Come home.
The Urge For Going October 24, 2018
There is a man who wants to show me New Orleans – we would eat and drink and dance till we could no longer support ourselves on our inadequate legs. He would out eat, out drink, out dance and out – well, maybe not that. He keeps teasing me. I am ready to call his bluff. Naturally, a song raises its hand. This is that song, filmed in New Orleans, and yes I am aware of my obsession. Deal with it.
“The public image belongs to me / It’s my entrance, my own creation….” October 15, 2018
I made my way to Asbury Park Saturday night to see a performer I hadn’t seen in 40-some years – John Lydon (nee Rotten) and the latest iteration of his band Public Image, Limited. The discordant music, propelled by solid bass (he’s good but no Jah Wobble) and a propulsive drummer underscored Lydon’s post-punk/alt-jazz caterwauling. And I say “caterwauling” as a compliment in this case.
The crowd was young and old, skewing more women than men (which I thought was really interesting) and a bit less white than I might have expected. Asbury Lanes is a rehabbed bowling alley with a terrific bar and some of the best diner food outside of a real diner. As my foodie friend Phyllis remarked, “the char on these sliders is awesome”. They didn’t oversell the room, which meant there was space to move and it wasn’t desperately hot.
Ahh, but the band….they hit the stage, Lydon put on his glasses and opened his book of lyrics on a music stand (hey, we’re all old these days and teleprompters aren’t cheap) and they kicked ass for almost 2 hours. I loved every minute of it, even as I had to sit for some of the show (4 weeks, post hip replacement – some slack would be nice here 😉 ).
Play this LOUD.
Jah Wobble: Play this one loud, too….
We’re gonna need a bigger broom.
My hip is feeling better and we’re cleaning house. Literally and figuratively. 
I named it October 2, 2018
I named my diseased hip after my erstwhile husband. And then I had a skilled surgeon fillet me like a fish and replace the joint with one made of titanium and ceramic – with the hope that it will last longer than my marriage.
It’s been a year since I last wrote – a year filled with rage, following the week that was – the announcement he was leaving, moving our son into rehab and the tragic and utterly unexpected death of my closest cousin.
Our son is making huge strides and I am prouder of him than I can say. And that’s all I will say for now. His privacy is paramount.
And here we are. To catch up, the real reason he left wasn’t some existential angst-slash-midlife crisis, it was the classically banal excuse that he met someone he liked better. It wasn’t till later I discovered that that one wasn’t the only one. Some day, I’ll ask him about Erin, who was the other other one. For now, it’s just sort of satisfying to know that he is still living in his childhood bedroom in his mother’s house and is in a relationship founded on duplicity and infidelity. Pass the popcorn.
This surgery has changed me. The recovery has been physically fairly easy but emotionally kind of wrenching. Because I’m a Virgo and have zero patience, I want answers immediately. And yet I know in some molecular way that because it doesn’t happen like that I am better off riding this wave instead of paddling against it.
Think of me as a cranky, funny, old Gidget.
Surf’s up, bitches….
London Grammar June 16, 2017
Yeah, I’m tripping over lyrics less Yeats-ian than one might hope for, but this song reached out of the speakers today and made me pay attention. You do with them what you will.
Love, what did you do to me?
My only hope is to let life stretch out before me
And break me on this lonely road
I’m made of many things, but I’m not what you are made of
My only hope is to let life stretch out before me
And break me on this lonely road
I’m made of many things, but I’m not what you are made of
Only now do I see the big picture
But I swear that these scars are fine
Only you could have hurt me in this perfect way tonight
I might be blind, but you’ve told me the difference
Between mistakes and what you just meant for me
Don’t say you ever loved me
Don’t say you ever cared
My darkest friend
Words
Have you forgotten
All the lies you left there, so fresh
Turning old in the air
And now, you have no weapons
You can try to get close to those I love
Do you really think they don’t know what you’re made of?
Only now do I see the big picture
But I swear that these scars are fine
Only you could have hurt me in this perfect way tonight
I might be blind but you’ve told me the difference
Between mistakes and what you just meant for me
Don’t say you ever loved me
Don’t say you ever cared
My darkest friend
Close Encounters
He buried his face in my neck and slid his fingers up the back of my head, “oh….” he breathed, “your hair smells like roses…”
One foot in front of the other… June 8, 2017
Leave it to some precocious 20 year old to lead the way…
Too Soon? May 31, 2017
He sings Iggy Pop songs. The best ones. He’s an artist and a craftsman. He’s funny and blazingly hot. And we collided a gajillion years ago. And a tentative path is being gently trod all these years later.
This is beyond okay.
“The world only spins forward…”
Radiogirl 