"The morning sun when it's in your face really shows your age. But that don't worry me none. In my eyes you're everything."*

   It took me a while to notice, but a crap-ton of songs I've always considered “love” songs are just cleverly disguised insult songs.

   I’ve put a lot of thought into this.

   Take, for instance, the Billy Joel classic, “Just the Way You Are.”

   Here is a song that sounds really beautiful and seems to have the right sentiment: this guy likes his woman just the way she is. (Of course, this was written for his first wife, so obviously he didn’t really like her just the way she was or he wouldn't have divorced her ass. But the signs were right there from the start.)

   Look at the lyrics:

“Don’t go trying some new fashion

Don’t change the color of your hair.

You always have my unspoken passion

Although I might not seem to care.”

   What? Why doesn’t he “seem to care”? That’s not nice. And he's basically spelled out the fact that no matter what she wears or how she styles her hair, it isn't going to make a damn bit of difference, so she may as well quite trying.

And then later:

“I don’t want clever conversation

I never want to work that hard

I just want someone that I can talk to

I want you just the way you are.”

   So now she’s not clever enough? And not only is she not clever enough, she really should quit trying. Clever is for when he’s at work or talking to intelligent people. When he comes home, he’d just as soon she doesn’t say anything so he can focus on The Late Show.

   Another example of a fake love song is Prince’s "Raspberry Beret". I love this song. I love Prince. Prince, Prince, Prince. But check out the lyrics:

“Built like she was

She had the nerve to ask me

if I planned to do her any harm.

So I put her on the back of my bike

and we went riding

down by Old Man Johnson’s farm.

Overcast days never turned me on

But something about the clouds and her mixed

She wasn’t too bright

But I could tell when she kissed me

She knew how to get her kicks.”

   Wow. Um, first of all, Prince is a genius for rhyming "mixed" with "kicks." But that's beside the point. Next consider: “built like she was, she had the nerve to ask me if I planned to do her any harm.” Does this mean she was such a fatty-fatty-two-by-four that there was no possible way he could do her any harm? After all, Prince is a slight man. (I’ve also considered that this means that since her body was so banging, of course he planned to do her “harm,” i.e. bone her. But I like my version better. And it goes along with my theme.) 

Okay, you have no idea how hard it was for me to draw this. I know it's not good, but jeez, it took a ton of effort. I'm also aware that when Prince sang about putting her "on the back of my bike" he was probably talking about a motorcycle, but this is how I have always pictured it, so this is how it will be.

   Thirdly, it’s great that she was a good kisser, but did you have to point out what a dumbass she was?

   Also take into consideration the refrain:

“She wore a raspberry beret.
The kind you find at a second-hand store.
A raspberry beret

If it was warm, she wouldn’t wear much more.”

   So she shops at second-hand stores, so what? She's thrifty and likes vintage. And maybe she doesn't wear much clothing in warm weather. I guess now she’s a slut?

   There are many other examples of this kind of "just kidding" love song. Songs it took me years to realize were full of hurt feelings and malice and back-stabbery (not a word! dibs!).

   You know that great Mary Wells’ song “You Beat Me to the Punch”? I always thought that was such a sweet love song. Here’s this shy girl who wants to ask this guy out but she’s afraid to say anything and then he goes ahead and asks her out (thereby beating her to the punch, if you will). But wait! Then there’s that last verse:

“But I found out beyond a doubt
One day boy, you were a playboy
Who would go away
And leave me, blue
So, I ain't gonna wait around
For you to put me down
This time I'm gonna play my hunch
Then walk away this very day

And beat you to the punch.”

I always pictured the delicious kind of punch. But the song was really about the hurty kind of punch.

   Shit. She dumps him at the end of that “romantic” song because he’s a cheating dog. Who knew? I didn’t.

   I want to break down more of these songs, but this post is really long already, so I’ll just mention a couple other songs worth considering:

1. “Your Love” (The Outfield): girlfriend is on vacation, so you wanna keep me company tonight? I don’t mind that you’re an old hag, by the way. "You know I like my girls a little bit older."

2. “Maggie May”** (Rod Stewart): this song is straight up mean. It’s that catchy guitar riff that fooled me into thinking it was a love song. That, and he keeps sort of tacking on back handed compliments about how "great" she is, or at least that he doesn't really mind her mediocrity.

3. “Just What I Needed” (The Cars): you can’t always get what you want…but if you try sometimes, you'll find, you get just what you needed.

   Music is so mysterious and intricate. I should really pay more attention to the lyrics. But sometimes it’s just so hard to tell what the hell those singers are actually saying that even if they were saying, "You're a stupid piece of dog shit," these songs would sound so haunting and romantic. Have you ever listened to a Tori Amos song? They all sound so lovely and dark and beautiful, but most of them are about killing people or getting your period or getting raped or having your parents neglect you. Weird. And yes, I definitely had to look up the lyrics before I had any idea what she was singing about. 

   Happy Monday!

*Lyrics from Rod Stewart's "Maggie May". Wow, what a romantic sentiment!.....
**Addendum: Okay, so my friend Mike pointed out that I make Maggie seem like the victim in this song, and really she's not. Of course, art is open to interpretation, but in this case I think he's right. Maggie's a heinous beast who toys with a young man's future in order to turn him into her sexual plaything. BUT, I still always thought it was a love song and it's really a song about people treating each other like garbage. So it stays. Because I can't hear the lyrics over that catchy tune, I always thought it was so romantic. I'm a dumb-dumb.

"Because in some men it is in them to give up everything personal at some time, before it ferments and poisons--throw it to some human being or some human idea. They have to. In some men it is in them."*

   There are things that you probably shouldn’t share with people because they are embarrassing/humiliating/shameful, but I don’t seem to have too many of these. I spent so much of my adolescence and teenage years (not to mention the better part of my twenties) feeling embarrassed, that I can’t afford to waste time on it anymore.

   For instance there’s the time when, in 5^th grade, my mom bought me the COOLEST HAT IN THE WORLD. It was a winter hat but shaped like a baseball cap with flaps that came down over my ears and a string tie under the chin. And, oh yeah, IT WAS FUCKING HOT PINK. I died when she gave me that hat and I couldn’t wait to wear it to school.

   But when I walked down the driveway at St. Margaret Mary to line up for the first bell, Pat Raynor said, “Nice hat, dork.” And I never wore it again. Ever. I found it at my parents' house not too long ago and would definitely wear it now, but it won't fit over my enormous cranium.

   And then one time when I was 12 I called the Human Society sobbing because a dog had been hit by a car in front of my house and the woman who answered the phone said, “How old are you, young man?” I started crying even harder and promptly developed a phone phobia that only cleared up about two years ago.

   But no more.

   The only things that embarrass me these days are when someone acts appalled that I don’t know the name of a political figure or didn’t hear about something major that happened on the news within the last 4 months. I’m embarrassed about those things because they reflect on my hideous irresponsibility when it comes to educating myself on current events. They don’t really reflect on me as a person the way my clothes or voice do; they have something to do with making fun of my mind and spirit, which is legitimately unfortunate.

   I include this preface as a way of telling you about some of the things I do/have done on a regular basis that are shameful (or should be) but which, without mentioning them, I wouldn’t feel like the over-sharing, inappropriately frank person I have become.

   Here are some of the things that have happened to me recently (or a long time ago) that should embarrass me, but don’t:

1. A couple of days ago, I ate a piece of dark chocolate. Shortly thereafter I found a brown stain on my couch pillow. I got out the Resolve and tried to work the stain out of the pillow. Then I left the pillow to foam, replaced it with an identical pillow, and sat back down. When I got up again, there was another brown stain in the same spot. I repeated the stain removal routine and checked my shirt. No chocolate. Then I went into the bathroom and did a slow 360-degree rotation. There was a huge chunk of chocolate melted to my back. I basically ruined two pillows because I can’t keep food off my BACK? That’s asinine.

2. I decided to put the earring I normally wear in my right ear, (halfway between the top of the ear and the lobe), in my left earlobe. It was bugging me and I thought maybe my lobes could benefit from some earring practice, since they always get irritated, red, and itchy whenever I wear earrings. I thought I'd force my lobes into loving earrings. So I put in ONE earring. And then I forgot about it. For two days. So yesterday, I went to the grocery store with one earring in my left earlobe. Nice. I’m like a gay man from 1991. A total anachronism.

3. I don't really know my left from my right. Doing the L-shapes with my thumbs and pointers doesn't help, because I don't know if I'm looking at them or if I'm making the signs for someone else.

Should be embarrassing but isn't: I spent 38 minutes making my thumb into the chick from Prince's "Raspberry Beret".

4. I am currently reading a book called Jemima J. by a woman named Jane Green. It’s about a really fat chick that loses weight and then men fall in love with her. A time-tested story of romance. Classic. It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t my 5^th time reading it. But I’m a strong proponent of balancing quality reading with absolute trash. It keeps your brain humble. That is why I reread several pieces of crap each year: Best Friends, Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, and Find a Stranger, Say Goodbye immediately come to mind. (The last two aren’t necessarily crap but, in fact, Young Adult books. I actually think they’re both quite beautifully written, albeit for 9-year-olds.)

Should be embarrassing but isn't: a new addition to the foyer of my apartment building.

5. Years ago, I walked to the gas station near my apartment to buy cigarettes after consuming many drinks. As I walked to the door, the cashier was outside smoking and asked if I’d like a drag. Since I was there for cigarettes, I really did want a drag and accepted. Only after inhaling did I realize that he was offering me a marijuana cigarette. He apologized when I looked surprised and I said it was okay. Then he asked for my number and in my inebriated honesty, I told him I didn’t want to date him because he was too short. He was pretty nice about it. He’s seen me since (I still live in the same neighborhood), but he’s never recognized me. Perhaps because he’s always high?

6. The other day I was eating deli turkey and hummus and only halfway through my snack did I realize the turkey had mold on 85% of it. I had eaten half the package.

7. I just cleaned the floors of the apartment I’ve lived in for 6 months for the first time 3 weeks ago. The amount of filth I pulled up explained a lot about the state of both my feet and my shower.

8. I have dyscalculia, insofar as I switch numbers around in my mind the way a person with dyslexia might. If I never called you, it's probably because I programmed your number in my phone wrong.

   That’s enough for now (though I could go on for ages). I don’t want to show all my cards just yet. I'm probably going to be one of those old ladies that's always trying to get naked in public and date 25-year-olds, but who cares? It’s been a hard week and I took the GRE again (did better!) and I feel like I have enough positive qualities to outweigh the heinousness that I share on a regular basis. Think of this post as watching a terrible car crash or accidentally seeing your fat neighbor naked and discovering you liked it. I just needed to get it out of my brain and into yours.

   You’re welcome!

*The last book I read before reuniting with Jemima J. Carson McCuller's The Heart is a Lonely Hunter. See? I don't just read crap. See?

"Don't ignore it, then. Talk back to it! Say, 'You can't do that number on me, Shit-for-Brains' or something like that. Otherwise it kind of weasels its way into your head whether you like it or not. What I'm saying is, you can't just sit there, you got to get pissed off."*

    Yet again I feel the need to give you an abbreviated rundown of my life, as I have no real points to make about anything and not enough (or maybe too much?) excitement in my life to siphon down into one solid point. So here are several “snapshots” of where my brain has been over the last few weeks.

1.     So I was in the waiting room of the dentist’s office yesterday when the World’s Most Annoying Human came in. She had long dark hair (dyed, clearly, since she looked upwards of 60) and she really wanted some new tooth-whitening gel. The receptionist said she would go in the back and look for the brand the woman was requesting. While 60-going-on-12 lady was waiting, she went over and knelt in front of the fish tank. She said things like, “Oh, you sweet wittle fishes! You so pretty! Oh, why you on you back, wittle fish? That’s not good!” I had to think it was for my benefit, because I was the only person in the waiting room and who the fuck talks like that when she’s by herself? It made me hate her. And it made me wish there was a T-Rex in the fish tank that could scare the shit out of her and her stupid I Heart Barcelona t-shirt.

This is what it would look like if a T-Rex lived in the fish tank. Lacey 2012. (8 million dollars)

2.     I realized recently that my shampoo and conditioner boast “lupine botanicals.” What?!? My shampoo is made from wolf extracts? I thought that was really sick and really awesome at the same time. But then I looked up the word “lupine” and it turns out it can also refer to a type of flowering plant. Bummer.

My shampoo.

But what's this? Wolf parts?

3.     My buddy Sam made me a pillow for my birthday that looks like this:

How great is this? Nebraska with a heart on Omaha!

It's very similar to my tattoo!

4.     I’ve decided I don’t care for Miley Cyrus. She said this in the recent issue of Marie Claire: “You always see the 70-year-old man driving the Bentley. He’s saved up his whole life and now he’s going to do something crazy. Liam and I are really lucky because usually people can’t afford to do the things we do. You should be driving the Bentley when you’re young and hot. That’s when you look dope!” Sorry, Miley. Not everyone is a quatrillionaire because they grew up as a talentless Disney tween. Sorry. Some of us earned our Bentleys (not me, obviously) through hard work. I think you’re an un-nice girl. I don’t like you. At all. And I think your teeth are freakishly small.

5.     Mike burned me a CD with a bunch of Prince songs! I love Prince! Prince, Prince, Prince!

6.     Em and Gabe got me paddle boarding lessons for my 30^th birthday! Bucket list!

7.     My awesome BFF Michelle came in town over last weekend with her BF Danny. Michelle added a new word to my lexicon: maybe we can call transvestite ladies of the night in Hollywood Mandy’s? Get it? Are you an Amanda or a Mandy?

8.     The ants are back...but they've congregated in different areas of the apartment. One or two in the kitchen, one or four in the bathroom, one solitary soldier on the coffee table. What the fuck is happening? I'm washing dishes before I use them! What's going on??

*The quote, irrelevant as it may be, is from one of my favorite books: The Bean Trees by excellent novelist Barbara Kingsolver (who is also Gabe's auntie!). It sort of speaks to my current/ongoing need to express my frustration when people act like douche canoes.

"I say the ride is so smooth, you must be a limousine."*

   I have been AWOL for the last few days…weeks? Months? And it’s not just because I was moving. No, friends, believe it or not I’ve had a social life for the first time in ages that has filled up my free time with fun time. Hooray! I deserve it. I haven’t felt this popular since I was prom queen.**

   In the offing of some of said free time, I’ve been thinking a lot about important things like whether or not I should return the blue pants I bought, or if there really is a god, or if I’m ever going to have chiseled abs. Answers: “yes”, “dunno,” and a decided “most likely not,” respectively.

   But mostly I’ve been thinking about male singers and this list my buddy Gabe and I made in high school, working long hours at 13^th Street Coffee Company in Downtown Omaha. Our coffee shop had a work log that we were asked to add entries to during the work shift. These entries, made in a spiral-bound notebook, tended to run the gamut from “we’re out of Colombian roast” to “the hot guy from the Bemis stopped in this morning.” I'm not sure if our employer, an Italian named (yes) Sergio, found it useful, but it was a nice outlet for artistic doodling and discussion among the baristas.

    But one afternoon, while listening to our favorite cable radio station, coming down from what was probably close to 12 shots of espresso and 8 hours of work, Gabe and I decided to start making a list in the log of the top falsettos of all time. I think about the list from time to time when a great song featuring a great falsetto comes on the radio, and Saturday was no exception. I drove down to Carlsbad, CA, to visit my high school friend Rachel and listened to portions of Rolling Stone's Greatest 500 Songs of All Time. Songs like “Kashmir,” “Dream On” and “Little Red Corvette” got me thinking about the list again. So I’ve decided to remake a portion of it here.

    In no particular order (except the first two names):

1.     Robert Plant: If Robert Plant’s voice were a man, I would try to make it love me and hold it in my arms all night long. I would stalk it like a psychopath and watch it through its windows when it undressed at night. Immediate examples of where this gorgeous falsetto makes me the happiest are “Whole Lot of Love,” “Immigrant Song,” and “What Is and What Should Never Be.”

Robert Plant at his sexiest. Seriously, don't look at current photos!

Okay, fine, here he is. Time isn't always kind to the beautiful.

2.     Freddie Mercury: Now I’ve mentioned Freddie before, because I adore the man, the voice, the music and the persona. That man’s voice was out-of-this world beautiful and I’ve known sopranos who can’t belt like this man could. Favorite tunes backing up this theory: “Bohemian Rhapsody” (duh), “We Are the Champions” and “Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy.”

3.     Prince (“Little Red Corvette” or anything, really. He's the smallest/sexiest man of all time.)

Prince. Sigh.

    4. Beck ("Debra")

   5. Michael Jackson

   6. Justin Timberlake

   7. Steven Tyler ("Crazy"...I mean, holy shit.)

   8. Smokey Robinson

   9. Art Garfunkel (or was his entire singing range in the falsetto?)

    10. Axl Rose

         11. James Brown
    12. Adam Levine
    13. Steve Winwood
    14. Pete Townsend
    15. Frankie Valli***
    16. Sting
    17. Michael McDonald
    18. Jackie Wilson
    19. Eddie Kendricks

  

   I’m sure this list will be updated a bunch of times. I called Gabe to weigh in, and she reminded me of several of the above-mentioned names. We also discussed how we shouldn’t count men whose voices have such a high octave range that they were never required to sing in falsetto. That’s cheating. Also, if a dude is screechy or whiney at the falsetto range, he’s disqualified (Mick Jagger). And if we don't like the man or his music, he is also not in the running (think Kanye West).

     But, I’d also like to include some honorable mentions. This is the list of men who really tried to hit the high notes, and maybe shouldn’t have, but did an admirable job nonetheless:

1.     Paul McCartney

2.     Trey Anastasio

3.     Steven Page

  You got others? Please let me know!

  Okay, so this isn’t an important issue, really, but there’s something supremely sexy about a man hitting those high notes. Kind of like how Tim Curry in Rocky Horror Picture Show is superlatively sexy dressed as a woman. It’s that whole gender-bending phenomenon, without the tights and the wigs. I’m somewhat tempted to put Robert Smith on this list, but I won’t because I’m pretty sure I only think his voice is high because he wore lipstick all the time.

*"Little Red Corvette" by Prince. Just sing that line to yourself. Can you hear that falsetto in your mind?

**I was never prom queen.


***Thanks for the reminder, Mom.