Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
The memory stream plucked this blast from the past and delivered it straight to my head.
I don’t mind. “Golden Years” by David Bowie (1975) is a song that I enjoy. I’m going into my golden years, I’ve decided. They’re not the golden years of many people’s thinking, which translate to twilight years, but good years. Unlike the Bowie song, I’m not running for the shadows, either. Life’s taking me somewhere, angel. I’m just a hazel-eyed optimist.
Exchanged some comments with a blogger last night. He’d reminisced about enjoying Led Zeppelin, Eric Clapton, and AC/DC with his brother while they were growing up (Boys Will Be Boys). That reminded me how much I enjoyed Clapton, and eventually led me to streaming “Pretending” from his Journeyman album (1989). I like the power with which the song opens after the slight piano intro. The song lifts me up when I stream it in my head while I’m walking.
He ran ahead with his tail up, as I’ve so often seen him do.
Then, stopping, he looked back and meowed, as I’ve often witnessed him do.
Smiling, I waved and called his name. He turned and went on.
Still smiling, I turned aside.
And I went on, too.
Henchfloof (floofinition) – a trusted housepet; a member of a gang of housepets.
In use: “Snuffy the cat didn’t trust any dogs except his beloved friend, Max. Max, a big fluffy-white Samoyed-Spitz mix, was Snuffy’s henchfloof, protecting the feline against anyone entering their yard.”
Today’s music pops is a 2006 song that popped into my stream courtesy of a friend. I met him in 2006, and we became good friends. Chatting with him today reminded me of this song.
By the Dixie Chicks, there’s a lot of back-story behind this song, “Not Ready to Make Nice”. I know the song because of the previous controversies with the Dixie Chicks and their stands, which I supported and admired. The coverage and events behind the song made it a big hit so I couldn’t help but hear it as went about my life.
Given today’s polarized politics, not just in the U.S., but many other regions, I think the song is a respectable choice for today’s theme music.
Cheers
Gonna tell you a story
About a woman I know.
When it comes to lovin’
She steals the show.
Ain’t exactly pretty,
Ain’t exacty small.
Forty-two, thirty-nine, fifty-six,
You could say she’s got it all.
Yes, it’s time for a little AC/DC live. I like the live show’s energy. As for the song, I like that they’re singing about a big woman, and they like her for her bigness, along with other matters.
As a side comment, I want to note that I wanted those lyrics to be one paragraph, and single-space. WordPress didn’t agree and imposed its will. I reverted to Word, wrote it out, started a new doc, and pasted it in.
And WordPress imposed its will about how it thinks it should like, which pisses me off. So I went back to Classic editor
And guess what? Yeah. They’re making me work too hard for just a little post.
As I was dressing today, I decided to wear brown shoes.
Like many people — not — my shoes choice drives my attire. As my grandmother used to say, “Start at the feet, and dress up.” (She didn’t.)
Season, weather, and plans drive my shoe choice. I’ve found that I’m uncomfortable in sandals in the fall and winter, usually because the day starts out nippy and doesn’t get warm. I’m not much of a sandal person anyway.
Which takes me to the brown shoes.
Once I decided to wear brown shoes, the pants and shirt were easy, since it was cool, forty degrees, sunny, with sixty-two degrees anticipated as the high. Since I was wearing brown shoes, I needed a brown belt, right?
Time out. Wait. Hang on.
Why did I need a brown belt?
Because that’s how I’ve been socialized, normalized, and conditioned. Brown shoes, brown belt. I heard it from Mom, wife, girlfriends, and others. It’s like, why? WTF difference does it make?
So guess what this rebel did?
If you guessed that I put on black shoes and a black belt, you’re wrong. I’m wearing a black belt with brown shoes.
Yeah, pretty far out, right?
I’m such a rebel.
This is an old and familiar song. It just joined my stream today, coming from many things and nothing, as often happens with the breccia that I call my thinking.
I first heard this song, “River Deep, Mountain High” by Ike & Tina Turner, when I was young. I don’t recall the circumstances, but wikipedia tells me it was released in 1966, so it’s reasonable to think I heard it on AM radio while driving about with Mom in her car. Later covers were more commercially successful.
Ike and Tina broke up. There’s a big story behind those four words. Ike has passed away. Tina lives on.
You know, sometimes, no matter what you do, you end up getting stuck somewhere where you don’t want to be.
I’m happy to report that there’s a song for that, called, “Stuck in the Middle With You”, Stealers’ Wheel, 1973. I often think of Reservoir Dogs when I recall this song. Its bounciness, with Mr. Blonde (Michael Madsen) dancing around as he cut off another man’s ear and doused him in gasoline, offered an interesting counter-balance to the scene’s gritty intensity and violence.
I guess I’m fortunate that when this song comes to mind at social gatherings, parties, or standing in lines at stores and airports, that nobody is cutting anything off of me.
This isn’t and wasn’t my preferred listening music. I blame it on the modern office environment where people listen to their own music. They generally need to keep the volume turned down or wear headphones because they’re working in cubicles. I was fortunate because I had an office, so my music was a bit louder. However, I’d walk out, and here is this song playing. Then, hearing it, I said, “What’s that?”
Responding, the music was turned up, and people began doing the dance. This was 1996 in America, people. The song is a little ditty called “Macarana” (Bayside Boys). The song was sweeping the world, even making it to the Democratic National Convention, where Al Gore joked about it.
These things sometimes happen. Nothing wrong with the song, but it’s not to my taste. But, it’s in my stream today, and I need to get it out.
Over to you.
Michael Seidel, writer 