Morrissey stands by Norway comments:
Before starting his track Meat Is Murder, the former The Smiths star told the crowd, “We all live in a murderous world, as the events in Norway have shown… Though that is nothing compared to what happens in McDonald’s and Kentucky Fried S**t every day.”
Goodbye, house…
I think I already mentioned it, but the Great Pittsburgh Experiment (2009-2011) came to its conclusion a few weeks ago as Mark and I met up to dismantle the house we’d been so excited to buy two years earlier.
The reasons are clear: we’re no longer a couple and one of us lives on the other end of the country. And the one who lives on the other end of the country is the one who was more excited about having a house in Pittsburgh to begin with. Not that I didn’t love the house too, but it was always more Mark’s fantasy than mine, and he did all the painting and the renovations, etc. Pittsburgh is a place I’d still consider living should an opportunity arise. I really like it there. But I probably won’t visit much now that we’ve sold the place; part of the fun was “playing house.” It just wasn’t enough fun to justify paying another mortgage.
One benefit of moving is that I got lots of nice new old furniture to use in Winston-Salem. The former owner left a fair amount of stuff in the house when we bought it, including an amazing “Brady Bunch Hawaiian Adventure” bedroom suite which has now migrated southward to the Carolinas. I got custody of a much newer and better mattress too. Thanks to Mark for driving the truck and helping to load and unload all this stuff. It’s inspired me to do a makeover.
It was sort of a sad weekend, obviously, as one more part of the life we used to have together was ending. But it was something we had to let go. I wish I’d taken some time to spend a few days up there before we gave up possession of the house, just to have a few more breakfasts at Barb’s or lunches at Smallman Street. I felt very much a part of Pittsburgh, strangely enough, even with my limited time there. Years from now, I’ll probably see these two years of owning two homes as a sort of surreal period, much like 2005-2006 in Charlotte but probably with fonder recollections (except maybe for the ones that involve driving through 250 miles of West Virginia each visit). I’ll miss Pittsburgh, but I’ll miss what it symbolized even more.
I’ve been meaning to post a picture of this interchange sign ever since we bought the Pittsburgh house.
Wasn’t this Prince’s name a few years back?
Forgot to mention this last week, but the NPR station in Kansas City interviewed me about Groceteria last week, in case you care.
It’s amazing how appealing some tasks you might otherwise regard as rather unpleasant can seem when you have a project you can’t seem to get going on and you’re looking for yet another way to avoid it. When I was in grad school, the toilets were never so clean and the carpets never so vacuumed as when I had papers due.
All of which means I really need to get moving on this book chapter I’m supposed to be writing, but I’ll probably just have dinner with Mom and Dad and then do laundry tonight instead.
Butthole Surfers
Pepper (1996)
DJ Midnight at WQFS needs to be my girlfriend, not just for always playing music that restores some of the life that gets sucked out of me every Tuesday night at dinner, but especially tonight for choosing “Bigmouth Strikes Again” as her obligatory Smiths song of the evening.
And, um, also for playing this Butthole Surfers song that I hadn’t heard in a while–which is supposed to be the point of the post, I guess.
The day after he rode in the front seat of my car.
Which he did.
Seriously.
Via Sarah:
Watch the full episode. See more Independent Lens.
A couple of people in recent weeks have asked me if I’m “dating anyone” these days. I know that’s the kind of thing one often asks an acquaintance who’s recently ended a long term relationship, but honestly one or two of these people really should have known better. So here’s the scoop: No, I’m not “dating anyone.” The thought of “dating anyone” hasn’t even crossed my mind.
First, let’s establish for the record that being coupled is not my natural state. Until I met Mark in my late thirties, I had never been in a really serious, long term relationship. Mark is a very special person. For him, I made a very special exception. It was the right decision and I stand by it even though it ultimately didn’t work out. Upon ending this particular relationship, though, I didn’t wake up the next morning and think, “Oh my God. I must find a new boyfriend. Today!” In fact, I’d say there’s probably a more than fifty-fifty chance that I won’t ever be involved in another serious, long term relationship. And that’s not really a problem for me. It’s not like riding a bicycle or falling off a horse; dating or jumping into another relationship just for the sake of it wouldn’t help anything at all and would probably only make wretched both my own life and that of my hapless victim.
Without getting into specifics, I think it’s obvious to anyone who knows me that I was not the instigator of our breakup. I don’t say that to assign blame nor to portray myself as “morally superior” and play the victim but to emphasize that I did not end this relationship because I was looking for a new life or new thrills or a new relationship. I had generally been pretty happy with the old life, the old thrills, and the old relationship. I hadn’t really bothered contemplating replacements or alternatives. When a relationship ends this way, it’s almost feels as if you’ve been widowed; your life has changed radically and it feels like it all happened more or less against your will. There’s a certain period of mourning you have to go through, and I haven’t quite finished going through it yet. I’m getting there–I no longer spontaneously burst into tears several times a day–but romance and sex are still pretty damned low on my list of priorities right now, thanks.
And let’s be honest: There’s not a long line of men outside my front door anxiously waiting for me change my mind, anyway. I left the Triad almost twenty years ago in part because of the lack of interesting and available men here. I was comfortable moving back five years ago because I was no longer looking, and now that pool is much smaller now than it was back in 1992–for me, at least. I’m not nearly anxious enough to “date” or get laid to make trolling the depressing collection of local queer bars (or the internet) a priority. In fact, I’m not really anxious enough to go to any effort at all right now.
So yeah. I’m not “dating anyone.” I’m not likely to be doing so for the foreseeable future. My life is about me now, not about the co-stars. You should not feel sorry for me because of this. I don’t. If you’re determined to feel sorry for me, I’ll try to make you a list of other, more valid reasons. Or not.
With that off my chest, I will go back to any number of other things that will help me put off the one thing I really need to be working on today.
Foster the People
Pumped Up Kicks, 2010
I do like this song, but I find it really hard to listen to the chorus without singing “all the little chicks with the crimson lips go ‘Cleveland rocks! Cleveland rocks!'”
Sorry, but it had to be said.