Such a simple mind have I. Watching the sunset pulling into the day, my mind punched the buttons for a 1984 Don Henley song, “Sunset Grill”.
Let’s go down to the Sunset Grill
We can watch the working girls go by
Watch the “basket people” walk around and mumble
And stare out at the auburn sky
There’s an old man there from the Old World
To him, it’s all the same
Calls all his customers by name
h/t to Google.com
I was feeling nostalgic. We’d hit 75 degrees F, and summer was strolling through, teasing us with looks and smells. Also, it was Wednesday, when my buddies and I meet to chat about science and the world and quaff a few pints.
It would’ve been a perfect day for the Sunset Grill.
A friend related her tale of venturing out to a store. Her recounting triggered jungle songs. So here we are – “Welcome to the Jungle” (GNR, 1987), “Jungle Boogie” (Kool and the Gang, 1973, here on “Soul Train”), and “Run Through the Jungle” (CCR, 1970). I think each song speaks for its niche with its musical style, but each convey the jungle with slight variations. Behind them all, though, is the sense that the civilized human scene is a jungle of wild menace. Kind of like that out there, although I haven’t heard stories of violence. I guess it’s not as much of a jungle as it was on, say, black Friday.
This came straight up the memory pipe into the music stream this morning, right out of Canada and 1983 in my head in the U.S., 2020. I don’t know what resided down in the memory wells that said, “Let’s fire this mutha back into conscious memory.” Nothing leaps out as an ignition moment. But here we are with “Hot Girls in Love” by Loveboy.
Gosh, for some reason, while reading blog posts, coronavirus news, and red state/blue state slants, a Pink Floyd song called “Us and Them” (1974) popped into my mental music.
It’s all about war and its senselessness, apt to me. It seems like it went urban/rural divide > culture divide > culture wars > political contests > red state/blue state > coronavirus front. What was it that Governor Kay Ivey (Alabama – R) said a few weeks ago? ““Y’all, we are not Louisiana, we are not New York State, we are not California. Right now is not the time to order people to shelter in place.”
Goodness knows what California and New York had to do with facts and information. At the time of Ivey’s speech, Alabama led California in per capita cases of coronavirus.
But anyway, the song… It starts out mellow but then cranks up the crescendo in time for you to hear, “Forward he cried, from the rear, and the front ranks died.”
Dreamed about a Chev. Corvette last night. My Dad and I were in it. I was driving it first. We stopped at a store. People complimented us on the car. I told everyone that it was his, and most people said, “Yes, I had that impression.”
I’ve had similar Corvette dreams before, but it put a Corvette song in my head. Prince’s 1983 song was “Little Red Corvette”, but that’s what came to mind this morning as I was thinking about the dream.
I vividly remember hearing “Little Red Corvette” while stationed on Okinawa. (I was assigned to the 603d MASS on Kadena AB, 1981-1985.) We’d gone to McDonald’s on a whim because we were going to have some corn soup. Standing outside in sunshine afterward, “Little Red Corvette” was playing on a car radio beside us. We were talking about going to the American Bakery for dessert. It’s a strangely vivid moment in life.
Song lyrics got their tiny little vise grips in my mind.
“You’ve been selling, what you don’t want to buy.”
The rest of the song is “What About Love” by Heart (1985). I can’t trace anything specific to kicking this song into the mental music stream this morning. I’m sharing it to let it go, so it can run free across the Internet, burrowing into others’ ears as it has done with me.
Go, little song, be free! Fly away, and let me be!
Hey, come on in. Grab a drink. The party is just gettin’ started.
Yeah, I know the reality. This is make believe. We’re pretending all the restrictions have been lifted. A vaccine has been found. Testing is readily available. We rallied and rescued ourselves (with help from the world). And we helped others survive.
Now we’re entering recovery mode. A new prez is in the White House. Toilet paper is available. Gas is cheap, and restaurants and bars are open for business. We’re doing a little freedom party. We’re steppin’ out. So grab a drink (or pretend to drink one). It’s a virtual bar full of virtually everything, and it’s party PM.
In honor of all that, the song that came on for the start of this party is an old fan fave (yeah, I’m the fan). It always gets me movin’, putting a grin in my mood and jacking my spirits up.
Here’s “Gimme Some Lovin'” by The Spencer Davis Group from 1966. I’m so glad you made it.
Now, for the helluvait, another party fave: Prince, “1999” (1982). Cheers
Ah, pressure! The pressure on the healthcare system, the pressure on the global economy, the pressure on the governments and the parties, the pressure on the people.
Reading about all the events happening yesterday, the U.S. government’s coronavirus forecasts, and the political sniping, I kept thinking about pressure. Several major retailers say they have a few months of liquidity; they may not survive. People have been furloughed. Sales have plunged. Newly unemployed people are facing the first of the month and the pressure to pay bills when they don’t have much money.
That our ‘healthy economy’ in the U.S. was a facade has been pointed out for decades. Food insecurity was growing. More people were working in consumer oriented service industries. More were depending on tips. The gig economy was rising, and so was wealth inequality.
Pressure.
Billy Joel (such a talented dude) summed up in his song, “Pressure” (1982).
Birds were outside. (Yeah, where else would you expect them to be, amiright?)
I spied on them, flying around (and monitored the cats as they chittered and stared).
Out of that came memories of a Facebook post. Back in the last century, they were saying flying cars could be coming soon. Instead, we’re hoarding toilet paper and sneaking out of the house.
Out of that came a wish, time for me to fly. Songs hovered above the stream, ready to jump in. “Big Ol’ Jet Airliner”. “Learning to Fly”. “I’d Fly Away”. “Time for Me to Fly”.
But Lenny took it with his hit, “Fly Away” (1998).
Going into week three of isolation, I start thinking about changing things up.
My wife’s Y-exercise group have done some adjusting. Using Zoom, they’ve now reverted to their Monday-Wednesday-Friday exercise routine, although one hour later than usual. My beer group is considering the same thing. Having a beer with others, via Zoom, and having a chat about the news, checking up on one another, might be the change I need.
Overall, I am slooowly adjusting. I miss my long walks and solitude, and my coffee/writing routine. My wife noticed, “I don’t think I’ve seen you writing.”
“Well, I tried but there were too many interruptions. Cats…you…my brain, the net, the coronavirus.” She made arrangements to give me some ‘me’ time for a few hours in the office. That enabled some writing.
Other than that, it’s been reading, cleaning, and playing ‘puter games. Too much of the reading has been drawn toward coronavirus news. I’ve made it a habit (or a compulsion) to check on different states and countries, along with the overall sit, several damn times a day.
So, a change would do me good. That thought introduced the Sheryl Crow song, “A Change Would Do You Good” (1997).
I’ve been thinking ’bout catching a train
Leave my phone machine by the radar range
Hello it’s me, I’m not at home
If you’d like to reach me, leave me alone
A change would do you good
A change would do you good
Hello, it’s me, I’m not at home
If you’d like to reach me, leave me alone
Michael Seidel, writer 