On Facebook this morning, my eye was caught by a post from a man about about my parents' age ... someone I've known since 1985, when he first directed me and my classmates in "Bye Bye Birdie"in the Cando Summer Arts program. Larry wrote:
"I'm old, I know, but this is still just an awesome piece of music."
It's a Gordon Lightfoot number from the early 60s about a bum watching a plane take off and feeling regret for a hard-living past. I could think of no good reason to post this song ... we did have heavy clouds earlier today, but the skies have cleared. I'm not making any imminent plane trips. I'm not craving drink and (at least at this moment this morning) I'm not filled with regret. I'm actually not even in a foul mood.
But I could think of no good reason not to post it either. That's some awesome guitar playing and some awesome harmony. It inexplicably makes me want to play it on repeat. And it was good to know Larry still has good taste.
I've lived in Boston long enough that I know I take it for granted at how easy it is to travel a short distance and/or pay a minimal fee to hear some pretty spectacular music. A week ago Saturday, I was privileged to hear J.S. Bach's St. John Passion performed at Marsh Chapel on the Boston University campus. This past Friday, the Handel & Haydn Society did the other great Passion of Bach, St. Matthew's, at Symphony Hall.
How fortunate. Both were brilliant productions. And to get into Marsh Chapel I paid 10 bucks .... Symphony Hall, 25.
Since today is Passion Sunday in the Christian calendar, seems quite appropriate to share my favorite pieces from each of these venerable works -- both bass solos:
Betrachte, meine Seel (St. John)
Betrachte, meine Seel, mit ängstlichem Vergnügen, Observe now, O my soul, with fearful satisfaction,
Mit bittrer Lust und halb beklemmtem Herzen With bitter joy and with a heart half-anguished
Dein höchstes Gut in Jesu Schmerzen, Thy highest good in Jesus' torments:
Wie dir auf Dornen, so ihn stechen, For thee the thorns there which have pierced him
Die Himmelsschlüsselblumen blühn! As keys to heaven's flowers bloom!
Du kannst viel süße Frucht von seiner Wermut brechen Thou canst pluck much sweet fruit from his most bitter wormwood,
Drum sieh ohn Unterlass auf ihn! So look unceasingly on him!
Mache dich, mein Herze rein (St. Matthew)
Mache dich, mein Herze, rein, Make thyself, my heart, now pure,
Ich will Jesum selbst begraben. I myself would Jesus bury.
Denn er soll nunmehr in mir For he shall henceforth in me
Für und für Seine süße Ruhe haben. More and more find in sweet repose his dwelling.
Welt, geh aus, lass Jesum ein! World, depart, let Jesus in!
I just spent my morning pushing the browser "Refresh" on a client page at a bank website, waiting for 2 trades to settle to cash so I could then wire the proceeds to another account for a time-sensitive real estate closing. It took substantially longer than I thought. In fact, just all I did between 8:30 and 12:30 today was call the bank to expedite, refresh, refresh, call the bank again, refresh, refresh, placate client with a call saying we'd get back as soon as we knew more, refresh, explain to my manager what was happening and ask for opinion on next steps, call the bank for an update, refresh two more times, pace around my chair trying to decide if I can afford to leave to go to the bathroom, call the bank to make, sure they were expediting, refresh, refresh, and finally, breathe out.
A small error (not mine) accounted for this last-minute tomfoolery under deadline; while I paid the ulcer-inducing time-suck price, the client got the money eventually. I'm not mad....these things happen from time-to-time. Although I do wish if an ulcer were to be induced it would be for a reason involving money that was actually mine....
Several times during this period I was tempted to come on here, or to log onto Facebook, and proclaim that I was good and ready for Happy Hour. Or a Makers Mark & ginger. Or a Guinness. Knowing that saying "it's time for a drink" is one of the great cliches in response to stressful situations kept me from doing so.
In the meantime, two things happened:
1) I remembered I need to run 5 miles today, and I could do that now instead of later. I am now sitting in my tennies and shorts and leaving in 5 minutes
2) I remembered that Julie Andrews sings this song from The Sound of Music:
With each step I am more certain Everything will turn out fine I have confidence the world can all be mine They'll have to agree I have confidence in me
I have confidence in sunshine I have confidence in rain I have confidence that spring will come again Besides which you see I have confidence in me Strength doesn't lie in numbers
Strength doesn't lie in wealth Strength lies in nights of peaceful slumbers When you wake up -- Wake Up!
It tells me all I trust I lead my heart to All I trust becomes my own I have confidence in confidence alone (Oh help!) I have confidence in confidence alone Besides which you see I have confidence in me!
I'd say there could be worse things than turning to running and self-empowerment before drink.
Now that I'm getting into marathon training (again) and am running more than 10 miles at a time on a regular basis, I'm a lot more picky about my iPod playlist: every song, not just every other song, has to be borderline inspirational.
Recently, I was lucky enough to rediscover U2'sRattle and Hum.... an album enough of my time (1988) and old and important enough to first be owned on double cassette (high school) and then on CD (post-college) before making its way to my iTunes. And thusly rediscover "Hawkmoon 269" from said album.
If you listen to it a couple times you'll see its appeal: pulsing, unchanging Bb bass line; hypnotic, repetitive, worthy mantra every 2-5 lines; timpani; and gospel chorus joining in after 4 minutes and crescendoing to the end.
(Kind of like good sex, yes, if you're the sort who hears gospel choruses while in the act. Which isn't exactly a bad inspiration for running, I must admit.)
Like a desert needs rain Like a town needs a name I need your love
Like a drifter needs a room Hawkmoon I need your love
Like a rhythm unbroken Like drums in the night Like sweet soul music Like sunlight I need your love
Like coming home And you don't know where you've been Like black coffee Like nicotine I need your love
When the night has no end And the day yet to begin As the room spins around I need your love
Like a phoenix rising needs a holy tree Like the sweet revenge of a bitter enemy I need your love
Like the hot needs the sun Like honey on her tongue Like the muzzle of a gun Like oxygen I need your love
When the night has no end And the day yet to begin As the room spins around I need your love
Like thunder needs rain Like a preacher needs pain Like tongues of flame Like a sheet stained I need your love
Like a needle needs a vein Like someone to blame Like a thought unchained Like a runaway train I need your love
Like faith needs a doubt Like a freeway out I need your love
Like powder needs a spark Like lies need the dark I need your love
In the heart of the heat of the love In the heart of the heat of the love
Yesterday there was a party at Balint's place. It was as good of a time as a Sunday early-cocktail hour should be. Our friend Mark, dressed in sweater vest and tie and a serious countenance, muddled oranges and maraschino cherries with sugar into pretty scrumptious Old Fashioneds. Homemade peppermint bark on the appetizer table. I won a clip-on bow tie in the Yankee Swap gift exchange.
As evening came and the crowd thinned, Balint and another friend and I shot some palinka before settling in: Balint and Mike to the couch to discuss matters of physics, reasoning and philosophy; me, to Balint's Steinway for a playing tour through Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier. I'd run through a prelude and a fugue, then break to flip pages, see what fingerings my slightly-tipsy brain could still handle .... and in the silence the boys would call out for me to keep playing, offering to toss a $20 my way for continued service. Once I got to #22, the Prelude in B-flat Minor (BWV 867), I stopped to work on it for awhile:
After that I had to stop playing because of the hour and the upstairs neighbors. The boys had moved to the breakfast table, still talking heatedly, and my buzz was still on and the air outside was still frigid and unwelcoming, so I busied myself .... bagged leftovers and put in the fridge, stacked placements, wiped the tables, swept the floor, loaded the dishwasher ... they were still talking. Finally then, acknowledging weariness, I settled in on the couch and tucked feet underneath, leaning head back for a quick doze. It was at that moment Balint seemed to first recognize I had just completed his party clean-up without him ... I heard his shuffling my way on stockinged feet, felt him settle onto the couch in front of me, hip against my hip, opened eyes as he leaned in to kiss me high on the cheek up by the ear and exclaim, "Did you do all that? That's sweet! I should marry you!"
Spring weather in Fall.
San Francisco, Man From. (Arriving Saturday for a long weekend.) (Requiring great patience for 3 days more.)
Spilled ginger ale on Macbook keyboard. (From Sunday night.) (So machine stays powered-down for 3 days to dry.) (Freeing evenings ((from web-surfing habits)) for making snickerdoodles.) (And ((more)) sleeping.) (i.e. small blessings.)
I am thinking it's a sign
That the freckles in our eyes are mirror images
And when we kiss they're perfectly aligned
I have to speculate
That God himself did make
Us into corresponding shapes
Like puzzle pieces from the clay
True, it may seem like a stretch
But its thoughts like this that catch
My troubled head when you're away
When I am missing you to death
When you are out there on the road
For several weeks it shows
And when you scan the radio
I hope this song will guide you home
They won't see us waving from such great heights,
"Come down now", they'll say
But everything looks perfect from far away,
"Come down now", but we'll stay...
I tried my best to leave
This all on your machine
But the persistent beat it sounded thin
Upon listening
And that frankly will not fly
You will hear the shrillest highs
And lowest lows with the windows down
When this is guiding you home
They won't see us waving from such great heights,
"Come down now", they'll say
But everything looks perfect from far away
"Come down now", but we'll stay...
Maybe I should assign WERS 88.9 FM its own label in this space, since lately I've been drowning in my love affair with the stream it's spitting out.
Today I was re-reintroduced to Susan Tedeschi and introduced to her husband, Derek:
Tired of living without When others have so much If I could find someone To bring loving touch All this time been wasted No more words to spare If I knew how to love, I would take you there
There was a time when I had nothing to explain Oh, this mess I have made But then things got complicated My innocence has all but faded Oh, this mess I have made
From the Wikipedia: "The song was inspired by the book Elvis and Me by Priscilla Presley. According to songwriter Martin Gore: "It's a song about being a Jesus for somebody else, someone to give you hope and care. It's about how Elvis was her man and her mentor and how often that happens in love relationships; how everybody's heart is like a god in some way, and that's not a very balanced view of someone, is it?"
And again, marveled that The Police's So Lonelyis one of the most danceable depressing songs there is. (I immediately began chair-dancing at :51. You should too.)
Well, someone told me yesterday That when you throw your love away You act as if you just don't care You look as if you're going somewhere But I just can't convince myself I couldn't live with no one else And I can only play that part And sit and nurse my broken heart, so lonely
A couple hours ago, I had flagged out the songs that I remembered most distinctly from 'ERS today -- swear it was done with no pre-meditation. Now as I cut and paste the lyrics, the melancholy run-through is not lost on me. While I'd suggest I wasn't in the best mood today ... hmmm.
Subliminal or not, I've got to kick this. It's the beginning of a crisp, fall (and for some, but not for me) 3-day weekend, and I've got to find a 21-mile run tomorrow morning, and this wallowy vibe, subliminal as it is, cannot prevail. Heading over now to Boston University, to hear the Arneis (string) Quartet play a bit o' this:
And this.
Hoping there's lift somewhere in them there 'cello swipes.
Last night, MSF and I found ourselves at 10 p.m. at the Brattle Theatre, drinking beer and eating super-buttery popcorn and watching Cameron Crowe's documentary Pearl Jam 20 -- a celebration of the band's longevity since coming up during the grunge revolution of the 1990s.
Pearl Jam's first-ever released single from 1990, Alive, was the climactic end of the film.....writhing under a montage of live concert footage. Even though the song is Eddie Vedder's lament about the pain he felt in not knowing his deceased father -- and hardly meant to be uplifting when written -- I was mesmerized by the intensity and the countless iterations of the phrase,
"Hey, Oh, I, I'm Still Alive."
Which is kinda how I've been feeling this week. Appropos.
(P.S. This song. As of today. Is my new favorite. I swear.)
But only because I grew up in a time when my rock-n-roll knowledge came from watching Night Tracks on SuperStation WTBS every couple Friday nights, and MTV wasn't easily available, and there was no Internet-streaming radio or YouTube and we lived 2 hours from any cool radio station, for years only exposed to twang country and the Best Light-Rock Hits of the 60s, 70s and Today.
Then I went to college and made it to my junior year in 1993 and joined the newspaper staff. Alan was the editor and he ran the CD player on production nights and little else but Nirvana's Nevermind and R.E.M. got played that whole year. Alan owned all their CDs, but Automatic for the People had just come out the year before and it became the newsroom favorite ... even as none of us knew what any of the songs were actually trying to say. Alan, as a (now-reformed) music snob and self-proclaimed taste arbiter, once bluffed, "Yeah, I'd figure that of all their albums that would be the one you'd like because it's the most commercial."
Who gave a shit? Along with Out of Time,Automatic for the People got me through my junior year and my senior year and several years after and "Everybody Hurts" is still the world's greatest anthem to get and stay depressed to. An obsession and appreciation for the syncopated cello riffs on Sweetness Follows didn't come until just last year. And who can forget that aching piano cadence (learned and repeated endlessly, natch) on Nightswimming..... which, once titillating to a college student who couldn't imagine ever having the guts to skinny-dip and who now appreciates so many R.E.M. songs from so many different albums she's not going to get into listing them, is 20 years later still one of the Best. Songs. Ever.
Nightswimming deserves a quiet night. The photograph on the dashboard, taken years ago, Turned around backwards so the windshield shows. Every streetlight reveals the picture in reverse. Still, it's so much clearer. I forgot my shirt at the water's edge. The moon is low tonight.
Nightswimming deserves a quiet night. I'm not sure all these people understand. It's not like years ago, The fear of getting caught, Of recklessness and water. They cannot see me naked. These things, they go away, Replaced by everyday.
Nightswimming, remembering that night. September's coming soon.
I'm pining for the moon. And what if there were two Side by side in orbit Around the fairest sun? That bright, tight forever drum Could not describe nightswimming.
You, I thought I knew you. You I cannot judge. You, I thought you knew me, this one laughing quietly underneath my breath. Nightswimming.
The photograph reflects, Every streetlight a reminder. Nightswimming deserves a quiet night, deserves a quiet night
It's such a beautiful morning here: breezy, sunny and blue, like an advertisement for a Triple A travel destination photo.
So, seems pointless to fuss about what makes my blood pressure rise today .... stubborn politicians being out-of-touch jackasses with little regard for anything but ideology. I don't remember feeling this sincerely riled up about policy since Donald Rumsfeld was a daily news fixture. To wit, this exchange on Facebook yesterday with my former roommate, Tim:
Karin's Status: Oh, you congressional Republicans. Intransigence is always so sexy.
Tim's 1st Reply: Karin sending me running for a dictionary is always so sexy.
Tim's 2nd Reply: LOL and I am being sincere.
Karin's 1st Reply: Tim, why can't you be straight and rich?
Tim's Retort: I would be a republican and you would despise me. :-)
Karin's Sigh: I want to like Republicans. I really do. They just make it so difficult....
Tim's Affirmation: They sure do!
As a citizen watching our country in peril on a sunny Thursday morning, there's nothing I can do to effect the situation but gripe .... which, from my office chair in Boston, is hardly going to make Eric Cantor back down.
In the interest of things I can control ... let me reintroduce y'all to Storyhill -- a guitar duo from Montana, on my radar since 1996 when my sister sent me a mix tape. Since then, I forever associate their sound with road trips, Minnesota corn fields, feeling relaxed and good. I own their albums, met them at my 10-year college reunion (see below), saw them not once but twice at Club Passim in Cambridge, listen to something from them weekly. They're still playing together. They're possibly the nicest guys alive.
2005 ... with Chris and Johnny at the Plains Art Museum, Fargo ND
Yesterday, biking, "Room In My Heart" showed up in the iPod rotation. In my new quest for positivity, I noticed that the lyrics could apply to how a girl could choose to feel about a guy she once loved, and how not every current thought has to be a resentful one.
Nice work guys, again.
Room In My Heart
There was a time I'd do anything for you
If your roses went blue I made them red
It's not that they're dead, but those flowers don't bloom
Hangin' at The Middle East, corner of Brookline and Mass Ave in Cambridge.
Late brunch choice:fool m'dammas, falafel and beef skewer for 7 bucks. Weather: 79 and hazy outside, blissfully non-air-conditioned and dusky inside. Best place to: sit and try to forget that an 8-mile training run in 79-and-hazy awaits. Questionable soundtrack choice:The Ronettes' "Frosty the Snowman." Vibe: tattoed, fishnetted, vintage t-shirted, dog-friendly, Christmas-lighted. Quality-ranking of people-watching out picture windows:Newbury Street doesn't hold a candle to Central Square. Note to self: belly-dancing offered here later tonight. 2nd note to self: why are there not more people here? 3rd note to self: awesome there are not more people here. Soundtrack (vast) improvement to: Nirvana, "MTV Unplugged in NY." From 1994. Best. Album. Ever. Weather update: downpouring. Quality-ranking of people-watching-out-picture window update: exponentially higher now that it's downpouring. Sigh: 4-mile bike ride home and 8-mile training run still await. Yet: can't remember last time feeling this chilled-out. 4th note to self: come here more often. And: post Kurt Cobain singing his acoustic cover of Lead Belly's version of "Where Did You Sleep Last Night," what he is singing right now, which is the best-ever depressing song that makes me happy ... for whatever reason that may be.
Yesterday I randomly re-encountered this song via YouTube; it's gone viral so you've probably already seen it. Seems the city of Grand Rapids, Michigan, created a 9-minute single-tracking-shot version of the McLean original, featuring thousands of the city's residents lip-syncing along.
Screw men. I'm totally in love with this song and, by extension, Grand Rapids. I get so happy watching this it makes me (almost) want to move there.
One of my least favorite things about being single is that a tour of my bed more often than not reveals my laptop, an outdated New Yorker, at least one cat (usually with rear end on my pillow), a popsicle wrapper, and me. Very rarely, lately, another human being. And even then, not usually one I'm able to sleep comfortably next to.
So yeah. I kind of miss having a human bed buddy.
My old theater friend, Fran, luckily, was reading my mind this morning. Now an LA-based singer-songwriter, she posted this link on Facebook about how when a guy doesn't show up when he said he would, she makes do with cookies. And then, eventually, how she realizes she might prefer the latter to the former.
Other than thinking that Keebler Elves have cornered the market on sexy, I can relate.
I like to make the best of a shit situation. I used to wash it down with a tasty libation But now I've found another way around My single bed and its cold and lonely covers. I can warm it up without your smothering arms around. Here's a little trick I've found.
I'm eating cookies in bed 'til you come over Crumblin' up the sheets 'til you roll me over You're sweet, but not like my cookies. I'm eating cookies in bed without a lover Lickin' up the chocolate beneath the covers You're sweet, but not like my cookies.
And there are so many reasons this song is a metaphor for spring. Its promise of hope and possibility, among them.
(Which is nice to feel, from time to time.)
You may be watching from a safe distance
You may be so close you can taste the blood
You may have headed for higher ground
You may be drowning in the flood
No matter what you do
Love will find you
You may have lost what little faith you have
You may believe with all your heart
You may be pulling yourself together again
You may be falling apart
No matter what you do
Love will find you
One of you sees that love's a long lost friend
One of you can't recognize her face
One of you runs to her with open arms
One of you falls down is disgrace
You may see a million different gateways home
You may think there's only one way through
You may be waiting for the kingdom to come
You may believe it's in you
I wish
I could run that (31 miles) far
and
I wish
I could get that much tax refund
or
I could get that much of a raise
or
that many fewer people could be unemployed
in the US.
I wish
I didn't know
that Josh Beckett
makes more than that
per game
(pitched).
And sometimes
I wish
I had that many
blog readers
per day.
(Well, not really.
Because
that would mean
I'd really have to work at it.
And
you all know how much
I like to work at it.)
But
it's Friday
and
beer is in my near future
and
50K hits on my blog
(in 2 years and 5 months)
seems
worth a mention and
a happy song.
Even if
there's zero chance
Bach would have had blogging
on his mind
when he wrote it.
(And.
Sorry to have
yet another post be
not about
my dating life.
When it, such as it is,
restarts,
you'll be the
first to know.)
Day 7 of 30: 2 miles April Total: 15.29 2011 Total: 169.28
..... and I'm not even highly caffeinated this morning.
Jumping out of my skin, however, seems possible. Noticed myself speed-talking to the trainer at the gym at 7:30, to the person making my coffee at 8:30, to my bond-buying colleague a few minutes ago. I can't keep from taking off and re-putting on my shoes while sitting here. So far, multiple laps of walking the office for no reason than to do multiple laps of walking the office. I'm restraining from logging onto OKCupid with hopes of starting up an illict workday chat about unmentionable acts.
Not really any reason to account for this mood
I did just also do a search for the word "restless" on this blog ... .to find that the last time it was used was March 29, 2010 .... almost a year ago to the day.
What is it about the crazy, hazy month of March in my life?
Rodgers and Hammerstein wrote a great tune on the subject, by the way, and it has been recorded by every singer on the planet since 1945. But I'm indulging the Stan Getz/Brazilian samba version of it in an attempt to mellow out:
I'm as restless as a willow in a windstorm, I'm as jumpy as a puppet on a string. I'd say that I had spring fever, But I know it isn't spring.
I'm starry-eyed and vaguely discontented Like a nightingale without a song to sing. Oh, why should I have spring fever When it isn't even spring?
I keep wishing I were somewhere else, Walking down a strange new street. Hearing words that I have never heard From a man I've yet to meet.
I'm as busy as a spider spinning daydreams, I'm as giddy as a baby on a swing. I haven't seen a crocus or a rosebud Or a robin on the wing.
But I feel so gay, In a melancholy way, That it might as well be spring, It might as well be spring.
Although in this case, maybe it is spring fever.
(Now, if only the temperature would get above freezing, eh?)
I heard love can fall so hard, it can bury a kingdom
I heard it makes the spring appear out of season
It's a storm in a shadowbox, a force to be reckoned with,
When it finds you and find you, it will.
And I'd not believed it til I loved, I love
The rivers sing and stars awaken above me
And the wind and the moon in fits of restless conspiring
Turn night to heaven for you.
But I am going to a far, far land
I know it sure as I've a past and a future
With my maps on the table, you see, I have lost many things
So many I won't turn back.
And were I a deadwood ship, my heart a compass
I would leave with inanimate grace, no love could touch me
But I live and I know that I'll burn as I grow
Though it might break my heart to walk away and so
As a moon may adore you and remain, high moon
The wind may crown your head with leaves, and keep blowing
So I'll stop and I'll watch you, for I love, I love
And then be on my way. And then be on my way.
She rents an apartment in a neighborhood of trendy condos.
Her bike is vintage Raleigh. Her car is from 1991.
The cat's litter box is next to her bed and she doesn't own a dresser.
She likes to make fun of herself.
Occasionally she runs marathons.
And yes, she has to wear glasses. Contacts are not an option.
