I'm Not Happy and I'm Not Sad.
Dear S,
I'm writing to tell you it's over.
Some people thought our relationship should have ended years ago. But 17 years is a long time and it's hard to give up something that's been so good, that's been so comfortable and comforting for half of my life.
I remember the first time. A fall Chicago day in '88. The bus stop at Jackson & LaSalle. Bobby D. introduced us. I was hooked at first sound. You, you!, changed the trajectory of my life on that very day. I would without a doubt, be a different kind of person if I hadn't met you when I did.
Later on, those encounters in New York and Philly were wonderful. We all had fun, though I think our adoration of you was more you of us. Later still, even The Apollo was great; we’d all grown up, but the vibe was still there. Then you came back from LA a few months later a different man. You'd found a new kind of girl. Younger, so much younger. A girl who wasn’t even a speck in God’s eye when you and I shared our most intimate moments.
You used to be such a clever wordsmith, your craft was your art and your art wasn't just adulated. We adored you. You were special – and that was a secret kept between you and us, a secret we treasured and held in the inner core of our post-post-post pubescent souls. But you understood us, you really did. You turned those ancient bitter schoolyard memories into a bittersweet nostalgia like no one else could.
But now the magic in your words is gone. What happened to the witty poet I cherished? My heart belongs to someone else now, S. I'm sorry to say it, but you've lost that je ne sais quoi (and your thesaurus, perhaps?). Dare I say forever? The thesaurus can be replaced, but the quoi…
Is it because I'm older and wiser now? Because I’ve seen the world, I’ve been hurt, I’ve loved, I’ve lost? Is it simply that I can see through your facade of sardonicism? No, I refuse to believe it. You've changed, S. You've settled. It's LA, no doubt. How can you be truly lonely and wanting in LA?
So, I'm sorry, S, but I won't be purchasing the new album. The clips I heard made me pine for you when I knew you.
You've become a stranger. But I’ll raise my glass of cab to you anyway. It was great while it lasted. But know that I'm still fond of you. Thank you.
Until Then,
Oy Vey
I'm writing to tell you it's over.
Some people thought our relationship should have ended years ago. But 17 years is a long time and it's hard to give up something that's been so good, that's been so comfortable and comforting for half of my life.
I remember the first time. A fall Chicago day in '88. The bus stop at Jackson & LaSalle. Bobby D. introduced us. I was hooked at first sound. You, you!, changed the trajectory of my life on that very day. I would without a doubt, be a different kind of person if I hadn't met you when I did.
Later on, those encounters in New York and Philly were wonderful. We all had fun, though I think our adoration of you was more you of us. Later still, even The Apollo was great; we’d all grown up, but the vibe was still there. Then you came back from LA a few months later a different man. You'd found a new kind of girl. Younger, so much younger. A girl who wasn’t even a speck in God’s eye when you and I shared our most intimate moments.
You used to be such a clever wordsmith, your craft was your art and your art wasn't just adulated. We adored you. You were special – and that was a secret kept between you and us, a secret we treasured and held in the inner core of our post-post-post pubescent souls. But you understood us, you really did. You turned those ancient bitter schoolyard memories into a bittersweet nostalgia like no one else could.
But now the magic in your words is gone. What happened to the witty poet I cherished? My heart belongs to someone else now, S. I'm sorry to say it, but you've lost that je ne sais quoi (and your thesaurus, perhaps?). Dare I say forever? The thesaurus can be replaced, but the quoi…
Is it because I'm older and wiser now? Because I’ve seen the world, I’ve been hurt, I’ve loved, I’ve lost? Is it simply that I can see through your facade of sardonicism? No, I refuse to believe it. You've changed, S. You've settled. It's LA, no doubt. How can you be truly lonely and wanting in LA?
So, I'm sorry, S, but I won't be purchasing the new album. The clips I heard made me pine for you when I knew you.
You've become a stranger. But I’ll raise my glass of cab to you anyway. It was great while it lasted. But know that I'm still fond of you. Thank you.
Until Then,
Oy Vey
posted by Oy Vey at 6:51 PM
5 Comments:
I never listen to lyrics. That said, I love these:
And if a double-decker bus
Crashes into us
To die by your side
Is such a heavenly way to die
And if a ten-ton truck
Kills the both of us
To die by your side
Well, the pleasure - the privilege is mine
Its the most romantic thing I've ever heard.
Oh, and also. For the first 10 years I heard that song as
"If a double decker bus
Crashes into earth"
And I didn't think twice about it.
Can't remember where, but I read a website about how Morrissey is a great soothsayer, predicting (amongst other things) Di and Dodi's death.
"Take me anywhere, I don’t care
I don’t care, I don’t care
And in the darkened underpass
I thought oh god, my chance has come at last"
Underpass - geddit?
Ah, I agree '100%' about that song. Sigh. Swoon. I recently commented on GG's blog that I thought that song was the most Romantic Song Ever and the response was was that I was wacky and morbid.
What was that song with the 'deuce/douche' mixup? Was it REO Speedwagon? I'll have to google it tomorrow....
...Or 'show me show me show me how you do that trick,
the one that makes me scream 'Seasick!'
Oh it was that "Blinded by the Light" song.
It was terrible.
TERRIBLE!
Blinded by the light, wrapped up like a DOUCHE?? into the runners of the night.
That's what I always heard, at least.
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