Since I wrote last week, two celebrities have moved on to the perpetual performing grounds in the sky, as we said sad goodbyes to Sinead O’Connor and Pee-wee Herman.
Deaths of not-quite-strangers but who also are people you don’t actually know yet still “love” hit a certain way, a bit different. Probably because we attach so many (likely amazing) memories to those people. So these two deaths have my mind ricocheting in time. So it’s a good thing that today I get to write about random thoughts and not feeling good. 😂😂😂 (JK. I feel good today. Just a bit tired. (See #1 below.)
Sinéad O’Connor takes me back to Harpswell Apartments where I was living at the time, in an on-campus apartment which back in those days meant “really nice.” Lion & the Cobra was having a surge in popularity thanks to the single, “Mandinka,” a song which was frequently cranking on the CD player or some mixed tape one of us had created instead of studying. At the time, while you might think during the last year of college you’d have your friend group pretty dialed in, my circle of friends was more loose and random then, as many of my people were a year ahead of me. We were a happy-but-slightly-ragtag group who would go to Shop & Save and chip in for food (often pasta, but with homemade (by me) sauce), then stop at the local convenience store for some wine (probably pink and in big bottles), before taking over my kitchen (my roommates were often busy with older/out-of-state boyfriends or trying to get a boyfriend of any age in any state, which often gave me full run of the place), where we would cook and drink and listen to music and laugh. So Sinéad O’Connor and “Mandinka” will always be a key song on the soundtrack of that time with those people. Though as it turns out most of those people were in my life only for a reason or a season…and not for a lifetime. Which is ok, because that’s how life is.
My relationship with Pee-wee Herman takes me back to the exact same time and thus the same life phase—same circumstances, same sh-t, same extreme angst-y angst. Not everyone found PW funny, but my one other friend who did and I would muscle through our Friday-fueled hangovers to watch Pee-wee’s Playhouse on Saturday morning. And boy did we laugh. I mean I still remember being late for a Saturday morning basketball practice, and when I had to explain myself, I told the truth: I was watching Pee-wee’s Playhouse and lost track of time. Needless to say, Coach Shapiro was not amused. F-ck him. Anyway this friend and I are still friends (duh—Pee-wee roots run deep!) but we do not have a see-each-other-often-or-talk-on-the-phone-ever kind of relationship. Before PW died, in the last 30 years I can recall talking on the phone once. That was in May when I called her due to a good emergency—I needed to consult on what I would wear to the Taylor Swift concert she was bringing me to. So when I was in a meeting the other day and saw that she was calling me, I was immediately filled with dread. And when I checked my texts from her after the meeting, there was the news. Paul Reubens was dead. So Pee-wee was dead. I suspect I may have been one of only a few people who don’t—well, didn’t—have a real beef with COVID, but when it first was breaking, we had tickets to see the 35th Anniversary screening of Pee-wee’s Big Adventure hosted by Pee-wee himself. At first it was postponed but as COVID raged on, it was cancelled. So f-ck you COVID for robbing me of my face time with PW. In solidarity and support, we both watched the movie Monday night in memory, she in IL, me here in MA…and we went back and forth of the sheer brilliance of the movie. If it’s been a while, I recommend watching.
If you don’t know much about or failed to “get” Paul or Pee-wee or the playhouse, this is a great piece to catch yourself up or have it in explained in a way you might not have seen before. And because if you have an iPhone, some Pee-wee memorabilia, a little pain, and 15 minutes, you can honor both dead celebs at once by making a hack-job of a video as I did thusly:
That one is for all the Sinéad O’Connor Pee-wee Herman fans out there.
Sigh.
So other than once again being obsessed with the passage of time as magnified by untimely death, there’s been plenty of other activity taking place upstairs. Here are some of the thoughts that have been occupying my top floor:
Last night Kerri and I hit Fenway Park to see Fall Out Boy. It was an absolutely perfect night for a concert and they put on an awesome show. I especially loved the shortened-but-festive version of “Sweet Caroline.” The show was great—high energy, song after song after song after song. We stopped at Time Out Market for dinner on the way, and that was an awesome setup. I grabbed a burger, Kerri some falafel wraps, and we found a counter space at Trillium to eat and have a beer to wash it all down with. This makes my fourth concert since June (T.Swizz, Kane Brown, Mumford & Sons, and now this)—which is awesome because I love live music and I love having fun with people I love. That’s a win win win win. But it’s also why I’m tired today. Late night coming on the heels of a sleepless one (see #17 below) so apologies in advance if this is sloppy…because I have a lot on my mind but also need to get coffee and to my desk.
Speaking of music, I’m troubled by the breaking news of the complaint against Lizzo for sexual harassment and fat shaming. I’ll reserve judgment but if this is true, then everything good about Lizzo vaporizes. (Not cancel culture—she’s be her own undoing.) Her public persona is so not that, which makes it even worse, potentially. The swiftness with which Beyoncé wiped her from the lyrics of the “Break My Soul” remix while on tour (in MA no less) makes me go “hmmm…” though.
Is it just me or does Tony Bennett’s wife look older than his son? Guessing he doesn’t think of her as his stepmother. 😂
When I choose to cross the street and there is no crosswalk, I do so at many own peril, with no expectation of the drivers of oncoming cars. But when I hit the button so the pedestrian signs by the crosswalk blink, you can be sure that if you don’t let me cross, you’re gonna get the double middle-finger and an “a$$hole” shrieked at a high volume.
The kerfuffle about the USWNT being too happy after the Portugal game (which ended in a 0-0 draw and allowed them to move to the round of 16) is so interesting. Carli “Bitter, table for one” Lloyd obviously has some ax to grind with her former team(mates). “Should” they have been smiling and dancing after the loss? Who am I to say or to judge. Pretty sure they all knew they didn’t play well and dodged a bullet…but they’re in an “exotic” location, playing in the World Cup, and, well, YOLO…there’s a time and a place for everything. What does being angry and scowling and kicking and throwing things after a loss get you? Can you smile and dance and realize you played like shit and need to do better at the same time? I think so. I bet Carli Lloyd accuses the young players of “quiet quitting.” She just seems so angry. It’s been an interesting debate and some interesting dialogue. Everyone’s different—we need to respect those differences and not judge them. They have plenty of time between matches to shape up—or they will ship out and that’s on them.
Donald Trump’s Jesus complex (“I’m being indicted for you.” “It’s a badge of honor.”) scares the crap out of me. And I do believe that his rhetoric, and that of his supporters, is why awful things still happen in this world and why they don’t even get widely reported…and then when they do they barely elicit a response, let alone an uproar or an outcry. Check out this story: Man Fatally Stabbed in Confrontation as He Danced at a Gas Station. It’s awful. All these years of anger and inflammatory speech and hatred masked as “politics” are undermining our core freedoms and putting lives at risk. For real. And if you support Trump, you don’t support me…and you probably don’t support a lot of other people you claim to love. Think about that. And let it sink in. And let me give a nod to free speech, which allows me to say all of this…the Cheeto is a positively unpresidential tool…and make no mistake, he is not getting indicted for me. That said, it’s incomprehensible how, after everything that’s gone down, after a 45-page Federal indictment has been served, people are doubling down on him as a suitable presidential candidate. I get “innocent until proven guilty,” but the guy simply isn’t a good role model. That’s enough reason not to consider re-electing him. Times have changed—party loyalty doesn’t mean the same thing it used to. Time to rethink the notion of political party being handed down through the generations. It’s not in our DNA. We’re all entitled to make decisions…preferable based on issues and positions and not party alone. We’re in deep trouble, and it’s getting deeper.
And speaking of The Orange Man, where the hell is Melania these days? Are they even still married?
Speaking of anger and hatred, the re-brand of Twitter and its cute little blue bird to the big black X of X is a reflection, I think, of what I just described. X might be a strong brand. It evokes feelings. It tells a story. But it represents an attitude of privilege and anger and hatred. We don’t have to buy into that brand if we don’t want to. The rub is that even an angry hate-fueled brand is an important vehicle for brand building. There’s irony there…and there’s some sadness that authenticity seems to have taken a backseat to a never-ending quest for popularity, for those proverbial 15 minutes…X is a vibe, and its a bad vibe. There’s some sort of poetic justice in the fact that his unpermitted X sign had to come down though.
Speaking of vibes, who else chooses their coffee mug based on the vibe they feel in the morning, or the vibe they wish they were feeling? Manifest the day you want—pick the “right” mug. I’m thinking of one in particular for me today, the pottery mug with the fish on the sides.
The other day I was out walking and the sketchy guy in the sketchy house was mowing his grass. He looked at me, didn’t acknowledge me, and didn’t stop to let me pass…but rather turned his mower such that it was perfectly angled to dispense grass clippings straight into my mouth. Thanks for nothing, dickwad.
Speaking of walking, I recently read this opinion piece by Oliver Burkeman. I’m a big fan of him and of his book Four Thousand Weeks, which I read and wrote about here some time ago. If you’re interested, you can detour to that here:
Anyhow I decided to see if I could do just one thing and walk without music, in other words, just walk. As a rule, I’m not sure I’m meant to ever be left alone with my thoughts; there I was and it was scary. 😂 But I get what Burkeman is going for in the opinion piece—we should focus and not fragment, and it’s tied to making the most of the limited time we have. That said, I disagree with a few points—sometimes I do more than one thing at a time because one thing (music, for example) makes the other thing (a walk, or cooking dinner) better. I don’t use music to distract myself from the torture of walking or cooking. I love doing those things. I love music. Put together, it’s a love fest. But his point is taken—slow down and stop doing so much at once. Focus. Be mindful. Be happy.
Summer lasts until the end of September…but I have started to notice it’s getting dark a bit earlier. Note to self: take more advantage of the daylight we do have.
We have so many rabbits in our backyard, I’m tempted to pull a Ralphie and get a Red Rider BB gun. I know, I’ll shoot my eye out. But I may also scare away some of those ballsy critters who come to the edge of the patio and stare us down. It’s our house. What the f-ck are you looking at, silly wabbits?
I FaceTime my mom every morning to check in on her even though every day I wake up to learn she got Wordle in fewer guesses than I will, so I know not only is she fine but she’s kicking ass and taking names. Yesterday morning, I got caught up in some work early and lost track of time. And even though we had been on an active text chain, she reached out to make sure I was ok. I was, and I am. But I love her so much and love our morning routine.
I like my new job just fine but I don’t like the negative impact it’s started having on my sleep. The first two months I was so tired from the long days that I was sleeping like a baby. Now though, I feel like there are some underlying stressors that are coming between me and Mr. Sandman, and I don’t like it.
Speaking of work, fully remote work is something. The other day I decided to dress up. So I put on a pendant that matched my tshirt. 😂🤦🏼♀️🤷♀️
Speaking of fully remote work, I was on my first all-department call yesterday. Someone who I work closely with and meet with several times a week messaged me privately during the meeting. Seems one of her teammates (whom I’ve never met) is very observant and messaged asking her if I was ok…because the left side of my mouth seemed to be drooping. I’ve always had a crooked smile and whether the droop is the result of the TBI in 2005 or the shingles on my face in 2013, I do in fact have a documented droop—that I protested the entry of—in my medical record. But I never thought of myself as having a droopy face. I had terrible insomnia Tuesday. And then my collegiate noted it was a little droopier than normal. Like I have normal and abnormal face droop? What? I was tired. It’s the camera. The lighting. None of my gym peeps were at the noon class for me to get a quick lay-person’s assessment. But I made it through the workout without issue and I felt fine. I was kind flipping out a little so when I finally had a chance to ask Kerri she said she never noticed my face dropping ever. So I think I might just have the drooping bitch face variety of resting bitch face. To paraphrase the song Stressed Out by Twenty One Pilots, my name’s droopy face and I don’t care what you think. But seriously WTF?
Last night we were noticing that it was a younger crowd than we expected. Which it was. But the larger truth is that life is made up of a younger crowd lately. We need to stay active and engaged in that life so it doesn’t pass us by. Concerts on weeknights in the city help…a lot.
Last one. The MegaMillions jackpot tomorrow is estimated at $1.25B. You can’t win if you don’t play. Good luck.
19 is more than enough. My low gas light is on, indicating my thought tank is running on fumes. Time for some coffee.
Happy Friday Eve. Thanks as always for spending a piece of your week with me.
Love you too.
#10....OMG! TGITh !