Tuesday, January 05, 2016

I'm only happy when it rains

New Year's Potpourri

Girl in a Band, by Kim Gordon
This book, an xmas gift from the marvelous Mr. Gleemonex, is making me feel a whole bunch of feelings -- mostly in a good way, but not always. Nostalgia for old New York mixes with annoyance at all the talk about art shit (I have less tolerance for art talk than I do for podcasts, which if you'll recall, is really saying something), and I'm kind of skimming the deep dives into Sonic Youth's songs (I was never really a fan of theirs, musically -- I just kind of admired their whole deal in general, and the person Kim Gordon in specific). But then Kim will hit me with something like this, and it's devastating:
Writing about New York is hard. Not because memories intersect and overlap, because of course they do. Not because incidents and times mix with others, because that happens too. Not because I didn't fall in love with New York, because even though I was lonely and poor, no place had ever made me feel more at home. It is because knowing what I know now, it's hard to write about a love story with a broken heart. 

Fur Elise
So we were watching the excellent, troubling, tense and strange show The Man in the High Castle, and Fur Elise was playing in the background of this one scene, and I could. not. stop myself. from singing the lyrics, to Mr. Gleemonex's mild annoyance. It has lyrics, and you know them: "Oh I wish I were already there / instead of here / playing this song / oh I would have a big chocolate shake / a cheeseburger / and also  -- whoops -- and also fries / and I would eat / my fries myself / and not give any / to my dumb brother / hands off, they're mine all mine" (etc.). Come on now.

My SHATNER, how wonderful this rain is! Four blaring sun-baked years entirely without it, and it's all we Californians can talk about -- my brain is a jumble of rain lyrics, which sometimes get released out loud (e.g. I'm bopping across the blacktop to pick up the kid, muttering "and this rain it will continue / through the morning as I'm listening / to the bells of the cathedral ... I am thinking of your voice") and I'm pissed whenever the sun manages to break through -- FUCK OFF, SUN! GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, YOU BIG SHINY ASSHOLE!

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