BLUE MONDAY TRUE MONDAY THAT'S MY FUN DAY MY I DON'T HAVE TO RUN DAY

I had a ton of vivid dreams last night. One of them took place in the 1980s, when I was in high school. The song Blue Monday featured prominently. Sadly, I can't tell you much more, because I had so many dreams, and they were all so vivid, they kind of cancelled each other out, and I am left with this strange mish-mash memory of them all. It didn't help that my dog Padfoot kept waking me up and needing to go out. Usually, he has one trip outside a night. Last night he went out four times. I kid you not. Four damn times. And just to pee. And each time he woke me up, I was in the middle of yet another vivid dream. And all of them were positive. I do remember that. They were those dreams that when you start to awaken you wish could keep on going. 

Still, the dreams put me in a good mood. And so, in honor of Blue Monday and songs of the 1980s, on my way to get tested for Covid, I put on U2's War, and listened to the whole thing. It was one of the first albums that I listened to over and over and over, and it always brings me back to those days, that time when the world was classes and friends and music and the Impala and driving over the hill to Santa Cruz and the Dollar Movie and Young Life and Swim Team and Scouts and no clue about where I was heading and not really caring all that much. A time when most nights I'd end up at Carrow's with Tom and Brian, going over the events of the day. 

Those vivid times are jumbled up in my mind now too. And they have an excellent soundtrack. 

One thing I can't stand about movies set in any section of the past that I have lived in is how often they get the songs wrong. They play top ten hits, but no deep cuts. No rarities. Just the hits. Not that some of the hits don't belong. If I was going to make a movie about my high school years it would certainly feature Blue Monday, I Will Follow, and Video Killed the Radio Star. But it would also include a ton of Dead Kennedys, Angry Samoans, and songs by Madness beside Our House. 

I do wish I had all my old records. LPs, EPs, and 45s. I think most of them are long gone. The few that are left are sitting in a storage unit in San Jose, and once my mom's house sells, I'll go get them. Not that I want to be one of those who only play the songs from their past. That is out. In fact, in my first play, Last Call, I had a group of friends who would only go to this one bar, and only play the songs from high school on the juke box. Over and over. To the point where the songs lost all meaning and resonance and became barriers to thought and expression and joy. 

So I don't want to do that. 

But I do like to listen to the old stuff now and then. 

And I did  back when I was in high school, too. I think if you limit yourself to any one thing, type of music, kind of film, and so on, you limit way too much. 

Sometimes, you need to expose yourself to the unexpected. To things that aren't part of your past, or determined to be something you might like by some algorithm. 

As Beckett wrote, habit is a great deadener. 

So here's to trying new things, to listening to old things, and to things in general. 

Here's a song. It's a cover of Blue Monday by Orkestra Obsolete.

WE CAN DO THIS, BUT WE'VE GOT TO BELIEVE, BE STRONG, AND NEVER GIVE UP

The news this past week have been pretty damn awesome. And pretty damn awful. Two vaccines. A light at the end of the tunnel. But the tunnel is full of danger, and not all of us will make it to the end. Thanksgiving is almost here. But we can't spend it with all the folks we'd like to spend it with. The stock market is up, but so are all of our bills. 

I do think we are near the end. It will be an horrific winter, and people we know will get sick. We ourselves might get sick. Some of us will die. 

And I wish I could sugar coat that. Say that no more deaths will occur that are way too early. That nobody will have long term health problems due to this virus. 

I also wish I could fly.

Maybe I can. But not in the way most people mean when they say they wish they could fly. 

I can fly when I listen to music. When I talk with my friends. When I make my wife laugh at something goofy I've done. When I write something that makes people cry. 

That's a super power, to be sure. 

But we got serious issues going on in the country and we have to remember, it ain't over yet, The Thin Man hasn't sung. 

Put it another way: We still don't tug on Superman's cape, spit into the wind, pull the mask off that old Lone Ranger, and you don't mess around with a global pandemic and pretend it's a hoax or overblown or not wear a mask.

We can do this. 

But it will take all of us. We need to figure out how to function in a divided nation. We need to get another stimulus package passed, immediately. If we have lame duck senators, we have to call them and remind them they are still in office until January, and have a responsibility to their electorate. We have to call our relatives who are freaking out and give them comfort and hope. We have to support local businesses anyway we can. 

We have to stop complaining so much about how Zoom sucks. 

I think we all know how it sucks. 

We need to take more walks in forests and parks. 

We need to listen to more music.

We need to read more books, recite more poetry to strangers, and howl at the moon.

And what the hell happened to the nightly howls? When and why did that stop? 

And what did we replace it with? 

I think, tonight, I'm going to howl again.

For those who have passed. For those who are suffering. For those who are afraid of what's still to come. For those who have lost their jobs. For those who are late on the rent. 

For my friends, family, and neighbors.

For all of us.

We can do this.

And we will.

Here's a song. It's Like a Song by U2.