Nostalgia

I've been reading My Name Is Memory by Ann Brashares.  The main character, Daniel, is a man who has lived several lives but unlike most souls, Daniel remembers his past lives.  At one point he remarks that there are several "firsts" that he wishes he could experience for the first time all over again.

Remember the first time you ever ate a peach?  The soft sweetness crushed between your teeth, the delicious juice running down your chin?

Remember the first time you "discovered" the music of one of your favorite bands?  Hearing those magical notes for the first time, those lyrics that seemed to speak directly to you that made you feel like you weren't alone in your experiences, that other people understood and they'd even had the courtesy to put their feelings and YOURS to music?

As we grow older our opportunities for "first times" grow fewer and farther between.  What once was fresh, new, and exciting grows old, mundane.  But we take comfort in what we know and maybe mundane isn't the best word, as we age, what once was new becomes a personal "tradition" of sorts.  The "old" becomes a reminder of what it was like to experience something for the first time.

I once read that nostalgia is a sentimental yearning for the past.  At first that seems like an appropriate definition, but if you think about it a little deeper, is it really?  Isn't nostalgia more a yearning to be able to experience your favorite things for the first time all over again?  It's not that you want to go back to the way things used to be.  You want to experience the joy and euphoria of your "firsts" all over again because as good as they can be, your seconds, thirds, and fourths never really match your firsts.

I was reminded of this earlier today as an old favorite song of mine came up on one of my playlists.  It had been awhile since I'd heard it.  It reminded me of the joy I'd felt the first time I'd heard the song.  A smile crossed my face, but enjoyable as it was, the newness of it was gone.  It didn't make me want to go back to how things were when I had first heard the song, it just made me want to "feel" the song for the first time all over again.

Once upon a time, not even that long ago, I actually wished I could go back to the way things were.  However, with life experience comes wisdom and the passage of time has brought me the realization that I don't want to go back to the way things were.  I've learned so much and value the experiences I've had far too much to want to go back to "the way it was," that nostalgic tugging I often feel isn't a desire to go back and replay life's greatest hits, it's that longing to "re-feel" my firsts.

The Time Machine

I own a time machine.  It's small enough to fit in my pocket (although large enough to prompt people to ask me, "Is that a time machine in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?").  The time machine is in the form of a portable hard drive that has tens of thousands of songs on it, many of them have memories attached to them.

Today as I was busy at work wrapping up a project that fell on my lap yesterday afternoon that had a deadline of EOB today, I found myself thrust back to my freshman year of college.

I spent most of my formative early years in the eighties.  I watched all of my siblings get married in that decade, not to mention many of my nieces and nephews were also born in that decade.  Heck, I'm closer in age to most of them than I am to my own siblings.

I never bought into the whole grunge thing.  I mean I appreciated that that kind of music and its lyrics appealed and spoke to many of my peers but it fell rather flat with me.  For a little over half of the nineties, I was in denial that the eighties were over.  My freshman year of college I had reached such a state of denial that I was referring to the year as nineteen-eighty-sixteen (the denial came on much stronger my second semester than it had been my first semester).

I was a college radio DJ and much of the music I played had been popular in the eighties or it was more recent music of bands who had been far more popular in the eighties than they were in the nineties.

So today when Johnny Hates Jazz's Shattered Dreams started playing it was nineteen-eighty-sixteen all over again.  I could see myself dressing in 80s fashion, still listening to the music of that era, and yearning for reruns of Family Ties, The Cosby Show, Growing Pains, ALF, Amazing Stories, Cheers, and even some of the lesser known shows of that era: The Greatest American Hero and Voyagers (the latter of which was my favorite show when I was in first grade...  no wonder years later I ended up getting my BA in History).

Today's journey to the past kind of felt like a nested journey, I was taken back to an era when I felt a strong sense of nostalgia for an earlier era.  That being said I also felt a twinge of nostalgia for my brief spell in the late seventies, being a toddler watching Deney Terio on Dance Fever (I only have a few memories of my toddlerhood- being a fan of Dance Fever is one of them, and making my sister, Laurie, play her 8-track of Billy Joel's The Stranger whenever I wandered into her bedroom are probably the most vivid).

I don't know where this time machine will take me next, no matter "when" it takes me, it tends to leave a smile on my face.

Comfort "Food"

Every year, autumn greets me with a strange mix of comfort and melancholy.  Perhaps it's my October birthday, and with it the general reflection that comes with birthdays, the resistance to aging and the wistful nostalgia of my youth all rolled into one.  Or perhaps it's just the dwindling hours of daylight that culminate with the days in which all of my daylight is spent in an office cubicle.  The sun just rising as I walk into my office and setting before I exit in the evening.   

The changing of the leaves while beautiful gives way to the starkness of naked trees.  As the weather cools, and the daylight wanes I find myself listening to a fall soundtrack of sorts:

1.  The Verve Pipe - Miles Away: Brian Vander Ark is a brilliant and underrated songwriter.  There's a poignant vulnerability to this song.  The music evokes overcast fall days with auburn leaves that haven't yet shed from their trees.  ("Today was a strange day, I meant what I said, Today was the first day that I've looked ahead.")
2.  Chroma Key - Another Permanent Address : There's a relaxed laidback vibe to this song wrapped around some rather melancholy lyrics about the end of a relationship.  But it feels more like the end of a season. ("Always it's the same situation, it's got to be somebody's fault, But I never know what to do, so let's say we put the blame on you")
3.  Gabriela Kulka - Space Dye Vest: Incidentally this song was written by Kevin Moore/Chroma Key and originally performed by Dream Theater.  Ms. Kulka's vocal delivery has a haunting edge to it that was/is missing from James LaBrie's delivery on the Dream Theater original ("Love is an act of blood and I'm bleeding a pool in the shape of a heart, beauty projection in the reflection, always the worst place to start").  I can feel the leaves falling from the trees with each note.
4.  Gotye - Hearts a Mess: I was only recently introduced to the delightful music of Wally De Backer.  His music has a quality that makes it perfect driving music.  This song in particular feels "right" for this season. ("Pick apart the pieces of your heart, let me peer inside, Let me in, where only your thoughts have been, let me occupy your mind, as you do mine")
5.  Hunters & Collectors - True Believers:  There's a muted trumpet that dances through this song like the lines on a highway on chilly fall drive.  ("Let's go dancing in our Sunday clothes, let's raise a glass to the life we chose, can't believe after all these years, you're still laughing, it brings me to tears")  This was H&C's final album and this song was their farewell to each other and their fans before going their seperate ways. 
6.  Poco - Indian Summer: Every fall there's that brief spell of summer weather before the temperatures drop and the leaves finish their exodus from the trees ("There's a full moon in the sky, it's got a hold on me, I'm hypnotized")
7.  Neil Young - Harvest Moon: What Autumn playlist would be complete without either Harvest or Harvest Moon by Neil Young.  Personally I prefer the latter but one or the other is an essential song for any soundtrack for Fall.
8.  Chicago - Happy Cause I'm Goin' Home: A predominantly instrumental piece from their often overlooked 3rd album.  There's a relaxed whimsy to the song.
9.  Pat Dailey - Here In the North: Dailey is the Great Lakes answer to Jimmy Buffet.  His songs vary from the melancholy style and nature of Gordon Lightfoot to the relaxed island whimsy of Buffet.  ("Here in the north we're just further from the sun, but the geese still fly, and the rivers still run")  Up until his death in 1999, Shel Silverstein wrote many of the lyrics for Dailey's songs. 
10.  Queen - Those Were the Days of Our Lives: One of the final songs Freddie Mercury recorded before his untimely death. ("Sometimes I get to feelin' like I was back in the old days, long ago, when we were kids, when we were young, things seemed so perfect, you know, the days were endless, we were crazy, we werew young, the sun was always shining, we just lived for fun, sometimes it seems like lately, I just don't know, the rest of my life's been just a show")

What does your Autumn soundtrack look like?

Reminiscing...

At the tail end of my junior year of high school I befriended a couple of guys with whom I'd become inseperable in my senior year.  We were on a perpetual quest for the holy trinity-- "Food, sleep, and chicks who touch us where we pee." (to which we once received the startled response, "You want a girl to touch your toilet?!")... if possible to experience the holy trinity simultaenously...

It was determined that this is not only possible, but somewhat likely in the rather un-glamorous setting of a hospital-- (receiving a sponge bath while you're napping with an I-V drip... although I'm still trying to work out how to get the Porterhouse steak pureed enough to go through the I-V without difficulty).

And while my two friends and I were inseperable for that brief moment in time, we did inevitably go our seperate ways...  One of us moved to Maine, another to Albany, NY and then on to suburban Boston, MA and then I left for college in Michigan, and inevitably the Chicago 'burbs (after a brief stint in Northern Ohio following college).

I do still keep in some touch with both of my partners in crime via Facebook but it's not the same... Gone are the days of surreptitiously recording our conversations on a microcassette recorder at 1.2 speed and playing them back at 2.4 speed to create .wav files for use in Windows (I'm really dating myself but I'm talkin' Windows 3.1!), singing loudly and off key to our female friends over the phone (we compensated for our lack of talent with our sheer volume and enthusiasm), playing table tennis using badminton raquettes, and gorging ourselves on Bagel Bites, Pizza Rolls and other unhealthy foods found in your local grocers freezer section.

But I'd like to think that possibly that year still lives on... somewhere there's a computer that chimes in, "Whaddya want now?!" in a thick chipmunk-esque redneck drawl whenever an error message pops up, or maybe there's a gentleman laying in a hospital bed getting a sponge bath from a comely nurse (or at least one that's "his type") while he's napping with a grin cemented on his face so tightly it would take a jackhammer to remove it.

Great Southern Land

I once had a discussion with a friend about having a "spiritual home"-- it's not necessarily the place where you were born or raised, nor is it necessarily anywhere that you've passed through on your life's journey. Personally, I'm not sure where my "spiritual home" is. For much of my life I thought it was Chicago-- but here I am living in the Chicago 'burbs and the sense of "home" I once felt for this area I find fading as time passes. The lustre has faded and I'm starting to feel a draw elsewhere...

Those who know me well know of my fascination with Australia-- their culture, their history, their music, their literature.

I'm not entirely sure where this fascination comes from, but I'd venture a guess that it's somehow tied to spending my most formative years in the eighties-- a time when there was a general interest and fascination in Australian culture and music. It was an era when Aussie bands like AC/DC, Little River Band, the Bee Gees, Men at Work, Crowded House, and INXS were starting to get airplay. Former Australian rules footballer, Mark "Jacko" Jackson, became a spokesman for Energizer batteries, the Crocodile Dundee films were big hits and even US sitcoms like The Facts of Life did a run of episodes about taking a trip to Australia.

I was still in diapers when Little River Band and the Bee Gees were starting to make a splash in the US. I was in kindergarten when Men at Work became popular. I remember the youngest of my older brothers-- the only of my siblings still living at home in the early eighties owned both Men at Work albums on cassette and I recall they were played frequently. My parents subscribed to the Disney Channel around 1984. One of my favorite shows was Five Mile Creek about an American woman who followed her husband to Australia in the 19th century and moves in with an Aussie woman running a small stagecoach stop in the Australian bush. I remember Michael Caton as Paddy Malone wearing his trademark derby. There was something about that show that spoke to me even at a young age. Incidentally the show also introduced a young Nicole Kidman to the world.

I believe I was in third or fourth grade when Crocodile Dundee came out and I was in fifth or sixth grade when Crocodile Dundee II was released. I was likely in the minority as, of the two of those films, I preferred the second over the first. Much more of it was set and filmed in Australia than the first. I preferred seeing people out of their element in Australia over seeing an Australian out of his element in Manhattan. When I was about 11 or 12 years old, INXS was starting to make a huge splash with their Kick album featuring their hits Need You Tonight and Never Tear Us Apart. My first celebrity crush was Aussie singer, Kylie Minogue with her hit cover of the classic The Locomotion.

My interest in Australia has carried over into adulthood. I've gone out of my way to get to know other Australian music-- stuff like The Cruel Sea, Dragon, Hunters & Collectors, Australian Crawl, James Reyne, Jimmy Barnes, Cold Chisel, Jo Jo Zep and the Falcons, Icehouse, Sherbet, Skyhooks, Redgum, Paul Kelly, Mondo Rock, and Goanna (to name but a small handful). I've sought out Australian films like Two Hands, He Died With a Felafel In His Hand (mediocre movie based on an excellent book of the same name by John Birmingham), Walkabout, Chopper, Strictly Ballroom, The Castle, Rabbit-Proof Fence, Ned Kelly (the most recent version with Heath Ledger) and Romulus My Father to name but a handful. And heck I've even watched every single episode of Kath & Kim (we Americans attempted to remake that one, it was an unmitigated disaster without the comic sensibilities and timing of Gina Riley & Jane Turner).

I've even read a decent chunk of Robert Hughes The Fatal Shore: The Epic of Australia's Founding, all of John Birmingham's He Died With a Felafel In His Hand, and the late A.B. Facey's A Fortunate Life.

But I don't think this fascination with Australia can solely be attributed to a period of my life when there was a swell in Australiana here in the United States. There's something in me that tells me this runs much deeper--an unseen but rather consuming force drawing me to the Great Southern Land. And at the same time there's something telling me that once I go there, I won't want to return.

Family Ties

A few weeks ago, pattinase, offered up an essay assignment inspired by the book Prime times : writers on their favorite TV shows to her blog readers. I decided to take her up on her assignment and may even make this an annual thing for my blog. Without further ado...

Being born in the mid seventies, I'm very much a product of the eighties. I was too young by the time the seventies ended to remember much about them. Most of my childhood memories come from the eighties. There were a lot of family oriented sitcoms in the eighties, of varying degrees of quality. But the one show that captured my attention and interest more than any of the others of this era was Family Ties.

I'd tune in weekly to watch the trials and travails of the Keaton family. The liberal parents with their two daughters and their conservative son, Alex. In hindsight there was an innocence captured in this show that's disappeared in the years since. Granted the focus of TV has changed substantially since the eighties. But this show was an escape from the worries and troubles of real life. Its situations were amusing, its conflicts were trivial (by today's standards)-- Mallory debating whether or not to cheat on a test, Jennifer having trouble on a homework assignment and getting help from Alex, Mallory's boyfriend Nick trying to win the approval of the Keaton parents, the irrepresible Skippy Handleman's unrequited love for Mallory.

But the writers and producers realized they had a major talent on their hands with the young Canadian, Michael J. Fox. Initially the show divided the time somewhat equally among all members of the Keaton clan. But over the years Alex became more and more of a focal point. And when the show did start to tackle more serious issues like heartbreak and death, the stories were written around Alex's character as he dealt with the untimely death of his friend Greg and the end of his relationship with Ellen (played by Fox's real life wife, Tracy Pollan).

But the issues the show tackled regardless of how trivial or how serious they were, I could related to them. The Keaton family felt real, like the kind of family I wanted to know. Heck, I wanted to be just like Alex for most of the show's run.

When the eighties drew to a close and all of the stories had been told the cast of Family Ties made their final curtain call. And for a show that so defined the eighties, the curtain call was as much for the decade as it was for the show. Even the creators of the show later stated in interviews that Family Ties is a show that would not have been successful in any decade other than the eighties. There would be no reunions as the stories would never ring as true in any other decade as they did when they first aired. The snapshot of time was taken and it was time to put it in the photo album.

From time to time in later years I would catch the ocassional episode in reruns and I actually found it more enjoyable. I felt for Alex when Ellen left him and could even relate to his amicable parting with his other long-time love interest, Lauren (played by a young Courtney Cox in her pre-Friends days) shortly before the shows eventual end. I felt the vulnerability of Alex's parents, Steven & Elise, when his father suffered a heart attack. The realness was still there. The innocence was still there and it gave me a pang of nostalgia for the innocence that is now quite conspicuously absent from most television programming.

I'm Perplexio and....

I'm a comic book geek. When I first saw Michael Keaton as the Batman in 1988 I rushed out and bought the trade paperback of Batman: A Death In the Family. I quickly learned that this "Robin" whom had been killed off was not the Dick Grayson I was familiar with from reruns of the cheesy 60s TV show, but a new fellow-- Jason Todd.

My curiousity compelled me to find out what ever happened to Dick. The Robin I knew and was more familiar with... Oh he was still very very much alive. Sick of living in the Batman's shadow he'd quit as Robin and become Nightwing. More on that later.

Anyway, for about a year or two I collected the various different Batman comics with some intensity. But I noticed my interest was waning. There was something that was just a little TOO dark about the Batman. I watched as he took on yet another new ward. A rather insightful youth that had been smart enough to figure out the real identity of not only Batman, but also BOTH of the Robins. This young lad, Timothy Drake, knew that the Batman needed a Robin. Robin was more than just a sidekick. He gave Batman balance. So he tried to talk Dick Grayson into re-joining Batman as a sidekick... rather unsuccessfully. Instead, Bruce Wayne-- impressed with Master Timothy's superlative detective skills-- decided to start training Tim to be the new Robin.

Around this time, CBS started airing a TV series based on the exploits of The Flash. I was hooked. The acting was atrocious, but the special effects were awesome and I was hooked. There was a lightness to The Flash that I'd been missing with Batman. But again, I was taken aback. On the TV series we had police forensic scientist, Barry Allen, as The Flash. But in the comics was some young upstart named Wally West. That being said the Barry from the TV series did exhibit some of the traits of Wally in the comics... But it left me wondering what the heck had happened to Barry.

Apparently, I'd missed the boat... by about 5 years!

Barry was dead. I felt like I'd missed all the best parts. But over time the more I read The Flash, the more this young upstart, Wally West, won me over. To the point where, as far as I was concerned, he was the Flash. He'd more than filled his mentor's shoes.

But the thing with comics is-- no one ever stays dead:

Not Jason Todd

And not even Barry Allen.

Over the past few years DC has been making a lot of changes. As a result the DC Universe has gotten a bit more crowded. There are 3 Flashes and 3 Robins. To clean things up with Robin... Bruce Wayne was "apparently" killed. So there was a bit of a battle between Dick Grayson (the original Robin), Jason Todd (the resurrected 2nd Robin), Tim Drake (the 3rd Robin), and even 10 year old Damian Wayne (son of Bruce Wayne) to determine who would become the new Batman. In the end Dick Grayson became Batman and started training Damian Wayne to become Robin. He conceded that he considered Tim Drake to be too much his equal to ever be his sidekick. And Jason Todd. Well he's pissed off and has gone a bit rogue. He's very much like Bruce Wayne in every way but one... He's willing to kill criminals. Which makes him very dangerous indeed. Tim is the only member of the Batman "family" to believe Bruce Wayne is still alive.

So he's become "Red Robin" and taken it upon himself to find Bruce Wayne.

The Flash is a little different. He's always been more of a legacy character. Even as fast as the Flash is-- whether it's Jay Garrick, Barry Allen, or Wally West. He's not fast enough to be in multiple places at once. There's enough room for more than one Flash... But what about those pesky costumes. Barry's and Wally's costumes were just too similar which could lead to confusion over how to tell the two apart....

Problem solved-- new costume for Wally! For those who are curious (From L to R: Jesse Quick/Liberty Belle II, Max Mercury, Bart Allen/Kid Flash II, Barry Allen/Flash II, Wally West/Flash III, Impulse II/Iris West, and Jay Garrick/Flash I) .

The funny thing about comics is that the largest demographic of comic readers is 18-35 year old males. It's those of us who grew up with a lot of these characters. The artwork and writing have gotten considerably better over the years so the comics have held our interest when previous generations likely would have grown out of the hobby long before now.

A look back...

Some of the music blogs I read have been reviewing assorted albums released in 1969 (and thus celebrating their 40th anniversary this year) and discussing the impact these albums have had on their lives. Despite personally having a younger vintage than these albums some of them did have a rather strong impact on me.

Some of the better albums released that year:

The Beatles Abbey Road
Chicago Transit Authority s/t
The Sons of Champlin Loosen Up Naturally
King Crimson In the Court of the Crimson King
Led Zeppelin II
Yes s/t
Quicksilver Messenger Service Happy Trails (live)
Doors The Soft Parade
The Rolling Stones Let It Bleed
Blood Sweat & Tears s/t
The Who Tommy
Boz Scaggs s/t (incidentally this one makes the list largely due to the Duane Allman guitar solo on Loan Me a Dime)

I've only reviewed 2 from the list (follow the links if interested) but those 2 albums have a lot in common:

Both the Sons of Champlin & Chicago:
had guitarists named Terry (Kath in Chicago, Haggerty in the Sons of Champlin)
had 7 members
had a 3 piece horn section
had double LP debut albums
had debut albums released on the exact same day
at one point or other in their history featured Bill Champlin on lead vocals, keyboards, and sometimes guitar.
and... admittedly this last one is a bit of a stretch. The last song on Chicago's debut is the 14+ minute Liberation. The last song on the Sons of Champlin's debut is the 14+ minute Freedom.

As a teenager I listened to both of their debut albums incessantly. I just couldn't get enough. The music was and still is excellent. And it never fails, I'm always able to hear something "new" that I didn't notice on previous listens.

It was the musical adventurousness, innovation, and overall inventiveness of these bands that opened my ears, heart, and mind to a lot of other great music of the same era.

the 80s

Over the years I've accrued Billboard's Top 100 hits for every year in the eighties (except 1980)... While I have memories of music from the late seventies and the early eighties for some reason 1980 is a bit of a musical black hole for me. I looked over the hits from that year and didn't find that many that I had/have any emotional connection to.

So anyway-- I'm listening to this music and feeling this music a regular sucker punch of nostalgia and it's not just the good stuff, there's some real cornball stuff that I'd almost rather not even cop to being familiar with that is triggering some rather random memories.

So, could I re-create the 80s with my daughter by exposing her to predominantly eighties music? Maybe I need to expose her to some eighties movies too... stuff like Real Genius, Better Off Dead, One Crazy Summer, How I Got Into College, the Back to the Future trilogy, the first two Indiana Jones films... Or would that be considered child abuse?

Bill Champlin leaves Chicago

Yesterday I learned that one of my favorite musicians, Bill Champlin, left one of my favorite bands-- Chicago. While not an original member of the band, Bill had been in Chicago for over 28 years and was an integral part of their popular renaissance in the eighties. And while it wasn't so much Bill's voice that got me hooked on Chicago's music as an eleven year old boy back in the fall of 1988, it was largely Bill's voice which held my interest in the band's recent back catalog-- before I'd started to discover their earlier works with the late great Terry Kath.

It was through Bill's gritty soulful vocals that I discovered his OTHER band, The Sons of Champlin-- a staple of the San Francisco Bay area music scene of the late sixties and into the seventies. And in discovering the Sons, I also branched out into some of their contemporaries like Tower of Power and Quicksilver Messenger Service.

Due to lack of significant output in recent years, my interest in Chicago has waned. However they are my musical compass... Whenever life has been too overwhelming or confusing it's been Chicago's music I've returned to. And it's that music that brought me back to happier times and given me the strength and focus to re-center and re-focus on life before tackling whatever issues had been plaguing me.

Bill's departure, while not entirely unexpected given his level of professionalism and musical adventurousness contrasted with the complacency of his now former band is somewhat bittersweet. Now Bill has the time to devote to making new music, to being himself and stretching out-- to being the consumate professional he's always been at heart. But on the flipside, Chicago has lost one of the few (if not only) bandmember interested in creating new music and driving forward rather than looking back.

During Bill's 28 plus tenure in Chicago, I had the pleasure of seeing them live 9 times. I'll always treasure my memories of those shows... the first two in 1993 and 1994 featured 6 hour (roundtrip) road trips from the Northern tier of NY to the capitol district (Albany/Latham/Saratoga Springs) 3 hours south with my father I'll hold especially dear. Since I've moved over 16 hours away from my parents my time with them is limited these days-- I treasure the special times I had with them when I was growing up and lived closer-- and I hold my memories of the Chicago concerts we attended together especially dear.

I had the pleasure of meeting Bill in 1994 after Chicago's concert @ the Starlite Theatre in Latham and again the following year prior to their concert at the Joyce Center @ Notre Dame. Bill was then and from what I can tell, continues to be, a class act.

I will continue to enjoy the music Bill has already recorded and look forward to the music he's yet to create. I'm excited about what the future has in store for him and at the same time growing more pessimistic about the future creative output (or lack thereof) of his former band in his absence.

Here's Bill performing Turn Your Love Around back in 1994:



For more Bill Champlin related goodness:
More Bill Champlin related reviews
Bill Champlin's Official Website

RIP John Hughes

I was saddened to hear of the passing of director John Hughes, yesterday. As a child of the 80s, I grew up with his films. National Lampoon's Vacation (which he wrote but did not direct), as well as The Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles, Pretty in Pink, Weird Science, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Some Kind of Wonderful, Uncle Buck, Planes Trains & Automobiles, and the first two Home Alone movies are arguably seminal movies of the eighties. His teen comedies which propelled many Brat Packers to stardom spoke to teens, not over their heads and not dumbed down to insult their intelligence. And all of his movies, captured middle-America quite well-- some of the dialogue from those movies still gets quoted or referenced today-- a testament to the impression they left on those who were fortunate enough to view them.

In 1994 Hughes retired from the public eye and relocated to Wisconsin-- keeping a low profile for much of the rest of his life. He'd made his mark and his mark will remain indelibly stamped on the hearts and minds of those whose lives were touched by his films.

Thank you for the memories, Mr. Hughes-- you will be missed.

Reincarnation?

The other day I was recalling a recurring dream I used to have when I was rather young. In the dream I was wearing a tuxedo. It was a nice one too, tailcoat, top hat, the whole 9 yards. And in it I was an adult dancing with a woman in a beautiful evening gown... The thing is the tux and evening gown were not of the present era (or the present era at the time I had the dream, the early eighties). I don't recall what music we were dancing to, but I do recall knowing that the clothes I'd been wearing in the dream were from the past. I was too young to have any concept of when in the past they were from. In hindsight, I believe they were reminiscent of the roaring twenties.

The odd thing is, I've always felt close ties to that era. Some of my favorite classic novels were written in the late teens through the twenties (Theodore Dreiser's An American Tragedy, F. Scott Fitzgerald's This Side of Paradise, The Beautiful and Damned, and of course The Great Gatsby, and Ernest Hemmingway's The Sun Also Rises). I'm also a fan of silent film-- the comedies of Buster Keaton & Charlie Chaplin, the swashbucklers of Douglas Fairbanks, the horror films of Lon Chaney, and even some of John Barrymore's and Rudolf Valentino's films.

When I read books or watch films of that era, there's a familiarity that's not necessarily there when I read books or watch older films of other eras that pre-date my life. I suppose there are other possible and likely more plausible explanations out there. But can the possibility that our souls get recycled really be outside the realm of possibility? Our bodies may become worm food or ash after our expiration dates, but are our bodies perhaps merely vessels our souls occupy on a much longer, perhaps even infinite journey of existence?

And if this isn't my first time around, how many times before have I held residence on this third orb from the sun? Who and when might I have been?

----------------
Now playing: Richard Clapton - Get Back To The Shelter
via FoxyTunes

Numb

Last night, after rating my top 5 heartbreak songs, I was transported to a time when those songs were my lifeline—when every time I heard them I felt as though they were about me specifically.

However now, with enough time and space between the present and that particular chapter of my past, I have the benefit of 20/20 hindsight. And I got to thinking as bad as heartbreak is… what was worse (at least for me) was that numbness that comes after the pain finally wears off. It’s that point where the pain has worn off, but the memory of the pain is still fresh enough to keep you from putting yourself back out there.

It’s that stage where you feel as though you’re just going through the motions—not just in love, but in life. The pain is gone, but there’s no joy or happiness. It’s a nondescript numbness, like after you go swimming and you still have water stuck in your ears. The whole world just seems muted to you. The sounds are flatter, the colors are grayer, the smells and tastes are even a bit duller.

It only hurts when you’re still alive. It’s that lead weight on your heart feeling, the world muffled, you know that feeling where you’re just going through the motions? That’s where you were at.

Somehow you managed to get past the intense hurt where every love song on the radio sounded as if it were mocking you. You’ve done the hurt, the self-pity, and heck even the bitter pill of anger has worn off.

And as bad as all of that was, it would be a welcome respite from what comes after. This head underwater feeling you’re now stuck with—no pain, but no joy either. You’re stuck in the purgatory of the human heart. The wounds may not be fresh any more, but the memory of them is enough to keep you from putting yourself back out there. So, what do you do next? You start living your life on a treadmill.

If you're one of the lucky ones, when you stop trying, stop looking for it one day love finds you. It can be stubborn that way. No matter how much you close yourself off to it, no matter how big a shield you put up-- it can get through. But it also plays hard to get. If you try to hard, it'll be a no show.

For some though, the treadmill becomes more than just a way to live, it becomes a security blanket. You know you won't get hurt if the most you ever give the world is merely showing up. So there you are, just walking in place... and somehow time gets away from you, and you wake up one day and realize at some point you stopped living and spent most of your life merely existing.

I'll admit I was one of the lucky ones, and I count my blessings for that because I could just as easily have stayed on that treadmill, I could have continued going through the motions. But I left that door open and I didn't force it. Somewhere along the way, love snuck in the door-- a door I never fully closed... and the love that snuck in and snuck up on me has grown into something that exceeds even my wildest imagination.
----------------
Now playing: Chicago - Remember The Feeling
via FoxyTunes

Late Bloomer

I was a late bloomer... didn't get my first snog until I was 19 years old. It wasn't really due to physical appearance, I'm not an ugly bloke... that being said I also realize I'm not God's gift to women either... It was more a lack of confidence thing.

At any rate, several years back-- when I was 19 there were 2 people who changed my life substantially. One was a passing acquaintance I merely knew online who gave me the advice which stuck with me all these years:

"Don't rely on your charm. You have none. Just relax and be yourself."

(incidentally he also went on to say something to the effect of, “It doesn’t matter how tight your jockeys are, the human tongue is at least 3” long.” And “Your best chance of a date on a Saturday night is your right hand.”)

The other was my first girlfriend who gave me the shot of confidence I’d been lacking prior to knowing her. She believed in me and in so doing got me to believe in myself again—for the first time in a long while. We parted amicably and even still keep in touch. Her influence on me has been a lasting gift even as our lives have gone in rather different directions.

There’s a type of bloke out there who thinks of picking up women as a “game” and fashions himself as being a “Pick-up Artist.” Their perception of themselves instills them with a confidence. And generally the "confidence" PUAs have (or appear to have) is false. It's held up based on a script these blokes expect the women to follow to a “t”. Once a woman goes "off-script" the confidence crumbles.

Either way it's all about having confidence-- not too much as that often comes across as arrogance or even as being superficial and/or fake—with pick-up artists, if the perception of confidence is strong enough it creates and perpetuates the reality. But that confidence is still held up by a perceived script that sometimes the prospective sheila follows and other times goes off script.

In the end it's pretty damn simple, you have to like who you are as a person, be confident with who you are... and just be yourself. If she's a good match, things will just click and if things don't click chances are it wouldn't have worked out anyway as the two of you may likely just have incompatible personalities. Life’s too short to dwell on it.

----------------
Now playing: Jim Steinman - Surf's Up
via FoxyTunes

For Just a Moment

We laughed until we had to cry
And we loved right down to our last goodbye
We were the best, I think we’ll ever be
Just you and me
For just a moment

We chased that dream we never found
And sometimes we let one another down
But the love we made
Made everything alright
We shone so bright
For just a moment

Time goes on, People touch and they’re gone
And you and I will never love again
Like we did then

Someday when we both reminisce
We’ll both say there wasn’t too much we missed
And through the tears, We’ll smile when we recall
We had it all
For just a moment

Time rolls on, People touch and then they’re gone
But you and will never really end
We’ll never love again
Like we did then

We laughed until we had to cry
And we loved right down to our last goodbye
--For Just a Moment (Love Theme From 'St. Elmo's Fire')

There’s something magical about youth, an amplification of human emotion. It’s a time of first experiences and truth be told, the intensity of subsequent experiences rarely lives up to the intensity of our firsts. First kiss, first love, first broken heart.

And it’s because of that intensity and newness that, as adolescents, we tend to blow things a bit out of proportion. We can’t imagine how anyone else could have ever loved or been hurt like that before us. We’re still young enough to believe we can change the world, and not yet old enough to realize that chances are we won’t.

When you add to that the trappings of adult responsibility; the bills, mortgage payments, the 40 hour work week many of us eventually become slaves to; these haven’t yet invaded our lives. Our focus on that intensity of emotion grows so singular that it can’t possibly be matched in adulthood.

And then, as we grow older our adolescence often gets idealized. The sepia tones of memory often paint a much brighter picture of the highest highs of our past at the same time dulling the lowest lows. And with every re-painting of those memories those lowest lows grow duller until they eventually disappear leaving a bright vivid picture of only the best times of our lives.

----------------
Now playing: Kids in the Kitchen - Current Stand
via FoxyTunes

Take the long way home...

Having been born and raised on the East Coast I often find myself being asked how I ended up settling in suburban Chicago. Why here? After finding old friends and classmates on Facebook it seems most of them either moved south or to the opposite coast. There aren't too many people from my "neck of the woods" that opted to settle in the midwest.

In Septamber 1995 when I was a freshman at Albion College, a friend of mine had a spare ticket to see Chicago (the band) live in South Bend, IN. The plan was to drive to Chicago for lunch @ Demon Dogs then head to South Bend for the concert after lunch. While I'd flown through Chicago a couple of times in the past (en route to California), I'd never actually been TO Chicago. When I first laid eyes on the Chicago skyline I was hooked. You could say it was "love at first sight." For the first time in my life I felt like I was "home."

In October 1996, I returned to the city with my then girlfriend, my sophomore year roommate, and an Internet friend in college in Milwaukee that had initially been interested in me but had ended up hooking up with my roommate. Once again the city felt like home to me. It felt like I belonged.

For my final semester of college I had an opportunity to study at the Urban Life Center in Chicago's Hyde Park neighborhood (where our current president-elect resided until quite recently). For just over 3 months, Chicago was my home. When the program ended I really hated to leave. But leave I did...

I couldn't shake it though. After moving back in with my parents back east for a short spell (about 8 months) I found myself living in Sandusky, OH (the only other place I've ever lived, besides Chicago, that has felt like home to me). I moved to Elyria, just a short drive from Cleveland for awhile after that and then in April 2002, an Internet friend of mine whom I'd never met in person set in motion a chain of events that led to my return to the Chicago area, my marriage, and in the not too distant future... fatherhood.

And that in a nutshell is how I got from point A to Chicago.

----------------
Now playing: Supertramp - Take The Long Way Home
via FoxyTunes

Dear ToTo

I remember it was 1992 or 1993 at one of the music stores at the Champlain Center. I was peripherally familiar with Toto, I had their Past to Present greatest hits collection and quite enjoyed it. So I picked up their then latest album, Kingdom of Desire. The artwork was decidedly different than the typical cover art with the sword that had graced many of their previous albums.

When I popped it into my CD player for the first time I didn't know what to think. It wasn't at all what I had expected. This did not sound at all like the same band responsible for Rosanna, Africa, Hold the Line or I'll Be Over You. No this CD had an energy to it. It had an attitude to it. It was as if the band had taken their music to a completely different level.

And so began my musical love affair with Toto. I bring this up now, because on June 5, 2008 an official press release was issued by the band... After 31 years Toto was no more. On their final tour there were only 2 original members on stage, 1 of which (Bobby Kimball) had been absent from 1984 to 1998. Guitarist, Steve Lukather, didn't want the band to be a caricature of itself and he said Toto without at least one of the Porcaro brothers was not really Toto.

The band had formed after many of them had done sessions for Boz Scaggs grammy-winning Silk Degrees album with David Paich and Steve Porcaro both on keyboards and vocals, Steve Lukather on guitar, Jeff Porcaro on drums, David Hungate on bass, and Bobby Kimball on vocals. In 1980 David Hungate retired from touring and was replaced by Mike Porcaro and in 1982 after Toto IV was released Hungate left the band completely and Porcaro was invited in as a full member of the band. Steve Porcaro left in 1986, Jeff Porcaro died in 1992 leaving only Mike... and on the recent world tour Mike Porcaro was unable to tour with the band as he was recovering from surgery on his hand... marking the 2008 tour the first time that no members of the Porcaro family were on stage with the band.

Toto was a band of musicians musicians. They all excelled at their respective instruments. Throughout the eighties almost every pop album released featured at least one former or current member of Toto on at least one song. From Roger Hodgson to Richard Marx to Chicago members of Toto were ubiquitous.

And over the past 16 years or so I was part of their musical journey, in November 2006 I finally had the opportunity to see them perform live, in light of the recent announcement am I ever glad that I did.

If you've heard Rosanna, Africa, or Hold the Line and believe you know Toto-- you're mistaken. I recently made a mix CD for a friend of mine. She was a bit of a Steely Dan fan and one of our mutual favorite musicians, Bill Champlin, had been quoted as referring to Toto as "they're like Steely Dan with teeth." About a week or so after she received the CD in the mail and had the chance to digest it she dropped me a note thanking me and indicating that the "Steely Dan with teeth" quote was spot on.

So, it's with heavy heart and a touch of sadness that I post this:

Dear Toto (all members past & present),

Thanks for the music, thanks for the memories. It's been a great ride!

Cheers,
Perplexio

Reliving Memories

An interesting question was broached over on Zuluspar's blog.

If you could relive one memory what would it be?

I had to think a bit on this one, it's not an easy question to answer. The more I thought, the more I kept coming back to the same answer.

The first time I fell in love. There's a youthful innocence in that experience that is never quite replicated. It's a newness, a freshness of experience. It's often more positive than losing one's virginity-- which due to fumbling inexperience rarely lives up to one's expectations.

Falling in love for the first time, exceeded my wildest expectations. I thought I'd been in love before, but given the stratospheric highs of the experience, I knew that I'd merely been in lust before. There was something unrivaled about the experience.

We'd worked together at an amusement park for most of the summer, we started spending more and more time together off the clock as well as on the clock. Initially we were both in relationships with people who were absent. People who scarcely wrote, people we were hanging onto our relationships with more out of habit than out of any lingering emotions. When we finally severed our respective ties to our distant others. We both had a sense of freeness that had been missing before. We'd grown so close has friends and there was a certain tension of something more there.

One night we'd fallen asleep in each other's arms, as we awoke our lips were literally mere inches apart. The tension had grown to a fever pitch and eventually our lips touched and I was floored. As far as first kisses went, this had rivaled my first ever kiss and my first kiss with my then recent ex.

We had our ups and downs, but the distance was too much to bear and our lives eventually took us in other directions. Even after we split up our paths crossed a handful of times and on those occasions there was still something their, the vestiges of what we'd shared.

I remember that it took close to a year after she and I split up before I was ready to consider seriously dating anyone again. I casually dated here and there, but I was numb to any potential for more with any of those girls. There were some interests there but I seemed to accidentally on purpose sabotage any potential for anything more each and every time.

While I eventually did love like that again, and I did feel those tremendous highs again-- the next time around I had my guard up. I was in a couple relationships where I loved but wasn't in love and then Cupid's arrow struck again. However that time, because of how things had ended the first time around, as happy as I was, there was always a slight tugging restraint. I never gave her all of myself, even as I was in love with her. It felt too good to be true for me to be in love like that again... I was perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop and in so doing it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. And once again I was put in a place where I coasted through life merely going through the motions numb to any real emotion, my guard up my wounds still fresh.

And right about then I started a correspondence via a mutual friend with the woman who eventually became my wife. I guess what they say is true, third time's the charm.

So, your turn. If you could re-live any memory what would it be?

Surf's Up

The waves are pounding on the sand tonight
I want to take your hand and make it feel so right
I know I'm ready and I'll never be like this again

And the sky is trembling and the moon is pale
We're on the edge of forever and we're never gonna fail
I know you're ready and we're runnin' on the back of the wind

Chorus:
And my body is burning like a naked wire
I want to turn on the juice, I want to fall in the fire
I'm gonna drown in the ocean in a bottomless sea
I want to give you what I'm hoping you'll be giving to me
And when the waves are pounding on the sand tonight
I want to take your hand and make it good and make it right
And now the sky is trembling and the moon is pale
We're on the edge of forever and we're never gonna fail, no

How hard, how hard, how hard do I gotta try?

Surf's up, surf's up, surf's up and so am I, surf's up and so am I

(chorus)

How hard, how hard, how hard do I gotta try? (I want all of your love)
Surf's up (I need it so bad), surf's up (I need it so bad)
Surf's up and so am I (I gotta give you some love)
Surf's up and so am I, and so am I, and so am I, and so am I

As teenagers we build up that special moment in our minds so much that for far too few of us, it's impossible for the eventual reality to ever match the expectation and fantasy of what we expect and want our first time to be like. Jim Steinman's Surf's Up ever so perfectly captures that feeling, that anticipation of a first experience that we build up so much in our hearts and minds.

The reality is often far coarser and clumsy than the fantasy... It's our first time after all, it's not like we have the experience to be "good and right." I seriously doubt Babe Ruth hit a home run in his very first at bat (he did start off as a pitcher after all, and a damn good one at that). That came with time and experience, it came from learning how to communicate with that special someone or those special someones-- learning which of her buttons to push and when and how.

But still, I remember that feeling. I remember idealizing the experience of not just losing my virginity but also falling in love... and being a teenager of course those feelings and emotions were cranked to eleven. And every time I listen to this song, I can't help but be taken back to my clumsy awkward adolescence... and it puts a smile on my face. In some ways the reality could never have lived up to the fantasy but in other ways the reality was, oh so much better. As a teen I was quite self-absorbed, lost in my own world. I kept to myself, I was a loner by nature. I did have a handful of close friends and they were great but being so self-absorbed, I remember the fantasy being all about me... Whereas the reality is all about the "us." There's a certain symbiosis in love that goes far beyond what I ever imagined it could be.

Related Link
Download Jim Steinman's Surf's Up from Amazon.com

Interesting Randomness

Back in 2006, about a week or two before my 30th birthday party, I threw together a huge playlist. Perhaps I got a bit overzealous with it, but I saved the playlist and still listen to it from time to time. For curiosity's sake I set it up to play the playlist from start to finish on Saturday night at about 11 pm Central... It's now Monday at about 7:23 pm Central and only about 60% of the list has played. At this rate it probably won't play through until Wednesday night or possibly even Thursday.

Either way, maybe my expectations for the length of my birthday party were a bit unrealistic... but I guarantee there were NO songs repeated that night.

If you're interested in seeing what material was/is on the playlist (although I'm not sure why you would be)... You can find it scrobbling here.