Glorified Version of a Pelican?

Tell me a story about you and your favorite nineties alternative* rock song**:


There are too many "favorites" for me to name. I was in high school in the mid-nineties and worked in a music store/managed one for 8 years, five of them falling in the nineties. Both of these experiences make for lots encounters with music. But, I will get the ball rolling so to speak and choose one song, one memory:

Not long after I graduated high school my best friend Reuben and I went to a Pearl Jam concert at Alpine Valley with our other buddy, Jesse. We had lawn "seats" and had a really good time: we heard the songs we wanted to hear, weren't surrounded by assholes, and the weather was nice (nevermind the torrential downpour that occurred on the way home that led to the car dying and us having to hitch a ride home, but that's another story entirely).

The best part of the evening, the most memorable, the thing that sticks out and as time passes turns from momentarily remarkable to permanently nostalgic was during the encore. PJ came out and played the song "Once" which just kicks so much ass all the way through. Well, at, "Once/ Upon a time/ I could love myself" I looked over at Reuben and he was bathed in orange stage lights, screaming along as hard as he could. His eyes were closed, he was sweaty and shirtless and sans irony or silliness or self awareness he was really rocking the fuck out. After that night, "Once" fast became my favorite PJ song, replacing "Corduroy." My favorite PJ has changed over time, one of the hallmarks, I believe, of a really good band: not only do they remain good, but what kind of good they are changes over time, just as their old songs are able to take new shapes for their fans. I wouldn't have one of their songs tattooed on my forearm if they weren't capable of the transcendent (Incidentally, it is neither "Corduroy" nor "Once" but yet another one).

What's really interesting to me about "Once" now, is how much the lyrics reflect so much of the turmoil between Reuben and I at the time:

The lyrics are as follows:

I admit it...what's to say...yeah...
I'll relive it...without pain...mmm...
Backseat lover on the side of the road
I got a bomb in my temple that is gonna explode
I got a sixteen gauge buried under my clothes, I play...
Once upon a time I could CONTROL myself
Ooh, once upon a time I could LOSE myself, yeah...

Oh, try and mimic what's insane...ooh, yeah...
I am in it...where do I stand?
Oh, Indian summer and I hate the heat
I got a backstreet lover on the passenger seat
I got my hand in my pocket, so determined, discreet...I pray...
Once upon a time I could CONTROL myself
Ooh, once upon a time I could LOSE myself, yeah, yeah...

You think I got my eyes closed
But I'm lookin' at you the whole fuckin' time...

Ooh, once upon a time I could control myself, yeah...
Once upon a time I could lose myself, yeah, yeah, yeah...
Once, upon a time I could love myself, yeah...
Once upon a time I could love you, yeah, yeah, yeah...

Once (4x)
Yeah...once, once...yeah, yeah...
Yeah...yeah, yeah...yeah, yeah...oww...

Mistakes were made, the innocent were hurt badly. But thinking back to Reuben that night reminds me of the indelible nature of music, especially for the young: it marks you up, scars you, and reminds you of the things you've done, for better or worse, of the things you've experienced, that make life worth remembering. I've always wanted to write a "memoir" of sorts, one all tangled up with that time in my life, and this memory makes me pine for it, this piece of writing I haven't written yet. I think Chicago, back home, is the place to start writing it.



*You know what I mean--the genre that was commonly known as "alternative" that became popular.

**Extra credit to the person whom can decipher the reference to a song title from said genre in the title to this post.

It's Nice to Be Loved:

This was the first online interaction I had today:

me: Gina!

Gina: emileeeeee!

me: It's 6.30, go back to bed!

Gina: i have to go to work!

i'm late!

i love you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

me: eek! go to work!

i love you too!

Moving: You Can't Go Home

I've been worrying, or thinking, a lot about moving to Chicago lately. It's coming, whether I'm ready for it or not, in a few months. Initially this seems like an easy reassurance: moving to Chicago means moving home, near family, to the state I was born in, right? Well, the more I think about it, the more it's not so simple. I think about the person I was when I lived there, 7 long year ago, and notice how different I am now. I think about some of the things I said to people I work with, take classes with, when I first moved here and am embarrassed: I sounded like an ignorant Midwesterner, even when I thought I was so fucking smart. But I'm different now. I don't think I'm so fucking smart, but I know I'm wiser. I don't offer blind, unwavering advice. I just don't think some of the stupid shit that was funny then is funny now. In short, I grew the fuck up, and I like the person I am now, in a way I might not have liked myself then.

And, although I love them very much, how much change can high school friendships endure? How much should two people try to be friends when there just might not be anything left of the original bond? When I move home, will I be expected to be the same Emily I was when I left? I hope not, because I don't know her anymore. I am reassured when I remember that my friends and family have changed a lot too, and so if we all go into it not expecting too much of each other, I'm confident we can forge ahead, learning about each other anew. Plus, there is the added concern of realizing I'm moving away from an area highly concentrated with gay women, into one highly concentrated with heterosexuals. As an adult gay, this is something I can deal with, but also something that will take some adjusting to.

These last 7 years have been really great: I moved out, went to school, made tons of great friends, and kept the good friends I had back home. I became a better writer, a deeper thinker, and a better person because of the relationships I have made and the things I have survived. I broke someone's heart and we both survived it. I stuck it out in a program I now don't think was right for me. I lived in a state with no friends and no relatives for 6 months. I beat Cancer. But "going home" sometimes scares the shit out of me. Since my grandmother died, I just don't really feel like "home" as a concept exists anymore, and so for that reason and many others, I am deeply relieved I am moving to Chicago, not Aurora, the place where I was born.

I am looking forward to many things in this move, too, that I should hold fast to when traversing the rocky wares of self-doubt: a new apartment, using hammers, learning a trade, starting a writing workshop of my own, meeting my sister's children, hanging out with friends I didn't get to see too much when they lived in Chicago: Shawn and Jess! Let's read comic books!

And besides, there are many worse things than moving home: brain surgery, starving, infidelity.