Dear Friends,
It is my Dad’s 75th birthday and Thanksgiving. We are in Denver. It’s cold.
I am very thankful for my dad. Sure, it’s his big day and I would have said this anyway, even if it wasn’t Thanksgiving, but my gratitude for the guy he is and what he has taught me about being a person, dad, husband, and son is something that is incredibly special to me.
For one thing, I am so happy that he and Lori (and Joan and Matt) are there for my kids today when I can’t be. It makes being 800ish miles away so much easier. I’m glad the kids can be there to celebrate the big 7-5, too.
That used to seem so old to me, but it doesn’t anymore. Some of that, of course, is being the age I am and knowing how quickly 20 years will pass. A lot of it, though, is seeing how Dad is carrying it and making it look pretty damn good.
I’m sure he would argue that there are aches and pains (and pains in the ass, too) that he doesn’t wear like a clever t-shirt that boldly proclaims that aging and grace are not always friends. My dad is not a complainer, and I admire that greatly. The world is embracing the not-so-subtle art of bitching about everything, but Dad is not one of those guys.
Lori might disagree on that last paragraph, but that’s between them.
The thing is, I feel really fortunate to have Dad in my life for so many reasons. The majority of people who are close to me are not so fortunate anymore. Because of this, I know several of my brothers from other mothers are fond of Dad, too. No pressure, Dad, but you’ve got some people out there who look forward to seeing you at our gatherings.
Thank you, Dad, and happy 75th. I love you and will see you soon.
*****
Travel stories… yesterday started off cold as the proverbial witches’ tit. We were in Davenport, Iowa, which is a pretty charming area. We got into town well after dark and the new bridge that spans the Mississippi River and separates Iowa from Illinois is beautiful.
Iowa is a not scenic, but also not ugly. There is something about the rolling farmland that sort of undulates as it spreads out for as far as the eye can see that is actually kind of beautiful. There is a lot of “sameness” to it, but it isn’t terrible. What can I say, I am a fan of the United States as a geographic entity.
Would that make me a geographiot? Geographist?
Nebraska is more of the same, really. Omaha is oddly welcoming and those sculptures by the over pass when you get to the edge of town are kind of wild. They remind me of that Terry Gilliam project, The Man Who Killed Don Quixote, for some reasomn. Don Quixote himself may have battled them once.
Now Lincoln, on the other hand, is as boring as the come. How they used to entice so many good football players to live there for four years is beyond me. Liam and I stayed there in June and it was pretty unappealing. I’m sure it must have some redeeming qualities.
At 2:30PM Nebraska time, I did an interview with the McDonald brothers and the director of their new Redd Kross documentary, Andrew Reich. That was pretty cool. It was nice to take a short break, too. More on that to come in the New Times.
Speaking of the New Times, the Music Editor job is up for grabs. I wish I was younger and could take a chance like that. I could be a great editor for them, that’s for sure, but if I were to take that job, it would have to be the job I work until I retire and I don’t know if the New Times will last that long.
Plus, I love teaching.
The rest of the drive was fairly unremarkable, much like the Nebraska scenery. We stopped at Fort Cody in North Platte and found some fun road souvenirs. Bailey peed and it was cold as heck there, too, thanks to the wind.
Denver had snow on the ground but the skies were clear. It was also very cold. We got some grub and just relaxed.
*****
Thanksgiving in Colorado for the first time since 1986? Should be an interesting day. Rhondi is going to show Dev and I where she lived when she was little and then we will go to her cousins’ houses.
I will certainly be thinking about my family and friends celebrating elsewhere. Much love to you all and Happy Thanksgiving.
*****
This record makes me think of being a freshman in high school. It was during the second part of the year, spring semester, that everybody started talking about the Violent Femmes. I do mean everyone, too.
Violent Femmes, the s/t record by a band that dominated my first couple of years of high school. It was one of those records that all the tribes could agree on, or so it seemed. Maybe some of my more metal-inclined friends were not big fans, but everyone else seemed to dig it. The jocks liked it, the punks, the mods, the ‘normal’ folks. Even my Dad and Lori liked it when I started playing it at home.
To this day, I still know the words to every song on it as I sang along with it for two years straight, at least from 1984 to 1986. No matter where you went, you could hear these songs. Once we got alternative radio stations, you heard them there, too, even though the record had been out for years.
“Let me go wild, like a blister in the sun..”
The opening of “Blister In The Sun” is beyond iconic. On Spotify alone it has been played over a quarter of a billion times. Think about that.
I bet I have heard the opening notes of “Blister In The Sun” well over a thousand times, probably closer to three or four thousand. I know exactly what the timing is of those first snare hits and how the bass lines comes in like a big, drunken and boisterous man.
I often associate this riff with John Cusack because of how Grosse Pointe Blank begins. Most people between 45 and 70 could probably name the song if you made the right “Doo-doo-doo-doo” noise. Even with all that being said, it is still a great song and I like hearing it.
To be honest, there have been years where I avoided Violent Femmes. Too much of a good thing can spoil anything. Kind of like the first Pearl Jam record, which I grew to really love, then loathe, Violent Femmes the record and Violent Femmes the band both wore on me a little.
“But you can always kiss off into the air…”
“Kiss Off” is another good song. Hell, all of them are pretty great. “Behind my back I can see them stare/They’ll hurt me bad, but I don’t mind/They’ll hurt me bad, they do it all the time.”
Gordon Gano was writing about being a tortured high school boy when he wrote these songs, and he did that as well as anyone has ever done. He’s a fucking weirdo, for sure, but he wrote some great fucking songs.
Speaking of “fuck”… why can’t I get one? “Add It Up” is one of the great teen angst anthems. It’s like Catcher In The Rye in song form or at least it’s equivalent in song. I felt like I was getting away with something when I first heard it. Singing along with it was a form of subversion. Such a great song.
“People worry/What do they worry about today?”
“Confessions” is an interesting song when you listen to it over the course of 40 years. There is a reason why I think Gano is a weirdo and if you listen to the lyrics of this song, I think they are pretty telling to who he really is. We had a very odd discussion for the New Times. Let’s put it this way, this was not a guy I wanted to meet in person after talking to him.
This is a guy who has some very dark thoughts and writes catchy songs about them.
Side B is more of the same teenage oddball catchiness. “Prove My Love” and “Promise” are both memorable little romps. “To The Kill” is probably my favorite on the side, but “Gone Daddy Gone” is also pretty rad. Both of those are firmly cemented in my head for good reasons. They are that good.
“Good Feeling” is a fitting end to the record. “Won’t you stay with me just a little longer. La-la-la, lala, la-lala la.”
*****
See you tomorrow.
Rocky Mountain AI
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