It Certainly Was A Beautiful Day

Oh, what the hell.

Here's part 1 of the Halftime show.

Yes. It's awesome.

Back to our regularly scheduled programming.

I've been following U2 on Letterman - they're there all week. I've heard a couple of songs off the new record, and at this time of writing I'm withholding judgment. (Not withstanding David Fricke's 5/5 star review in the most recent Rolling Stone).

That being said, I was thinking about U2, and what they've meant to me over the years.

In Fall of 2002, Dad had just started to scuffle around the lip of the crevasse which, would start his inevitable slide. I had moved him in with me by then and for days, had been doing pretty well. Uncle Stan wanted us to drive out from Maple Ridge to his place for Dinner, and as Dad had been OK, we both agreed to make the trip. We got out there just fine, fine enough in fact, for him and me to have an afternoon beer on a sunny patio in White Rock before traveling the other couple of blocks to Stan's place.

None of us were big football fans; Uncle Stan likes his baseball, Dad liked to read the sports pages, and well, when I was a kid, my Mom wouldn't let me play hockey like my older brother - I was her precious flower who had to take piano lessons instead. (Of course I got picked on immensely growing up in frozen, hockey-mad Edmonton). But it was the Superbowl, so we watched part of the game, Dad & Stan caught up with each other, and I busied myself in his kitchen. (Usually when Stan invites me out - it means that he's bought the groceries, and I have to cook, then clean everything - I don't mind at all). Halfway through the meal though, his pain came back with a vengeance. Dad turned pale, borrowed a sweater from Stanley, and I put him to bed in Stan's spare room. The rest of the evening was spent with the football game on in the corner with the sound off, Stan sitting in his chair either gazing off into space, or just not wanting to talk about it, me cleaning his kitchen, and wondering how severe Dad's pain was, and how the hell could I get him the hour drive home? Should I put him in the White Rock Hospital instead? Should I knock him over the head with one of Stan's ancient mining tools enough so I could get him home and back in his own bed where he was comfortable and safe?

Regardless, I just remembered this tonight and thought to send it along. The amazing second part of the 2002 Superbowl halftime show. Some brassy Irish guys in America, 12 months after the tragedy, at the absolute height of their powers, singing about hope when I had none. (Fun Fact: At the beginning, Bono is mumbling something when the band is kicking into the song, in fact, he is saying "Lord open my lips ... so my mouth show forth thy praise").

Just because of that - I really hope I like the new album.

Are You Alright?

While I've been sporadically writing this thing over the past couple of years, I've always kept one inviolable rule largely intact; which is that I never comment on certain aspects about my personal life here. There are certain parts which I've gladly and anonymously shared, and to a small extent, that was sort of what I was going for. (I'm a pretty good self-editor). I was able to have a blank canvas, and & utilize my high-school-dropout-brain to try something that would be worth spending a couple of minutes a week reading, and hopefully a little entertaining for both you and me. I think for the most part, I've been at least in my mind, been moderately successful. But when broaching the subject of my REAL personal life - which is buried deep down inside that is only whispered into a lover's ear, or confessed to someone of the utmost discretion - I've always preferred to keep things very private and very personal. I've always thought that if I had a real problem, I could call up a couple of trusted friends or even more easily - I could just dummy up and keep my big mouth shut, smile politely and come out (at least on the outside), none the worse for wear.

Today though, I'm going to bend that rule just this once.

I've been seeing someone important for a while, and it all collapsed this week. I kept shutting this person out, and it was more due to my own fears & insecurities than for anything else. After some serious self-examination, I realized that I might have been alone too long, that I might have missed my chance, that my bad habits from years of self isolation / the loss of people close to me etc., might have taken their toll. And now when something good was staring me right in the face, I couldn't conjure up the words to talk to this person about it. The worst thing is I still can't. I can write it. I just can't say it to anyone. Which, if you knew my friends, they would be shocked hearing that sentence from my mouth.

Last Sunday, this person had every right to ask me about what our future plans were , and I couldn't answer.

This Thursday, when I finally manned up enough to show up at her place, this person had every right to tell me she had been crying for 3 days. I still couldn't give a good response, because I let her down.

Yesterday was my birthday, and I spent it alone. We were supposed to be having dinners & brunch with my friends. I let both; her and them down, I deserved it too. I wanted to tell her about how great she is, about how much I love that picture on her fridge, about how scared I am of the future, and deep down inside she could be my future - yet I couldn't muster up the words that were inside, me, when we both needed to hear them the most.

So today was the start of another year, and if my past history is anything to go by - can't say as I'm looking forward to the next 12 months. Sure, I've left my job, and am starting my new thing. That's cool and everything - but along with the stress, pressure and global economic meltdowns that obviously cast a long shadow over my future and daily operations - Bravado is overrated. I suppose that the worst thing about this whole debacle is that I hurt someone who most certainly didn't deserve it. The only thing she did was to come to me with an honest heart & offer me everything. Being cavalier with someone's feelings has never really been my strong point, and it's made me take a long, hard, rather unpleasant look at myself.

The Great Lucinda Williams, on her album entitled "West" (Rel. February 2007) had a song called "Are you Alright?" She wrote it after the breakup of a long relationship, and during same time, her mother had passed away. It is a tender song that as Rolling Stone put it as: "Rides a deep, lazy title refrain that she repeats 22 times "Are you Alright?" these words in the most commonest of language:

Are you Alright?
Are you sleeping through the night?
Do you have someone to hold you tight?
Do you have someone to hang out with?
Do you have someone to hug & kiss you?
Are you alright?

I really hope she will be. She deserves it.


Lucinda Williams - Are You Alright