A cool mountain wind came by late yesterday, serving to dispatch summer’s edgy warmth.
Such a welcome combo. I was relaxing after another wall-painting session. I wanted to take a walk but was ambivalent, mostly because it was about eight PM.
(‘Take a walk’ is an interesting expression. When I hear/write/read that line, I often imagine people with numbers waiting in line. You know, take a number, take your place, take a seat, take a walk. Just word associations.)
Decided not to go walking, but as I was thinking and enjoying the mild, cool wind and watching the change from day (distant apricot sunset in the west, indigo sky rising at the zenith, the moon, clear and shiny, riding the southern sky), a Scorpions song came to mind.
“Wind of Change” (1991) is such a mellow song, it definitely answered the moment.
The wind of change Blows straight into the face of time Like a stormwind that will ring the freedom bell For peace of mind
Someone said something about complaining. I thought, oh, boy, a new complaint.
I guess my mind’s Alexa thought that I’d requested a song with those lyrics. Next thing in my mind was Kurt Cobain shouting, “Hey! Wait! I got a new complaint.” Then it was on, and Nirvana’s “Heart-Shaped Box” (1993) was raging.
Such a dark song it is. Despite the morning’s sunshine, these feel like dark times. We were being pretty self-congratulatory about flattening the curve. Rona said, “Hold my beer.”
Out here in our little semi-rural county, we’ve seen a jump. Announcements came today that the jump was traced to a party. The original carrier was found to be from out of state.
Hey! Wait! I gotta new complaint.
I was reading about the chaos in other states yesterday. There’s little consistency between counties and cities. There’s no consistency between states or across the nation. The Golfer-in-Chief is more concerned about his rallies, convention, and poll numbers to bother about doing something decisive about the friggin’ rona.
Hey! Wait! I gotta new complaint.
In an ironic twist, the GOP, at Trump’s urging, dumped Charlotte, NC, for the convention site because, masks! Now Jacksonville, Florida, new site of the convention in eight weeks has ordered, masks!
Hey! Wait! I gotta new complaint.
Give me a little time. I’ll think of it. Here’s the music.
It’s a classic line: “Why don’t they do what they say, say what they mean?”
First, you have the POTUS backing the CDC, declaring people are supposed to wear masks (and his staff visiting with him are often required to wear masks, and have their temps taken every day), but then declares that he’s not wearing them. Mike Pence, one of the limpest Veeps in history, has been pilloried for not wearing masks when everyone else was wearing one, when told he should be wearing one, etc, while visiting places and making stops.
“Do what they say.”
Video revealings have people saying what they mean, turning on Blacks and other POC, screaming at them, “Go back where you came from, you don’t belong here,” calling them thugs, criminals, monkeys, and generally using the vilest language and deepest levels of hate that they can muster. When their words spread across the net (because we’re in the net age) and they’re ostracized and fired from jobs, they claim that’s not what they meant (they were just angry, afraid, blacked out, etc.). But it’s pretty clear that they mean what they say.
“One thing leads to another.”
And we certainly have seen that in evidence, haven’t we? Folks attend church, sporting events, bars, parties. Social distancing is shunned, masks are mocked, ridiculous claims are made (our air-conditioning filters will save you)…a few days later, people are in isolation, testing rona positive, and heading for hospitals.
Yet, we still have so many claiming that one thing doesn’t lead to another. They’re above the experts. Or, doesn’t matter. Business and the economy — making money — are more important. So the cases keep rising, and the deaths keep rising…
One thing leads to another.
Here’s the song by the Fixx, “One Thing Leads to Another”, from 1984.
The civic powers have decided there’s gonna a be a youth baseball tournament in our area this weekend. Thirty-two teams are coming from all over California and Oregon.
Gosh, I think this is a great idea. Snark, in case it’s not recognized.
Yes, social distancing rules will be in play. Only a hunnert people on a field at a time. But let’s see, thirty-two teams, say fifteen people to a team including coaches, support, and chaperones, and suddenly an four to five hundred people are running around town. Going to social distance? Hmmm…
Then there are fans…
Hmmm…
So, we went shopping today. Had to be done, Costco and Trader Joe’s, our go-tos. TJ was a blessed sanctuary. Everyone masked, not many people, all observing the SD guidelines and playing nice.
We zipped out to Costco. It wasn’t opening for thirty more minutes. “Should we get in line?” the spouse asked.
What line? I saw people milling. Half weren’t masked. Three fourths weren’t distancing.
“No. We’re not getting in that congregation. Let’s go to Target and get the pet supplies instead.”
Off we went.
Target…jebbus. Most weren’t masked. Social distancing? I don’t think they’d heard the term. My mind recoiled with bitterness. We’re probably looking at walking headlines, I thought. Oh, they went to a ballgame. WEnt shopping. One had symptoms but (fill it in yourself). Gosh, thirty people then tested pos. Gosh, they’re all in isolation, and gosh, some of them are really sick and in the hospital.
Yeah, gosh.
Into all of this came the 1985 Hooters song, “All You Zombies”. I don’t know if these people are unthinking, uncaring, ignorant zombies, a piece of all that, or just rebelling cause ‘Merica, Trump. Don’t know. But they strike me as zombies.
That makes “All You Zombies” today’s theme choice. Zombies come in all shapes, ya know?
A favorite song is stuck in today’s stream, but it’s quite apt for the time. Growing up in the 1960s, Shirley Bassey was a recurring fixture in pop culture. She sang several of the Bond movie theme songs, showed up on television shows, had international hits. Her voice and style were well-known.
So it was something of a delight when the Propellerheads combined with Shirley Bassey in a retro sound, “History Repeating”, in 1997.
[Verse 1] The word is about, there’s something evolving Whatever may come, the world keeps revolving They say the next big thing is here That the revolution’s near But to me it seems quite clear That it’s all just a little bit of history repeating
[Verse 2] The newspapers shout – a new style is growing But it don’t know if it’s coming or going There is fashion – there is fad Some is good – some is bad And the joke is rather sad That it’s all just a little bit of history repeating
Here we are in 2020, struggling to advance rights for women, people of color, regardless of sexual gender, identity, or orientation, while a segment of society tries to anchor us to a time that’s gone. Against that, we’re fighting a pandemic, kind of like that 1917-1918 flu pandemic, and there’s talks of voting rights and states’ rights vs. Fed. rights vs. individual rights…like the American Civil War and the ongoing civil rights movement.
Also, I chose this as my theme song back in back in 2017, so, yeah, “History Repeating” works for today. And it’s a swinging tune.
Yet again, my brain selected a song and has put it on a loop for reasons that I can’t pinpoint.
This one may have to do with the neighbor’s cat passing away. Named Pepper — an independent cat of independent means chasing independent ways and independent dreams — I often called her sugar and sweetness. A tortie, she featured a coal black face with big golden eyes that seemed solemn but optimistic, and a clear, strong voice. So maybe her spirit kicked the song into my head.
Anyway, here is Robin Schulz with “Sugar” from 2015. It uses Baby Bash’s song, “Suga Suga” from 2003 to build upon. Just realized, too, according to my neighbor, Pepper was ‘supposedly’ (they weren’t pos) born in 2003. Admittedly, this song goes against my general principle of referring to women as bitches. Just don’t like it as an expression, attitude, or stereotype.
Yesterday was in the mid-nineties. Today we’re looking at ninety-eight to one hundred degrees. Heat warnings out, etc..
Can’t complain too much. Had a scorcher back in May, and thought, oh, no, here comes the heat. But June turned mild and rainy. Different from what we usually get, and tres acceptable.
I’m not an air conditioning fan. Prefer not to run it in the house. Seems like a sledgehammer approach to things. I don’t usually run it in the house until the temp inside goes to eight-three. To do this, I cool the house at night, right? Sure. Everyone’s with that. But last night didn’t cool too much (seventy at eleven) (that’s degrees at o’clock PM). The house was comfortable through and it’s comfortable now, but, well, we’re looking at eighty by eleven (temp/time, AM).
Speaking of time and clocks (or writing about them), I was thinking about counter-clockwise. I was following some instructions which used that statement. Which cause wonder, what’d they say before clocks about turning things? I suppose, reflecting on technology, not many things were turned before clocks, and they just said, left or right.
Also, though, kids. Their clocks are digital. Aren’t they? Are they? Don’t have children, so I don’t know what’s in school, and whether that’s still taught. Kind of assumed it wasn’t, since they’re dropped the whole cursive writing business.
But if they’re not shown standard round clocks, being told about turning something counter clockwise must cause a minor brain freeze.
Back to the music. For today’s heat, the theme is “Heat Wave” as covered by Linda Rondstadt back in the last century. The original song was excellent, and there are many terrific versions, but Linda’s version popped up in 1975, so I associate it with driving around and partying as a young adult.
Good lord, we’ve been sheltering in place with limited contact with others since the middle of March. I’ve had itchings to leap into the car and race away, to find some sanctuary at a beach. I’ve sighed over ideas of meandering through book stores. Favorite places get longing looks as I drive by. Small heartaches are felt as advertisements to travel slip past. When will we safely do these things again?
Last night, I sniffed the cooling summer breeze. The breeze smelled like that time I was on Sicily, and recalled a moment on Okinawa, and a summer night in the Philippines. The breeze reminded me of being in bed in Virginia, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and West Virginia when I was a child, and being on holiday with my wife in Astoria, Hawaii, and California. Recollections of living in Germany, standing under the Eiffel Tower, and visiting Korea rode that breeze in. A little bit of the Carolinas, Texas, and Florida came in on that breeze. Other times in Oregon and New Mexico rose on that breeze.
So, yeah, I get restless. After she asked, and I was outside later, staring at the night sky (cloudy, so saw nothing but clouds), a line from Weezer’s “Island in the Sun” (2001) streaked through my stream like a summer meteor.
Cyndi Lauper’s 1986 song (wow, so long ago, in retrospect), “True Colors” gave to mind today as I perused the news.
Everything seems like political news in the U.S. in this era. Trump wants to stop Bolton’s book from being released, using the conflicting reasons, it’s all lies, and it’s all classified, making the book classified lies, which I think would be a good name for a music group. “Classified Lies”. Think they might be a one-hit wonder.
Karens — white women who call the police for calling on Blacks for living while being Black — have been caught showing their true colors, smugly declaring how right they are in hateful tones, demanding that Blacks go back to where they came from or stop what they’re doing, or police! The tactic seems to have been solidly ingrained into their psychic, as they have little fear of using it. Oh, how often when the video exposes their true colors do they sob about how sorry they are, how they didn’t realize. Sure, too late; we see your true colors.
More on the right insist that wearing masks and social distancing doesn’t matter, they want to invoke herd immunity. “The economy,” they scream. Many are ‘pro-lifers’ who also screamed against abortion choice and spread rumors of death panels when the ACA was being debated. Now, the possibility of spreading death doesn’t bother them. Life isn’t so precious as the economy. They’ve shown their true colors.
As protests supporting Black Lives Matter and against police brutality rose and spread, some people spoke up for the police even as video evidence of their abuse and disregard spread. True colors were shown.
Yes, the pressure to stand somewhere and declare yourself often exposes true colors. It’s a good song for Juneteenth, 2020, as we see too many people’s true, ugly colors.
Tom Kelly and Billy Steinberg wrote “True Colors”. I didn’t know that until I read it on wikipedia.org. Cyndi Lauper puts a beautiful spin on it. While I mock the true colors of racists and the right wing in the light of current news, the song is an antidote to such trumpshit.
No, “True Colors” is more supportive of the protesters standing for change, because more of us, a majority, are awakening to the wrongs manifested in our names, and are trying to put it right.
You with the sad eyes
Don't be discouraged
Oh I realize
Its hard to take courage
In a world full of people
You can lose sight of it all
And the darkness inside you
Can make you feel so small
But I see your true colors
Shining through
I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colors
True colors are beautiful
Like a rainbow
Show me a smile then
Don't be unhappy, can't remember
When I last saw you laughing
If this world makes you crazy
And you've taken all you can bear
You call me up
Because you know I'll be there
Michael Seidel, writer 