Friday, February 4, 2011

Five Easy Pieces


I know it's not nice to gloat, so I'll just mention in passing, very quietly, that on Wednesday, Vincent and I bought two tickets to see Bob Dylan. Seats 45 & 46. Row 13. That's 13 from the front.

I'm not thinking about it too much and I don't want to listen to his music a lot in the interim, but yesterday morning (long before I knew about The White Stripes), in spite of myself, I found myself doing both. First I listened to My Back Pages, and pictured Vincent and me in our seats, drinking beer and trying to need to pee to get it out in time, and looking around at all of the silver foxes around us. Then I put on Ballad In Plain D, imagined myself as the younger sister, and wondered, if I were invited onstage, if I would give my full name or the shortened version. I imagined being asked what I would like to hear, and saying Desolation Row, partly because I'd love to hear it and partly because it's ten minutes long (getting my money's worth my aunty would say), then feeling bad about it and saying Like A Rolling Stone. Just before I left, I listened to I Want You, and thought about being 13 rows from Bob Dylan, with Vincent. I went to work happy.

This morning, though, all listened to was The White Stripes, like the sometime masochist I am. I don't feel like elaborating on what I was thinking about, other than to say I was in a massive shit for most of the day, until I hit the pub. These are five songs I listened to.

1. Jimmy The Exploder
2. Stop Breaking Down
3. Your Southern Can Is Mine
4. Ball & Biscuit
5. One More Cup Of Coffee

I listened to the last one lots during the day; the quiet and gravity of the song seemed appropriate but now I see how much so the lyrics are, and that I suppose I was trying to get my last cup for the road. Later in the evening I really had one more for the road (actually it was one more for my sister, who was on a roll), and now I feel a lot better about everything. And once Vincent and I get a drum-kit, I'll feel better still (getting my period won't hurt any, either). After all, *clenches fist, puts to breast* tomorrow is another day!

(If you haven't watched Gone With The Wind lately, I suggest you do; it really puts things in perspective.)

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