A little myst’ry to figger out
Noticing the awesome Bonnie Raitt thatch of white hair on the right side of my head this morning (it’s been awhile since my last visit to the salon), I was reminded of one of the funnier parts of this past weekend down at Diamond Mike & Blondie’s: the full-volume 1:30 a.m. sing-a-long of “Something to Talk About,” performed by me and the Sasquatch Artist mostly for the purposes of annoying his wife, who was then in the process of picking the next song for the band to play – good times!
So, the thing about that song is, I knew all the words. No, seriously, Internets – all of the words.
Why? Oh, I think you know why.
I was seventeen the summer it was out, see, and there was this boy. And the song, it spoke to me, in re: my Situation with this boy, a friend with whom I had recently realized I would like to be more than friends. People, this tragic musical episode resulted in my purchase of the cassingle of this fucking song, which I played over and over and over again on the stereo of my 1980 Buick Skylark, and for a perilous few days at the height of this Situation, I considered buying another cassingle, which I would leave in the mailbox at his house, trusting that he’d know who put it there and why. Thank Shatner, I did not do that – but it was close. Damned close.
Oh, Internets. There are so many reasons I wouldn’t be seventeen again for all the money and shoes in the world …
So, the thing about that song is, I knew all the words. No, seriously, Internets – all of the words.
Why? Oh, I think you know why.
I was seventeen the summer it was out, see, and there was this boy. And the song, it spoke to me, in re: my Situation with this boy, a friend with whom I had recently realized I would like to be more than friends. People, this tragic musical episode resulted in my purchase of the cassingle of this fucking song, which I played over and over and over again on the stereo of my 1980 Buick Skylark, and for a perilous few days at the height of this Situation, I considered buying another cassingle, which I would leave in the mailbox at his house, trusting that he’d know who put it there and why. Thank Shatner, I did not do that – but it was close. Damned close.
Oh, Internets. There are so many reasons I wouldn’t be seventeen again for all the money and shoes in the world …
Labels: balls o'clock a.m., demoralizing confessions, life 101, unholy obsessions
posted by Gleemonex at 11:12 AM
6 Comments:
Holy shit did every frickin teenager own a Buik Skylark? How sad and yet absolutely true. My Cassingle was All Cried Out by some group remaking Emotions by the Bee Gees and I believe I did leave it in his mail box, or was up his... good times.
Cassingle!
Seventeen-year-old me agrees that a cassignle-in-the-mailbox would have been a Grand Romantic Gesture. Of course, mine would have been "More than Words." *cringe*
Ha ha! You said cassingle. I swear to Shatner that I own no less than 8 cassingles and have listened to at least one of them in the last month (the car I drive, when I'm not riding my bike and saving the earth, is a 94 Honda Civic, with only a tape player).
These very cassingles include, but are not limited to, "It's So Hard To Say Goodbye (To Yesterday)" by Boyz II Men and "This Used To Be My Playground" by Madonna.
It was actually painful to write this comment.
Only by acknowledging the pain can we begin to heal ... join hands, people, and confess your ... cassins.
Remember the cassingle of us singing Hotel California we recorded at the West End??? I HOPE thats in some landfill somewhere and not in the wrong hands....
Thank christ there's no video of that, Berwie -- or else we'd be all the hell over YouTube and getting mocked globally!
Although, I still do remember and admire your vocal stylings on that one: "She got the Mercedes bends ... UHHH!"
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