This Is The Way It Should Be?

Ergo recently posted about songs that describe how she would like to be in love, and those that describe how she's actually been in love.

That got me thinking about it as well.

Of course, of late, my love life might be best described by The Sound of Silence.

But aspirationally, what would it be?

I went through my iTunes music library, and found and rejected a number of songs that I love to listen to. Basically, the songs I love to listen to describe love as dark and painful, or wistful and filled with unrequited longing, or just plain naughty without any depth. What can I say, I like what I like.

But then I found this:




According to Paul McCartney, "this is the way it should be."

I'm not sure I believe it. Or in it. But it's a nice idea, isn't it?

In the meantime, I'm going to listen to something naughty. Perhaps Nina Simone's I Want A Little Sugar In My Bowl.

Thinking About Things...

I've been trying to blog, but I keep getting stuck.

So I switch from one keyboard to another. It's been a lot of Schubert lately. Specifically, this:



I figure if I play it enough, eventually certain things I've been mulling over will become clear...

Familiarity Breeds

The grass is greener on the other side of the fence, food tastes better when it comes from someone else's plate: there's truth in the unknown being sexy and appealing, about being drawn to what you don't have.

But there are an equal number of cliches arguing the opposite point, e.g.: "girls look for men who remind them of their fathers", the ridiculously common occurrence of "recycling" exes. Lately I have had a flood of conversations regarding the appeal of the familiar.

"I just realized that the last few men in my life all remind me of my ex from five years ago."

"When he smiles, he reminds me of that boy I had that crush on."

"He smells like summer."

It might be a similarity in cast of facial features, or gait, or turn of phrase... and that familiarity instantly translates into a presumption of knowledge. Of course, that presumed knowledge isn't always accurate, or even attractive, but more often that it should, it suffices until real intimacy is earned.

In my latest conversation about this, FC and I talked about the cliche of girls and their fathers, and we realized that despite the existence of that cliche, we don't know of a single girl who is looking for a man who reminds her of her father. Maybe that's something found only in movies?

But then I stumbled upon this old photo:





WC, keep your mitts off my Daddy.

Mi Ze Hidlik

I remember recording this - we were on stage standing in our socks so there would be no sound of our shoes against the wooden floor.

And yet there's applause at the end...

SK, VH, KD: Help me out here - the version that made it onto the CD - was it our live performance in the holiday concert? Or did the engineers splice the applause from the concert to the end of the "recording" version? I'm fairly certain we wore our shoes for the actual performance? Or was the shoe-issue not relevant here because we were simply standing in place for this song?

So many questions.

But regardless, memory tells its own story and I remember us shoeless, brave, and almost entirely on key.

More On Stalking

Tip 1: if you are being stalked, ALWAYS keep the stalker's phone number programmed into your phone - that way, you know when not to pick up and you can tell all your friends, "Oh good lord, so-and-so called me again. Didn't pick up 'cause I knew it was him." Also applies to ex's.

Tip 2: if you are doing the stalking, STILL keep the stalkee's number in your phone, because as these things go, the tables often turn.

The first tip is simple enough and is pure common sense. The second tip is a bit more problematic. After a matinee showing of Xanadu and an evening of drinking sour apple martinis and eating gourmet mac n' cheese, a great many things seem like good ideas.

We all know the "morning after a drunken night" routine: check your phone's outgoing texts and calls, check your email sent items folder, check yourself for any UDIs (Unidentified Drinking Injuries), check your shower for any strangers in it.

I was talking to SK about this earlier today - purely hypothetically, of course. And I was reminded of a completely brilliant feature offered by certain mobile network operators in China. For a small fee, you can block certain numbers during a specified block of time. And I don't mean blocking the numbers so that the callers can't reach you. I mean blocking the numbers so you can't dial them yourself.

So let's say you are off to an evening out with the girls. Before throwing back that first cocktail, you can program your phone so that you cannot make outgoing calls to a certain someone, say, between the hours of 11PM and 8AM.

BRILLIANT.

Another Bayne Gibby classic, "Drunk Dialin":

On Stalking

I have sympathy, I do. I have recently demonstrated certain tendencies in that direction myself.


I told Gorgeous-Hunk-O'-Man (JF) about my stalkers. He replied that he would like one or two himself. I chalk that up to modesty on his part. I have no doubt his stalkers count in the dozens. But I told him if it would make him feel better, I could stalk him. Unfortunately, I don't have the necessary bits and pieces to make that an attractive proposition for him.

The interesting thing about my stalkers is that they rarely stalk me all at once. They appear to take turns. One takes a break, and just as I'm beginning to feel a bit neglected, another steps in, he takes a break, and so on.

Do they communicate? Do they have some sort of schedule negotiated?

Stalker 1: "I've emailed her 15 times a day for the last 3 weeks. Going on vacation tomorrow, Your turn."
Stalker 2: "Ok man, no problem."

I mean really. And it's so foolish. Everyone knows, if you want to make yourself irresistible to a woman - IGNORE her.

Well, I'm going to bed. But first, I'm drawing the curtains closed, turning off my phone, and changing my email.