Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed

Okay, that was by far one of the most unpleasant physical experience of my life. Granted, I've been very lucky in life and the list of physically unpleasant experience is pretty short:

- four impacted wisdom teeth (one lodged in cheekbone) removed by insane dentist who did not send me to an oral surgeon but gave me a dozen shots and 3 1/2 hours of the floaty gas.

- puking with stitches in my mouth the night following 3 1/2 hours of floaty gas

- a crown that was not supposed to hurt since it was not a root canal

- peeing after having fibroid surgery catheters removed

- puking up green bile, getting tunnel vision and blacking out when I had hormone induced hyperactive autonomic nervous system issue during high school

- PHAT Camp with Jen Hendershott

Yes, Hustle Up the Hancock was more miserable than all that and way worse than even my first Soldier Field 10 Mile. The first 20 flights were the worst, I still had the crazy word hustle in my mind instead of the more realistic words hobble and huff. Climbing stairs is way harder than running. When you run and get tired you can slow to a walk, use slightly different muscles and at least still get some yards behind you while you rest and catch your breath. When you are climbing stairs and get wobbly quads and calves, you're kind of out of luck. I'm also pretty certain I know what it feels like to breathe in sandpaper.

I've always been slightly relieved not to have a gaggle of loved ones holding up signs and clunking cow bells on the side of a race course. The rules of polite society keep me from tackling the cocoa drinking, donut scarfing stranger-slugs who yell things out like "Almost there! Keep moving!" If it was my sister, a best friend or (God-forbid)a boyfriend who said that to me there would absolutely be some cow- bell-as-a-weapon violence happening.

Social constraints almost failed me though when I got to a landing and (instead of finding some peace and quiet for a quick pause and swig of water) I found a bunch of teenage cheerleaders with pompoms and boundless energy. Why were they standing on landing while the huffing, red-faced old lady was climbing the stairs?

At about level 40 I heard Fame and started to think about David Bowie. I thought about that heartbreaking 2005 Fashion Rocks performance where he looks like death warmed up with a shiner. It was the first performance after his heart attack a year earlier and I had already been thinking about heart attacks, and my odds of having one, since level 2. I won't post that performance since it is not my favorite version of Life on Mars?

So I'm posting the official David Bowie entries for the Jumpsuit Hall of Fame instead. Sometimes it is difficult to tell if the top portion of the ensemble is actually attached to the bottom, so some entries might need to be disqualified. But come on, look what we have to choose from here! If one, two or even a half-dozen of the outstanding Bowie jumpsuits are deemed a cheat, he has a one-armed one-legged leotard under his belt for Pete's sake! My only criticism is that David Bowie is more committed to fashion as a whole than to the jumpsuit in particular. I don't know if I can crown as King someone who is not committed. Does David Bowie love the jumpsuit more than he loves harem pants? Skinny ties? Over-sized boxy suit jackets?

I don't think so.

On the other hand, I have already let in Mr. Assless Chaps and it's not like Mick Jagger was a one-look man either. Even Freddie Mercury was know to wear pants every now and again.

So David Bowie, you're in.

Hustle Up the Hancock Day

I'm getting ready to set out for the Hancock Building where I will climb my 1,632 steps. I've got my checklist ready:
running pants with pocket - check
timing chip on shoes - check
comfortable socks - check
new playlist on iPod - check
ID, bus card, cash and credit card in pocket - check
house key off ring and in pocket - check

I'm good to go.
I've rejected Stairway to Heaven as my putting on the gym shoes song because I don't really love it. I think this one is more suitable for what is going to happen to pokey, plodding me anyway.

As God, Wings and Guns 'N Roses as My Witness ...

I'd like to see every person who gave this performance a standing ovation punished. I think the appropriate punishment would have to be watching it a second time.

Female Women

One of my buttons was pushed today on a message board I'm part of: female used as a noun when people are not talking about subjects in a scientific study and not talking about animals but just talking about women.

It drives me nuts so I will add it to my long, long list of little things that will some day send me over the edge. I'll also listen to Wolfmother's Woman. I'm pretty sure Wolfmother was at a Lollapalooza I was at in the past few years and I know the name but I really just stumbled across this while trying to avoid John Lennon so close to my Oh Yoko fixation and avoid Helen Reddy completely.



Hmmm, I found that really boring for the most part. The long, curly hair is great and there were some fine, skinny rock star legs ... but what's the big deal about the music? I'll have to give it a better listen when I'm not already preoccupied thinking about what exactly happened to that neighbor boy with evil on his mind when he went into Angie Baby's room.

Alles lauft perfekt!

Kaleidoscope graphics.
Guitarist in yellow tracksuits.
Synchronized head jerks.
A sneering, gum-chewing drummer.
Soulful looks into the camera.
A turned up collar.
And a sinister ET robot!

How awesome is this 1983 German TV performance?

Benny Hill vs. Marc Bolan

And this is for my friend P.



This monstrosity of a song was top of the British charts and kept T Rex Jeepster at #2.

Children of the Revolution

I came home tonight to find a wonderful package in the mail from my friend K, who was in town for a visit last week. She sent me a book we had been talking about, a fabulous card with a retro camper and an owl, and a copy of a Linda Barry comic. She also wrote me a nice letter.

In honor of my friend K., I am going to post some T-Rex. While we were shopping at Quimby's Bookstore they were playing a song and she fell in love. This reminded me that last June, I was talking with a friend and a song popped into my head. I was trying to sing it to him and find out if it was real or not. My lame singing combined with a sketchy memory of lyrics earned me nothing but a pained look. I guess I don't sing like Marc Bolan. Google and Youtube set me straight and I sent him a follow up message with the subject line: T Rex, 1972! and a link to two videos. This first has great dancing:



And I think that Marc Bolan is wearing a jumpsuit in the seated, mime-face segments. Bonus!

I Want My MTV

(posted by DogSwede1)

Last night, a friend stopped by with a recording of a Trey Anastasio show he had gone to over the weekend. While listening to a cover of Sultans of Swing, I realized that I have absolutely no Dire Straits on my iPod. How did that happen? This morning I spent some time listening to demo recordings on Youtube to make myself feel better.

Just When You Thought it Was Safe

I bring you Mick Jagger in a blue velour jumpsuit. I also found this wonderful post about Jagger's Jumpsuit by a blogger named Child of the Moon. She has collected a great group of photos of Mick in jumpsuit glam glory.

I went into this thinking he would not be moving on to the next round. I love the Rolling Stones but jumpsuits are not the first thing I think of when I think of Mick (that would be big lips if you must know). I'm surprising myself though, something about those narrow hips, that skinny butt and the sweaty, hairless chest just screams Put me in a Jumpsuit!

So Mick, you're moving on in the Jumpsuit Olympics and Jean Luc Goddard's Sympathy for the Devil is moving back onto my Netflix queue. My friend C. was mentioning some scenes from that movie the last time we had dinner and I could not remember them. According to Netflix, the movie was Last returned by you on: 09/19/07. My memory must be shot.

More Carnival Music!

My friend K. and I went to see this tonight:



It was amazing, one of the most visually interesting things I've seen in a long time. That's saying a lot since I visited the Joseph Cornell and Kurt Schwitters cubby-hole in the Modern Wing at the AIC just yesterday.

If you are reading this and in Chicago, you should go see it! And, since I mentioned them and I cant imagine I'll have another opportunity to post pictures of their stuff (I sense a challenge to myself coming on ....)

(Kurt Schwitters)


























(Joseph Cornell)

Just Like Me, Part 2

Even though Sandy Wikowski was my best friend for years, I only have one photograph of her. It's a "Bonus Photo Exclusive with Film Service by Hite Photo" and it's from June 1977. The two of us are standing in front of my house. I’m wearing my white communion dress, white veil, white knee socks, white patten leather shoes and I'm clutching the little plastic purse that has a rosary, scapula and prayer book inside. Sandy’s wearing peach-colored, bell-bottom floods and an earth-tone, striped blouse. I'm a few inches taller even though I'm a year younger (I think?) but we both have straight, sun-bleached,light brown hair with the cowlick on the left side of the forehead and big, brown freckles on our noses.

Sandy lived 11 houses away, on the opposite side of the street. Our friendship was one that could have only flourished in the 1970s suburbs where moms didn't have to make phone calls to set up play dates. All the neighborhood kids just gathered on someone's front lawn every day to play Statue Maker and Red Rover. Best friends would drift off together to do thing like melt plastic army men in the Easy Bake oven and play lost orphan girls.

It’s amazing how much fun kids can have on patches of lawn, squares of sidewalk and driveways. We must have sang the theme to The Monkees a thousand times and perfected that synchronized walk. We choreographed elaborate roller-skating routines to Captain and Tennille Love Will Keep Us Together. Sandy’s voice was nasal and I couldn't carry a tune, we both sang loud.

Sandy's mom worked in a bar and told the kids to call her "Sue." My mom worked in an office and told me little girls did not call grown-up ladies by their first names. Luckily, I didn't often have to call Sue anything. She wasn't around very often and when she was, she was usually sleeping. Sue worked at a bar and didn’t always come up with after school baby sitters for Sandy. When she did, it was most often Donald, Sandy’s 15 year old cousin. Donald smoked, always had red-rimmed eyes and took girls into the bedroom. He told us that Sue paid him with beer. Although Sandy spent a lot of time at our house, I was not allowed to spend time inside hers: we could play outside on the front lawn but not play in the house.

Sue eventually married a man named Dell and soon there was a little brother and Sandy was the babysitter. We both started making friends at our different schools and grew apart. One day in 6th grade, Sandy's driveway was filled with police cars and an ambulance: Dell had put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Sue and the little brother stayed in the house down the street but Sandy's real Dad came and took her to live at his house. I didn’t see or hear from her again. Even up to high school I thought about stopping by to see if Sue would pass along my phone number or a message, but I never did.

R.I.P. Doug Fieger

My Sharona is forever linked in my mind with the Iran Hostage Crisis. It was on the radio non-stop in 1979 and the news was all about oil prices and hostages.



Just last night I was thinking about how I needed to make a list of songs that, like Oh Yoko, were about specific, named women.

Happy Year of the Tiger

Yes, I do have to do this. Sorry. But not as sorry as I was to walk into my college dormroom freshman year to see that my new roommate had already arrived and decorated .. with a giant poster of Dolph Lundgren as Ivan Drago. Who roots for Ivan Drago rather than Rocky?

Oh Yoko

I love surprise good times.

Last night, I had settled in to read a stack of New Yorkers when my phone rang. My friend B. had a spare ticket to see a Gene Ween, solo acoustic show asked if I wanted to go. I usually don't go too far out of my way to see or listen to Ween but I have seen them twice, have and like Chocolate and Cheese and occasionally listen to a bunch of other albums this same friend has burned for me. Rumor had it that Gene Ween had been opening this tour with Neil Young's I am A Child. B. knows me well: I do go out of my way for most things Neil Young. Not to mention, the show was at Lincoln Hall, a relatively new venue that I've been wanting to see. I decided to throw some jeans and a sweater on and jump in a taxi. Going to a show without weeks of anticipation and expectation is great.

The Lonesome Organist opened and he was great.


We didn't get to hear any Neil Young covers but I did get my favorite Ween, Baby Bitch. The crowd energy was a lot of fun ... like a big sing along of nerds, video gamers, aging jam band followers and kids tripping on mushrooms. I'm a sucker for sci-fi/alternate world type things, so I can appreciate the detailed and silly mythology that runs through Ween lyrics. I especially liked The Golden Eel. The highlight of the night though was the cover of Oh Yoko.

I love a lot of the John Lennon solo material, Working Class Hero is up there with all time favorite songs, but some of the really intimate and vulnerable love songs (and photographs) make me pause. It feels like listening in on a couple having sex or reading love letters that were not addressed to me. There is no attempt or desire to make the song more accessible or universal: it's about a specific, real relationship. A song like Something, on the other hand, is so easy for just about everyone to step inside and understand in the context of their own relationships.

None of that changed for me last night, I was still thinking very specifically about Yoko Ono and John Lennon when Gene Ween sang their song, but the weird context allowed me to hear it with totally new ears. It sounded really beautiful and charming instead of filled with embarrassing, over share. I don't love the goofy voices thing that Gene Ween does in some songs and was glad that this was just a straightforward cover-- no mocking, no irony, just a song he liked and wanted to do.

Savior of the Universe

I don't want to admit how much time I've spent watching scenes from this movie over the past few days.It started innocently enough with searches for live performances of Queen doing Bicycle Race but this is where it ended.



Hawkmen vs. Ajex is pretty awesome and Flash vs. Prince Barin on the spikey tilting plate should not be missed.

Just Like Me, Part 1 (mostly make believe)

Grown ups love to tell little girls with even a slight resemblance that they look exactly alike.

You look just like sisters! they exclaim.

And little girls love to pretend that their best friend is a secret sister. They imagine alternate lives with wonderful parents or no parents at all. I had three Just Like Me friends in my life: the first was my cousin Carrie.

Carrie was two years older than me and two years younger than my real sister. She could have connected with either of us but, in addition to the physical resemblance, we were both more adventurous, loud and goofy than my sister. Carrie was a tomboy, the youngest of seven, and was always covered in bruises from wrestling with her brothers. I was a tomboy too, I always had a scab on my knee and stubbed toes all summer long, bu my family had just the two girls and my sister was shy and serious. I don't think she ever gave me a bruise. Whenever my aunt and uncle came to visit, Carrie and I would play until it was time for them to go home and then beg and plead for her stay the night. The next day, when it was time for her to go home, we’d beg and plead for another night. Sometimes I stayed at Carrie's house, but my house was always Carrie's first choice. It was less crowded and quieter, in the summertime we had a pool in the back yard, no one was ever borrowing or breaking my toys, and my mom always found time to come play with us and make special bedtime treats.

As we got older, the two years age difference became more important. We made new best friends in our own schools in our own towns. The death of a sister in her family and the divorce in mine brought about big changes too. The last family event I remember at Carrie's house is my cousin Tami's funeral. No one was really talking about Tami's or even saying her name: for years I thought she took LSD and jumped off a building thinking she could fly. I think that came from a movie, an episode of Starsky and Hutch, or a Just-Say-No to LSD campaign that spread an urban legend though. These days, I know she overdosed and I think it was heroin, but I still don't know for sure. Within six months of the funeral, my mom and dad split up. My mom didn't go to family events and my dad also cut himself off from his family members who “took my mom’s side.”

I didn't see much of Carrie during the 80s and then, during my senior year of high school, she got married. The groom smashed cake all over the her face and dress. Several years and a baby later, Carrie left him. It turned out that he gave her lots more bruises than wrestling with brothers ever did. At the same time, I was away at school, reading Welsh poetry and studying collage. I last saw Carrie at a family baby shower. She talked about how happy those memories of my house and that time in her life still were to her. It was almost as hard to see the old physical resemblance between us as it was to comprehend the different paths our lives had taken.

Tina

It's been bad times for pets that I know. A couple weeks ago a friend in New Mexico posted that his longtime dog friend Seymour died. Last week two women on the message board I'm part of had to put pets to sleep too. On Sunday I talked to my mom and she told me that, Tina, my BiL's cat for 16 years had kidney failure. Tina was a nice little cat and I just saw her a few weeks ago.

While I don't know any pet rats, in memory of all these furry friends, here's a little (admittedly weird and creepy) young MJ. Perhaps this will also inspire my friend J. to embrace and love the little mice she has been seeing around her kitchen lately. I've found a video that includes lyrics for anyone who wants to do a sing along. Go ahead, you know you want to.

How Can I Describe the Way I Slowly Lost My love for You?

Life is full of coincidences.
Getting a phone call from a cousin about 20-minutes after writing a short story about her is strange. Especially since we've not been close since 1979, have never spoken on the phone before, and haven't seen or talked to each other in 6 years. But most of my strange coincidences of the past couple of days are the result of having my eyes open for certain themes.

Ever since I listened to that Bon Jovi song last week and started to think about a girl I went to grade school with, my mind has been occupied with thoughts of former friends, how lives grow apart, and how some relationships have faded endings rather than sharp ones.

With my friend K. (who is coming to visit next week!) I clearly remember the ending of that friendship in 1985. The details are fuzzy but I remember the rift. I had another friend, L., in 6th and 7th grade and I remember that end too. L. was stealing money from my mom's purse. I was furious that my mom would blame her without red-handed proof and came up with several alternate explanations: the door was open and someone came in, saw the purse on the couch, and took the money out of her wallet; my mom spent it and forget; the bank teller miscounted the bills. But it was not a one time occurrence, there was a pattern and the common factor was L. When confronted, L. had an alternate explanation too, she said I stole the money. Even so, I was more crushed that I was no longer allowed to see her than I was that she lied and blamed me.

With most earlier girlfriends though, I'm left with "what happened? when was the last time I even saw them? Did we argue?" I don't remember being hurt or heartbroken when the friendships ended. We just grew up and apart and started new friendships. We were distracted with new things and never even noticed that something was ending.

Matthew Sweet's Evangeline has been roaming around my head ever since I posted the clip from The Last Waltz. I decided to listen to Girlfriend on the way to work today and realized I had similar questions and feelings about this album. I used to love that album. I remember dancing and singing along with Divine Intervention in my house in Hamtramck before I packed up my stuff and moved across the country with no set destination in mind.

I don't know where I'm gonna live
I don't know if I'll find a place
I'd have to think about it some
And that I do not wish to face
I guess I'm counting on His
Divine intervention

And then thinking about how I didn't believe in God (or at least a God who intervenes on the micro-level of finding me a cheap apartment out West) so I didn't even have that plan to count on. When did I stop listening to that album regularly? I have no idea. I didn't feel the loss when I did ... I guess I was too busy with new albums.

The catch up with Matthew Sweet was easier than the catch up with my cousin. People are more complicated and, while time might make an album sound dated, it can be much crueler to old friends.

Evangeline Too

Just Because I Can Do the Things That You Do

A woman I work with is always talking about "earworms." Songs like Found a Peanut, the theme from Pinky and the Brain and anything by Juice Newton. I get them too, I know I posted about one not so long ago (but won't go find it in fear it will be stuck in my head all night.)

... but it's too late. I just got a Michigan commercial that goes "Let's go Krogering... Krogering.... Krogering..." running around in there.

Anyway, for me even worse than earworms are bullsh!t lyrics. Things that make me insane because I want to argue with the person who wrote them.

I just spent a few hours at a neighborhood bar writing a story and Johnny Cash "I Walk the Line" came on. I stopped writing and had to listen and remember what the lyrics actually were. What does he mean "Because you're mine, I walk the line.?" Walk the line in terms of drinking and gambling? Most Johnny Cash songs are about that bad boy stuff ... sometimes he even kills a man just to watch him die. But this one seems to just be about monogamy. I can handle that: he's not putting the responsibility for his good living on the good woman who gives him good loving. Monogamy might be hard to maintain for a lot of people over the course of a lifetime, but it's far from crazy in our culture to promise to be true. It's perfectly reasonable for Johnny to walk the monogamy line because he has a partner. Whew,I'll be able to sleep tonight.

This did remind me of my top irritating lyrics though. I can't tell you how many hours I've fumed about these.

Joe Jackson Breaking Us in Two:
You don't do the things that I do
You want to do things I can't do

Okay, so she doesn't do things he does, implying ability but unwillingness. And yet she wants to do things he can't do. As if he's trying and is just incapable of meeting her impossible demands. What is it she wants him to do? Complicated couples yoga postures? Improvisational dirty talk in Chinese? All the while, she's refusing to take a nice romantic walk around the block while holding hands.

Grrrrr.

Santa Claus is Coming to Town
He knows if you've been bad or good
So be good for goodness sake!

The whole point of this song is to be good at all times so you get presents from Santa. It has nothing to do with being good for the sake of goodness!

Aghhhh!

Dolly Parton Jolene:
Please don't take him just because you can

We know nothing about Jolene other than Dolly says she is beautiful, thinks Jolene could have her choice of men, and that Dolly's man has the hots for Jolene and mumbles about her in his sleep. We don't know that Jolene is even interested in the man or if, like Dolly, could never love again if she can't have this particular man. What, a beautiful woman automatically has less deep feelings for a guy? A beautiful woman wants to take a man "just" because she can. In my life, I've been a dumpee not the beautiful takee every time so it's not like I'm the beautiful vixen with an axe to grind. Even so, for some reason that line makes me crazy every time I hear it.

It also gets my goat that even though the song is written from the perspective of one woman begging another to leave her man alone, in all the live performances I seen of it, Dolly introduces it as if it is a girl-fighting, put-that-hussy-in-her- place song. Completely counter to the lyrics and what makes that song so compelling to me.

I do love Dolly Parton though (song writing more than singing, I tend to like her songs performed by other artists) and Jolene is one of my favorites. I like the Mindy Smith version with Dolly Parton doing backup vocals and harmonies. Her solo version on Just Because I'm A Woman is not quite as good. I also love the White Stripes cover.

Evangeline

My friend P. said she was not sure she'd know Emmylou Harris if she heard her. I know she deserves a song all her own her, but I'll be honest, I don't love Emmylou's voice. I tend not to like those "she sings like an angel" voices. So I'm going to go with an old favorite and add in The Band.

David Bowie

Tonight has been designated as the offical Labyrinth watching night by several of my friends around the country. Two of us have never seen it before, a strange number of people appear to be obsessed with it, at least one has never seen it and never wants to. Those that are obsessed with it are a bit younger than me -- I'm guessing they are the same generation of girls who memorized lines from The Princess Bride and watched that 100 times. I was a bit too old for the girlish fixation with those movies when they were released. My friend J., the Labyrinth Refuser, tends not to like the fantasy worlds or sci-fi type movies. She loves jars of eyeballs and zombies though so she might be watching B-list horror tonight instead.

I don't have strong feeling about the movie but feel there is a gap in my David Bowie knowledge. I absolutely hated Requiem for a Dream though, but I won't hold that against Jennifer Connelly. Her performance was not the source of loathing for the movie.

I'm excited.

Do the Hustle: Support my 2010 Hustle Up the Hancock Climb!

Mercury and I will be climbing 94 flights of stairs in a few weeks. hopefully we will be climbing lots of stairs before then in preparation too. If any of my readers are particularly interested in Lung Cancer, please feel from to sponsor my pain. If any of my readers are still smoking (!) quit right now.

Support my 2010 Hustle Up the Hancock Climb!

Silver

My new iPod arrived today, it's silver. All my previous iPods have been white but my choices this time were black and silver.

My old iPod (the trusty survivor of The Great Burglary of 2009) is not 100% dead, I just can't use the wheel command thing anymore or sync it. I've decided to call it Time Capsule. New guy will be Mercury, the name I had in reserve for a grey cat.

I was thinking today about how I like the color silver. I like silver jewelery better than gold and I'm even enjoying the strands of silver hair that are popping up in my dark hair more than I would like light golden highlights. I'm sure the fascination with these silver white strands will wear off soon but for now it's kind of fun. Or maybe I'll become fabulously grey like Emmylou Harris.

When Art and Life are at Odds

For the first time in a long time I have a bunch of story ideas and want to write .. but work is so busy lately that I don't have time. I'm feeling pulled in a thousand directions, exhausted at the end of the day, too wound up to get to sleep on time, and tired when I wake up to do it all again.

I suppose it is the inability to sit down and work on my ideas that is making me feel like I have so many and really want to. We always want we we don't have; it's likely that if I had a less draining schedule and a day with a pen and paper I'd just sit there and doodle and think about how I wanted to sew instead but couldn't because I didn't have the right fabric.

Oddly enough, Bon Jovi inspired this flood of ideas.

The Most Exctiting Organ Ever

Tonight I saw that dumb cell phone commercial with Eric Clapton about a million times. Every time it reminded me that I'll never love Eric Clapton even though I try and then my mind drifted to the George Harrison happy spot and one of my favorite performances ever .. Billy Preston at The Concert for Bangladesh. It was there that I can across this great "disembodied hands" video.


(posted by BlackSciFi ... I can't wait until Friday when I have time to poke around and look/listen to a bunch of other stuff he's posted.)