Today is Quirky Country Music Song Titles Day? Yeppers - a day to remember the crazy songs with titles that make your eyes and ears do a double take. A few of my favorites (and yes, I listened to most of these growing up)
"I'm Gonna Hire a Wino to Decorate Our Home"
"Drop Kick Me, Jesus, Through the Goalpost Of Life"
"You're the Reason Our Kids Are Ugly."
"At the Gas Station of Love, I Got the Self Service Pump"
and one of my dad's favorites from the early 80s...
"Get Your Tongue Outta My Mouth 'Cause I'm Kissin' You Goodbye"
Here...peruse this list and get a few faves of your own :)
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Nothing...just babbling
It's late and I really should be heading off to bed right now. Problem is, I want to write. Despite all the obstacles, the mental blocks, the timing, the everything that should be telling me no, I still want to write. And yet, I have nothing to say.
Maybe that's why I want to write...I want what I can't have. There seems to be a lot of that in my life lately as well, or at least in my mind. Things I don't even allow myself to want, except in the dead of night. When all the lights are off and the house falls silent. In those moments where you teeter between wakefulness and sleep, when the body relaxes and the mind tenses. Those are the moments when my psyche carries off into a world of its own creation, abandoning the constraints of the daily grind and flirting with the possibilities seen only by the mind's eye.
Sorry - I've been quite introspective of late, with my mind's eye quite often turning inward to examine myself. Pondering questions for which I think I will never receive an answer...second guessing my decisions and looking for reasons why to questions whose only answer can be, "because." In my waking hours, I convince myself that "because" is more than enough, for while the unravelling of the yarn is both fun and revealing, to figure out a definitive answer would take some of the magic out of it all.
That said, nothing has stopped me from peeling back the layers and searching for the greater why...how that which appears to contradict itself could, in reality, not only co-exist, but even thrive in a symbiosis that only proves life is not as it appears to be. Yet, as the ideal and the reality are in direct conflict with each other, I find myself in a state of utter confusion much of the time.
In case of confusion, break glass. I've broken it. Now what?
Now, I go to bed. You can tell it's been a while since I've tried to just write off the top of my head. Either that, or I just have too much on my mind right now. Too many conversations unspoken out of fear or respect or intimidation. Maybe if I do a few more of these I'll get my words to fall in place a little easier. Right now, it feels like I'm herding cats.
Maybe that's why I want to write...I want what I can't have. There seems to be a lot of that in my life lately as well, or at least in my mind. Things I don't even allow myself to want, except in the dead of night. When all the lights are off and the house falls silent. In those moments where you teeter between wakefulness and sleep, when the body relaxes and the mind tenses. Those are the moments when my psyche carries off into a world of its own creation, abandoning the constraints of the daily grind and flirting with the possibilities seen only by the mind's eye.
Sorry - I've been quite introspective of late, with my mind's eye quite often turning inward to examine myself. Pondering questions for which I think I will never receive an answer...second guessing my decisions and looking for reasons why to questions whose only answer can be, "because." In my waking hours, I convince myself that "because" is more than enough, for while the unravelling of the yarn is both fun and revealing, to figure out a definitive answer would take some of the magic out of it all.
That said, nothing has stopped me from peeling back the layers and searching for the greater why...how that which appears to contradict itself could, in reality, not only co-exist, but even thrive in a symbiosis that only proves life is not as it appears to be. Yet, as the ideal and the reality are in direct conflict with each other, I find myself in a state of utter confusion much of the time.
In case of confusion, break glass. I've broken it. Now what?
Now, I go to bed. You can tell it's been a while since I've tried to just write off the top of my head. Either that, or I just have too much on my mind right now. Too many conversations unspoken out of fear or respect or intimidation. Maybe if I do a few more of these I'll get my words to fall in place a little easier. Right now, it feels like I'm herding cats.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Bridge to the past
Disney has turned one of my favorite children's books into a movie, and I'm not sure how I feel about the idea. The book is Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson and the basic story was about two kids who didn't quite fit in and how they used the power of their imaginations to create their own world, one imaginary and one reality. It ends quite sadly, but it still inspired years of creativity and play in my backyard and with the neighbors. I hear the author's son is involved in the production of the film, so I'm sure it's true to the book.
When I was a kid, I never fit in. I often lost myself in the plotlines of a story, and when I read this one, I loved the idea that it took so little for someone to find a place in the world...or to create their own. So I did.
There was a creek through my parents' backyard...bordered by rhododendron bushes so tall an 8 or 9 year old could easily crawl under them and sit for hours. And I did. I would salvage scraps of wood from the woodpile to use as chairs and wirespools to use as a table. I picked chives and imagined I could mix postions with them. I fashioned a fishing pole from a branch and a vine. I caught more minnows with my hands than I did with that thing, but I would sit there for hours, making up stories in my head and dangling the vine into the creek. Sometimes, I'd even jump it, or take off my shoes and dip my toes in the water. Both of those were quite daring, though, since both were the sort of things my parents would forbid. I was never a bold child - never willing to even test the corners of my parents' disapproval.
One year, a tree fell during a storm, and provided me with a natural boundary between the yard and my space. I gave the land a name, and spent every weekend down by the creek, playing outside. From time to time, Mom would come tp the edge of the back deck and call my name, to make sure I hadn't run off. Otherwise, it was all mine.
Then a neighbor moved into the house next door. Her back yard sloped off much as ours did... though to a different section of the creek. In my child's state of pride in what my imagination had created, I shared the idea with her and loaned her the book. She was nearly as enchanted as I was, and for the next year we ran between her yard and mine, somestimes playing, sometimes running from her little brother who wanted to be part of everything we did. Her dog, Molly, was the official mascot and joined us whenever we were out.
As with all things, this too came to an end. It was slowly...the neighbor became more interested in New Kids on the Block and Nintendo than in playing outside. My classes at school got harder, and I took up field hockey after school. Our games moved indoors and included more people. When we did go outside, it was for what she deemed "more dignified" sports, like badminton. I changed schools to the public school she went to, and found friends my own age (she was two grades behind me).
The tree that fell back then has long since disintegrated. I've not been back there in years to check on the status of the creek and the minnows and the rhododendron. Sometimes, I think memories are best left in the mind and not revisited. At least, not without reason.
Thanks Flash - your last post made me start thinking of this...
When I was a kid, I never fit in. I often lost myself in the plotlines of a story, and when I read this one, I loved the idea that it took so little for someone to find a place in the world...or to create their own. So I did.
There was a creek through my parents' backyard...bordered by rhododendron bushes so tall an 8 or 9 year old could easily crawl under them and sit for hours. And I did. I would salvage scraps of wood from the woodpile to use as chairs and wirespools to use as a table. I picked chives and imagined I could mix postions with them. I fashioned a fishing pole from a branch and a vine. I caught more minnows with my hands than I did with that thing, but I would sit there for hours, making up stories in my head and dangling the vine into the creek. Sometimes, I'd even jump it, or take off my shoes and dip my toes in the water. Both of those were quite daring, though, since both were the sort of things my parents would forbid. I was never a bold child - never willing to even test the corners of my parents' disapproval.
One year, a tree fell during a storm, and provided me with a natural boundary between the yard and my space. I gave the land a name, and spent every weekend down by the creek, playing outside. From time to time, Mom would come tp the edge of the back deck and call my name, to make sure I hadn't run off. Otherwise, it was all mine.
Then a neighbor moved into the house next door. Her back yard sloped off much as ours did... though to a different section of the creek. In my child's state of pride in what my imagination had created, I shared the idea with her and loaned her the book. She was nearly as enchanted as I was, and for the next year we ran between her yard and mine, somestimes playing, sometimes running from her little brother who wanted to be part of everything we did. Her dog, Molly, was the official mascot and joined us whenever we were out.
As with all things, this too came to an end. It was slowly...the neighbor became more interested in New Kids on the Block and Nintendo than in playing outside. My classes at school got harder, and I took up field hockey after school. Our games moved indoors and included more people. When we did go outside, it was for what she deemed "more dignified" sports, like badminton. I changed schools to the public school she went to, and found friends my own age (she was two grades behind me).
The tree that fell back then has long since disintegrated. I've not been back there in years to check on the status of the creek and the minnows and the rhododendron. Sometimes, I think memories are best left in the mind and not revisited. At least, not without reason.
Thanks Flash - your last post made me start thinking of this...
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Tag - I'm it.
It's midnight as I start to write and I really have nothing to write about. However, with the time change today, it only FEELS like 11pm and I'm not tired. So instead, I'll sit down and start plugging away. Perhaps this will turn into something worth reading or maybe it will just be drivel, but I've got to get back in the habit of writing when I feel like this.
It's been a depressing day, so I don't want to go there. And I figure you guys could care less about the random thoughts swirling in my head right now... I know - I'll answer the tagging that Farrago hit me with....Five little known facts about myself. The flip side - five bloggers to tag - won't be happening because I've been such an unknown in the blogosphere of late that I don't even have five addresses (that's what happens when you have to rebuild your computer from the hard drive up. Ugh!)
Let's see...what to tell you...Farrago, don't be offended if I catapult off of your admissions.
1) Like any good teenager of the 80s, I sported a mouth full of orthodontia for two and a half years. The glorious day finally came - my orthodontist removed the hardware and made impressions for retainers to keep the teeth where they belonged. In the two days it took to get the retainer made, my teeth went right back to where they were two years before. Another sign of my stubbornness.
2) Were it not for computers, I wouldn't be a writer. My handwriting is abysmal, and typewriters gave me writer's block from looking at all my failures and bad ideas.
3) I didn't get into the habit of drinking alcohol until I was a year and a half out of college.
4) I used to smoke clove cigarettes in college. That lasted about 6 months until they started making me sick.
5) I've read Dangerous Liasons in the original French.
Okay - who next....Flash, have you done this? Ultra? Scott?
It's been a depressing day, so I don't want to go there. And I figure you guys could care less about the random thoughts swirling in my head right now... I know - I'll answer the tagging that Farrago hit me with....Five little known facts about myself. The flip side - five bloggers to tag - won't be happening because I've been such an unknown in the blogosphere of late that I don't even have five addresses (that's what happens when you have to rebuild your computer from the hard drive up. Ugh!)
Let's see...what to tell you...Farrago, don't be offended if I catapult off of your admissions.
1) Like any good teenager of the 80s, I sported a mouth full of orthodontia for two and a half years. The glorious day finally came - my orthodontist removed the hardware and made impressions for retainers to keep the teeth where they belonged. In the two days it took to get the retainer made, my teeth went right back to where they were two years before. Another sign of my stubbornness.
2) Were it not for computers, I wouldn't be a writer. My handwriting is abysmal, and typewriters gave me writer's block from looking at all my failures and bad ideas.
3) I didn't get into the habit of drinking alcohol until I was a year and a half out of college.
4) I used to smoke clove cigarettes in college. That lasted about 6 months until they started making me sick.
5) I've read Dangerous Liasons in the original French.
Okay - who next....Flash, have you done this? Ultra? Scott?
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