The Exposure Meter & The Visible Refrigerator: The Electric Slide...Or, A Musical Exorcism.

I don't know which of the two statements by my son was more frightening last night:


1) That he's been learning the "Electric Slide" in Gym class for the last four months, and that this is deemed "physical exercise."


OR


2) That he's been learning said has-been perennial wedding favorite dance to Bon Jovi's "Have a Nice Day." 


Let's look at #1 first. True, when I was his age at the same school, we had a unit  in gym on square dancing, which we all hated, and it was also deemed exercise. (The school must have some LCMS synod-wide school bylaw that states that outdated dances should be uniformly taught to the children at an age when they're barely coming out of the "opposite sex is icky" stage and discovering that they require deodorant.) I can't remember to what music we were square dancing, but in my dreams, it'd have been "One Toke Over the Line." 


The "Electric Slide," though? How passe. I asked Luke if he was also learning the "Macarena," and he said, "NO! Thank GOD!" I told him snidely that if nothing else, he'll be a hit at the next wedding he attends. He was not amused. I mean, come on. The kid's been ON STAGE at Lollapalooza with The Flaming Lips for crap's sake. When he's older and hitting on girls, he can whip that bit o' history out and use it to his advantage. Chances are, he won't be Electric Sliding down the hallways in high school.  


Dancing, period, for the very limited time the kids spend in Physical Education a couple of times a week, though? I can't ration that one out. I suppose Richard Simmons has had multi-million dollar success "Sweatin' to the Oldies" with adoring fitness fans for 3 decades and that counts for something. My vote would be to rigorously work their pre-teen asses off  and burn some serious calories, though. How do I purport they achieve this goal? Either of these two ideas popped into my head:


A) Dodge ball. Go back to fucking dodge ball. Our system in grammar school was to set up 3 books, and each of two teams would have to guard the books so that the opposing team couldn't knock the books over with the ball. Was hitting that elusive book over the goal of dodge ball as a combat sport in Phys Ed? Hardly. It was to beat the shit out of one another. And you always put the powerhouse, bigger kids as the book guardians. The rest of the lot of us were busy pegging the opposing team with these heavy rubber balls. It was grea fun and worked our muscles and minds.

B) Slam-dancing. Mosh-pitting. You jump up and down and float one another on your shoulders and hands, for a good upper body workout. Good leg muscles from jumping and kicking one another.
Preferably to this song, if you're going to pick "a song." Watch this live clip. Notice how the square kids in the audience just stand there dumbfounded while the punks rev things up.

On the above points, I believe my ex-husband would agree. It's a shame that dodge ball was eliminated and slam dancing/moshing is frowned upon at most concerts these days. An awful shame.

Looking at #2 without being hair-splittingly pedantic, I took the time to listen to the Bon Jovi song before I  started writing this blog entry, as I was not familiar with it. (I can't personally stand Bon Jovi, though I know a lot of people who can, which is why they're still dicking around arenas all over the country.) But this is the song my son's been dancing to. Blech alert! 

It's supposed to sound edgy and indie, but it's mass-market, innocuous crapola. But at least it's not THE "Electric Slide" song you hear at weddings. 

Finding out Luke's been listening to it now makes perfect why he comes home and blares emo techno and has a particular fascination with a song that ends "Death so close that I can taste it," which he sings in an angry, gravely voice that's supposed to scare me (it doesn't. It's just annoying.) I have gotten used to, in my old age, telling him to turn his music down, and in that regard, I've officially turned into my mother, and am showing my true age (40 in a couple of weeks!). Plus, his music in the next room often overpowers the music I'm trying to listen to in my room, also annoying. He's rebelling against being forced to listen to Bon Jovi in gym class, I'm sure of it.

What have I been listening to a lot these days, caught in a depressive episode that seems to be getting worse and persisting since I had the hysterectomy exactly a month ago? Lots of Hole. Lots of The Bee Gees' early stuff. Janis Ian's "At Seventeen." Sebadoh. Warren Zevon. Naturally, The Flaming Lips (trying to concentrate on their more uplifting songs, like "Enthusiasm for Life Defeats Existential Fear," Parts One and Two, though it's been a "Soft Bulletin" kind of week this week, "Feeling Yourself Disintegrate"). The Beatles, especially "The White Album," looping "Piggies" and "Long, Long, Long" and with "I'm So Tired." Lots of George Harrison and John Lennon. Garbage. Clapton.Michael Nesmith's more sentimental country/rock songs. Kate Bush's "This Woman's Work". Led Zeppelin. And a continuous loop of Elton John's "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road." (That's a song I used to listen to when I was getting shitfaced drunk on vodka towards rock bottom of my alcoholism.)  Too much Pink Floyd and Syd Barrett solo material.  And, of course, Simon and Garfunkel's "I Am a Rock," which I posted a couple of days ago. Songs about dying. It's not exactly the practice of good mental hygiene. 

Music has the power to change our moods and behaviors. It's used as therapy for a lot of people. But it's all in the choice of music. I guess Bon Jovi's "Have a Nice Day" is a good enough sentiment for kids Luke's age, but his Mom, in a deep funk, can't get beyond the depressing bent.  

My pick for most self-pitying? The Janis Ian tune, "At Seventeen."

Coupled with lots of ditties from Hole's "Live Through This," especially "Miss World.":

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...and lest we forget the saddest song The Bee Gees ever recorded, featuring lead vocals by Robin Gibb, who is dying from cancer, "I Started a Joke." This is where my headspace truly is. The song, most poignantly: 

Furthermore, this classic from The Bee Gees, "Words." Because while a beautiful song, my favorite line is "It's only words. And words are all I have to take your heart away." The only way, besides music, that I can seem to get through to anyone. Because I'm heartsick, though not heartbroken in any realm... I explained to one of my friends "my brave face." My game face. I used to flash it, mentally and physically, when I'm in a depressive episode at my former job. And historically, depressive episodes for me are VERY rare. I'm far more hypomanic than I am depressive. But I truly am living the life of a nun. Not just depressive, depressed. The bare essentials are getting accomplished, but not much more than that. Goals aren't being achieved. Deadlines aren't being met, often. At least the bills are getting paid on time. 

I wanted to put this song below, among others from this post, on a new CD for a friend of mine, and to entitle the mix as "Propinquity." I'm still convinced he's not looked up its definition. I chose "All We Have is Now" by the Flaming Lips because to me, anyway, it's so totally true. We have only so much time on this earth, and no one can guarantee us a tomorrow, so we better live in the "now."  "...all we'll ever have is now..." (Provided I continue to discredit the idea of reincarnation, though I put a lot of thought into the concept.) FYI, I have 3 different versions of Michael Nesmith's "Propinquity" song on my iTunes, 2 live and one recorded. Can't decide which to put on the CD for him. 

The propinquity effect between me and this particular friend has physically gone, for we no longer see each other 4 or 5 times a week. We see one another every couple of months, which is how I told him I *didn't* want it to be. He promised never to abandon me, but I feel abandoned anyway.
Work sucks up like 80% of my friend's time. The rest is filled with obligations and things to do that don't include me. We're reduced to infequent texts, emails and 20-minute phone calls. I still believe in our emotional/intellectual/soulful propinquity, though. And the time we do get to spend together, I believe we mutually treasure.

A soulmate is a soulmate and we encounter many of them throughout the course of our lives--friends, lovers, no matter who they are. It's a virtually unbreakable bond. So I hold tight to that concept. "You and me were never meant to be part of the future. All we have is now...." But alas, while he's so busy managing his overly-hectic, tiring life, I'm missing him. Missing his wisdom, his wit, his storytelling, his dimples, his advice...so many things. And it's safe to say I even cross his mind very little, judging from the lack of response or a listening ear he's extended during this depressive episode, whereas other friends have said to call them anytime if I need them. I think we *are* meant to be part of the future. But we have to work at it, our friendship. You can't expect a plant to thrive and grow if you leave it alone in the shade forever and never water it. It needs to nurtured. Often. 

Conversely, there is a greater degree of propinquity between my Pastor and I, since we see each other on a regular basis. We've forged a friendship because we're in each other's presence all the time.  That's the propinquity effect in action--forming relationships/friendships/kinships with people you encounter often. That's how I got to be friends with this particular friend and with Pastor Dave. Just as an example.

Physical propinquity has never existed between one of my old soulmates, my best male friend, who lives in another state and always has. He travels the world, so our communication can be scant, though he checks in more regularly when he's on the road. Still, our emotional propinquity is solid. And we thrill at the joy of when our physical propinquity is present. EXPLOSION!

PS-- I love you though you're chicken.