orchestra is building. Peter’s voice falters. I might cry. I think he might be singing to me. I think he might have just proposed. It starts at  5:03 – that little shiver up my back. And there it is at 5:19. Chills.  I watch beads of sweat become goosebumps.

Later at home, I try the experiment over and over and it works every time.

Lou Reed wrote the song for his wife, Laurie Anderson. I wonder if she gets goosebumps listening to Peter sing it. I wonder if Lou does.

I wonder if Peter gives himself chills when he sings.

Give yourself a pat on the back

Here’s what you’ve missed the past few days by not being me:  Opening night of Stars on Ice in Ft. Myers where Ben Agosto played the guitar, Jeremy Abbott wore a hat,  Charlie White looked like an angel and Evan Lysacek got a standing ovation. There was also a lot of great skating, some nice group numbers, banter and sparkly costumes.

You also missed mowing my lawn, pulling weeds and getting bit by fire ants.

Laundry was washed and hung out to dry. And then it was properly folded and  put away. Dishes were washed. Cats were fed. Litterboxes were scooped.

There was  dinner at the beach night which was also tone-deaf karaoke night. As fearless souls took turns belting out off key renditions of popular songs, a charming old couple danced.

Books were opened, then quickly set aside with a sigh of disappointment.

Tunes and podcasts were downloaded. Pledges of love were made to Jason Lytle as he sang to me from my ipod. Stalking was initiated.

Other things happened as well involving gaiety, merriment and marshmallow peeps.

The part where the Dear Hunter saves me from starvation only to leave me hungry

I should have practiced looking casual & hip

I caught the Dear Hunter and a couple of other bands that I don’t care about at the State Theater last night with my beautiful daughter.

Midnight Masses from Brooklyn opened.  My thoughts were – I have no idea what they’re singing and they’re all about the drums. Besides the drummer doing his thing, the lead vocalist and the girl-pretending-to-be-a-guitar-player took turns banging on a drum. My guess is that they are fans of  taiko drumming.

Next my beloved Dear Hunter played. Their short set was akin to giving a starving person a piece of Godiva chocolate – delicious and mouth-watering but in the end you’re  left with gnawing hunger pangs. These guys are not only creative, technically proficient musicians but also gracious and humble. There were  so many more songs I wanted to hear live – and now I’m left with Dear Hunter pangs and only my ipod to satisfy me.

Fall of Troy screamed my soul to splinters.  Kids thrashed wildly around, bouncing off each other as the singer urged everyone to have fun. I fought the urge to join them. Kidding.

Thursday was the headlining band and they were head-throbbingly loud. My head throbbed through 2 songs until I was beckoned by gorgeous daughter to merch, where I met Casey and Josh, who seemed sincerely touched that their music touches me.

Good, bad, ugly

GOOD

The Dear Hunter, the band I’ve been listening to for weeks. Act I-The Lake South, The River North. Act II: The Meaning of and All Things Regarding Ms. Leading. Act III – Life and Death. If a fascist dictator took over and banned the Dear Hunter’s music I would probably risk imprisonment, that’s how much I love them.

Where the Wild Things Are. I’m so looking forward to this movie. Aowww – that’s supposed to be a howl. Are they his friends or are they going to eat him? If you ask me, this question is at the core of all relationships. Dave Eggers’ novelization, The Wild Things, was lip-smacking good. I think I’ll read it again tonight, and this time I’ll make comments to myself in the margins.

I love children’s books. They’re rich and colorful and as complex or simple as you want to make them.  Maurice Sendak just became my new hero.  When asked what he’d say to parents who think the movie is scary he said. “I would tell them to go to hell. That’s a question I will not tolerate.”

Good for him. Parenting involves making decisions, lots of them, right or wrong. You had a child – now stop being a coward and make a decision. Take a stand – movies, fast food, bedtime, pets, whatever – and leave the rest of us out of it.

BAD

I have a gimp thumb. It hurts and it’s ruining my chances of becoming a world class hitchhiker. I can’t straighten it. Who would take a hitchhiker with a permanently bent thumb seriously? Oh look it’s the half-assed, half-hearted hitchhiker. Now kids, I’m just joking…I don’t condone hitch hiking.  I need a teeny, little outpatient procedure to make my thumb stand tall and pain-free again. Why don’t they make viagra for trigger thumbs? Oh right, because it has nothing to do with sex. Where’s my universal health care?

UGLY

Derek Jeter, A-Rod, Mark Teixeira

Be here now

This is what makes me happy:

Making maple walnut muffins on a rainy night, listening to You Can’t Take It With You, the new As Tall As Lions cd.

Settling  into the corner of the couch with a cup of coffee and Dr. Vitolo’s articles on engrosser’s script while listening to You Can’ t Take it With You.

Driving just about anywhere in my car as long as I get to play You Can’t Take it With You.

There is an emphasis on As Tall As Lions for a reason. I love them.

These guys have it all, combining mad musical skills with thoughtful, intelligent lyrics.  All the things that make an album brilliant to my ears are here – complex textures, rich vocals, ethereal soundscapes and jazz and blues influences.

 Also my deep analysis of the lyrics revealed a connection to LOST. In Case of Rapture includes the line “be here now” which is the name of a book written by Ram Dass, whose real name is Richard Alpert. Richard Alpert is a  character on LOST who has amazing eyelashes. Since ATAL makes a reference to LOST and I also like LOST, we could probably be best friends. Or at least share a laugh like we did earlier this year when I saw them play in Ft. Lauderdale.  They played in bare feet and visited with everyone after the show. That’s when Dan Nigro told me that his dad owns a paper company and I laughed and discussed The Office with him.

But enough about me, my moments of cool and bff’s. My fingers are itching to create a List of Favorite Albums of All Time and You Can’t Take It With You is going on it.

Maybe I’m Just Tired

(My heavy head is full of debris  -As Tall As Lions)

Like my sick kitty, the wisdom teeth, the car mirror, locking the keys  in the car, getting my hand stuck in the shredding bin, and people who don’t help their kids.

(I know we’re all souls just trying to connect with someone – As Tall As Lions)

Dan Nigro played in bare feet and said his father owns a paper company like Dunder Mifflin, and my sick kitty is brave and full of purrs even when she’s unwell, and it’s National Poetry Month, and she made me an ATAL shirt and he gave me a Liguus fasciatus shell.

(You’re lost in your mind -As Tall As Lions)

Is anything going to happen in Agnes Grey or is she just going to go on and on about being a governess and will I ever figure out what’s going on in Little Dorit or will I just continue to watch because of Matthew MacFayden, will she get better or will she just keep losing weight, is she in pain, how much better looking can Jack get and when will Des be on again, do people really get what’s coming to them (is it wrong of me to hope they do) and what’s the plural of amaryllis?

(I stay awake thinking this life is lonely – As Tall As Lions)

Maybe that’s why I just want to sit and work on eggs, bent over the table, listening to music, getting a stiff neck. Lost.

What is vim and what is vigor?

Sleep a little later. Feed the cats. It always starts with feeding the cats.

Eat pie for breakfast. Sneeze a few times and wonder why my nose is stuffed. Linger over that cup of morning coffee with Finding George Orwell in Burma. Start Hamlet’s Dresser by Bob Smith.

Hang clothes on the line. Wash dishes. Pull a few weeds. Fuss over potted geranium, rosemary, thyme and tarragon. Check the oranges that hang on the tree. Trim dead branches on Star of India and jasmine.

Putter around the house. Listen to the constant meowings of an orange cat who thinks she belongs outside. Tell her she’s very bad , there’s no way she’s going outside and then say, “the thing is, you don’t even speak English.” 

Get the mail. Eat a turkey sandwich on the patio. Run to the library. Stop at Home Depot for ant bait.

Listen to Yo Yo Ma and Friends Songs of Peace and Joy. Make lame joke about premiere of Becket.

Consider getting out some Christmas decorations. Hang wreath on the door.

Find detestable ants around the trellis and sky blue vine. Kill ants, kill ants. Killing ants. Fixate on killing ants. Spray ants even as they’re walking through ant bait. Watch ants wobbling and staggering around. Enjoy watching them die. Worry about dreaming about ants. Remember dreaming about cheesecake and making fires.

Analyze situations. Give advice. Take pictures of cats.

Water potted plants. Wonder what it’s like to live in Italy. Take clothes off the line.

Decide to get pizza even though there are leftovers. Watch Larry David while eating pizza. Drink Mountain Dew.

Vacuum. Tell orange cat her breath stinks. Laugh at grey cat. Think to myself that my hair feels soft. Wonder if I inhaled toxins from all the bug spray. 

Watch ice skating on icenetwork. Worry about dreaming about ants.

Choose lots of categories.

In which I describe a series of 3 weird coincidences

Number One: Last Saturday I borrowed the German film “Goodbye Lenin” from the library but I didn’t watch it right away.

On Monday I was given a copy of “Ladies in Lavender” to watch. But then I remembered I’d already seen it so I sent it back to Neflix without even looking at it.

Last night I watched “Goodbye Lenin”. Great movie, but I was baffled by where I’d seen Daniel Bruhl before. When I checked on it I found out he was in “Ladies in Lavender” coincidentally the very movie someone had randomly given me on Monday.

Number Two: Yesterday I heard my son humming Land Down Under. “Are you humming Men at Work?” I asked. He said he was indeed humming Men at Work and explained that it’s a bit of a joke with his friends because some the Ringling School crowd refers to our town as “the land down under”.

Later on while watching Season 2 of Entourage (so I watched a lot of TV last night) Vince was considering a role in a movie that was filming in Australia and at one point Ari commented “Men at Work. The land down under.” Mind. Blown.

Number Three: All week I’ve been hypnotized by The Thrills’ Teenager. When I’m not actually listening to it I’m humming it to myself. Apparently we’re big on humming in this family. Today while shopping in Publix the song “Nothing Changes Around Here” which is track number three on Teenager, came on over their PA system.

And if you go to The Thrills website it’s still showing June 2008 tour dates which were in Australia, the land down under.

Sentence fragments

Like the pink building in Arcadia.

One cool day in the midst of a soul-sucking world.

Apples waiting to be peeled & pied.

Of Montreal who?

Turning off the air.

Dust everywhere.

Using political mail as placemats.

To live a quiet.

Lost causes.

Used to laugh with you.

Skill level.

Annoying batting stance and a lumberjack beard.

To be able to look out the window.

Miles from here in other towns.

Wandering with coffee.

Neighborhood noises.

Self-imposed fascist state.

Pumpkin throne.

Where there was a deck overlooking a wetland.

Makes you want to live more, do more.

the gloaming would be better

can’t sleep, can’t rest. exhausted by the weight of a mind racing with no destination in sight. I would like to stop and get directions. Excuse me, what is it I’m supposed to be thinking about because it’s all kind of Eschery up there and clocks are melting and birds are flying out of people’s heads?

My mind keeps chasing along like a hummingbird, never settling on any one thought or song. There’s always music bubbling up behind everything else knocking around in there.

In the wee hours when my mind finally roosts, I dream of Cosmo with amber-colored teeth, mocking me. Then I dream of walking with Howard Stern, telling him I miss him because I don’t have satellite radio, and I had listened to him off and on since 1982. He says “that’s nice”. Then we dance, a slow dance, on a rooftop. Surprisingly he isn’t all that tall.