When I purchased my new Subaru last summer, the availability of this add-on was just too enticing to pass up. So, now, I almost always have my radio tuned to satellite rather than listening to FM, AM, CD or my iPod. Sirius Channel 6, devoted to tunes of the 60s, is where my dial is typically set.
Well, anyway, I was intrigued. Neil Diamond has always pretty much been a favorite of mine. I still remember quite vividly seeing him in concert on February 27, 1971, at Gill Coliseum in Corvallis, Oregon. At the time, I was a long-haired, bearded lad of 23, in my first year of grad school at Oregon State University. (And Neil Diamond had just turned 30 the month before…it’s amazing what you can find out on the internet if you just poke around a little.) Margaret and I had great seats, somewhere in the first ten rows, if I recall correctly. Toward the end of the concert he introduced and sang a new song that he said was going to be released soon: I Am … I Said.
I am, I said To no one there And no one heard at all Not even the chair I am, I cried I am, said I And I am lost, and I can’t even say why Leavin’ me lonely still…
It was released exactly a month later, on March 27, and of course, was a huge hit. I swear: I have always loved that song from the moment I first heard it.
But, I digress.
I immediately tuned into Channel 3, and yes, there he was, Neil himself, talking about the writing of one of his songs. I caught the narrative mid-stream, so I wasn’t sure which song. He was rambling on about this particular piece, and he claimed he didn’t know what it was really about during the time period he was writing it. It was a rather long intro, and then the song played. I had never heard it before, and I remember thinking: how can I not be familiar with this (a Neil Diamond) song?!
Well, as it turns out, he has a new album out called Home Before Dark. Amazon.com informs me that it was just released on April 29, and his website lets us know that this is his 46th album and the only one to debut at Number 1.
The song that I first listened to in the car that noon hour is entitled “If I Don’t See You Again.” It so moved me that it’s the inspiration for this little essay here today.
I don’t know what your experience will be when you hear this song (or what your experience might already have been), but my reaction was (and still is) highly emotional. Quite literally, from the simple opening chords, right until the end, this song seemed to touch me to the core. I can barely remember my drive that lunch hour as I was transported to some other dimension for those seven and a quarter minutes. And, after it played, I could barely remember any of the words…I just had this feeling…
What is the song about? Well, for me, the kicked-in-the-gut reaction it produced suggested it was entirely about loss. While listening I was awash in a huge, familiar physical-emotional response: familiar because of its association with times in my life when things have changed dramatically…when I’ve had to leave people or places behind. Of course, the last four years of my life have been almost entirely about change and loss, so I’ve come to view myself as somewhat of an expert in these areas.
I guess there might be other interpretations, but I’d say this song is about losing a love. And what life brings on when that happens. A tear came to my eye as I listened…the words and the melody poking through an emotional wall I seem to have built up in myself in recent months: a barrier that has apparently prevented me from completely dealing with the depths of the sadness brought on by the loss of a love, and a familiar life, in Oregon.
I can’t seem to get enough of this tune. While it caught me unawares last week, I was immediately hooked. I downloaded it from iTunes that same night, and have been playing it ever since. Exactly what’s going on here, I’m not sure. I just know that my attraction to this song is a powerful one.
And how coincidental that it comes along at this particular time. It was also last week that I was talking to some former colleagues in Oregon, mentioning both my blessings of a new life now made in California, as well as still carrying an overarching belief that Oregon is where I belong.
I suppose this is not very complicated at all. This tune is one that, for whatever reason, touches my soul, and speaks to me about the people and places I no longer have around.
And reminds me of the question that all-too-frequently pops into my mind during unguarded moments: what if I don’t see you again?
Soundtrack Suggestion
Who am I kidding I’m going nowhere I can’t even get through an hour without you Should be ashamed Just want to hear you calling my name Two of us missed connections Guess we must have somehow missed something more ’Cause we’re here alone I know we’re together But too far apart to know how to get back home…
If I don’t see you again Somehow we both made it through I woulda gave up on life Before I gave up on you You went and turned me around Could be was something you said I couldn’t make out the sound I didn’t care what it meant If I don’t see you again If I don’t see you again If I don’t see you again
I went walking along the Pacific Ocean beach of San Francisco’s Sunset District during the weekend. It was an incredible day: bright sunshine, cloudless, not-too-windy. I was dressed in layers, but many (individuals, couples, families) were attired simply in shorts and t-shirts.
As I walked up and down the beach, I couldn’t help but notice how, well, dirty, the landscape looked. This ocean-front bore very little resemblance at all to the array of pristine beaches I am accustomed to in Oregon.
I had to ask myself: what’s going on here?
Well, consider…
On November 7, 2007, not long after I moved to the Bay Area, a wayward container ship (the Cosco Busan) ran right into the Bay Bridge and spilled 54,000 gallons of bunker fuel oil into the water.
You must remember hearing about this. It was a mess. Beaches were blackened; more than 2,500 birds died. (And 20,000 more may have been put at risk.) And who knows what other health risks were created!
At the time, I was just starting a new job in the North Bay, and was pretty much totally focused on my own personal survival. The oil spill, to me, was sort of background noise.
Now, this spring, I get out on a nice day and look at the beaches…and think…ohmygod!
Bunker fuel spills are extremely toxic to marine life, especially birds that float and feed through a spill. The oil inhibits the birds ability to thermo-regulate and they become cold as their natural insulation in their feathers break down. The birds spend most of their time trying to preen the oil out of feathers and thus ingesting the oil. Weakened, they will often beach themselves and fall prey to predators or die from the toxic effects of oil…
Please remember : Do not attempt to wash, feed or house oiled birds and other animals! Spilled oil is extremely toxic. The use of proper gloves and protocols must be followed to insure the safety of the public AND the animals.
So, I am asking: am I really ok when I’m out walking around on these beaches these days!? How would I know?
I’m trying to do anything I can these days, whenever I’m away from work, to get my mind off work. The intensity of each workday right now makes that rather difficult.
So, it was with some sense of delight, recently, when I discovered a “wink” in my home email, from an East Bay woman who found my profile on match.com.
Yes, in case you didn’t know…I have a personal-ad profile listed online. And I’ve been involved, off and on, in the virtual dating world for quite some time now.
Years, actually. (Ah, the stories I could tell!)
Now, usually, I don’t respond to mere “winks” – much preferring someone who is drawn to my profile enough to write me a full (even if brief) message. But this time, for whatever reason, I wrote a short little note back – and after a couple of emails, we decided to meet for tea at an East Bay Starbucks last Sunday.
In short: it was wonderful. We talked for little over an hour and things went very smoothly, I thought. As we parted, she invited me to call or email her.
Which I did, a few hours later. I sent her an email indicating that I was “interested” and: could we get together again?
The answer: no thanks. “The chemistry just wasn’t there. So sorry about that.”
Isn’t it strange how rejection from someone I don’t even really know can still have such yucky feelings associated with it?
I hadn’t put myself out there like that for anyone in a long time. I guess I need to get more practiced, and thicker-skinned.
Maybe I’ll wink at somebody myself tonight. I really do need to get out more.
Soundtrack Suggestion
Another aeroplane Another sunny place I’m lucky, I know But I wanna go home Mmmm, I’ve got to go home
The weather this weekend in Marin County, California, was absolutely perfect. Both days were clear, sunny and hot…with temperatures into the upper 80s. However, as recently as a few days ago (and then again today), the daytime highs were in the 50s - and the blustery winds made it feel even colder. Last Tuesday was very chilly. That was the day I was making my preparations to attend the Olympic Torch Relay.
I had a vacation day scheduled for Wednesday, and planned to take the ferry into The City for a day of observing and photographing the event(s). It surely seemed like a day of potential excitement (what with the recent, well, passionate protests in Paris and London)…and one that held some promise for colorful photos of the planned demonstrations.
Ah, but the important question for me: howdo I keep warm? After all, these happenings were to take place along the waterfront in San Francisco…not exactly the most comfy place in the world on lots of days, what with the probability for low temperatures and howling winds. Given the propensity of my body to tighten up with both stress and cold, and the fact that I’d be carrying heavy camera equipment, I would need to dress appropriately for the occasion and take a minimalist approach to packing and toting my gear.
So, folks, this is the most important factor for me these days as I prepare for a day of protesting. How do I keep these old bones and muscles from freezing up?
Well, I came up with some answers.
First off: long underwear. Yes, here it is April in the Golden State, and for the only time this year, I donned a pair of my silk, REI-brand long-johns. Then, of course, SmartWool socks and my ECCO cross-trainers. The rest of the outfit included:
jeans,
a short sleeve t-shirt, covered by a long-sleeved t-shirt,
covered by a North Face fleece pullover, covered by a multi-pocketed photographer’s vest,
all topped off with a baseball-type cap (with a peace sign on it).
Finally, to keep my body even more toastfully comfortable, I wore (underneath everything) two ThermaCare heatwraps: one around my midsection for my lower-back, and one across the tops of my shoulder blades.
I carried my smallest camera bag that held just one body, one lens, an extra battery, and compact flash cards.
And this worked!
I must report total success. I was there wandering around and taking photographs for three and a half hours. I was quite comfortable the entire time (it turned out to be a sunny, not-too-windy day), and survived the adventure in fine form.
One guy about my age, who was carrying a hand-made “Free Tibet” sign, called his wife on the ferry ride home and said that he’d had enough for the day. “My feet are killing me,” he reported.
It’s no secret that I used to party a lot (back in those alcohol-saturated times of my misspent youth). Once in awhile during those mostly-hazy days, in my often-stuporous state, I would dream of really big-time partying: you know, the kind that takes place in New Orleans at Mardi Gras, or in Las Vegas or Hollywood any ol’ night of the week.
Well, I never made it to The Show. As things turned out, I was only ever a minor-league partier. By the time I made it to (pre-Katrina) New Orleans it was 1999, at which time I had been sober for 16 years. And it was just two weeks ago, in March of 2008, when I visited Las Vegas for the first time (now working on my 25th year of sobriety).
I was only in Vegas for a little under twenty-four hours, and then, specifically, for the occasion of my niece’s wedding. This event took place in a nice little (actually very tasteful) wedding chapel, with just a few guests in attendance. I was lucky enough to be on hand with my camera to document some parts of the occasion. When the champagne corks were popped, I abstained.
The little bit of the town I saw was everything I imagined it to be…and, really, I only saw a small slice of life there. But in just my little taste of the Vegas experience – from airport, to hotel, to dinner, to breakfast, to chapel, and back to airport – there were several sights familiar to anyone who has ever watched CSI.
And then, this last weekend, I got to visit the place all over again. Sort of. I went to see “21” – a film that has been out a couple of weeks now, and is the number one movie in the country. The movie has not enjoyed favorable reviews, but, at least for me, it’s easy to understand why it’s so popular. It is mostly set in Las Vegas (and partly in Boston), and the plot allows us to totally escape our everyday realities for a short time.
It’s the story of a small team of young, smart, good-looking college students (from MIT) who are recruited by their math professor to learn card counting. They eventually get good enough at their craft to make numerous visits to Las Vegas and win tons and tons of money.
It’s based on a true story, but, for most of us, it’s total fantasy. Personally, the movie was a vehicle to dare to imagine another kind of life: a different way to (perhaps) have utilized my math skills – and have ended up among the rich and famous. Well, at least the rich.
In these trying economic times, who can’t use a healthy dose of escapism to get our minds away from our everyday bill-paying struggles? And, if you’re a Boomer, as I am, who still doesn’t see a retirement date in sight…well, any way to find a “quick fix” to a tenuous financial situation seems quite an attraction.
When you watch “21” you’ll find yourself vicariously living a high-risk, high-adrenaline, beautiful-person life.
But don’t get too used to it. Afterwards, you’ll go home and heat up some left-over pizza.
Reality resumes.
Soundtrack Suggestion
I used to smoke, I used to drink I used to smoke, drink and dance the hoochie-koo I used to smoke and drink Smoke and drink and dance the hoochie-koo, oh yeah But now I’m standing on this corner Prayin’ for me and you…
