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What I Miss Most Today

5/27/2020

Okay, so everything has changed.

More or less.

Less in some states.

But for many people, especially those with a healthy respect for both the science of infectious disease and the preservation of our elders, this summer seems like the start of a not-so-brave new world.

So here's what I am missing.

In photo format, because nobody wants to hear that tone of voice.

With vintage photos, because it does seem like a long time ago since we went out dancing, or hung out without a care with multiple generations of the family ––or not-family –– or planned a trip, or hugged people, or shared aprés-sailing stories...

But all this aside, please be sensible and gentle with one another. We're all trying our best –– even when it's not that great, it's likely all the effort we can manage.

That is all. For now.

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Dreadful Music

5/17/2020

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A title like that and you're still reading? Bless you! I hope I can make it worthwhile.

As a rule, I prefer to share stuff I adore. Rare finds. Unlikely but likable things. Unexpected pleasures. Books that I think deserve a wider readership, for instance, or experiences that I'd like to encourage others to have.

But that basic human urge to share the other side --the irresistible impulse that says, "Jeepers, this stinks! Sniff it!"

Is there a Germanic term for this instinct , like schadenfreude? There ought to be.

It would be generous to imagine that our impulse to share things revolt the senses is like –– as the old phrase has it, trouble shared is trouble halved.

But I don't guess kindness is any part of the underlying motivation. I believe the reason we love sites like cake wrecks and people of Walmart is NOT to reduce the shock one feels. Sharing amplifies that shock but also, like a clever party-goer, scrapes off the offending image or scent onto someone else. Here, look, isn't it awful?!

So when I say the three worst songs in my music history are as follows, I am not simply trying to entertain.

I can live with Flock of Seagulls' one hit. And Tony Basil's "Micky" just makes me smile fondly at those early MTV days. But Toto?

I don't care who covers "Africa."

It's still a tone-deaf ear-wormy catchy damn tune that irritates me down to my cuticles.

This song, plus Europe's "The Final Countdown," and Toto's other smash-me-in-the ear, "Rosanna," make me doubt in the cheering power of pop music.

Sure, it was funny on Anchorman. But the earnest warbling of "Afternoon Delight" so lacks irony or even basic self-awareness...

And ultimately it's worse, even, than those other two late 70's sex embarrassments, Captain and Tenille's "Muskrat Love" and Paul Anka's awful "Having My Baby."

Super creepy AND awful, so when you find yourself humming the refrain of "Into the Night," you've become complicit.

Trying to listen to this –– why do I even remember it? see above. The wretched refrain! –– was a toss-up of unpleasantness with the almost-equally miserable "Young Girl, Get Out of My Mind" by Gary Puckett and the Union Gap, another pedophilic tune that, oddly, falls right into my vocal range.

And as a bonus, because back when irreverent reporters waited for results or otherwise idled in the Sports Department of The St. Petersburg Times, the game we played was to pick the line-up for the band that was playing in Hell.

Karen was always on the skins.

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Lost Stories

5/8/2020

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File under: stuff you find while looking for something else.

It's a thing that happens with readers: perhaps we gobble up a couple of dozen books a year (wink wink).

In six years, that's a gross. Fast forward ten or twenty years, and frankly, who knows how many books. Some books remain vivid, but the majority tend to –– fade.

Highlights linger like the memory of a dream, fragmented but compelling. Perhaps a title or something about the situation or characters, or the appearance of the book itself will persist.

And while some people can simply let it go...others will be haunted.

For many years, my book-loving Mumsie used to tell me about stories she remembered but hadn't had in hand for several decades. She had an ongoing quest to find a copy of The Swish of the Curtain, which she'd adored as a child.

It was, she told me, about a group of theater-mad children who staged shows in their English village. She looked for it at every used bookstore, but when I told her I'd located a copy (ah! early days of the internet!), she shied away from actually getting it. She said she didn't want to find it like that. She admitted she'd rather not test her memory of its charms.

Googling it today, I see that the book was made into a British television series in the 1980's, as well as older "radio plays.' There are recent paperback editions, and ebook versions. Huh. Turns out Mumsie was not the only one who loved the story.

Countless other folks are likewise looking or volumes that they only partly remember.

Ask any bookseller or librarian for their war-stories ("It was a suspense novel set in the American Southwest. The cover was yellow. Can you find it?").

Naturally, in these internet days, there are online services that can help.

For a couple of bucks, Loganberry Books helps the hive mind focus on your need.

The Library of Congress has a page of suggestions for how to find lost books/lost lyrics and more. The LoC site links to a veritable warren of rabbit holes, by the way, if you are so inclined (declined?) to potter around chasing other people's trails.

Like this Reddit page, this specific one, and so. many. more. <shakes head vigorously>

So if you have a vague recollection of a book about a thing, set in that place? The one you picked up at the Strand bookstore or the long-lost White Horse Books?

You can probably find it if you want to spend a bit of time.

And if not, man are there some great books out there waiting to be read. Hit me up for a recommendation if you like.

Stay safe, friends.

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