"Like a Bird without a Song"

Okay, I’ll say it.

Knock it the fuck off 2016.

Seriously. This, taking all the artists in the same year thing is just cruel. I get it that people are born every day, that someone else will eventually grace us with the pleasure of their artistic contributions. I also fully understand that I didn’t know a single one of the magical beings who have left this earth since this calendar year began.

But it doesn’t matter. I knew many of them inside and out. Because they all gave pieces of their souls for the entire world to share. The characters they played, songs they wrote, all become the fragments of the part of the life we in the public get to experience.

So yesterday, 2016, when you just couldn’t resist robbing us all of another entertainer, I will admit that I absolutely lost it.

Prince actually brought me to tears.

Yes, I sat in my house, listening to Purple Rain, and I cried.

It might sound weird because, like I said, I didn’t know the man. Thing is, I don’t think I’m really crying for him. Which, again, might sound really weird since the guy just died.

What I’m mourning for more than anything is the loss of what we’ll never get to hear him produce in the future.

And, that sadness? Is something that can never go away.

I can listen to all 39 of his albums back to front, the songs he helped with for The Bangles, Sinead O’Connor, or Stevie Nicks, but it isn’t enough. The world was essentially robbed of future brilliance and that’s just wrong.

A friend of mine shared something yesterday and I’d like to share the text here because it essentially says what I’ve been bumbling over for 300+ words now:

“For people who don't understand why others mourn the death of artists, you need to understand that these people have been a shoulder to cry on. Our rock. They've been family, friends, leaders, teachers & role models. Many have taught us what we need to know and what to do when times get rough.They've helped us move on.They've pushed us out of bed.They've helped us live when nobody else had time to.Artists have inspired us in endless ways and have been with us through stages in our lives. We've made memories with them.So when they die, a part of us dies.”

As posted on The Hippies were Right

And that’s really what it all comes down to. It doesn’t matter to that person, they’re gone. It’s everyone left who have to grapple with that. Loss and mourning aren’t rational.

When something or someone leaves a lasting imprint on your heart, mind, soul, but then leaves the world far too soon, we long to find other people to surround us so we can share in the broken pieces and somehow try to put something whole back together.

I never had the pleasure of seeing Prince live. When he first hit big in the ‘80s I was a bit too young for a show like that. Hell, as I spent the day listening to Purple Rain yesterday I realized just how much I probably shouldn’t have been listening to that album on my 11^th birthday.

At age 43 I still blush at a few of his lyrics.

Okay, many of his lyrics.

But I digress.

When I was old enough to take myself to a show, I was mostly broke. And then I just sort of moved on into different music. Never away, because I always liked everything the man put out there, just on to something different.

But I still have this:

You’ll notice in the upper right hand corner is a puffy Santa sticker, indicating when I got the album back in 1984. Also, you’ll notice Apollonia’s face is missing. Yeah, I was an 11 year old girl, that’s the kind of shit we did when we were jealous of the beautiful woman on the album cover.

Sorry, Apollonia.

When I went to my iTunes yesterday and pulled up the soundtrack to listen straight through the entire thing (when I should have been writing), I pulled the vinyl out of the dusty recesses of my closet and smiled as I held it.

Our little family of three was still living in the apartment in east Arlington when the album and movie came out. My sister and I shared a bedroom, slept in bunk beds surrounded by the clutter of two tween girls, and shared a record player.

In the constant rotation? INXS, Jack Wagner, Toni Basil, The Police, The Stray Cats, Huey Lewis and the News, Duran Duran, Culture Club, The Grease soundtrack, Madonna, and Prince and the Revolution.

According to my record collection, 1984 was the year I discovered popular music.

In those days music was heavy on the synthesizer. Prince’s Purple Rain is very likely responsible for the first shredding of electric guitar I’d ever heard. Few could do it like he did.

And in honor of that guitar genius and eerily poignant songwriter, Rogers Nelson, I share this as my sign off, thanks, and Kiss to the Purple One.

Thank you for reminding us all back in 1984 that life is short and to strive to be the most excellent version of ourselves that we can be.

Every. Day.

 

Let’s Go Crazy

By Prince and the Revolution

Dearly beloved

We are gathered here today

To get through this thing called life

Electric word life

It means forever and that's a mighty long time

But I'm here to tell you

There's something else

The after world

A world of never ending happiness

You can always see the sun, day or night

So when you call up that shrink in Beverly Hills

You know the one, Dr. Everything'll Be Alright

Instead of asking him how much of your time is left

Ask him how much of your mind, baby

'Cause in this life

Things are much harder than in the after world

In this life

You're on your own

And if the elevator tries to bring you down

Go crazy, punch a higher floor

If you don't like the world you're living in

Take a look around you

At least you got friends

You see I called my old lady

For a friendly word

She picked up the phone

Dropped it on the floor

(Ah, ah) is all I heard

Are we gonna let the elevator

Bring us down

Oh, no let's go!

Let's go crazy

Let's get nuts

Let's look for the purple banana

'Til they put us in the truck, let's go!

We're all excited

But we don't know why

Maybe it's 'cause

We're all gonna die

And when we do (When we do)

What's it all for (What's it all for)

You better live now

Before the grim reaper come knocking on your door

Tell me, are we gonna let the elevator bring us down

Oh, no let's go!

Let's go crazy

Let's get nuts

Look for the purple banana

'Til they put us in the truck, let's go!

C'mon baby

Let's get nuts

Yeah

Crazy

Let's go crazy

Are we gonna let the elevator bring us down

Oh, no let's go!

Go crazy

I said let's go crazy (Go crazy)

Let's go, let's go

Go

Let's go

Dr. Everything'll be alright

Will make everything go wrong

Pills and thrills and daffodils will kill

Hang tough children

He's coming

He's coming

Coming

Take me away!

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

Never gonna say Goodbye

Day seven. Already? That’s so crazy. It feels like just yesterday it was day six!

Honestly though, I actually enjoyed taking part in this challenge for many reasons.

• I was essentially forced to write something every day.
• Writing creative non-fiction every day helped me to work on fiction.
• Music always inspires me.
• I’m glad I never tried to be a songwriter, I need way more words to convey my message.
• I started to understand which writing I enjoyed doing and which I want to let go.
• The battery in my laptop doesn’t last very long at all.
• Living room is better for writing blogs but the office cuts more distraction for fiction.
• I looked at everything with a different eye: one on telling and publishing the story.
• First thing in the morning is when my ideas are freshest.
• I sneeze a lot in the morning.
• Food is important but sometimes less so than getting the perfect words down.
• After the refinance check was deposited I pretended it was a royalty check.
• Now I’m just talking about random shit that has nothing to do with anything.

Ending a challenge like this is always a little weird. Mostly because I never really know how to “end” something like this. Especially because of the third thing in that list up there. And like I already told you on day 1, I wake up with a song in my head almost every day. So to me it seems weird that I’d abruptly stop writing like this. Because it still seems to hold value.

Then again, I’ve been known to stay too late at the party once or twice in my life and certainly don’t want to do that this time around. Which got me thinking about endings.

There are so many songs about the finality of something. Here are some better known tracks documenting a few different types of endings:

♪ Last Dance (Donna Summer)
♪ The End of the Innocence (Don Henley)
♪ It’s the end of the World as we know It (and I feel Fine) (REM)
♪ In the End (Linkin Park)
♪ Goodbye to You (Scandal)
♪ End of the Road (Boyz II Men)
♪ The Party’s Over (Nat King Cole)
♪ Wild World (Cat Stevens)
♪ Closing Time (Semisonic)
♪ I Heard it through the Grapevine (Marvin Gaye)
♪ Fade to Black (Metallica)
♪ My Happy Ending (Avril Lavigne)
♪ When the World Ends (Dave Matthews Band)
♪ Boys of Summer (Don Henley)
♪ The End (The Doors)

In fact I anticipated that last one on the list being today’s post inspiration. Yes, I planned to use a song by The Doors as my last hurrah.

There was no real reason for that other than a brief inspiration I had last night before going to bed. Scrawled a note on a scrap of paper, stuck it under my mouse and everything. It would be ready for today as soon as I woke up and started clicking keys.

My intention? Write a whole post about the lizards coming back onto our patio already. Temperatures being warm enough for their return.

Equating that to the Lizard King.

Doors tie-in.

Boom!

But now that I’ve looked up the lyrics I kind of realize that shit is creepy. Not that “creepy” never makes an appearance here but for my last day’s challenge I’d rather leave things on a high note.

Plus I hate goodbyes.

So in the spirit of that I leave you all with the determined anthem of everyone who ever wanted to pretend the end wasn’t real. And I know if there’s anything I can do about it, I Won’t Give Up on this daily writing.

To be fair, it may not happen every day but I’m sure as hell going to give it the old college try.

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

Today, Tomorrow, Forever

When the movie Annie was released in 1982 I was a month away from turning nine years old. The perfect age to see the movie since the orphan characters are in the same general bracket.

I don’t think it was one I saw in the theatres but I definitely learned every single song in the flick after seeing it numerous times. It was my foray into learning a few things about movies, music, what I liked about both as a kid and how the mashup of the two became a staple in my life.

First, musicals. Annie was probably the first one I’d ever seen, but it certainly wouldn’t be the last. From Disney gems like Aladdin to grownup plots like Grease, give me a movie with singing and dancing as part of the script and I’m in love.

And I’m also learning every single word so I can sing along.

Which of course prompts the question: Do I break out into random song and dance in my daily life because I watched musical movies or was I already predisposed to singing and dancing my way through life so the movies just feel normal?

So many of my favorite movies have a script punctuated by music that crosses over into the character’s lives.

Stand by Me. You may argue with me this isn’t a musical, which it isn’t in the traditional sense of the word. But the music of the time period in which the movie was set had such a heavy influence on the script and characters that I count it nonetheless. Go back and watch the movie and see how many times the kids break out into song or dance.

Another that falls into a similar category? Singles. A true ‘90’s classic with so much musical influence a bunch of the members of Pearl Jam co-star in the film. As another band who’s front man is one of the main characters.

My mom and I used to duet half of Xanadu. Okay, “used to” is a little overstated. I think the last time we did this was, what? Two years ago?

Rock Star? Without the music there would be no movie. Literally. The main character becomes the lead singer of his favorite band. Fame and all its tragic glory ensues. It’s awesome.

And that’s just scratching the surface because if my CD collection or iTunes are any indication, I have way more than a summer romance with soundtracks.

Because that’s the second thing I learned from musical movies: soundtracks are awesome. If I had to guess, I’d estimate 40 or 50 soundtracks exist in my CD/vinyl/digital collection. And that’s probably conservative because, of the seven movie posters hanging on my walls, I can say with 100% certainty I own four of the soundtracks.

Why?

Recently I finished binging Parks and Recreation and in episode 3, season 4, the characters Ben and April take a road trip. April, looking through Ben’s CD collection asks why he has so many soundtracks. The ones she listed off? I have all of them.

His character then sums it up so beautifully:

“I kind of look at it as your favorite directors making a mix tape just for you.”

Spot. On.

I mean, Guardians of the Galaxy wouldn’t have half of its plot if it wasn’t for the literal mix tape owned by the main character. And that’s a movie for dudes, right?

Many men wouldn’t admit to it but they love a good musical movie. Don’t believe me? Poll the men in your life, ask if they’re a fan of The Blues Brothers. Yup. That’s what I thought. Singing and dancing pretty much was their mission. They were so committed to music they tell the audience, through song of course, what type of music they’re representing in four little words: “I’m a soul man.”

What brings me back to today’s song choice is the last thing these flicks taught me. The promise of what musical movies provide. The knowledge that, after their final number, everything is going to work out okay despite the tragedies they face in the moment.

Annie almost dies on a drawbridge when another character chases her to the top and he’s got her hand then…okay I can’t talk about it, that scene scared the crap out of me as a kid. And the only thing that changed my mind about Tim Curry after that? You guessed it, Rocky Horror Picture Show.

But in the end, whether Annie was lamenting why It’s a Hard Knock Life or contemplating if Maybe her parents would be swell, the most poignant moment in her young life comes when she proves that she’s an eternal optimist.

Because no matter what dark cloud today throws at you, there’s always the promise of the sun coming out Tomorrow.

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

Winning Streak

Recently we refinanced our house. For the first time, I think ever, we qualified for a conventional mortgage. After years of the Springfield debacle hanging over us like a cartoon anvil it feels so great to have that chapter of our lives fully behind us now.

So, in moving forward, one of the reasons we did the refi was to reinvest cash from the home back into the home. In fact, a little over 90% of the money we’re taking out will go right back into this place – kitchen (finally), laundry room (fucking finally!), attic insulation, duct re-sealing, screened in patio, solar tubes, closet doors, landscaping - the list goes on (and on, and on...).

Yesterday I put together a fully detailed cost estimate and materials projection spreadsheet.

Of course I did.

As a full-on “Monica” my level of organization and detail can actually be frightening at times.

Anyway, one of the things we’re doing around here is bringing a real beach vibe to our entire home both inside and out. Yeah I know we live in the desert now but we don’t have to pretend like this is the place we really want to be. Matt and I are both beach bums so it only makes sense our space reflects that.

And here’s where things start to get good.

After putting together the spreadsheet (with actual numbers from countless scouting trips over the past six months) I discovered we’re going to have some cash left over to do a bunch of the decorating and accessorizing that will tie it all together and make this place feel like we’re living coastal!

I know what you’re all thinking:

“I think we should probably go tropical with this thing. Like sand from wall-to-wall…”

But no, bajillions of grains of sand all over my living room floor would be fine if we lived in a floorless hut on some tropical island somewhere (bucket list?). I can assure you, the only sand we’ll buy comes in bags for the pool filter. Our house will be adult beach, not frat boy beach.

In fact that’s one of the main reasons we’re going to do a little redecorating. Almost all of our small furniture pieces are hand me downs from family or crap we acquired over the years as filler pieces that we don’t need anymore.

Very cool that they still function and all that but none of it is our style and for once in our lives we’re going to have our home reflect who we are and what we like.

Novel concept, right?

One of the reasons I’m so excited is I finally get to use that Interior Design training and schooling to breathe our life into our home.

Only issue? The movie posters.

My sister brought it up a few weeks ago asking what we were going to do with all of them and I didn’t really have an answer. Because I can’t imagine for even a second getting rid of them but they don’t exactly go with a beach vibe.

Then I started thinking about my office, full of sports memorabilia like my Packers coozie, plush Patriots football, Red Sox Scrabble game. None of which screams beach either.

Guess I have more thinking and planning to do in order to make everything flow. Not that I mind. I mean, other than taking a little time away from my writing life there’s zero inconvenience having me as the GC on this renovation project.

I mean, I’m here all day anyway.

And can I tell you a secret? Some days I really miss my faux finishing work. Painting. Plastering. Pouncing glaze. Transforming something dull and lifeless, damaged, or good lines/wrong color into something that works to bring the right feeling to our space always makes me feel good.

I can turn off my brain, turn on some music and totally transform a space in no time.

Music that won’t be playing, however? The Rolling Stones. Despite the fact that (I Can’t get no) Satisfaction was what I woke up with today I am not a fan. Say what you will about their staying power or whatever but I never grew an affinity for the band.

But regardless of what melodies are flowing out of the old boom box I’m actually excited to get back to tearing the house apart only to put it back together again.

Fresh colors, finished kitchen, natural light in my bathrooms?

Sorry, Mick, I can (and will) be totally satisfied when all is said and done.

• • • • • • • • • • • 
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

Life and Fairness

When I got up today, there was nothing in my head. No song, no remembrance of last night’s dreams, nothing. Which is not only rare but somewhat off-putting because at any given moment I can have about 500 thoughts racing through my brain.

Call it ADD, ADHD, daydreamer, or some undiagnosed syndrome that nobody has discovered yet, but living this way is all I’ve ever known. The thing that sucks about the racing mind is that it can be very difficult to hold onto anything at any given time.

As a kid I guess that didn’t matter as much. As long as I brushed my teeth, did my homework and ate dinner then the rest was pretty much a non-issue.

Back in the stone ages when I was a child it wasn’t a cause for medication when a kid was, uh, let’s just say spirited. Nope. We were called rambunctious or out of control, sent to the principal’s office. Or forced to contain our rowdy minds by hanging out in our bedroom, grounded for something we did “wrong”.

Let’s just say I read and wrote. A lot.

As an adult, however, I have responsibilities both to myself and to others. And I’m not just talking about things grownups have to do like paying bills, cleaning the house, accepting that they’re not 25 anymore by sending all their ironic/now-tragic clothes to the thrift store. No, I mean obligations that it would be ideal to have focus for completing.

For example, the third book in my Shaw McLeary mystery series.

Actually, hold up a second. Let me back up even further.

Because, before I force myself to focus on finishing that book, it might be helpful to remember a few things.

1. I self-publish.

2. Forced writing reads like shit.

3. Squirrel!

What I love about being this way though is the sense of freedom it allows. Because, not only do I work in a creative industry but I’m the only one who dictates terms of my daily workflow.

This is both good and bad.

Good, because I can allow myself breathing room in the creative process. Bad, because I might abandon something for a long time until the merry-go-round in my head comes full circle back to that project again. And if my half-finished stories in my half-filled journals are any indication, that could be a long way’s away.

So, in the past few months I decided to take the good and bad and mash them up into one middle-of-the-road personality trait. What does that mean? Well, it means I have four books in process right now. And you know what? If a fifth idea happens to come to me that feels like a fully fleshed out, solid concept for a full-length book then I’m starting that one too.

I’ve never tried this before. Working on multiple projects at the same time and fully intending to publish all of them. Usually I get inspired for certain characters and try to see it through to the end without further interruption. But now that I’m embracing myself in a more realistic way I’ve come to realize that all those personalities running around my head (as part of the 500 things) might not be me. They might just be my characters.

And that means I can hold onto them long enough to complete their stories, merry-go-round or not. They are the anchored horses. The stable poles I can grab onto in order to break my fall.

If Shaw is speaking to me one day, like yesterday for instance, then I’ll write her 2200 words. Other days I won’t have any voices pointing me in any direction so I’ll have to rely on myself to get words out. Those are the days my essay collections will likely see some love.

There’s something very liberating but terrifying about embracing my creative process. Saying that I’ve grown into a more productive and capable writer because of it isn’t something I ever anticipated but it’s a pleasant side effect and I’ll take it.

Makes me think I might just be able to adult forever. Maybe.

Oh right. Today’s song choice. (See? Squirrel!)

Since I woke up with nothing playing, I planned on taking the first song on Pandora and spinning it into something amazing. But I poured my coffee then opened Facebook and there was my friend Keith doing a Throw Down between Silver Spoons and The Facts of Life.

Come on now. Mrs. Garrett? Jo? Tootie? Up against Ricky Schroeder? Easy choice.

Also, the lyrics to the theme song pretty much say in 108 words what it took me over 1,000 words to blog. Hey, I said I was embracing the good and bad so I could focus on writing as a whole, not that I wouldn’t be loquacious while doing that writing.

So today I’ll leave you with one of my favorite television theme songs of all time. However, just a note for anyone who might be a fan of the show, this is the theme song that everyone knows. The original, season one lyrics were somewhat different and dropped out of favor when the show was given a major overhaul for season two so it wouldn’t get cancelled.

The Facts of Life

(written by Alan Thicke [yup, the very same], Gloria Loring, Al Burton)

You take the good, you take the bad,

you take them both and there you have

The facts of life, the facts of life.

There's a time you got to go and show

You're growin' now you know about

The facts of life, the facts of life.

When the world never seems

to be livin’ up to your dreams

And suddenly you're finding out

the facts of life are all about you, you.

It takes a lot to get 'em right

When you're learning the facts of life. (learning the facts of life)

Learning the facts of life (learning the facts of life)

Learning the facts of life.

• • • • • • • • • • • 
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

Overindulgence

Woke up. New song playing in the brain. Today’s choice: Dave Matthews Band Too Much.

For me this song is about greed and excess, making everything ours until there’s nothing left for anyone else. But somewhere in there is a self-awareness that it’s happening; the narrator knows he eats, drinks and wants too much.

The lyrics are a bit mysterious and trying to figure out what others think just makes me more curious what the real meaning is behind the song. But, as I’ve said before, I don’t really want to know.

Knowing has the potential to dull the meaning those words have to me on a personal level and I like to feel what a song evokes in me. Not someone else’s interpretation of what the prose means.

The thing is though, it really doesn’t matter what song I hear by this band. It could be the sweetest love song, overtly sexual in nature, about drugs I’ve never done, things I can’t even understand because the lyrics are so shrouded. Doesn’t matter.

Any song I hear reminds me of a time I’ve seen them live. Because, if you’re a Dave fan at all, you know that the live shows can be a life-altering experience if you let them into your soul.

I tried going back in my head to pull out all of the shows I’ve seen and where they were but for some reason the list feels too short.

Must’ve smoked those memories away.

Irony is I probably did so at one of their shows.

The first time I could afford to see the band live, their second album (the one that pretty much put them on the widespread pop music map), Crash, had already been out for a couple years. In fact, Before These Crowded Streets was also already out, released just months before I finally got to see them live.

Both discs I bought on the date they were released, because once I got my ears on Under the Table and Dreaming in the mid-nineties, I knew they’d be a band I followed for life.

So far, not wrong.

I loved the subtle nuances in Dave’s vocals, his ability to scat with a bluegrass accent. Plus, anyone who knows me knows I’m a huge sucker for a male falsetto. I loved that they mixed sassy brass with moody strings and drum beats so syncopated nobody but Carter could play those beats.

The only way I could describe them is to say they made folk/pop/jug band/bluegrass/rock fusion music. Sounds like a mess but what makes their style cool is that, every time I listen I hear, experience, something new.

And now, after 20 years since the release of Crash (almost to the day!) I’m sure it’s no accident I woke up tapping my toes to the first single the band released from that album.

Today, that song makes me think of nothing more than the current state of our country, the current state of the world. These are interesting times my friends. And these times make me wish there was some kind of teleportation device we could jump in to go back and warn ourselves of the impending doom we brought on ourselves by being greedy motherfuckers.

I know it probably sounds dark and morbid but I can’t help it. Three-quarters of the country is brainwashed into believing everything they hear on the news and the other 25% just want a simple life where all of the politicians and droning bobbleheads leave us alone to be the grown-ups we’ve become by thinking for ourselves.

A life where we get to do our jobs, live without fear, listen to some great music and prioritize love over everything else in this fucked up world.

Is that too much to ask?

Or, I guess I should rephrase that – why is that too much to ask?

This blog isn’t usually somewhere I get political or tackle major world issues. In fact, I tend to keep that stuff to the small circle of people that I feel comfortable enough to discuss those issues with without all of us flying off the handle and de-friending each other because our opinions might differ.

So I’m not about to start ranting about conspiracy theories or the like right now. Suffice to say, I love the song because it helps me understand when enough is enough. Like right now. Otherwise I’m just wasting breath, time, and frankly if I’m going to use my breath I’d rather be singing along to Dave.

“I mean, you never know, maybe you’re dreaming.”

• • • • • • • • • • •
In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
Learn more on my author page.

Snuggle Up for a Week

My sister-in-law nominated me to take part in this ‘seven songs in 7 days’ challenge.

Of course the thing is all over Facebook but, not surprisingly, I decided to make the most of the dare and reboot my blog posting schedule by sharing my choices over here instead, because that way I can get the full story related to each song out there (and apparently I’m also bringing back the ever popular run-on sentence so you’re welcome).

Now, because you know me, you already know I’m not about to write for 7 days in a row, share my innermost reasons for choosing certain music, and not write it with a purpose.

So before I reveal today’s song choice and subsequent story behind it I should back up and share some other information first.

When this post posts it will be the 502^nd post on this blog. I’ve been writing over here since September 13, 2007. Nine years as of this fall. Damn.

Even though it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long or that many posts, I recently started rereading all of my old stuff. And let me tell ya, there’s a whole lot of useless crap on this blog. But, the good news, at least for me, is that I’ve also shared a whole lot of fun and interesting stories.

Stories about my life, adventures in procrastinating my career path, and my past, um, let’s just call them, escapades with boys and booze and boredom.

As I sat here reading about those times in my life, my mind started piecing together many, many more stories that could be told to go with the ones already in existence. Stories that I believe could act as a warning to others. Advising readers how to avoid sabotaging your own life.

But reading all that stuff on a blog takes dedication and unless you’ve been here since the start the chance you’ll go back to try to locate any of those old posts is slim to none. That’s why I’ve decided to collect all of these fabulously embarrassing, revealing and sometimes head-scratching moments into one convenient package. A book. Actually, two books.

The first collection I’m holding a bit close to the vest. Sorry, but I promise as soon as the structure starts coming together I’ll fully share all the info.

But the other one.

Well, that book is what brings me full-circle to this week’s posting schedule.

After pulling together a bunch of the links I realized just how much of my past was punctuated by music. Loving it, buying it, hating it, going to see it live (but the act is the last thing that matters because life is happening simultaneously), avoiding it because it reminds me of the wrong person. Or people.

Who remembers the song that was playing when they lost their virginity? The song that made them break down, sobbing uncontrollably, while driving home on the Merritt Parkway after their grandfather’s funeral? Happy times. Sad times. All the times. Songs that have helped to define an entire life. Mine.

Countless moments surrounded by melody and lyrics. My iPod is like a living organism of stories about personal growth and change.

So my goal with this challenge is to share some of those stories. To use the song as the inspiration for the story I want to tell. And while not all of them will make the cut for the essay collection (like today’s for example), I look forward to at least getting some good stuff up here.

Today, like most mornings, I woke up with a song stuck in my head.

I never understand why that’s the case, if I was dreaming of the song or something related to the lyrics or maybe a time in life when that song was playing.

After I got the challenge from my SIL yesterday I went to bed thinking of what today’s song choice might be. I decided to wake up and open Pandora on my phone and write something amazing about the first song that came up.

But my brain, as per usual, had plans of its own.

Because today’s track isn’t one I listen to all that often, not a song I obsess over or even have a story associated with other than to say I think of a movie when I hear it.

Admittedly, the movie is one of my favorite RomComs for reasons I can’t even explain because I’m not a huge fan of the stupidity of the plot or even 2/3 of the actors who star in the thing.

But while I was thinking of the plot, setting and dialogue I had a flashback to this past weekend. I remembered we were talking about the great state of Hawaii for quite some time over the weekend and I nodded, knowing that this is just how my mind works.

The movie? Honeymoon in Vegas. The song?

(Let Me be your) Teddy Bear.

So this one’s for you Elvis fans. Or fans of Nicholas Cage, James Caan, Sarah Jessica Parker or Pat Morita.

Or teddy bears. Because who doesn’t love a good snuggly teddy bear? Am I right?

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In addition to this drivel I also write books, both fiction and non-fiction.
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I Get Lost

In my youth I was a mall rat. From the time I started working, as a babysitter at about age 13, I spent most of my free time and money at one of several malls in my area. And I got my first mall job as a teenager.

Technically, saying I spent money at the mall means this whole post disqualifies me from 2/3 of the Kevin Smith definition of mall rat: “They're not there to shop. - They're not there to work. - They're just there.”

Which is fine. I was just as happy to hang out as I was to work, and shop, at the mall.

There was something comforting about being enveloped by the latest trends in consumerism day in and day out. You experience a sterile, bland feeling that overtakes you as soon as you walk through the door to a mall. It isn’t quite clinical like a hospital but the level of perfection achieved in window displays, squeaky clean floors, and toothy smiles on the faces of every (disgruntled) employee, always brought a similar smile to my face.

Entering a mall is a lot like entering a casino. Think I’m kidding? There are more similarities than you might think.

Lighting tricks are used. Where a casino keeps the captive from noticing there’s a world outside due to lack of windows, malls usually have a lot of windows. They allow natural light to pour in during the day, forcing a level of euphoria for shoppers and employees alike.

Good luck finding a clock. Time doesn’t exist in the mall. Unless you work in the stock room. Plus, that directory you’re looking for? Yeah, you’ll need to traverse the entire mall to find it. Clever marketing tactic. You’ll probably end up shopping while on the way to find where you want to shop.

Not to mention, they’ll gladly take all your money without a second thought. Nobody in retail gives a shit if you can afford what you’re buying. Those people are making about $12 an hour. And probably spending their entire check in the very place that provides it every week.

And I was definitely one of those people.

Back in those days, I always loved the mall. I could get everything I needed in one indoor adult playground. Tampons, diamond studded high heels, a back scratcher, and an extra set of keys? A mere mile apart. Need a prom dress, set of bowls, a haircut, and a specialty watch engraved for your 2 year anniversary? You can have it all within the confines of those walls.

Why would anyone want to spend their time anywhere else?

When I was younger there were four malls I could get to on the T: Woburn, Assembly Square, Burlington and Meadow Glen.

Burlington mall was the go-to location. I only needed to catch one bus right out of Arlington center and in 30 or so minutes I could pass through the doors of consumerism with ease. Not only did I hang out there (usually at Heel Quik, the shoe repair place where all the cute boys worked), but over the years I also worked there in multiple stores.

However, Burlington mall and the others didn’t have the one store that Meadow Glen had. The money waster of all money wasters.

The recording studio.

I can’t remember the official name of the place but I could get there in my memory a million times over. Through the doors of the food court, straight across the main hallway and all the way to the back of the mall, down the hallway nobody ever visited, on the end on the left.

Friends, family and I spent time there trying to convince ourselves we could sing. Or at least do Karaoke over a pre-recorded background track. 9 times out of 10 we wasted money by singing along to songs by New Kids on the Block or some other popular pop artist of the time.

My sister, who could actually carry a tune, busted out an awesome rendition of Debbie Gibson’s Lost in your Eyes. I might even still have the cassette tape of that recording somewhere.

We’d sing our little hearts out then go get cheese fries at Friendly’s, or a bacteria laden smoothie at the juice place. On the very rare occasion I had a couple bucks left, I’d usually spend them on magazines or buttons with Jonathan Knight’s face.

All of that time “in the studio” even convinced a few of us we should start an all-girl band back in high school. We called ourselves Girls on the Move. We took the train to Dorchester or Roxbury, and by some miracle of chance, we located the studio of uber-producer, Maurice Starr.

Then we sat on a couch in front of this enormous music presence and sang some sugar-laced pop song at the volume of a nervous mouse. Which prompted Mr. Starr to smile and all but shove us out the door.

Hey, we tried.

But all of those terrific experiences in my life likely never would have come to light if it hadn’t been for the influence of the mall.

So I had mixed emotions when I heard that the very site of our initial star-in-the-making location was about to become a grocery store or some other everyday store with no character of its own.

Meadow Glen officially closed its doors forever last week.

Over the past couple decades Meadow Glen went through lots of changes. The recording studio and everything down that hallway fell by the wayside in favor of some cheaply made crap stores. Casual Corner, and all the other clothing stores where shoulder pads weren’t optional, closed years ago.

They tried to keep the place alive with chain restaurants, party supply stores, and some other shops that just couldn’t cut it in the end.

In all honesty I probably haven’t stepped foot inside that mall in well over ten years. Maybe fifteen. After I stopped working in retail I tried like hell to limit my time spent in malls to, well, never if I could help it.

Because, really, why bother?

Every mall is pretty much the same these days. The same overpriced stores. The same lame merchandise. The same snarky and irritated employees making little money for a thankless job.

So, I guess it felt weird that I was as bummed out as I was to hear my former favorite dirt mall was closing its doors forever. But nothing really lasts, right?

Except maybe nostalgia.

Goodbye Meadow Glen, thanks for all those ridiculous teenage memories.

I came across the picture above on Facebook shared by a share of a friend. If you took this photo and would like the credit please contact me so I can add that info to the post. Thanks!

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We'll Get a Table near the Street

Every time I listen to that Brad Paisley song “Letter to Me” I full-on cry. No, I’m not kidding. Despite the fact he sings about boy things solely applicable to himself – Playboy, chewing tobacco, dating girls – I still can’t help it.

The song reminds me of where I was at age 17, how far I’ve come, why all the drama of those days just doesn’t matter anymore, and how I wish I could go back in time to remind myself that everything is going to be fine if I just chill the heck out.

Oh hell. Just typing the premise of the song has me choked up (thanks again perimenopause!)

Anyway, I’ve talked in the past about this thing that happens to me with some songs. And, as a side note, this thing that happens is the very reason I never want to know what a song is really about. All the artists can keep that to themselves, thanks. I like to feel my music. And in cases like the Paisley song, though I can’t specifically relate to the words, I can relate to the overall feeling behind the words and music.

Best way I can describe what happens? The song lyrics will remind me of a feeling I have inside, not a specific time and place.

And “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant” is another one of those songs.

I don’t know anyone named Brenda or Eddie (or more appropriately, as the song goes, BrenderenEddie because those two names are really just one word). I don’t know anyone who owns a waterbed, paintings from Sears, or enjoys rosé with their meal. Nor do I know a single person who hangs out with a group of people (called the greasers) at the village green.

The lyrics and references in the song tell us it took place in 1975. A year when I was 2 years old. Hardly wishing two crazy friends well on their doomed-from-the-start marriage.

But something about that song makes me long for those two people that Billy sings about to be the romanticized version of my parents.

BrenderenEddie are two people who once loved each other so much, but just couldn’t make it together, sitting across from each other at their old favorite place to eat, years after they divorced, catching up on how both of their lives went on without the other. That they’ll never forget who they were then but how much happier they are now.

The funny thing is that I have very few Billy Joel songs I can even tolerate anymore. Let me back up for a second and explain.

After living in LINY for a couple years I was SO burned out on hearing Billy Joel every 5 minutes that I pretty much stopped listening. (Seriously, I sometimes thought about staging a Billy Joel v Mariah Carey cage match to the death just so we could get some different music on the FM stations).

Last night revived my love for the man and his music. I’ve never heard him do “Scenes” live before. And I never stay up until 11:30 at night. But when Jimmy Fallon announced that was the song Joel would close the show with, I grabbed my toothpicks to prop open my eyelids and just listened.

May I just say, holy crap! He still sounds great even after 43 years in the business (fun fact: his first single “Piano Man” was released just 130 days after I was released!).

If you’re interested in checking out last night’s performance you can check it out here.

And, in case you’re wondering, no, I didn’t cry last night. It was far too late for that much emotion.

But re-watching it this morning…

Image courtesy Microsoft clip art

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