I've blogged about this particular '80s pop tune before.
This time around, I have discovered something new, something exciting, something... enlightening.
I've loved this song and video since I was a little kid, but I never really "got" it when it came to the video concept. As seen below (courtesy of the almighty YouTube) the clip involves a rather cute Tracy Ullman, dressed in Diana Ross-like '60s garb, pining away for her boyfriend Paul, a cheesy-and-sleazy-looking kind of fellow who likes to bowl and wear gaudy clothes. Then the video fast-forwards to their present situation: Tracy is pregnant and pushing a shopping cart around at the supermarket where her boyfriend/current husband works, singing away wistfully even as she looks worse for the wear.
Suddenly, we see the '60s Tracy in a car with Sir Paul McCartney at the wheel. It's the same car we saw earlier in the video, but instead of Paul the boyfriend it's now Paul the ex-Beatle.
All these years I've wondered, what is the point of this? Wish fulfillment? Post-marital escape fantasy? A gratuitous star cameo?
I looked it up again, needing a tunatic fix after having gone quite some time without listening to the song or watching the video, and I came across this comment posted by someone known as "Ritzy Trailer":
'My take is that Guido in the gold lame shirt (that's pronounced La-MAY, by the way, kids) may be dorky but she loves him LIKE he's Paul McCartney.. What WE all see in the store - is what everyone else seems to see.. but no matter - she's in love with him anyway, he may as well BE PM to her.. bad hair, and all. And that's what real love SHOULD be about.'
And now, suddenly, after over two decades and a mysterious appreciation for this one-hit wonder, I finally get it.
Yes indeed, I do.
I went back and watched it again, and I have to agree-- that's what it's all about.
Geez. I can be so thick sometimes.
Thank you, Ritzy Trailer, for pointing out what's been right under my nose for all these years.
If ever there was a time to die happy, it's right now.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
'tis fitting, no?
Which fucked-up genius composer are you?
Captain Beefheart... you are one of the first modern fucked-up geniuses. When it comes to creating, you rank right up there with the likes of James Mangan, John Wilmot and Edvard Munch.
Take this quiz!
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Wednesday, March 21, 2007
I
Remember how I posted a few weeks back about embracing luck?
Well, I take it all back. I've gone back to believing that: 1) everything happens for a reason, 2) there is no such thing as luck, and 3) timing is everything.
Someone summed it up to me in those exact words, and it awakened that dormant part of me that has always believed that but keep burying it anyway.
I have been re-directing all of my blogging energy into the novel. It is a slow process, one day at a time. But it's coming along.
I have things to say, I just don't want to say them right now. I want to wait and see what happens.
I have whittled my vices down to primarily cigarettes. I indulge occasionally in drugs but not at the level or pace I engaged in them in the past.
I I I I I... It's always about me, isn't it? It's always about what I want.
What about what other people want?
What about it?
I guess I'm learning that game. I'm curious to see what's next to learn, and it just gets more interesting by the day.
I think I'll pick up the guitar and play some Buddy Holly songs. His music seems to encapsulate the mood I'm in right now. Not "That'll Be The Day" or "Oh Boy!" but rather more contemplative songs like "Everyday" and "Words Of Love", and maybe even a moodier piece of rock like "Peggy Sue".
Speaking of which... man, that change from A to F on "Peggy Sue" gets me every time.
Peggy Sue, Peggy Sue
Pretty pretty pretty pretty Peggy Sue
Oh Peggy-- my Peggy Sue-ooh-ohh
Well I love you girl and I want you Peggy Sue
OK, gotta go. Smell ya later.
Well, I take it all back. I've gone back to believing that: 1) everything happens for a reason, 2) there is no such thing as luck, and 3) timing is everything.
Someone summed it up to me in those exact words, and it awakened that dormant part of me that has always believed that but keep burying it anyway.
I have been re-directing all of my blogging energy into the novel. It is a slow process, one day at a time. But it's coming along.
I have things to say, I just don't want to say them right now. I want to wait and see what happens.
I have whittled my vices down to primarily cigarettes. I indulge occasionally in drugs but not at the level or pace I engaged in them in the past.
I I I I I... It's always about me, isn't it? It's always about what I want.
What about what other people want?
What about it?
I guess I'm learning that game. I'm curious to see what's next to learn, and it just gets more interesting by the day.
I think I'll pick up the guitar and play some Buddy Holly songs. His music seems to encapsulate the mood I'm in right now. Not "That'll Be The Day" or "Oh Boy!" but rather more contemplative songs like "Everyday" and "Words Of Love", and maybe even a moodier piece of rock like "Peggy Sue".
Speaking of which... man, that change from A to F on "Peggy Sue" gets me every time.
Peggy Sue, Peggy Sue
Pretty pretty pretty pretty Peggy Sue
Oh Peggy-- my Peggy Sue-ooh-ohh
Well I love you girl and I want you Peggy Sue
OK, gotta go. Smell ya later.
Monday, March 12, 2007
patience
The last two weeks have been strange and surreal.
Last Saturday night my band played the show at The Whisky. It was a fine show, but weird things kept happening: people showed up late (some people just barely missed the show, others were more than 2 hours late!), the sound guy cut us off one song too soon, and my friend Ben inexplicably disappeared for 45 minutes.
It was a full moon weekend, and Mercury was still in retrograde.
I ended up at a house in Hollywood at 5am, fiending for a cigarette and striking out on my own to buy a pack, only to have my path blocked by barricades for the L.A. Marathon. Then, when I got to a gas station to purchase my wares, the car died for about 30 minutes.
A rescue team was dispatched, but they didn't see my car and passed me by. Finally, I got it all together and arrived back at the house, covered in grease, by 6am.
For the rest of the week I dealt with my car's stalling problem. But that's just what happened to me-- I can't even begin to tell you what happened to some of my friends.
*/*
My friend Ben suffered some sort of a shaking fit due to being underfed, dehydrated, and undergoing the DTs (he is a troubling alcoholic). The fit occurred as he was walking in Burbank in broad daylight. Luckily, he was right next to a hospital when it happened. He tried to call me but I had already left my apartment to meet him at his place, and I have no cel phone. He is OK now but he felt like he was going to die.
Buddha, the drummer in my band, encountered a road rage incident in Burbank last Tuesday. What started off as a simple case of being cut off in the right lane escalated into a John Woo-esque orgy of vehicular violence, climaxing with Buddha T-boning the car full of drunken Hispanics who were itching for a brawl. Buddha emerged without a scratch.
What's weird is that my buddies Wolf Man and Down Low witnessed a carload of Hispanic guys throwing beer bottles at pedestrians in Hollywood on the night of our Whisky show. This bears noting because the car was maroon-colored, the same as the car that attacked Buddha... and in both cases beer bottles were thrown freely.
Speaking of Down Low, his car was shot at the other night while leaving his apartment. Low was on his way over to me when suddenly he called and said he heard shots being fired. I didn't believe him at first, but when I saw the two bullet holes in his bumper (and the next morning found the shell casings in the street) I realized that he was not bullshitting me. We doubt it was anyone we knew-- most likely some impatient idiot with a gun and a lot of nerve. I deduced that the gunman merely wanted to put a scare into Low, who was blocking an intersection with his car when the event occurred. From the entry points of the bullets, it seems as if the gunman was aiming for the tires, not intending to kill or maim.
Like I said, the last two weeks were strange and surreal, almost as if they'd been dreamed or staged for a film. But it got even weirder.
*/*
Monique called me late last week, at an ungodly hour of the night. Since she is 3,000 miles away, it must have been even later for her.
She got pulled over while driving on her restricted license. She was 8 days away from taking care of her license dilemma when the trooper pulled her over. She got lucky and didn't receive a ticket for the reckless left-turn-at-a-stop-sign-without-a-signal that she made in front of the officer.
We talked for over four hours. Apparently, I had called her on Valentine's Day and caused a row with her boyfriend at the time. He didn't like the fact that she was getting a call from a guy on Valentine's Day, even though he was all the way on the other side of the country.
In a way I kind of caused her and that guy to have their last falling out, which made me smile. But without her here next to me it's all in vain, isn't it?
I told her about my drug binges. This eased the tension between us, because she has never been able to let go of her suspicion that I thought less of her for her 6 month crystal meth phase shortly before she went back home to Virginia. By telling her about my year-long foray into cocaine, she realized that I wasn't the judgmental sonofabitch that she thought I was-- in fact, she began to see that it was her own shame at what she did that prevented her from accepting my offers to help her and understand her. I never once looked down on her for her momentary weakness, because I can comprehend those weaknesses... However, it is one thing to claim I understand and another thing to actually have traveled that same path.
I realized during the phone call that with all the money I've spent on coke in the past year, I could've gone to visit her twice already. So I've made up my mind to scrimp and save, and I'll be flying out to see her by the summer. If she comes out here instead, then all that money will go towards showing her a good time.
It's nice to have a goal in mind.
*/*
Monique wasn't the only girl who called me up out of the blue. I've been getting lots of calls and visits from girls I had an interest in, but lately I haven't been able to give them the attention they deserve. Maybe it's because they all waited so long before getting back to me and now the initial thrill is gone.
I'm not writing them off. They are all beautiful and sensual girls. But they weren't there for me when I really needed them, so now that I have found my emotional center and equilibrium, they are just going to have to be patient.
After all, I have had to be patient. It's the most difficult lesson I've ever had to learn, but I think I am making progress. I still lose it when things go wrong (such as right now-- the Internet has not allowed me to post this exactly the way I wrote it at first) but it's kind of like my car this past week: Sometimes it stalls, and all I can do is wait half an hour to an hour before I can start the engine again. Then, when it starts up I get the most mileage out of it that I can.
Thus, my love life is akin to a used car.
That's how it was with Monique at first. We met, didn't date because she was taken, then she hit rock bottom and left for Virginia, and when she unexpectedly returned there was a lot of catching up to do. But it took over two years before it came to it.
Still, I have faith that one day I will get it right. This is only because I have been so close in the past, and also because new opportunities always arise in the wake of old ones.
We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?
Last Saturday night my band played the show at The Whisky. It was a fine show, but weird things kept happening: people showed up late (some people just barely missed the show, others were more than 2 hours late!), the sound guy cut us off one song too soon, and my friend Ben inexplicably disappeared for 45 minutes.
It was a full moon weekend, and Mercury was still in retrograde.
I ended up at a house in Hollywood at 5am, fiending for a cigarette and striking out on my own to buy a pack, only to have my path blocked by barricades for the L.A. Marathon. Then, when I got to a gas station to purchase my wares, the car died for about 30 minutes.
A rescue team was dispatched, but they didn't see my car and passed me by. Finally, I got it all together and arrived back at the house, covered in grease, by 6am.
For the rest of the week I dealt with my car's stalling problem. But that's just what happened to me-- I can't even begin to tell you what happened to some of my friends.
*/*
My friend Ben suffered some sort of a shaking fit due to being underfed, dehydrated, and undergoing the DTs (he is a troubling alcoholic). The fit occurred as he was walking in Burbank in broad daylight. Luckily, he was right next to a hospital when it happened. He tried to call me but I had already left my apartment to meet him at his place, and I have no cel phone. He is OK now but he felt like he was going to die.
Buddha, the drummer in my band, encountered a road rage incident in Burbank last Tuesday. What started off as a simple case of being cut off in the right lane escalated into a John Woo-esque orgy of vehicular violence, climaxing with Buddha T-boning the car full of drunken Hispanics who were itching for a brawl. Buddha emerged without a scratch.
What's weird is that my buddies Wolf Man and Down Low witnessed a carload of Hispanic guys throwing beer bottles at pedestrians in Hollywood on the night of our Whisky show. This bears noting because the car was maroon-colored, the same as the car that attacked Buddha... and in both cases beer bottles were thrown freely.
Speaking of Down Low, his car was shot at the other night while leaving his apartment. Low was on his way over to me when suddenly he called and said he heard shots being fired. I didn't believe him at first, but when I saw the two bullet holes in his bumper (and the next morning found the shell casings in the street) I realized that he was not bullshitting me. We doubt it was anyone we knew-- most likely some impatient idiot with a gun and a lot of nerve. I deduced that the gunman merely wanted to put a scare into Low, who was blocking an intersection with his car when the event occurred. From the entry points of the bullets, it seems as if the gunman was aiming for the tires, not intending to kill or maim.
Like I said, the last two weeks were strange and surreal, almost as if they'd been dreamed or staged for a film. But it got even weirder.
*/*
Monique called me late last week, at an ungodly hour of the night. Since she is 3,000 miles away, it must have been even later for her.
She got pulled over while driving on her restricted license. She was 8 days away from taking care of her license dilemma when the trooper pulled her over. She got lucky and didn't receive a ticket for the reckless left-turn-at-a-stop-sign-without-a-signal that she made in front of the officer.
We talked for over four hours. Apparently, I had called her on Valentine's Day and caused a row with her boyfriend at the time. He didn't like the fact that she was getting a call from a guy on Valentine's Day, even though he was all the way on the other side of the country.
In a way I kind of caused her and that guy to have their last falling out, which made me smile. But without her here next to me it's all in vain, isn't it?
I told her about my drug binges. This eased the tension between us, because she has never been able to let go of her suspicion that I thought less of her for her 6 month crystal meth phase shortly before she went back home to Virginia. By telling her about my year-long foray into cocaine, she realized that I wasn't the judgmental sonofabitch that she thought I was-- in fact, she began to see that it was her own shame at what she did that prevented her from accepting my offers to help her and understand her. I never once looked down on her for her momentary weakness, because I can comprehend those weaknesses... However, it is one thing to claim I understand and another thing to actually have traveled that same path.
I realized during the phone call that with all the money I've spent on coke in the past year, I could've gone to visit her twice already. So I've made up my mind to scrimp and save, and I'll be flying out to see her by the summer. If she comes out here instead, then all that money will go towards showing her a good time.
It's nice to have a goal in mind.
*/*
Monique wasn't the only girl who called me up out of the blue. I've been getting lots of calls and visits from girls I had an interest in, but lately I haven't been able to give them the attention they deserve. Maybe it's because they all waited so long before getting back to me and now the initial thrill is gone.
I'm not writing them off. They are all beautiful and sensual girls. But they weren't there for me when I really needed them, so now that I have found my emotional center and equilibrium, they are just going to have to be patient.
After all, I have had to be patient. It's the most difficult lesson I've ever had to learn, but I think I am making progress. I still lose it when things go wrong (such as right now-- the Internet has not allowed me to post this exactly the way I wrote it at first) but it's kind of like my car this past week: Sometimes it stalls, and all I can do is wait half an hour to an hour before I can start the engine again. Then, when it starts up I get the most mileage out of it that I can.
Thus, my love life is akin to a used car.
That's how it was with Monique at first. We met, didn't date because she was taken, then she hit rock bottom and left for Virginia, and when she unexpectedly returned there was a lot of catching up to do. But it took over two years before it came to it.
Still, I have faith that one day I will get it right. This is only because I have been so close in the past, and also because new opportunities always arise in the wake of old ones.
We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?
Saturday, March 03, 2007
chameleon
There is no particular theme for this blog entry that I'm writing right now, no unifying universal tangent that I'm trying to highlight, no serendipitous collision of ideas and motifs that I am attempting to explain.
I figure it's about time that I just approach this blog in the appropriate manner: as a journal, an occasional chronicle, or even a public diary. No need to wrest meaning from simple everyday events; no deliberate transfiguration of my life into epic adventures; no melodramatic fictionalization of dull reality and the mundane routines of existence.
Instead, I'll just give an update on the things that are swirling about in my consciousness as of late, and I'll try to keep it succinct and to-the-point.
*/*
I've got a show tonight with one of my bands at the famed Whisky a Go Go. This will be the second gig I've done with this band at The Whisky and my third gig at this particular venue in general. It's pay-to-play, which I normally detest, but it's not my play to call and besides-- it's fun.
Still, I am craving something that I can have full control over, so I went out and got myself a solo acoustic gig at a small space in the Valley next April. The place in question is a guitar shop by day and an art gallery by night, with a decent sound system and a big stage. It has a coffeehouse atmosphere but they don't serve coffee-- they do serve non-alcoholic beverages and snacks, and I suspect they are cool with BYOB. There's pillows on the floor propped up against the walls so that people can lie down comfortably while watching a show. I hope this arrangement doesn't invite my potential audience to fall asleep as I perform.
I'm going to play mostly original tunes with a few choice, esoteric covers. I have 45 minutes and the majority of my songs are short, so I will have a lot of time to express myself in an intimate setting, doing something that hits a little closer to home and originates from my heart in a more personal vein. I've wanted to do this for so long but never got around to it because I wasn't confident enough to put myself out there, but all the performing in various bands plus my private interest in songwriting has gotten me worked up to the point of wanting to make this work. I am primarily focused on testing the material to see what sinks and what floats. I have quite a catalog of songs that no one has ever heard, and the only way to find out if any of them are any good is to just play them in front of friends and total strangers. I don't expect to take the Canoga Park music scene by storm, but I am interested in seeing what my strengths and weaknesses are and improving upon them.
I am practicing playing the guitar every day for at least ten minutes. It is so different from playing the bass in that I actually have to concentrate on getting it all down pat, whereas with my bass-playing I can coast and ride on the coattails of the other band members. I'm going to be all alone up there, which isn't a scary prospect for me at all-- no, what worries me is the inevitable realization that not everything that I consider cool or noteworthy will be met with warmth and appreciation. My skin is thick, yes, but I am also a lot more sensitive than I let on. I am guessing that it will be an eye-opening experience, no doubt about it.
I think of this as a step in the right direction. I've backed up so many other musicians for such a long time that I feel like I have a rich, solid background to draw upon when the time is right and the opportunity is mine. Foremost above all, I want it to be fun, and I'm positive that it will be.
*/*
My drug use has leveled off, after a few binges here and some droughts there. I accept the fact that I have an addictive personality and that I will probably not stop doing drugs completely any time in the near future. I want to say it's just a phase, and I truly believe that's all it is... but it's a dangerous phase nonetheless, and things can go horribly wrong if I am not careful. I owe it not only to myself but my friends and family to not go overboard.
I consider myself one of the most responsible drug users out there because I never get so far gone that I cannot connect with reality and take care of the business of my life. Still, it wouldn't take a whole lot for me to spiral out of control and I know this all too well.
It is a concern of mine-- I don't want to come off as not being cautious or vigilant as I indulge in illicit pharmaceutical entertainment, so I won't make light of it or not take it seriously. However, my head is still screwed on as straight as it can be, and I don't have a death wish. I sincerely appreciate the comments, advice and kind words I have received from people whenever I have reached out or asked for help, and I won't take those heartfelt sentiments for granted.
I guess what I'm trying to say is: I know I'm fucked up and have some serious issues that shouldn't be treated with self-medication... but don't count me out just yet.
*/*
I shaved the beard and trimmed my hair, leaving the bangs and the locks on top long while maintaining a clean cut around the sides and nape. I've kept the sideburns and I'm also thinking about donning my nerdy, ugly, first-pair-I-ever-owned eyeglasses for certain events and engagements. Once again I am tinkering with my appearance, and I'm at a loss to explain exactly why I have been fascinated by the process of changing up my style as of late.
I don't think I am necessarily searching for a definitive image or identity. I think it has more to do with getting reactions from people and wanting them to notice me. It also works as a mode of invisibility and anonymity in that people I've just met never know what to expect and often cannot recognize me from my last incarnation. As much as I enjoy the spotlight and all the attendant attention I seek out, there is also the subversive delight in turning inside-out those very notions of self-perception vs. other's perceptions that I am investigating in my odd quest to render myself a bona fide chameleon.
Plus, as a writer I find that transforming my outer appearance allows me to experience my everyday existence in new and surprising ways. I feel like I am creating entirely new personas and characters as a direct result of my dabbling in fashionable possibilities. This makes me curious, and I want to explore it more as time goes on.
OK, so that's pretty much it for now. Have a nice weekend and stay out of trouble, people.
I figure it's about time that I just approach this blog in the appropriate manner: as a journal, an occasional chronicle, or even a public diary. No need to wrest meaning from simple everyday events; no deliberate transfiguration of my life into epic adventures; no melodramatic fictionalization of dull reality and the mundane routines of existence.
Instead, I'll just give an update on the things that are swirling about in my consciousness as of late, and I'll try to keep it succinct and to-the-point.
*/*
I've got a show tonight with one of my bands at the famed Whisky a Go Go. This will be the second gig I've done with this band at The Whisky and my third gig at this particular venue in general. It's pay-to-play, which I normally detest, but it's not my play to call and besides-- it's fun.
Still, I am craving something that I can have full control over, so I went out and got myself a solo acoustic gig at a small space in the Valley next April. The place in question is a guitar shop by day and an art gallery by night, with a decent sound system and a big stage. It has a coffeehouse atmosphere but they don't serve coffee-- they do serve non-alcoholic beverages and snacks, and I suspect they are cool with BYOB. There's pillows on the floor propped up against the walls so that people can lie down comfortably while watching a show. I hope this arrangement doesn't invite my potential audience to fall asleep as I perform.
I'm going to play mostly original tunes with a few choice, esoteric covers. I have 45 minutes and the majority of my songs are short, so I will have a lot of time to express myself in an intimate setting, doing something that hits a little closer to home and originates from my heart in a more personal vein. I've wanted to do this for so long but never got around to it because I wasn't confident enough to put myself out there, but all the performing in various bands plus my private interest in songwriting has gotten me worked up to the point of wanting to make this work. I am primarily focused on testing the material to see what sinks and what floats. I have quite a catalog of songs that no one has ever heard, and the only way to find out if any of them are any good is to just play them in front of friends and total strangers. I don't expect to take the Canoga Park music scene by storm, but I am interested in seeing what my strengths and weaknesses are and improving upon them.
I am practicing playing the guitar every day for at least ten minutes. It is so different from playing the bass in that I actually have to concentrate on getting it all down pat, whereas with my bass-playing I can coast and ride on the coattails of the other band members. I'm going to be all alone up there, which isn't a scary prospect for me at all-- no, what worries me is the inevitable realization that not everything that I consider cool or noteworthy will be met with warmth and appreciation. My skin is thick, yes, but I am also a lot more sensitive than I let on. I am guessing that it will be an eye-opening experience, no doubt about it.
I think of this as a step in the right direction. I've backed up so many other musicians for such a long time that I feel like I have a rich, solid background to draw upon when the time is right and the opportunity is mine. Foremost above all, I want it to be fun, and I'm positive that it will be.
*/*
My drug use has leveled off, after a few binges here and some droughts there. I accept the fact that I have an addictive personality and that I will probably not stop doing drugs completely any time in the near future. I want to say it's just a phase, and I truly believe that's all it is... but it's a dangerous phase nonetheless, and things can go horribly wrong if I am not careful. I owe it not only to myself but my friends and family to not go overboard.
I consider myself one of the most responsible drug users out there because I never get so far gone that I cannot connect with reality and take care of the business of my life. Still, it wouldn't take a whole lot for me to spiral out of control and I know this all too well.
It is a concern of mine-- I don't want to come off as not being cautious or vigilant as I indulge in illicit pharmaceutical entertainment, so I won't make light of it or not take it seriously. However, my head is still screwed on as straight as it can be, and I don't have a death wish. I sincerely appreciate the comments, advice and kind words I have received from people whenever I have reached out or asked for help, and I won't take those heartfelt sentiments for granted.
I guess what I'm trying to say is: I know I'm fucked up and have some serious issues that shouldn't be treated with self-medication... but don't count me out just yet.
*/*
I shaved the beard and trimmed my hair, leaving the bangs and the locks on top long while maintaining a clean cut around the sides and nape. I've kept the sideburns and I'm also thinking about donning my nerdy, ugly, first-pair-I-ever-owned eyeglasses for certain events and engagements. Once again I am tinkering with my appearance, and I'm at a loss to explain exactly why I have been fascinated by the process of changing up my style as of late.
I don't think I am necessarily searching for a definitive image or identity. I think it has more to do with getting reactions from people and wanting them to notice me. It also works as a mode of invisibility and anonymity in that people I've just met never know what to expect and often cannot recognize me from my last incarnation. As much as I enjoy the spotlight and all the attendant attention I seek out, there is also the subversive delight in turning inside-out those very notions of self-perception vs. other's perceptions that I am investigating in my odd quest to render myself a bona fide chameleon.
Plus, as a writer I find that transforming my outer appearance allows me to experience my everyday existence in new and surprising ways. I feel like I am creating entirely new personas and characters as a direct result of my dabbling in fashionable possibilities. This makes me curious, and I want to explore it more as time goes on.
OK, so that's pretty much it for now. Have a nice weekend and stay out of trouble, people.
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