Category Archives: General

01
July
2012
Tags: General
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Under the Aegis of the Hawk

High in the pine trees above our home, a pair of hawks has broken the summer silence. Their cries are both menacing and shrill, powerful and cutting. A chipmunk, torn from the earth mid-run, then tossed back to the ground, lies dead beneath the trees, while spatterings of bird shit dot the lawn like wayward splashes of white paint. The birds circle their roost, making long, loping arcs in the sky, alighting on the one or two tallest pines. In the sunlight, shadowed by nothing, they are striking. Birds of prey, and all-powerful on their mighty perch, they make quite a sight. Andy and I have been watching them, transfixed by their glory, in awe of their proximity, and moved by the might of nature.

These are immense birds, and even at a distance their size can be seen, almost felt, in the way they thunder through the trees and the manner the boughs sway and creak beneath their weight. Even in their quiet stealth, they can be seen out of the corner of the eye – so as I was coming out of the pool the other day, my gaze was taken by the large bit of movement barreling down through the large oak tree in our side yard. At first I thought one of them had attacked the other, and that the injured hawk had fallen down, plummeting through leaf-filtered sunlight, catching itself just before it hit the ground. I grabbed my camera and went to explore where it looked like the bird had come to a stop.

Just on the other side of our fence, about twenty feet off the ground, the hawk was hanging from an oak branch, its wings outstretched and backed by the afternoon sun.

Its eyes and head were staring straight ahead, focused and sure, and it didn’t look hurt. It stayed there, hanging for a bit allowing me to get a few photos, studying me for a moment as intently as I was studying it. Time stilled, and the majesty of this magnificent creature rendered me silent. It looked around, and in the brief seconds our eyes met I wanted to cry.

It flapped its wings deftly and was upright on the branch. According to Andy, when hawks are young they will stretch their wings like that. I watched the animal’s focused gaze, the way it studied and tilted its head from side to side, surveying the land, assessing the space, and, finally, flying away in one quick flourish of gorgeously feathered wings.
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01
July
2012
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Trial By Jury Duty

I haven’t spoken in detail about my experience with jury duty because it was one of the most difficult things I’ve had to do in my life. Only now am I just beginning to attempt to process the extent of all that transpired. To that end, I’ve kept largely quiet as to what really went on, and how things played out. For me, it’s still raw, I’m still healing – and I don’t like to share things until I’ve figured out what it all means. But that day may never come, and holding things in has never worked well for me. Neither has burying feelings and emotions.

During the trial, I kept a journal of sorts, and after re-reading it I’ve decided to share a little of it on here (well, perhaps a lot). A word of warning: for the next week there will be nothing but jury diary posts in this space, with no gratuitous male nudity, no Madonna nip-slips, and not much fun after the first few entries of jury selection wardrobe nightmares. There will be no photos, no visual stimulation, just a vast bunch of prose capturing what I was feeling and going through at the time of the trial.

If you’re bored by legal talk, or by a case that has been tried and put to rest, circle back sometime next week when we’ll return to the mindless frivolity that occupies most of this site. If, however, you want to read something a little different from my usual posts, perhaps something a little deeper, settle in for a few wordy posts of my jury duty experience.

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01
July
2012
Tags: General, Madonna, Music
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The Madonna Challenge to Isaac

Indulge me, if you will, in a little moment of common-sense assumption: what self-respecting citizen of this universe does not know ‘Like A Prayer’ by Madonna? It was the first Madonna song that won both critical and popular acclaim, topping the charts when it was released, and it remains one of her most beloved songs by fans and non-fans alike. (Even those “people” who don’t like Madonna tend to give it up for ‘Like A Prayer’.) So you can imagine my delight when, on an unlikely evening of karaoke at a local bar, I saw that my pal Isaac was going to perform the song, kamikaze-style.

Is it really possible to kamikaze someone with a Madonna song? Especially ‘Like A Prayer’? I repeat, who doesn’t know it?

Enter Isaac.

After knocking out a couple of Doors’ ditties, surely he’d transform ‘Like A Prayer’ into a highlight of the evening, leaving us aghast at his expert musical maneuverings, imbuing the song with a new grace and power, igniting the chorus with vocal stylings and flourishes the likes of which haven’t been heard since the glory days of the rat pack, melding past and present, rock and pop, into an orgiastic amalgamation of pure unadulterated funky freshness.That is not quite what happened. Words like ‘travesty’, ‘disaster’, and ‘debacle’ seem too quaint for what we witnessed that night. The wreck of a performance found Isaac begging for someone to salvage something of the song, to no avail. The damage was done, the words seemed to be highlighted faster than he could read and fit them into the song, the hapless people trying to help him at the end could only barely bring things up to a base level of ‘horrendous’.

I was stunned. It took a few minutes for me to collect myself (and the second of my two-for-one drinks), before I cautiously made my way over to Isaac and used all my self-control not to slap him on behalf of the Church of Pop Culture and the Lady of Creamy Smooth Pop Icon Goddessness. He offered apologies and amends – and promised to make it up by learning one Madonna song (my choice) should we ever find ourselves in a karaoke situation together again. I felt that was fair. The only question that remains is which song…

In 2005 Madonna included a song called ‘Isaac‘ on her Confessions on a Dancefloor album, but I think that might prove a bit too obscure for a karaoke song, even if it was named after him. I toyed with her Sondheim work forDick Tracy, thinking that might be more suited to Isaac’s theatrical speed, as well as her turn as Evita by way of Andrew Llloyd Webber, but both of those diluted the Madonna I knew – the Madonna of ‘Like A Prayer’, and the Madonna that Isaac had so sacrilegiously blasphemed. For him to make proper atonement, it would have to be something more pop, more dance-like, more… Madonna.

He asked that I take into consideration his range of keys, but that proved almost impossible to tell by the wretched atrocity perpetrated upon ‘Like A Prayer’. However, to be fair and give him a fighting chance, I’m going to give him the choice of five:

Sorry – It fits the theme of redemption.
Dress You Up – Straight-up Classic Madonna at her pop best.
Hanky Panky – Because a spanky is the least he deserves, (and it would be hilarious to see him, or anyone, sing this).
Ray of Light – Not the easiest song to sing (even Madonna gets tripped up sometimes), but a crowd-pleaser if done right.
Open Your Heart – It’s just a great fucking pop song.

He can decide which one best suits his voice. Don’t ever let it be said that I don’t give people a chance. Isaac, learn this lesson well, and you’ll live to tell.

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28
June
2012
Tags: General
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A Brief Conversation with My Husband

Me: Why do barber shops use that spinning red and blue sign?

Andy: I think that originated before people could read.

Me: [Convulsive laughter]

Andy: I meant immigrants who couldn’t read.

Me: [More convulsive laughter]

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05
June
2012
Tags: General, Madonna, Music
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The Madonna Timeline: Song #70 ~ ‘Sorry’ – Winter 2006

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

I’ve heard it all before
I’ve heard it all before
I’ve heard it all before
I’ve heard it all before…
I don’t wanna hear, I don’t wanna know
Please don’t say you’re sorry
I’ve heard it all before
And I can take care of myself
I don’t wanna hear, I don’t wanna know
Please don’t say ‘Forgive me’
I’ve seen it all before
And I can’t take it anymore.

Driving, pedal to the metal, through the cruel winter of upstate New York. I’m upset at something or someone, and it’s a righteous resentment, a wrathful anger. I’m mad at the world, my rage will not be contained, and the only way out is through this song. It is not the first time a Madonna song proves a savior and a means of survival, and it likely won’t be the last.

You’re not half the man you think you are
Save your words because you’ve gone too far
I’ve listened to your lies and all your stories (Listened to your stories)
You’re not half the man you’d like to be
I don’t wanna hear, I don’t wanna know
Please don’t say you’re sorry
I’ve heard it all before
And I can take care of myself
I don’t wanna hear, I don’t wanna know
Please don’t say ‘Forgive me’
I’ve seen it all before
And I can’t take it anymore.

By the time this song was released, I’d already been with Andy for about five years, so it had been a while since a man had done me wrong, but not long enough to have me forget. Some kinds of pain cannot be forgotten. Most of us have been there at some point or another, whether we like to admit it or not. The more calm people may have a better way of dealing with it ~ weeping quietly to themselves or categorically eradicating that person from their lives ~ while others may thrash and crash and burn everything around them. I’m somewhere in the middle, having done a little of all of the above. Usually though, I’ll put my anger into a thinly-veiled post, or take a ride and play something like ‘Sorry’ at ear-throttling volume, singing (well, screaming) along with the words, until the anger exits my system, or at least dissipates a bit before returning home.

Don’t explain yourself ’cause talk is cheap
There’s more important things than hearing you speak
You stayed because I made it so convenient (made it so convenient)
Don’t explain yourself, you’ll never see.

While the song is clearly aimed at a lover-done-her-wrong (at that point in her life it would likely have been Guy Ritchie), I don’t always use it as the soundtrack for any grumpiness on Andy’s part. More often it’s for anger directed at wrong-doings by the world, or work or something equivocally unimportant. That’s why a relatively-silly song like this works. I save my serious anger and disappointment for the ballads.

I don’t wanna hear, I don’t wanna know
Please don’t say you’re sorry
I’ve heard it all before
And I can take care of myself
I don’t wanna hear, I don’t wanna know
Please don’t say ‘Forgive me’
I’ve seen it all before
And I can’t take it anymore.

This is one of my favorite Madonna songs – maybe not Top Ten, but possibly Top Twenty (the only thing missing may be a sung-through bridge) – and at the time it came out (2005/2006) it was her best since ‘Music’. Nobody throws a dance-floor tantrum better than Madonna, as exemplified by the roller-skating video follow-up to ‘Hung Up’. It prompted a slight resurgence in corsets, and even a bump in Farrah Fawcett feathers. It’s also fun as hell, cheeky as ever, and a reminder of what Madonna does best.

I’ve heard it all before
I’ve heard it all before
I’ve heard it all before
I’ve heard it all before.
Song #70: ‘Sorry’ ~ Winter 2006
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02
June
2012
Tags: General
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My 1st Time Out

 

My latest adventures in babysitting resulted in the first time I gave my nephew Noah a brief time-out. Now, I really don’t know how to do a time-out. I’ve heard the term thrown around and never paid it much mind. I figured it was this magical zone that only adults who didn’t have a firm hand resorted to when things got a little rough. I should have paid more attention.

Let me go back to how it came about. I can take a lot from my niece and nephew, and I’m not any sort of disciplinarian. I’m their fun ‘Unca Al’, who lets them horse around and scream and dance and do all the things that kids want to do. But there are limits, and one of them is when Noah starts throwing things. I can take a ball or two, or a plush backpack, maybe even a small plastic animal, but when a big-ass heavy toy truck gets thrown at me, that’s the limit. And even then, I let it slide twice, but on the third go, it was time for the time-out.

I looked toward the corner where I thought my Mom said they went for this scenario. ‘Shouldn’t there be some sort of holding pen, or box, or padded cell?’ I wondered. I saw nothing. What was going to contain him? Maybe this was a new sort of open-air time-out for a two-year-old, maybe they had graduated to a corner of the couch. It was the only area I could see. I picked him up and placed him on the couch telling him he had a time-out and had to sit there.

The waterworks started immediately. I thought this time-out thing was supposed to stop the crying? What was I doing wrong? I picked up his sister and we walked to the other end of the room. Noah got up and followed us, crying at the top of his lungs. I put Emi down and brought Noah back to the couch, saying he had one minute left in his time-out. He stayed put for a second or two (literally) and popped right back up, still crying. This was not going well. The time-out was a bust. I tried one last time, putting him back on the couch telling him he had to stop crying if he wanted to end the time-out, all the while wondering how many words he actually understood. “If you don’t stop crying, you can’t finish your time out,” I pleaded, and the weakness in my voice was almost laughable. I was sure Emi was smirking the whole time. Finally, Noah walked up to me and I couldn’t do it any more. I picked him up, held him close and told him it was all right. We sat down on the couch and I rubbed his back until his tears stopped.

“Are you going to say you’re sorry?” I asked quietly.

His eyes looked down, and the faintest little ‘Sorry’ escaped his lips. I hugged him closer, rubbing his back, and told him it was okay.

He said it better than I ever could.

A minute later he was rolling on the floor, laughing as I tickled him and his sister. Maybe the time out worked in some small way after all. I wonder if it would work on Andy?

 

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17
May
2012
Tags: General, Madonna
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The Madonna Timeline: Song #69~ ‘Some Girls’ – Spring 2012

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

Some girls can do anything
Whole world hanging on a string
She is flawless, a virgin saint
(Like a virgin… sweet & clean.)
Some girls got an attitude
Fake tits and a nasty mood
Hot shit when she’s in the loop…

Whoo-hoo! Our very first selection from Madonna’s latest, ‘MDNA’, has made it onto the timeline. While ‘Some Girls’ may not be the best song on the album, the record is so strong that even its weak offerings are substantial. This song illuminates what I’ve always felt was Madonna’s slightly ambivalent relationship with women – both in their role as friends and confidantes, but also as people to be watched with a wary eye.

Some girls gotta fake it through
One drink and it’s all a blur
Cash now if you wanna flirt…
Some girls goin’ off the deep end
Some girls livin’ for the weekend
Some girls like to get their freak on…

In one of the many biographies written about her, it was reported that Madonna didn’t liked to be in company of beautiful women, that she felt threatened by them and insisted she be the star attraction in any given room. Taking that with a grain of celebrity-biography salt, I do wonder if there are bits of truth to it. She is notorious for making herself the sole blonde in all of her stage shows (back-up singers and dancers who are any shade brighter than brunette need not apply), and the women who feature alongside her in videos are well-relegated to background status.

Some girls make a scene
Shoot their mouth and talk obscene
Cryin’ in a limousine
(Cryin’ in a limousine)
Some girls make you feel like a rocket, hard as steel
Some girls only ever like to tease
(Some girls only like to tease)
Some girls are not like me
I’m everything you ever dreamed of
I’ve got you beggin’ baby please…
I’ve got you beggin’ baby please.

Yet one of her main messages through the years has been the original rallying cry of Girl Power. The tongue-in-cheek aspects of’Material Girl’ and her Boy-Toy belt-buckle phase, the stripper-in-command power of ‘Open Your Heart’, the seductive crotch-grabbing power-suit of ‘Express Yourself’, the sexual libertine of ‘Erotica’, and the take-no-prisoners rebel of ‘American Life’ have each posited questions of female domination in a world largely run by men, and the question has mostly been answered by Madonna ending up on top (of fame, fortune, influence, and power).

I am not like all the rest
Some girls are second best
Put your lovin’ to the test you’ll see…

‘Some Girls’™ is a contradictory collective of praise and criticism of other ladies. This is much more pointed and jaded, highlighting the notion of competition. At this point (30 years from her first single ‘Everybody’), she has left virtually all wanna-bes in the dust at one point or another, and it looks unlikely that anyone will take her mantle as best selling female artist of all-time, yet she still seems to feel their heat. Maybe it’s more personal – prior to marrying Guy Ritchie she had seen a number of former romances find long-term love and children shortly after moving on to other women (Sean Penn, Warren Beatty). It seems to have happened again with Mr. Ritchie, who recently had another baby of his own with another woman.

Maybe Some Girls aren’t career competition, maybe Some Girls are a little bit more, and maybe Madonna is still a little scared of Some Girls.

Some girls are not like me,
I never wanna be like some girls.
Some girls are just for free,
I never wanna be like some girls.

Song #69: ‘Some Girls’ – Spring 2012

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10
May
2012
Tags: General
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Go Down

There is not a ‘first-thing-in-the-morning’ post today as I’d like you to read last night’s post (scroll down) and really think about it. This is the first time a sitting President has come out in support of gay marriage. Ever. That is historical, in a way that most of us don’t register anymore. Barack Obama is the first President in history to do this. No really, stop… please.

Think about it.

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09
May
2012
Tags: Gay, General
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Thank You Mr. President

There is something incredibly affirming and powerful about hearing your President speak directly in support of you as a full-fledged citizen for the first time. It’s something straight people have had always, and that they have sometimes taken for granted, but when you’ve never had a President in office say that – on your behalf – it means more than I thought it would.

In the wake of the news in North Carolina, to hear our President proclaim unequivocally – at last, and once and for all – that he supports gay marriage, is a galvanizing and monumental moment. It is an act of forward-thinking progress, political courage, and history-making fortitude.

It may be damaging politically, and it may tilt a tight election the wrong way, but it was the right thing to do, and as such President Obama will rightfully, and proudly, be written into the history books, whether the prejudiced people like it or not, as a champion of all citizens, regardless of race, religion, natural origin, gender, or sexual orientation.

This is history. This is real. This is now. And this is major.

Pay attention – because what just happened in North Carolina will be seen as an act as backwards as sending Rosa Parks to the back of the bus, as mindless as denying women the right to vote, and as shameful as beating Matthew Shepard to death. To argue with this is to argue against love, and I defy anyone to take such a stance and stand behind it with any semblance of reason.

It’s time to pay this President the same respect that you would pay any President in office. There is no excuse for ever having done otherwise. President Obama, I stand behind you, and I thank you for representing the finest values of freedom for which this country has always stood.

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09
May
2012
Tags: General
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On This Night of All Nights

On the same night that North Carolina voted to write hatred and discrimination into their state constitution by banning gay marriage (a constitutional move that was last done in the 1800’s by a vote that banned interracial marriage – a ban that was only lifted as recently as 1971), I finally found the fortitude to watch the video above. I’m asking you to do the same – and then to ask anyone you know who is against gay marriage why they would be against love.

That’s all it is. That’s all we ever wanted.

How could anyone be so against love?

I do not understand that.

I hope I never will.

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07
May
2012
Tags: Andy, Gay Marriage, General
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Our Wedding Anniversary (Video)

Happy Anniversary Andy!

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07
May
2012
Tags: Andy, Gay Marriage, General
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Our Wedding Anniversary Recap

It’s hard (and easy) to believe that two years have passed since Andy and I got married, but here we are. And here’s a reminder of that special weekend:

Part 1: The Arrival & Accommodations

Part 2: The Rehearsal Dinner

Part 3: The Last Call of a Bachelor

Part 4: The Dawn of the Wedding Day

Part 5: The Ceremony

Part 6: The Perfect Day in the Park

Part 7: The Wedding Lunch

Part 8: The Wedding Dinner

Bonus Post: The Residual Glow of Marriage

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02
May
2012
Tags: General
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Fresh & Fruity

Sangria has never been one of my favorite drinks – too messy, too much mixing of solids and liquids, too sweet – but when done this way, it was something palatable for everyone. This version was a ‘Tropical White Sangria’ – using white wine, peach schnapps, a bit of citrus vodka, and a ton of fresh fruit. Made the night before, the fruit exudes its own juice, and take a bit of the liquor in as well for a beautiful, and delicious, drink.
Don’t let its fruity appearance deceive you – this is one potent lady, drawing her power from the addition of citrus vodka and peach schnapps, and of course the white wine. The original recipe also called for a bit of seltzer water to be added just before serving, but it’s been forgotten the both times I’ve made it, and never missed.
Tropical White Wine Sangria

 ½ cup peach schnapps
 ½ cup citrus vodka
 1 (15 oz.) can pineapple rings, in own juice, not sweetened
 ½ cup juice, from pineapple can
 1 bottle dry white wine , like sauvignon blanc
 1/4 cup seltzer water
 1 kiwi peeled and sliced
 4 strawberries, quartered
 4 slices lemons
 4 slices oranges
 4 slices limes
 ½ cup raspberries (about a handful) ¬
 1 tablespoon granulated sugar

Do not open bottle of seltzer until ready to serve. Place slices of lemon, orange and lime in a large sangria pitcher and dust with the granulated sugar. Lightly mash with a wooden spoon until fruit begins to break down and sugar begins to dissolve. Cover fruit with pineapple juice. Quarter 3 of the pineapple slices and add to pitcher. Add remaining fruit, peach schnapps, and wine. Stir lightly, then refrigerate for at least 4 hours. Right before serving, add seltzer to pitcher. Garnish with orange or kiwi slices & serve with ice.

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29
April
2012
Tags: General, Madonna, Music
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The Madonna Timeline: Song #68 ~ ‘Fever’ – Late Winter/Early Spring 1993

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

Never know how much I love you…
Never know how much I care…

Ahh, Fever. Like so many pop references, I only know Peggy Lee’s ‘Fever’ thanks to Madonna, and after hearing the original (and countless other covers), I really have no preference. Madonna’s version came out as the B-side to ‘Bad Girl’ in the first half of 1993, and at a time when the ‘Sex/Erotica’ backlash was at its worst. As such, an ‘Us’ magazine story recounted the tale of a gym whose patrons only got into the groove when they played the instrumental version of Madonna’s ‘Fever’ – a joke in and of itself.

While I remember the song when ‘Erotica’ first came out in the fall of 1992, and then a brief resurgence when she performed it on ‘Saturday Night Live’ and the Arsenio Hall Show in early 1993, my main memories came in the early spring of that year, when the CD Maxi-Single of ‘Bad Girl’ was on perpetual play, and much of it occupied by the ‘Fever’ remixes.

Catchy as hell, with vocals as dry as my favorite martini, this was not a landmark moment in Madonna’s career, but I do view it favorably, and as covers go she could have done a lot worse (bye bye Miss American Pie indeed). Still, it was mostly filler for the otherwise-brilliant ‘Erotica’ album – and totally unnecessary at that.

Of more import was the video, which went uncharacteristically ignored ~ a pitiful shame, as it stands as a stylist’s dream-stash of images. Jittery, hot, and soaked in flaming color, it set the stage for the brilliant cool-down of ‘Rain’.

What a lovely way to burn.

Song #68 ~ ‘Fever’ – Late Winter/Early Spring 1993

 

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14
April
2012
Tags: Gay Marriage, General, Madonna, Music
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The Madonna Timeline: Song #67 ~ ‘X-Static Process’ – Spring 2003

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

I’m not myself when you’re around
I’m not myself standing in a crowd
I’m not myself and I don’t know how
I’m not myself, myself right now…

“If you’re afraid of loneliness, don’t marry.” ~ Chekhov

The quiet plucking of a guitar begins this folk-like piece from Madonna’s over-maligned American Life album, and ‘X-Static Process’ is an ambivalent love song, under-laid with tones of melancholy and resignation, hints of despair and slivers of hope. It came at a time when she was supposedly-happily-married to Guy Ritchie, yet it stings of a disconcerting lack of fulfillment, and questions of self-identity. A whisper of a song, it is imbued with ambiguity, concerns of love and dependence, and the notion of self versus couple.

When I first heard it, I thought back to the beginning of every relationship I’ve ever been in ~ the first few days and weeks of hazy make-believe, when you pretend to be everything you think the other person wants, sacrificing a bit of yourself before making all the less-than-desirable parts apparent. It’s almost a trick of those fabled Victorian girls on the hunt for a husband, when all is the illusion of perfection, the notion of compliance ~ the perfumed entrapment of an insect-enticing flower before the wilting of disenchantment. And it’s always slightly deceptive, both to the suitors, and to oneself.

Jesus Christ will you look at me
Don’t know who I’m supposed to be
Don’t really know if I should give a damn
When you’re around, I don’t know who I am…

Back in the spring of 2003, Andy and I were one year into our current home. Settled, but still new, it was a spring of happiness and hope. Madonna sang this lullaby, harmonizing sweetly into the nights, as Andy slid into the bed beside me and we slumbered until the morning. That was back when he came to bed at a decent hour, back when we fell asleep together, back before his back fell apart again. It seems so long ago.

I’m not myself when you go quiet
I’m not myself all alone at night
I’m not myself, don’t know who to call
I’m not myself at all…

Nine years later – has it been that long? – I go to sleep alone. He says good-night, and then goes off into his own time. Partly due to back pain, partly due to I dont know what else. If I awaken at two or three in the morning, I will roll over, reach for him, and find cold empty blankets. At first, and for a long time, I couldn’t get to sleep for hours without him. It’s like the parent who’s waiting for their college-age kid, home for the summer, to come in for the night. It’s different when they’re away, but if they’re there, you wait. It’s a subconscious anxiety that’s both less and more, and for me it often doubled up on itself, knotting the nights into worry and fret, inducing restlessness and fucking up any idea of a normal schedule.

Jesus Christ will you look at me
Don’t know who I’m supposed to be
Don’t really know if I should give a damn
When you’re around, I don’t know who I am…

Some nights I would try to wait up for him. If I didn’t have work the next day, I’d stay up for a bit, watching television, hoping he’d tire sooner rather than later, but after too long of this it wore me down, and I would succumb to exhaustion or sickness. I’ll still do that on weekends, trying to join in the game like a lonely puppy, trying to keep up with the adults even when I can’t.

I always wished that I could find someone as beautiful as you
But in the process I forgot that I was special too…

It is lonely sleeping alone. Even if he joins me later, I’m still the one who goes to sleep on my own every night. It would seem the anti-thesis of a marriage, of a relationship. It used to bother me more, and part of me wonders if it’s bad that itâ’s slowly starting not to. How far is it from not sleeping in the same room, or the same city? This is the conundrum of marriage – together always, forever apart.

I can make the most beautiful bedroom in the world – paint it in soothing colors, choose the linens and pillows for ample comfort, find the perfectly-tufted head-board, and put on the softest silk pajamas – but it is only for myself. I go to bed alone. Whether here or in Boston – always alone. And if I think about it, that’s the way it’s always been. Back and forth the mind wrestles, a push and pull of mental fatigue, and still the clock ticks ~ 2 AM, 3 AM, 4 AM… How long until madness?

I’m not myself when you’re around
I’m not myself when you go quiet
I’m not myself all alone at night
I’m not myself standing in a crowd
I’m not myself and I don’t know how
I’m not myself, myself right now
Don’t know what I believe…

And then I think back to when we first met, and the way I’d stop in late at night and find him sitting quietly on his couch, in the dim glow of a candle or two, meditating and grounding himself. In a way, maybe this is who he is – a night owl – and my “normal” hours are against his natural rhythm. Maybe he’s simply returning to who he was before he met me. Maybe I’ve been wrong all along.

Jesus Christ will you look at me
Don’t know who I’m supposed to be
Don’t really know if I should give a damn
When you’re around, I don’t know who I am
I always wished that I could find someone as beautiful as you
But in the process I forgot that I was special too

I wonder if other marriages have these doubts. I wonder if I’m a bad husband. I wonder if this is not a big deal at all. I wonder if I’m just the fool who talks about it. But that’s what this sort of song is for. It posits the question, it provokes the thought, it settles nothing. That’s what makes it good, that’s what makes it last. Like a marriage ~ bending, accommodating, giving ~ it yields, it goes back and forth, and it returns, if we’re lucky, to love, to ourselves, to the only people we know how to be. It is, at its best, an ecstatic process after all ~ one without an end or a definitive happily-ever-after, and all the more joyous because of it.

I always wished that I could find someone as talented as you
But in the process I forgot that I was just as good as you

Song #67: ‘X-Static Process’ – Spring 2003

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