Monday, January 01, 2007

Some mornings it just doesn't seem worth it to gnaw through the leather straps.” - Emo Philips

So I'm sort of blue today, the first day of the new year, and I'm trying to cheer myself up. One thing that helps is reflecting upon all the wonderful people that stop by here. Thanks everybody, I love you all to varying degrees.

Another thing that helps is playing Rancid's “Olympia Wa.” at concert volume in my headphones. Their album “And Out Come the Wolves” is an immensely enjoyable CD if you can tolerate a ten-years-too-late punk band, which I certainly can.

Part of the reason I think I'm skirting the edges of sadness is that eleven years ago today I met one of the great loves of my life, Nancy, in Sweeney's Saloon in Saint Paul. She was there with a girlfriend; I went over and cranked out some line or another and got to talking with the brace of them. I recall thinking at the time that Nancy looked like a dentist's wife, whatever that means. I think it was compliment. Anyway, Nancy and I eventually started going out after I found out the following things about her:

  • She was from Wisconsin.

  • She drank beer and chewed tobacco.

  • She was better-traveled than I was.

  • She was gorgeous, over 18 and had a great body.

  • She liked me.

We loved with a love that was more than a love, won't go into it here, but it was a pretty intense relationship. Unfortunately I lost track of her since. It would be fun to get together and gab and compare notes etc. etc. Sigh. They don't make 'em like that anymore. I have lots of cute stories, shopping for vibrators in Montreal, joining the Three Foot High Club on the train to Edinburgh, that sort of thing. Perhaps I'll reel them out another time and pretend they happened to someone else.

Okay, now I'm listening to “She Sells Sanctuary” by the Cult. Hah. I recall being in a bar in Amsterdam at closing (!) and having the owner, who I knew slightly, ask me to pick out some music that would make the lingering customers get the hell out. I picked “She Sells Sanctuary”, set the stereo to “Deafen,” and spun 'er up. The music had been some Yanni-like shit before that. You should have seen herd of whatever the local equivalent of Republicans was scramble for the door. Mission accomplished.

This is – maybe – the last song I list that I'm listening to, but it's “1952 Vincent Black Lightning” by Richard Thompson, the guy who wrote it. It's a ballad, and it's a man's ballad, dammit. It's about motorcycles, redheads, and dying tragically. “Said James, 'In my opinion there's nothing in this world / Beats a '52 Vincent and a red-headed girl.'” You tell 'em, Richard. And jeebus, he wails on that 12-string.

There. Much better. I feel good again. See, that wasn't so bad, was it? I'm keeping the title though, because a) I like it a lot, and b) it's sort of a cynical response to all the “I'm going to read The Remembrance of Things Past and lose 45 pounds this year just you watch” blog entries that seem to have popped up like mushrooms today. They don't really say they're going to read Proust, but the resolutions that are listed are probably equally as likely.

Yikes. Better to listen to more Rancid. I really do support my friends in their resolutions, it's just a cranky day is all. But still, happy new year everyone. And avoid Proust as you would the plague, trust me.

-- Hulles


Heather Harper said...

LMAO over the title of your post. And I'm sorry you have the blues today. (Midol and liquor usually gets rid of them for me.)

Hugs and Happy New Year. :)

Missy said...

Sorry you have the blues — I can relate. New Years always does it to me.

I listened to She Sells Sanctuary just a few days ago. I was feeling particularly grumpy so I put in Pure Cult and all was good with the world again, at least my world. ;)

Stephen Blackmoore said...

If you're going to go to all that trouble to have the Blues, at least capitalize on it. Change your name to Lead Belly, Iron Crotch or Flatulating Jefferson. Put on sunglasses in a smoky bar and mumble in a gravelly voice that no one can understand about your hard life on the road and the woman who done you wrong, your prostate problems and the death of real music in this existentialist, post-postmodern world. Sing Leonard Cohen covers about how everybody's got this broken feelin', like their mama or the dog just died, and then segue into Faulkner and Voltaire, going on about how this is, after all, the best of all possible worlds, while you smash your harmonica down the throat of some poseur demanding Wham! covers. Mashup Dr. Seuss rhymes with Hunter Thompson rants and sing about Fear and Loathing in Salasaloo and The Great Lorax Hunt. You're a Blues singer, goddammit, nobody can understand you, anyway.

And is it even possible to have the Blues in Minnesota? I always thought it was too cold and there was too much cheese.

La Espia T. said...

How can you be blue when you have such a celebrity cameo on Chasing Windmills????? That's right you sly dog! You can't hide from us....Ha ha ha!!!


Anyways. Take care and feel better.

Hulles said...

Thanks everyone. I took Heather's advice, but without the Midol.

Heather, thanks lots and hugs back. Really.

Missy, you and I are in complete agreement. The Cult can cure most anything that doesn't actually raise pustules, and you have no idea how glad I am I thought of that word. Thanks.

Stephen: pustules. I just wanted to use it again. You can have the blues in Minnesota: it works outword from your lips in winter. And the cheese thing is Wisconsin, which is like a Minnesota suburb. (Ouch.)

T: Thanks dear. You want to be taking care of that electronic cough. And moi -- sly dog? How can you so? *cough* Dammit, it's catching, thanks lots. XOXO.

Amber said...

I love your blog title, TOO! It's fabulous, yo.

Hulles said...

Thanks, Amber. The title still makes me laugh, if only to myself.

Brian said...

Your choice of music is impeccable and I love how certain song bring a person back to a moment in time. Music truly is an audio landmark in time.

Hulles said...

Brian, yeah, you said it well. Music has always been really important to me, and I even use them to catalog my memories: "Billy Idol, Rebel Yell, Cristina was in 9th grade," that sort of thing.

notmushroomtotalk said...

Say Old Fart, So Smart...


A squid eating dough inside a polyetheline bag is ... (what?)

Weren't you the first on your block to listen to and pretend to enjoy "Wild Man Fisher"? Maybe a better memory would be that you were the first to purchase the now classic "Hot Buttered Soul" by Chef from South Park...

Ha ha ha ... ever find your eyeglasses or class ring after the dandelion wine cellar escapades??

How is little brother doing, anyway?

Answer to question #1:

"Fast and bulbous!"

Acid Rain

Hulles said...

So, notmushroomtotalk, there are only two or three people in the world that know these things, and two or three of them are now burnt-out husks that live in assisted living centers and call it a good day if they can twitch a mite. Which one might you be? Too funny! I have a bet with myself, but I'm not giving odds. And for little brother news, see today's post. He's doing pretty well, all things considered.