The other day I was driving the boys home from the nickel arcade and a plastic piece fell off the rear view mirror. I asked Nathaniel to put it back on, and turned the mirror completely down so he could see where to put it. This made Elijah nervous, since it meant I couldn’t see out of my rear view mirror while driving.
I told him it’d be fine, I can drive without a rear view mirror for a couple minutes.
He said, “I just hope we don’t experience any situational irony.”
We didn’t.
–
So today is a big day at Daniel’s work. He’s been preparing for it for weeks now. They’re having a BBQ and inviting the press. Daniel made a big snowboard ramp, and they had fake snow pumped all over it. Daniel’s company’s team riders are going to ride it. And Transworld Snowboarding Magazine AND Fuel TV are going to be there.
I’m taking the boys to the BBQ. Maybe we’ll be on TV.
I was clearing out some space on a bookcase for all the records I’ve picked up recently and came across a book Nathaniel and Catherine’s elementary school made when the kids were little. Each kid in the school (it was a small school) wrote something that was an inspiration to them, they were all typed up, photocopied, and the kids “bound” the papers in books. Here’s what Catherine wrote:
My mom always tells me to clean my room.
My dad likes to grab my coat and whirl me
around and tells me that he loves me.
Here’s what Nathaniel wrote:
Pushing Me Forward
One day I was riding bikes with my dad. We were riding on dirt. My dad and I were digging a fourth jump. We had to go then. I decided to do the first jump. I have never done it before. My dad kept me pedaling. He said, “Pedal, pedal, pedal.” I made the first and second jump. I did it a few more times. I rode the skate park for a few minutes. My dad got ran over on a board. We left.
We laughed about the differences apparent in these two short paragraphs.
1. I’m the nag. “Inspiring” Catherine to clean her room, I guess. Dad’s the fun, loving one.
2. Catherine’s sentimental, while Nathaniel’s is just, “We did this. Then we left.”
Then we dug out some storage bins I keep the kids’ old schoolwork and artwork in. Each kid has their own bin. Catherine’s also has some old dresses from when she was small. Nathaniel’s has a Halloween costume he wore—a clown suit. Elijah’s has an old costume as well—a pumpkin suit.
Elijah’s also has a box full of rocks in it. I can’t remember the deal with the rocks. But apparently he wanted me to save them. Our kids are weird—one apartment we lived in, Elijah had amassed a bunch of sticks he liked to play with all the time. When we moved, he insisted we take the sticks with us. So I’m not surprised there’s a box full of rocks in his storage bin.
A lot of the artwork by the kids that I saved were things they made at school for Father’s Day. In fact there’s no artwork anywhere that mentions me. Lots of stuff that mentions their dad, though. He’s always been the fun one. Plus I worked for many years while the kids were small and Daniel stayed home with them. Just kind of funny.
I’ve been listening to “Mercy Street” by Peter Gabriel on repeat.
Did you know that it was written for a poet named Anne Sexton? She was one of my favorite poets when I was in high school. She committed suicide.
She wrote a poem called 45 Mercy Street:
45 Mercy Street by Anne Sexton
In my dream,
drilling into the marrow
of my entire bone,
my real dream,
I’m walking up and down Beacon Hill
searching for a street sign —
namely MERCY STREET.
Not there.
I try the Back Bay.
Not there.
Not there.
And yet I know the number.
45 Mercy Street.
I know the stained-glass window
of the foyer,
the three flights of the house
with its parquet floors.
I know the furniture and
mother, grandmother, great-grandmother,
the servants.
I know the cupboard of Spode
the boat of ice, solid silver,
where the butter sits in neat squares
like strange giant’s teeth
on the big mahogany table.
I know it well.
Not there.
Where did you go?
45 Mercy Street,
with great-grandmother
kneeling in her whale-bone corset
and praying gently but fiercely
to the wash basin,
at five A.M.
at noon
dozing in her wiggy rocker,
grandfather taking a nap in the pantry,
grandmother pushing the bell for the downstairs maid,
and Nana rocking Mother with an oversized flower
on her forehead to cover the curl
of when she was good and when she was…
And where she was begat
and in a generation
the third she will beget,
me,
with the stranger’s seed blooming
into the flower called Horrid.
I walk in a yellow dress
and a white pocketbook stuffed with cigarettes,
enough pills, my wallet, my keys,
and being twenty-eight, or is it forty-five?
I walk. I walk.
I hold matches at street signs
for it is dark,
as dark as the leathery dead
and I have lost my green Ford,
my house in the suburbs,
two little kids
sucked up like pollen by the bee in me
and a husband
who has wiped off his eyes
in order not to see my inside out
and I am walking and looking
and this is no dream
just my oily life
where the people are alibis
and the street is unfindable for an
entire lifetime.
Pull the shades down —
I don’t care!
Bolt the door, mercy,
erase the number,
rip down the street sign,
what can it matter,
what can it matter to this cheapskate
who wants to own the past
that went out on a dead ship
and left me only with paper?
Not there.
I open my pocketbook,
as women do,
and fish swim back and forth
between the dollars and the lipstick.
I pick them out,
one by one
and throw them at the street signs,
and shoot my pocketbook
into the Charles River.
Next I pull the dream off
and slam into the cement wall
of the clumsy calendar
I live in,
my life,
and its hauled up
notebooks.
Tell her that I’m not in here
Tell her I’m a freak
Tell her that I fall about
Every time I speak
–
Everybody’s busy
Listening and pulling blinds
–
Here comes rumours and lies
Here comes my life of crime
–
When the city’s asleep, I hear a heartbeat
–
Got the radio on
And it’s all that we need
–
There’s a song on the air
With a love-you line
And a face in a glass
And it looks like mine
–
And I’m standing on ice when I say
That I don’t hear planes
And I scream at the fools
Wanna jump my train
–
There are colors flashing
People wearing stars and stuff
–
Our dreams have all gone up on sale
On tomorrow’s pages
And we paid for the cross and the nails
On tomorrow’s pages
–
If you believe that anyone
Like me within a song
Is outside it all
Then you are all so wrong
–
And I look in your face
And I see that I’m here all alone
–
It’s sick, the price of medicine
–
Lonely in a crowded room
The radio plays out of tune
So silently
–
This is my shirt
This is yours
And this is called a dream
It must be the soap you use
–
There’s a deal to be made
And a price to be paid
Isn’t it just like love
–
In a room Susan is second hand
Susan is charity
But she won’t give you any flowers
Sha la la la la la la sha la la
Susan’s strange
Susan comes in colours
You are black and white
And won’t say I love you
Oh that would be a lie and
Sha la la la la la la sha la la
Susan’s strange
Read the paper
Rearrange the lies
Susan has another
All of this is yours now
Sha la la la la la la sha la la
Susan’s strange
–
There’s emptiness behind their eyes
There’s dust in all their hearts
They just want to steal us all
And take us all apart
–
You can never win or lose
If you don’t run the race
Stars come down in you
And love,
You can’t give it away
She lives in the place in the side of our lives
Where nothing is ever put straight
–
She buttons your shirt
The traffic is waiting outside
She hands you this coat
She gives you her clothes
These cars collide
–
“Pretty in Pink” wasn’t written for the movie, BTW. It inspired the movie.
Uh huh. Meeting people who blog is exactly like that.
Uh, no. Usually it goes more like this. You’re at a social get together and someone mentions something about a cute picture they saw of someone else’s kid. And you suspect maybe they saw the picture on that someone else’s blog. But you’re afraid to ask, because then you might have to admit that you have a blog, too. And silences are awkward enough without dragging blogging into them.
Besides, as we all know, blogging is not for people you know in real life. No, blogging is for the whole world to ignore.
They played at a record store in Hollywood yesterday to promote their new album, Nude With Boots, which was also released yesterday. I took Nathaniel and his friend Dillon along.
The store was the same one I tried to catch Flight of the Concords at, but we didn’t get there early enough to get in. So this time we left way early. Melvins went on at 6pm, we got there a little bit before 4pm, and people were already lining up outside. I asked the guy at the bag check stand (the store is gigantic) what the deal is with lining up vs just staying in the store (I wanted to do some shopping!) and he said, “I don’t know why those poeple are lining up outside, you can just go stand by the stage.”
So we went over to the stage and the band was on it setting their gear up. I heard a store employee saying something into his walki talki about not just letting people go back by the stage so I went over to the $1 dollar vinyl bins and started browsing. I had a good stack of about 15 records but didn’t want to buy them two hours before the show and lug them around or worry about putting them in bag check. I was getting hungry and nervous about the line outside so I told Nathaniel and Dillon I wanted to go across the street to Jack in the Box for food. They came with. I put the records I wanted into a box underneath the shelves of records and figured I’d grab them when everything was done and pay for them.
Once we were outside I realized I probably knew someone who was already in line, and I spotted him right away. I know him from Facebook, met him at the Unida show a few months back. He’s a young guy, not much older than Nathaniel, actually. I asked him what the deal was with the line and he said store employees would come out before the show started and escort people who lined up into the front rows.
We went and got food and then I decided I was going to wait in line while Nathaniel and Dillon decided they wanted to go goof off in Hollywood. They laughed at tourists and considered taking a Scientology museum tour (no joke) but didn’t.
I sat and read The Poisonwood Bible while in line. Some teenage kids next to me were bragging about someone they knew who’d actually seen Nirvana. And had been seeing the Melvins play since 1993. I thought about telling them I once saw Nirvana play a college dorm party and had been seeing the Melvins since they were still a Seattle band (way back in the 80s) but didn’t want to show up whoever they were bragging about.
Then we were escorted into the store. I ended up in the third row. They counted off how many people went into each row—I think they allowed something like 26 people per row. Then they taped off the rows so no one could sneak in.
We were right in the “E” vinyl section. I spotted some Earth albums and thought about telling the kids next to me that the guy in that band was the guy who lent Kurt Cobain the shotgun he used to kill himself, but didn’t.
The Melvins came on promptly at 6pm and played for about 40 minutes. They played all newer material, either stuff from the new album or the album just before. They were really tight and it was awesome. Buzzo has the best hair in rock:
This guy’s name is Jared:
He used to be in a band called Karp, way back in the 90s, with his best friend, Scotty. Karp broke up and later they formed another band called the Whip. I saw the Whip play some of their very first shows in Seattle, before we moved down here to Cali. I took pictures and video at those shows. Then Scotty died in a boating accident on Lake Washington, not too far from where we were living at the time. Jared went on to form a band called Big Business. I saw BB play one of their first shows, too, and gave Jared a cd with pics/video of the Whip and Scotty on it. He was really grateful and told me he had friends with pics and video that hadn’t even gave him copies yet.
Later, I saw Big Business play in LA and didn’t figure he’d remember me. He was manning the merch table when I went to buy a cd. He said, “I know you.” I told him my name and he said, “You’re nice. You can have this,” and handed me their cd.
Big Business were just Jared on bass/vocals and a drummer named Cody, who used to play in the Murder City Devils. They toured with the Melvins. And then ended up joining the Melvins.
So now for the couple albums the Melvins have had two singers (Buzzo also on guitar, and Jared also on bass) and two killer drummers.
The Melvins have a very die hard fan base, mostly made up of big men. They get very rowdy at their shows. Very rowdy. So I was wondering how an instore appearance was going to go. The crowd was very sedate for the most part.
There were some guys jumping up and down and totally rocking out (and yelling at the rest of us for not doing so), but mostly people just stood there. OK, I sorta jumped up and down, too.
Here’s video I took. “Billy Fish” from the new album:
“Dog Island:”
“Nude With Boots:”
“Civilized Worm,” my fave song from their previous album:
Not sure what song this is, but it’s the last one they did (may actually be multiple songs):
After the show I went to get my stash of records and the whole box I stuck them in was gone. So I got Nathaniel a Fu Manchu vinyl and wanted to get the new Melvins on vinyl but all they had was CD. I thought about getting it signed by the band but the line looked kinda long and I’m shy about talking to people. I was curious to see if Jared would still remember me, and I could have told Buzzo and Dale I’d been seeing them play for 20 years, but oh well.
We got home at 8pm. Nice not to have to be out all night.
Here are the answers to yesterday’s post (if you want to play the name-the-song game, go read this first):
1.
When the kids had killed the man
I had to break up the band
“Ziggy Stardust,” Davie Bowie
2.
I may not look like Jagger
May not have money in the bank
I got a pair of cheap sunglasses
And my castle may be made of sand
“In the Band,” the Hellacopters (I thought some of you Guitar Hero-playing readers might know it from the game, it’s a bonus song)
3.
Now he needs to keep rockin’
He just can’t stop
Gotta keep on rockin’
That boy has got to stay on top
“Jukebox Hero,” Foreigner
4.
I can get a tip jar,
Gas up the car,
And try to make a little change
Down at the bar.
“Everything Is Free,” Gillian Welch
5.
Johnny made a record,
Went straight up to number one,
Suddenly everyone loved to hear him sing the song.
“Shooting Star,” Bad Company
6.
And did we tell you the name of the game, boy, we call it riding the
Gravy train.
“Have a Cigar,” Pink Floyd
7.
Sometimes you tell the day
By the bottle that you drink
“Dead or Alive,” Bon Jovi
8.
Callin’ out her name I’m dreamin’
Reflections of a face I’m seein’
It’s her voice
That keeps on haunting me
“Send Her My Love,” Journey
9.
Dancin’ in the streets of Hyannis
We were getting pretty good at the game
“Rock’n'Roll Band,” Boston
10.
When you punish a person for dreaming his dream,
Don’t expect him to thank or forgive you.
“The Best Ever Death Metal Band Out of Denton,” The Mountain Goats
11.
You should go back to school
The future is prisons and math
“Death of a Salesman,” Low
12.
Look at Elvis, he sold his soul
And you crowned him King
“New Kid On The Block,” Barenaked Ladies
I think all the songs were guessed correctly except for the Hellacopters, Gillian Welch, Mountain Goats and Low.
bythelbs guessed the common theme was disillusionment with the rock’n'roll dream, which is deeper than I was thinking. The common theme I saw was just the songs are all about being in a band or performing.
Sorry. My kids make fun of me for calling it an “annual.” The word is yearbook, apparently.
I lost my senior yearbook long ago. I still have my sophmore and junior yearbooks, but never knew what happened to my senior yearbook. Until an old high school friend and college roommate left a comment on my blog saying she had it (I love the Internet). She dropped it in the mail for me. I just got done going through it.
There are so many people I’d completely forgotten about, but when I saw their picture remembered them. And there were so many people who signed my annual that I can’t remember at all.
Most of the notes left in my annual (yeah, yeah, yearbook) are the typical “can you believe high school is over, have a good life” messages. But some stand out.
One I find pretty funny was written by a guy I dated my senior year. This is what he wrote:
Well, it was a really boring year. I can’t say anything really stuck out in my mind (except for that party). Have a wonderful life. Chad
Nice and sentimental, huh? He was actually a really sweet guy. I’m assuming the party he’s referring to is the one where we initially hooked up. (Unless it’s the one where he got so drunk he passed out and puked on the carpet. In that order. But no, he wouldn’t have remembered that one.)
One guy that I had a lot of fun with in a class neither of us knew many people in wrote that he really wanted to know me better but didn’t know how to approach me because he didn’t figure my friends would approve of a Zeppelin fan. Pretty funny.
A lot of people who signed it mentions wishing they could have gotten to know me better. I was pretty quiet and shy in high school. Which is hilarious since I looked like this:
Just about everyone also mentions how unique I am. (Hey, it was the 80s. I stood out.) One guy that I’d known since 7th grade said, “It’s been six years now and you’ve gotten weirder every year. Take that as a compliment.”
Someone else wrote something that’s rather…ominous. I’m not sure I’m reading his signature correctly…Oh wow. I just looked up his picture. I’d forgotten about this guy. He was a punk rocker, sort of like a skinhead, maybe? What a trip. Oh, haha, he was in ROTC. That’s why the buzz cut. Here’s what he wrote:
It was good to know you the last couple of years but I wish you and I could have gotten, well to know each other a little better rather than you thinking of me as a bad guy. I am not all that bad I’m just tempered by other interests and pressures. I hope you do well with your future because I feel mine may well be limited. Stay friends and don’t change, well you can if you want.
Sounds like there was some drama between us. I can’t remember it at all. Time to email my best friend from high school.
One of the nicest things anyone wrote was this:
You are a person who I think could go farther in this world than any other person I know. I don’t know how or when or why, but I just have this feeling…
A girl I sort of hung out with sometimes (she was in my group of friends but I never really knew her very well) wrote that. Too bad I’m disappointing her. I don’t want to go far; I just want to go to the county fair tonight and take pictures.
