Baby, What'd I Say?

I am exhausted: emotionally, mentally, physically (what, you think it's easy getting back on the road to physically fit when it's 18 degrees outside? Yes, I do own a treadmill, but I can't find anywhere in the house to safely use it AND keep it out of Destructo-boy's clutches.). I'm not even sure when it all happened (yeah, right), but 9:00 rolled around and I just...shut down. When I get like that, I like to have one on one conversation about interesting, perhaps deep, but not too philisophical topics. For my part, I tend to think in music - artists and/or genres particularly. No big surprise there, right?

So, when I say I'm in a Ray Charles kinda mood tonight, I don't mean the movie. I don't mean I'm feelin' like any part of his biography. I mean that I'm feelin' the attitude, the grit, the moan, the wail, the pure soul of the music.

(It doesn't help much that the Blues Clues Movie features Ray Charles as G Clef and I am forced to watch it on entirely too regular a basis. But at least it's a break from Barney.)

I feel very 'You Don't Know Me', perhaps.


You give your hand to me
And then you say, "Hello."
And I can hardly speak,
My heart is beating so.
And anyone can tell
You think you know me well.
Well, you don't know me.

No you don't know the one
Who dreams of you at night;
And longs to kiss your lips
And longs to hold you tight
Oh I'm just a friend.
That's all I've ever been.
Cause you don't know me.

For I never knew the art of making love,
Though my heart aches with love for you.
Afraid and shy, I let my chance go by.
A chance that you might love me too.

You give your hand to me,
And then you say, "Goodbye."
I watched you walk away,
Beside the lucky guy
Oh, you'll never ever know
The one who loved you so.
Well, you don't know me.


Or maybe I'm more of an "Unchain My Heart" kinda gal tonight. I mean, how many people can sing 'pillow case' and make it sound like it completely belongs there?


Unchain my heart, baby let me be
Unchain my heart 'cause you don't care about me
You've got me sewed up like a pillow case
But you let my love go to waste so
Unchain my heart, oh please, please set me free

Unchain my heart, baby let me go
Unchain my heart, 'cause you don't love me no more
Ev'ry time I call you on the phone
Some fella tells me that you're not at home so
Unchain my heart, oh please, please set me free

I'm under your spell like a man in a trance
But I know darn well, that I don't stand a chance so
Unchain my heart, let me go my way
Unchain my heart, you worry me night and day
Why lead me through a life of misery
When you don't care a bag of beans for me
So unchain my heart, oh please, please set me free.

You know, come to think of it, I'm probably most in a "Let's Go Get Stoned" mood. Yeah, that's the one.

And if you need me to put those words down...well, then you don't know what it's like to be in a Ray Charles mood.

Thin Line Between Love and Hate

Please don't hate me because I'm beautiful. Hate me because I concocted this one:

A long time ago in a kingdom so fa r away it didn't even exist, there lived the King of Narrow Vision. Narrow Vision, of course being the name of the realm, because when the Royal Surveyor was brought forth by the King's forefathers and shown the prospective site of their castle, he commented how the valley and copses of trees conspired to "narrow the vision" of such a beautiful land.

Now, kingdoms being what they are and politics being what they are, eventually a grassroots effort began to 'widen the vista'. These people, soon known only as The Wides, were good citizens all. They felt very strongly that a little pruning, some artful topiary and, perhaps a little blasting here and there to widen the road, would lead to greater tourism, commerce and trade.

But the King, being of a long line of Narrow Visionists, felt that what had been good enough for his ancestors ought to be good enough for his people. He ignored the letters and petitions. He refused The Wides the opportunity to make an official presentation. Every avenue to the King's ears were closed to The Wides until they felt they had no choice but to organize a peaceful march to the castle where they would firmly, but politely, demand to be given audience. (Later, this became known as The Mile Wide March, but you know that from your history books.)

Unbeknownst to the majority of Wide-ers, there was a small faction that had splintered off from the main Wides and called themselves the Wide Spans - no one really knows why. This radical cell believed that violence, and ultimately regicide, could be the only true answer.

True to form, however, there was one Wide Span who had a change of heart. (Truth be told, he never actually believed in their cause, he just joined to impress Gruenelda Applethorn who eventually left the group because her mother said she didn't like the looks of 'em.) This young man felt that he ought to do the right thing and perhaps be able to impress Mrs. Applethorn who might put in a good word for him.

Now it happened that a few days before the Mile Wide March was to take place that the young hero espied the King's litter being carried through the streets. He knew he had only moments to deliver his warning before he would be whisked away by the King's Guard (also known as The Narrow Straights), so he followed the entourage closely, waiting for opportunity. The moment appeared in the form of the King stepping from his litter to ascend the steps of the Public Library (whose knowledge was Wide, but their selection was Narrow). The young man jostled and crawled until he was close enough for the King to hear.

"Oh, King, wilt thou not hear me?" he cried.

The King stopped and searched the faces. "Who calls me from this throng," he boomed. "Tell me what you will."

"Beware," the man began as the Narrow Straights located him and began to escort him in the other direction. He must deliver his warning! "Beware, oh King, the Wides that March!"


Now that's entertainment!

Tell Me Something Good

It was just spitting huge, ploppy snowflakes as I left rehearsal this evening. The kind that take forever to spiral to the ground, so that when you drive the effect is somewhat intensely 3D. I needed to get into my "driving space". Only one CD could do that and I was desperately searching for it.

The Best of Chaka Khan. My favorite. My trusty. My "get my head in the perfect spot" CD. I let the car warm up as "Ain't Nobody" encouraged my head to bop. The shoulders joined in on "I Feel For You" and by the time I pulled out of the Westcustogo Grange Hall in Yarmouth and directed the car north to home, "Tell Me Something Good" had put me in exactly the right space. Who needs caffein when there's Chaka?

295 North and she's singing me home. Then "I Love You Still" - *everybody give a deep, wistful sigh for me even if you don't know the song* - comes on. It makes me smile - without teeth. I play the song again and I start to go somewhere warm, companionable and somewhat forbidden.

Holy s***! That big semi that just passed -dangerously close to my line, might I add - was doing just a tad bit more than 65! Back into my driving space.

To achieve just the right touch and keep my mind on important matters, I popped in a classic that I have memorized backwards and forwards. Barney: Live. There's something fundamentally wrong and yet so very right with that.

Memories

Look what I found on a website from a theatre I did some shows with. Pictures from "Cinderella" and "Two By Two". I was *gulp* 21.

Ain't Misbehavin'

I figure by this point, I had earned the right to take a lover. Right off the bat, though, I had a problem with the name. As Tina sings, "What's love got to do with it?" If women are mistresses, then are men 'misters'? All right, I decided, I shall take a mister.

I didn't want someone too young...why spend what little time you have on instruction? Besides, I probably make a better music teacher. I didn't want someone too old, either. Who wants to call the paramedics to one's house and explain the goings-on? Although I might be cast in a somewhat more appreciative, albeit deviant, light. All right, then, someone around my age it shall be.

But before I could even get around to the logistics of the thing: where to meet him, how to tell if he's stalker material, is his wife on any kind of medication? - I began to realize larger issues were at hand. Burning issues such as: how many razors would I actually have to go through in order to shave my winter insulation? I don't own any boob shirts. I don't own any boobs. Where the hell is my one pair of Not White JCPenney's hipsters?

And then the onslaught: exactly how am I going to rendezvous with a mister when I don't even get to pee or sleep by myself? If I start to relax, people would know automatically, wouldn't they? Where would I locate a non-woodsy fella with all his teeth and a polysyllabic grasp of vocabulary?

Then my eye caught the latest Charlaine Harris book in her Sookie Stackhouse series, 'Dead As A Doornail', that I've been trying to read for the last five months and I thought, 'What the hell. In the end, this will not only be easier, but probably a whole lot more satisfying."

And I was right.

Shine

The local VFW hall is just down the road a piece. It has one of those signs out front with the "with-stands blizzards, monsoons and wedding receptions" plastic letters that makes a marquee.

During the summer, I used to drive by with silly anticipation waiting to see the week's saying. It was always something Reader's Digest-y, like "Love is blind: Marriage is a real eye opener" and "A right man argues his case well. A happy man simply says, 'Yes, dear.'" So this past week, I admit I was a tidge bit annoyed when I read the latest:

"February is to a Maine winter what Wednesday is to the work week."

Excuse me? It's two below today. March begins this week. Are you telling me this IS ONLY FREAKIN' HUMP DAY?????

Really, I had been hangin on just fine. Sure, I'm a little bit stir crazy and quite a bit bored. The baby and I both want to get outside for fresh air and exercise and, no, trekking to the mailbox at the end of my sidewalk doesn't count.

I need me a break here, people. I need no glove wearin', long walk without numb cheeks takin' weather. I do not need a reminder that this is only mid-winter. The SnowCat's outside and Jack Nicholson is talking to ghosts.

All work and no play make Warbler a dull girl.
All work and no play make Warbler a dull girl.
All work and no play make Warbler a dull girl.
All work and no play make Warbler a dull girl.
All work and no play make Warbler a dull girl.
All work and no play make Warbler a dull girl.
All work and no play make Warbler a dull girl.
All work and no play make Warbler a dull girl.
All work and no play make Warbler a dull girl.