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The lyrics of songs and cancelled plans
So... I'm a little bouncy and okay and a little morose and miserable, also period-ridden and PMSing, and all in all, it's a strange day in the neighborhood. I've got the Beatles playing, which ordinarily has the bouncy effect. But when you're doing Heavy Emotions, pretty much ANY lyrics seem deeply meaningful -- if you're happy, they underline that and seem to be mysteriously perfectly applicable and appropriate (think of falling for someone and how EVERY SONG ON THE RADIO seems to be singing to YOU, about THAT); if you're wretched, they arrow into THAT place in you...
Have y'all ever thought about the LYRICS of the song I'm listening to? Sing along to it; I'll write it here:
Try to see it my way; do I have to keep on talking 'til I can't go on?
While you see it your way; run the risk of knowing that our love may soon be gone
We can work it out; we can work it out
Think of what you're saying; you can get it wrong and still you think that it's all right;
Think of what I'm saying; we can work it out and get it straight or say good night
We can work it out; we can work it out
Life is very short and there's no time, for fussing and fighting, my friend
I have always thought that it's a crime, so I will ask you once again:
Try to see it my way; only time will tell you I am right or I am wrong
While you see it your way, there's a chance that we might fall apart before too long
We can work it out; we can work it out
Life is very short and there's no time, for fussing and fighting, my friend
I have always thought that it's a crime, so I am asking once again:
Try to see it my way; only time will tell you I am right or I am wrong
While you see it your way, there's a chance that we might fall apart before too long
We can work it out; we can work it out
That seems like a completely intransigent song. Whoever is singing it is him or herself NOT BUDGING, while accusing the other person of not budging. What compromise is possible?
Okay, I've never really sat around and applied great amounts of analytical effort to Beatles' lyrics, and I'm not going to do that now, or any more than I have.
On the other topic of this entry... the wonderful "Fuck You, Ronald Reagan, We're Dancing on Your Grave" party is CANCELLED. Damn. Damn. I understand all the reasons for making it a non-starter, after all. But I'm sad, not only for the demise of my Saturday night plans (and it IS that, an it is also making me sad for that reason) but also because it is missing a historic opportunity for closure with that period, and with the individual who encapsulates the end of the 1960s revolutionary moment for the United States, the way that Maggie Thatcher does, for Britain.
I can imagine how it could have been, that party, so clearly. Damn. Crap 80s music from all over the spectrum playing. People dressing in the truly hideous styles of the day -- well, maybe that would have been hard to combine with the drinking and dancing. Much spewing might have ensued. I really cannot appreciate the 80s silhouette and fashion icons. Just about any other decade, yeah. But shoulder pads and teased hair and upswept peroxided dos, especially when they were sculpted, solid with hairspray, spiky short on the sides and quiff-like at the top? Ripped sweatshirts and bad makeup? Pastels? Anything Madonna took it into her head to wear? (I was as guilty of that as anyone, though I thought I was original as a HS freshman dressed in an army coat, tee shirt and jeans but decked out with six different sets of Mardi Gras beads and buttons on the jacket and huge earrings and a shiny, gaudily patterned scarf tied in my hair.)
Later in my High School career, I decided on the stealth approach, given my politics (which were absolutely already a highly arrogant variety of pretty orthodox marxism and trotskyism at the time). I wore classic wool sweaters in deep colors, often with a lace collar or fake pearls. I had long, straight hair and bangs. I looked as sweetly conservative as possible. Until I opened my mouth. This look didn't often fool anyone my own age, since I opened my mouth ALL THE FUCKING TIME. Adults, however... there the stealth approach was very effective.
Gosh, I'm babbling. I warned y'all that I felt bouncy, alternating with deep gloom. Uggghhhh.
'Kay. Time to make some other plans, depending on how I feel at the moment. Though I hope that J. will come hang with me ANYWAY, pretty please, pretty please? I love how you described the bar-hopping evening and how powerful and unstoppable you felt we all were. Yes. That IS cool. Totally reminds me of some of the new poems in Sandra Cisneros' Loose Woman. She dedicated a lot of those poems to women friends, some of whom are also apparently drinking buddies.
What should I wear to Pride? I don't have any "fabulous" clothes. Especially since my Madonna gear is long thrown away. Erk.
Salut, maeve66
Have y'all ever thought about the LYRICS of the song I'm listening to? Sing along to it; I'll write it here:
Try to see it my way; do I have to keep on talking 'til I can't go on?
While you see it your way; run the risk of knowing that our love may soon be gone
We can work it out; we can work it out
Think of what you're saying; you can get it wrong and still you think that it's all right;
Think of what I'm saying; we can work it out and get it straight or say good night
We can work it out; we can work it out
Life is very short and there's no time, for fussing and fighting, my friend
I have always thought that it's a crime, so I will ask you once again:
Try to see it my way; only time will tell you I am right or I am wrong
While you see it your way, there's a chance that we might fall apart before too long
We can work it out; we can work it out
Life is very short and there's no time, for fussing and fighting, my friend
I have always thought that it's a crime, so I am asking once again:
Try to see it my way; only time will tell you I am right or I am wrong
While you see it your way, there's a chance that we might fall apart before too long
We can work it out; we can work it out
That seems like a completely intransigent song. Whoever is singing it is him or herself NOT BUDGING, while accusing the other person of not budging. What compromise is possible?
Okay, I've never really sat around and applied great amounts of analytical effort to Beatles' lyrics, and I'm not going to do that now, or any more than I have.
On the other topic of this entry... the wonderful "Fuck You, Ronald Reagan, We're Dancing on Your Grave" party is CANCELLED. Damn. Damn. I understand all the reasons for making it a non-starter, after all. But I'm sad, not only for the demise of my Saturday night plans (and it IS that, an it is also making me sad for that reason) but also because it is missing a historic opportunity for closure with that period, and with the individual who encapsulates the end of the 1960s revolutionary moment for the United States, the way that Maggie Thatcher does, for Britain.
I can imagine how it could have been, that party, so clearly. Damn. Crap 80s music from all over the spectrum playing. People dressing in the truly hideous styles of the day -- well, maybe that would have been hard to combine with the drinking and dancing. Much spewing might have ensued. I really cannot appreciate the 80s silhouette and fashion icons. Just about any other decade, yeah. But shoulder pads and teased hair and upswept peroxided dos, especially when they were sculpted, solid with hairspray, spiky short on the sides and quiff-like at the top? Ripped sweatshirts and bad makeup? Pastels? Anything Madonna took it into her head to wear? (I was as guilty of that as anyone, though I thought I was original as a HS freshman dressed in an army coat, tee shirt and jeans but decked out with six different sets of Mardi Gras beads and buttons on the jacket and huge earrings and a shiny, gaudily patterned scarf tied in my hair.)
Later in my High School career, I decided on the stealth approach, given my politics (which were absolutely already a highly arrogant variety of pretty orthodox marxism and trotskyism at the time). I wore classic wool sweaters in deep colors, often with a lace collar or fake pearls. I had long, straight hair and bangs. I looked as sweetly conservative as possible. Until I opened my mouth. This look didn't often fool anyone my own age, since I opened my mouth ALL THE FUCKING TIME. Adults, however... there the stealth approach was very effective.
Gosh, I'm babbling. I warned y'all that I felt bouncy, alternating with deep gloom. Uggghhhh.
'Kay. Time to make some other plans, depending on how I feel at the moment. Though I hope that J. will come hang with me ANYWAY, pretty please, pretty please? I love how you described the bar-hopping evening and how powerful and unstoppable you felt we all were. Yes. That IS cool. Totally reminds me of some of the new poems in Sandra Cisneros' Loose Woman. She dedicated a lot of those poems to women friends, some of whom are also apparently drinking buddies.
What should I wear to Pride? I don't have any "fabulous" clothes. Especially since my Madonna gear is long thrown away. Erk.
Salut, maeve66