Ah, slang.
Remember first learning to swear, and how incredibly cool you thought it was to say "shit" or "damnit" at the top of your lungs? How incredibly adult and mature sounding you felt you were? You would literally say any word, regardless of meaning, just because it was new and bound to offend someone if they heard you. Or get your ass beaten into the next century (one or the other).
MidSis was reading an Anne McCaffrey book when she was about eleven, and asked my grandmother what a cunt was. She may have gotten her mouth washed out with soap. I know I did, at least twice! That was the first time I'd ever heard that word, and I'd certainly no clue that it was in reference to a vagina. I grew up in a family of girls. Whenever we referred to parts, we referred to them by proper names. We had no reason to refer to them as slang, they were just parts of us....no nicknames, no cutsey things...just parts of our bodies.
Periodically, I still manage to hear some things that make my skin crawl. Like....hm...tipdrill. I find that to be very derogatory. Hateful, even.
What about you?
20080416
20080415
I seem to be in a list making mood lately.
Things everyone should do once in life.
1. Stand in the ocean surf, during an incoming storm, when the wind is high and is whipping the waves higher and higher, and facing the waves, let one crash over you while screaming at the top of your lungs, like you are daring the sea to come get you.
2. Pay someone else's toll at the tollbooth without looking to see whose toll you are paying.
3. Everytime you take a trip, stop at a church, a cathedral and just....reflect.
4. Wish upon a shooting star.
5. Pack up a picnic, and climb to the top of a waterfall. Have lunch. Climb down. Maybe take a nap.
6. Get off the trail. Make your own. Play in the woods.
7. Throw away a can full of paint in your regular trash without filling it with cat litter. C'mon. Be a rebel. I dare you.
8. Take a two hour lunch, and go home, and take a nap.
9. Marvel at the absolute work of art that is your body. Even if you resemble a Picasso rather than a Sargent. Or maybe a Dali. Or a Titian. Your pick.
Things everyone should do once in life.
1. Stand in the ocean surf, during an incoming storm, when the wind is high and is whipping the waves higher and higher, and facing the waves, let one crash over you while screaming at the top of your lungs, like you are daring the sea to come get you.
2. Pay someone else's toll at the tollbooth without looking to see whose toll you are paying.
3. Everytime you take a trip, stop at a church, a cathedral and just....reflect.
4. Wish upon a shooting star.
5. Pack up a picnic, and climb to the top of a waterfall. Have lunch. Climb down. Maybe take a nap.
6. Get off the trail. Make your own. Play in the woods.
7. Throw away a can full of paint in your regular trash without filling it with cat litter. C'mon. Be a rebel. I dare you.
8. Take a two hour lunch, and go home, and take a nap.
9. Marvel at the absolute work of art that is your body. Even if you resemble a Picasso rather than a Sargent. Or maybe a Dali. Or a Titian. Your pick.
Oh, I know, we've talked about this before, but why are farts so funny?
I'm sitting in the massage chair last night having a pleasant conversation with Mr. Manners, Maddy to my left and Zoe off somewhere to my right, when a sudden, noxious odor manages to confirm for me quite definitely that I am downwind of the business end of the dog, and that I should really stop letting them have the "special" treats that resemble sausages.
I guess my horrified laughter (and the fact that I was trying to cover up my entire head with my sweater) gave it away. The cloud quickly settled on Mr. Manners, who frantically began to fan the air and make fun of Maddy, who lifted her sweet little blond head and gave us a bemused "who me?" look before settling down to go back to sleep.
Now, I know dogs can smell. They smell food. They definitely smell dead things. Zoe has been known to "excuse herself" from the room, and wrinkle her nose at her own smell (although she does look around the room to see if she can blame it on anyone else, clever little minx, before she slinks off into another room). Do they not smell their own farts?
Anyway...this set me off on a random tangent. If my immediate reaction to a horrid dog fart is to laugh...if I was exposed to a deadly gas, does that mean I would die by laughing to death?
Death by dog fart?
How horrid.
I'm sitting in the massage chair last night having a pleasant conversation with Mr. Manners, Maddy to my left and Zoe off somewhere to my right, when a sudden, noxious odor manages to confirm for me quite definitely that I am downwind of the business end of the dog, and that I should really stop letting them have the "special" treats that resemble sausages.
I guess my horrified laughter (and the fact that I was trying to cover up my entire head with my sweater) gave it away. The cloud quickly settled on Mr. Manners, who frantically began to fan the air and make fun of Maddy, who lifted her sweet little blond head and gave us a bemused "who me?" look before settling down to go back to sleep.
Now, I know dogs can smell. They smell food. They definitely smell dead things. Zoe has been known to "excuse herself" from the room, and wrinkle her nose at her own smell (although she does look around the room to see if she can blame it on anyone else, clever little minx, before she slinks off into another room). Do they not smell their own farts?
Anyway...this set me off on a random tangent. If my immediate reaction to a horrid dog fart is to laugh...if I was exposed to a deadly gas, does that mean I would die by laughing to death?
Death by dog fart?
How horrid.
20080414
20080409
In keeping with a prior posts, worst historical yet contemporary toilets in Atlanta:
Topping the list, at number one:
The restrooms at Backstreet. Can you imagine having to SIT? Oh, the horror!
Proudly holding at number two, for that exact reason, the toilets at Piedmont Park. And the lake. Nasty.
The women's room at the old Fado. Really, to close the door you had to straddle the toilet.
All the bathrooms at Lakewood Amphitheater during any given concert. I'm sure they were nice and clean normally, but....well, people who stand in line for an hour to piss ain't too neat.
Remember the old bathrooms at the Atlanta Zoo before it was remodeled?
Hm....other stellar bathroom experiences? I'm thinking of Ewan McGregor exclaiming something about the "worst toilet in Scotland".....what's the worst toilet in Atlanta?
Topping the list, at number one:
The restrooms at Backstreet. Can you imagine having to SIT? Oh, the horror!
Proudly holding at number two, for that exact reason, the toilets at Piedmont Park. And the lake. Nasty.
The women's room at the old Fado. Really, to close the door you had to straddle the toilet.
All the bathrooms at Lakewood Amphitheater during any given concert. I'm sure they were nice and clean normally, but....well, people who stand in line for an hour to piss ain't too neat.
Remember the old bathrooms at the Atlanta Zoo before it was remodeled?
Hm....other stellar bathroom experiences? I'm thinking of Ewan McGregor exclaiming something about the "worst toilet in Scotland".....what's the worst toilet in Atlanta?
Go Pick Your Own Switch!
Today's teenagers do not have one lick, I repeat, one lick of anything remotely resembling common sense. Mommy and Daddy's little entitled monsters have clearly come up with a new game that ensures their little moment of fame - YouTube.
You too can become a completely famous and classless idiot by filming yourself and seven of your friends having a complete throwdown on one little girl - you can film it and post it on YouTube. Because we all get off on teenagers beating each other up, don't we?
I can see it now. When I'm in my sixties, and it's an election year, we'll be listening to some baised political pundit going on and on about some grainy twenty plus year old internet footage that shows some idiot (who is running for president at some future date) taping a hamster to a frisbee and throwing it around the backyard for his dog to chase while taping it.
Seriously.
There's a hickory switch with your name on it, ladies!
You too can become a completely famous and classless idiot by filming yourself and seven of your friends having a complete throwdown on one little girl - you can film it and post it on YouTube. Because we all get off on teenagers beating each other up, don't we?
I can see it now. When I'm in my sixties, and it's an election year, we'll be listening to some baised political pundit going on and on about some grainy twenty plus year old internet footage that shows some idiot (who is running for president at some future date) taping a hamster to a frisbee and throwing it around the backyard for his dog to chase while taping it.
Seriously.
There's a hickory switch with your name on it, ladies!
You know, I can't resist CL's "The Blotter"
This week's tidbit:
"HOOKER WITH A LAZY STREAK: An undercover officer said a woman flagged him down and hopped into his car. The woman offered to have sex with him for $20, he noted. "The female further advised that it would be $10 more if she had to 'get me hard' because she wanted me to 'stand up and salute,'" the officer noted. The woman, age 47, was arrested for soliciting sex."
This week's tidbit:
"HOOKER WITH A LAZY STREAK: An undercover officer said a woman flagged him down and hopped into his car. The woman offered to have sex with him for $20, he noted. "The female further advised that it would be $10 more if she had to 'get me hard' because she wanted me to 'stand up and salute,'" the officer noted. The woman, age 47, was arrested for soliciting sex."
20080408
Oh, Dan Savage, the witty little gay columnist who writes "Savage Love" (not for the faint of heart, so don't start reading him if you are...say, easily shocked...yes, grandmom, that means you!), wrote the most heartbreaking tribute to his mother, who recently passed away.
You can read the article, called "At A Loss" here.
You can read the article, called "At A Loss" here.
Recently, we were out somewhere when I noticed a woman in a full Arabic dress and veil, with her husband, and her two children. I watched the woman as they walked up; she didn’t speak, or make eye contact with anyone. She was careful to watch the children, and spoke to them quietly, and kept them out of the way of the other passers by. Her clothing was muted (although lovely, even if I don’t like the style), finely tailored and obviously expensive. The husband approached Mr. Manners and I to ask for directions, and I thought to myself “surely, this man is going to ask Mr. Manners and not me!”
Indeed, the man came up to me, all full of smiles and politely phrased English, to ask for directions and I assisted as best as I was able (being particularly uncertain myself but having a general idea). He thanked me, and gathered his family and moved on, with the wife trailing behind.
As I watched her walk away behind her family, I felt a flash of pity. What kind of life is that?
Then I wondered if she didn’t feel the same corresponding flash of pity for me, but for different reasons.
And I looked at her daughter, in her little yellow romper and matching hat and shoes, and I thought, what will your choice be? Will you be like so many immigrants to this country, and will you be exposed to and raised with our social values until you hit puberty, and then will you be forced into a mould that you have no real concept of? Will you look at your mother with pity or hatred when you are sixteen and you want to date and your father says unequivocally “this is not our way”? Will you ever understand that perhaps in looking for a better life your parents will end up sacrificing their values, and the values they wish to pass to you, so that you will be better than them?
I do wonder.
Indeed, the man came up to me, all full of smiles and politely phrased English, to ask for directions and I assisted as best as I was able (being particularly uncertain myself but having a general idea). He thanked me, and gathered his family and moved on, with the wife trailing behind.
As I watched her walk away behind her family, I felt a flash of pity. What kind of life is that?
Then I wondered if she didn’t feel the same corresponding flash of pity for me, but for different reasons.
And I looked at her daughter, in her little yellow romper and matching hat and shoes, and I thought, what will your choice be? Will you be like so many immigrants to this country, and will you be exposed to and raised with our social values until you hit puberty, and then will you be forced into a mould that you have no real concept of? Will you look at your mother with pity or hatred when you are sixteen and you want to date and your father says unequivocally “this is not our way”? Will you ever understand that perhaps in looking for a better life your parents will end up sacrificing their values, and the values they wish to pass to you, so that you will be better than them?
I do wonder.
20080407
As I was toodling off, fetching the lovely fruits of my labor that I planned to combine into a deluxe and fabulous gourmet meal, I was listening to satellite radio when they played a really old David Bowie song. Really old, like...prior to Ziggy Stardust old. I started thinking about his first wife, and something he had told her in the course of their marriage....
Did you know he'd been married before? (if you did....faaa! you're old! :-) They had a child named Zowie.
Anyhow, the reason I know this interesting tidbit is because a former employer long ago did a bankruptcy for her, and in lieu of payment (or perhaps in an attempt at "in lieu of payment") she gave us copies of her tell all biography. This was in an era when the tell all biography was the newest thing in the publishing world, I think, long before the Andrew Morton's of the world came along to barf their drivel out in riveting page after page. I confess, I read Elton John's (how else would I know his real name), Cher's, Barbra Streisand's....I mean, if they were a celebrity coming out of my childhood, I wanted to KNOW!
So I read her book. Boy, was it bad.
But an interesting tidbit, aside from talking about "Angie" being written for her and Mick and David's bisexual affair, and the fact that she claimed giving birth to her son fractured her pelvis - something I thought terribly romantic - the peril of childbirth - but that I now think was the result of some poor prenatal nutrition on mommy dearest's part - was something she claimed David had said to her about women:
"White women give me a rash".
Did you know he'd been married before? (if you did....faaa! you're old! :-) They had a child named Zowie.
Anyhow, the reason I know this interesting tidbit is because a former employer long ago did a bankruptcy for her, and in lieu of payment (or perhaps in an attempt at "in lieu of payment") she gave us copies of her tell all biography. This was in an era when the tell all biography was the newest thing in the publishing world, I think, long before the Andrew Morton's of the world came along to barf their drivel out in riveting page after page. I confess, I read Elton John's (how else would I know his real name), Cher's, Barbra Streisand's....I mean, if they were a celebrity coming out of my childhood, I wanted to KNOW!
So I read her book. Boy, was it bad.
But an interesting tidbit, aside from talking about "Angie" being written for her and Mick and David's bisexual affair, and the fact that she claimed giving birth to her son fractured her pelvis - something I thought terribly romantic - the peril of childbirth - but that I now think was the result of some poor prenatal nutrition on mommy dearest's part - was something she claimed David had said to her about women:
"White women give me a rash".
20080406
20080403
You're so Vain
So today I picked up an Allure magazine. It's not one that is in my normal rotation of junk (for some reason, I really love Glamour, and the New Yorker, and the Economist. I know, it's a weird mix).
This month's edition is all about combating the signs of ageing and was chock full of interesting interviews and tid bits with women talking about what they were doing in their beauty routines to combat the signs of ageing. Moisturizers, anti oxidants, high colonics, water diets, etc.
I have come to one conclusion:
These women are nuts.
Okay, wait, I have come to two conclusions:
These women are nuts AND high maintenance.
This is my morning routine: let out dogs, brush teeth, shower (I always condition, but only shampoo twice a week), shave legs, soap self, use cold cream on face, dry off, put lotion with spf on face (only, not on whole freaking self), put on eyeliner, powder, sometimes eyeshadow, and Burt's Bees lip gloss (never leave home without eyeliner and lip gloss), spritz self with Angel, comb through hair while wet (all the women's magazines say this is a big no no, but....super thin hair is too tangly to let air dry au naturale), put in leave in conditioner and light gel, let air dry (sometimes I actually style), clip bangs off face, put on clothes, leave house.
That takes about half an hour. It can be compressed, under pressure, to fifteen minutes. Or even five, if shaving is removed from the equation.
A prima donna I am not.
Who the hell lives like that? Ladies?
This month's edition is all about combating the signs of ageing and was chock full of interesting interviews and tid bits with women talking about what they were doing in their beauty routines to combat the signs of ageing. Moisturizers, anti oxidants, high colonics, water diets, etc.
I have come to one conclusion:
These women are nuts.
Okay, wait, I have come to two conclusions:
These women are nuts AND high maintenance.
This is my morning routine: let out dogs, brush teeth, shower (I always condition, but only shampoo twice a week), shave legs, soap self, use cold cream on face, dry off, put lotion with spf on face (only, not on whole freaking self), put on eyeliner, powder, sometimes eyeshadow, and Burt's Bees lip gloss (never leave home without eyeliner and lip gloss), spritz self with Angel, comb through hair while wet (all the women's magazines say this is a big no no, but....super thin hair is too tangly to let air dry au naturale), put in leave in conditioner and light gel, let air dry (sometimes I actually style), clip bangs off face, put on clothes, leave house.
That takes about half an hour. It can be compressed, under pressure, to fifteen minutes. Or even five, if shaving is removed from the equation.
A prima donna I am not.
Who the hell lives like that? Ladies?
We went to Disney World once, I think, right after Grandmother Carol had died, returning from the last trip we took to see the Alligator Aunt in Naples. At twelve, you are at the stage where the Magic Kingdom is a big fake disappointment - you are too old to be taken in by the illusion, and too young to appreciate the illusion for what it is. But I do remember having fun with Lil and Mid Sis on the whirling teacups (I'm late for a Very Important Date), and being really scared on Space Mountain (a roller coaster that you rode IN THE DARK - who knew?), and thinking that it was just too dorky for words.
Of course, compounding to the utter twelve year old angst-ness of the trip - Carol had given Mid Sis and I clutch purses - the kind made from eyelet material, and with wooden handles, that were very popular in the mid eighties. Very homey, and you could change out the bag material by undoing some buttons. Anyway, I had left mine in the car, on the seat.
As you might have guessed, even in the vast Disney parking lot, the car was broken into, and the bag stolen. What kind of inept thief was trolling the lot at Disney that day?
"Hm" says inept thief "most people take their money INTO the park. I bet someone left money here!"
No. Sadly, the thief made of with something more precious than money (a gift from my grandmother that was probably full of kleenex and a book). I hope the thief was literate and enjoyed what was surely a Barbara Cartland romance.
I've reached the stage where I think it would be nice to go back to Disney, a way of closing the circle (if you will). Now I can appreciate the illusion.
This time I won't leave my purse in the car.
Of course, compounding to the utter twelve year old angst-ness of the trip - Carol had given Mid Sis and I clutch purses - the kind made from eyelet material, and with wooden handles, that were very popular in the mid eighties. Very homey, and you could change out the bag material by undoing some buttons. Anyway, I had left mine in the car, on the seat.
As you might have guessed, even in the vast Disney parking lot, the car was broken into, and the bag stolen. What kind of inept thief was trolling the lot at Disney that day?
"Hm" says inept thief "most people take their money INTO the park. I bet someone left money here!"
No. Sadly, the thief made of with something more precious than money (a gift from my grandmother that was probably full of kleenex and a book). I hope the thief was literate and enjoyed what was surely a Barbara Cartland romance.
I've reached the stage where I think it would be nice to go back to Disney, a way of closing the circle (if you will). Now I can appreciate the illusion.
This time I won't leave my purse in the car.
20080402
Georgia Finally Gets it Right
From the AJC:
Jekyll Island hotel/condo plan droppedPark, conservation center now proposed for disputed areaBy JIM GALLOWAYThe Atlanta Journal-ConstitutionPublished on: 04/02/08
After a lengthy fight in the Capitol and with residents on the coast, a public-private partnership to remake state-owned Jekyll Island has backed away from plans to place hotels and condos on a massive parking lot that for decades has given Georgia vacationers access to a popular beach.
Instead, the acreage will be changed to include a park and an environmental conservation center, the latter originally planned for elsewhere on the island.
"After conferring with our revitalization partner, Linger Longer Communities, we have made the decision to limit use of this area to those public purposes and not development of accommodations, such as hotels and condominiums," according to a letter from Ben Porter, chairman of the Jekyll Island Authority, to House Majority Leader Jerry Keen.
The letter was released in order to fend off more legislative attempts to restrict Jekyll developers. None has been successful, but the efforts have generated thousands of telephone calls and e-mails to lawmakers since January.
"This was simply the right thing to do," said Sen. Jeff Chapman (R-Brunswick), who led the fight to reduce the footprint of Jekyll Island's redevelopment. "We're very excited for the public."
State Rep. Debbie Buckner (D-Junction City) took up the cause in the House. "We're very happy, and it wouldn't have happened without the thousands of people who called and e-mailed," Buckner said.
On Jekyll Island, residents David and Mindy Egan are co-directors of the Initiative to Protect Jekyll Island, which boasts an e-mail list of 7,000 supporters, a mix of environmentalists, island residents and vacationers.
"I have to admit everybody's thrilled," David Egan said. While Egan did not discount the impact of public opinion, he said the change in plans might have had more to do with the federal regulation of beach property.
In his letter, Porter, the authority chairman, said the state Department of Natural Resources "has recently established" that the stretch of beach in question is covered by the U.S. Shore Protection Act passed by Congress in 1988.
"Permits will be required for any redevelopment of this area," Porter wrote.
Egan said that Jekyll authorities and Linger Longer, a development firm with major Republican ties, probably realized that court challenges to those permits could tie up the redevelopment project for years.
Efforts to contact Porter and a spokesman for the Jekyll Island Authority were unsuccessful Wednesday.
Both Egan and Chapman, the state senator from Brunswick, said they would have to see new blueprints of the development plans before they could declare victory."
I am SO HAPPY!
Jekyll Island hotel/condo plan droppedPark, conservation center now proposed for disputed areaBy JIM GALLOWAYThe Atlanta Journal-ConstitutionPublished on: 04/02/08
After a lengthy fight in the Capitol and with residents on the coast, a public-private partnership to remake state-owned Jekyll Island has backed away from plans to place hotels and condos on a massive parking lot that for decades has given Georgia vacationers access to a popular beach.
Instead, the acreage will be changed to include a park and an environmental conservation center, the latter originally planned for elsewhere on the island.
"After conferring with our revitalization partner, Linger Longer Communities, we have made the decision to limit use of this area to those public purposes and not development of accommodations, such as hotels and condominiums," according to a letter from Ben Porter, chairman of the Jekyll Island Authority, to House Majority Leader Jerry Keen.
The letter was released in order to fend off more legislative attempts to restrict Jekyll developers. None has been successful, but the efforts have generated thousands of telephone calls and e-mails to lawmakers since January.
"This was simply the right thing to do," said Sen. Jeff Chapman (R-Brunswick), who led the fight to reduce the footprint of Jekyll Island's redevelopment. "We're very excited for the public."
State Rep. Debbie Buckner (D-Junction City) took up the cause in the House. "We're very happy, and it wouldn't have happened without the thousands of people who called and e-mailed," Buckner said.
On Jekyll Island, residents David and Mindy Egan are co-directors of the Initiative to Protect Jekyll Island, which boasts an e-mail list of 7,000 supporters, a mix of environmentalists, island residents and vacationers.
"I have to admit everybody's thrilled," David Egan said. While Egan did not discount the impact of public opinion, he said the change in plans might have had more to do with the federal regulation of beach property.
In his letter, Porter, the authority chairman, said the state Department of Natural Resources "has recently established" that the stretch of beach in question is covered by the U.S. Shore Protection Act passed by Congress in 1988.
"Permits will be required for any redevelopment of this area," Porter wrote.
Egan said that Jekyll authorities and Linger Longer, a development firm with major Republican ties, probably realized that court challenges to those permits could tie up the redevelopment project for years.
Efforts to contact Porter and a spokesman for the Jekyll Island Authority were unsuccessful Wednesday.
Both Egan and Chapman, the state senator from Brunswick, said they would have to see new blueprints of the development plans before they could declare victory."
I am SO HAPPY!
Just further proof (link found on Dooce's blog) that dogs are far cooler than humans can ever aspire to be.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/news/worldnews.html?in_article_id=551330&in_page_id=1811
Ma! I want a baby kangaroo!
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/news/worldnews.html?in_article_id=551330&in_page_id=1811
Ma! I want a baby kangaroo!
The Boxer
Simon and Garfunke's finest:
"I am just a poor boy.
Though my story's seldom told,
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocketful of mumbles,
Such are promises
All lies and jest
Still, a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest.
When I left my home
And my family,I was no more than a boy
In the company of strangers
In the quiet of the railway station,
Running scared,
Laying low,
Seeking out the poorer quarters
Where the ragged people go,
Looking for the places
Only they would know
.Lie-la-lie...
Asking only workman's wages
I come looking for a job,
But I get no offers,
Just a come-on from the whores
On Seventh Avenue
I do declare,
There were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there.
Lie-la-lie...
Then I'm laying out my winter clothes
And wishing I was gone,
Going home
Where the New York City winters
Aren't bleeding me,
Leading me,
Going home.
In the clearing stands a boxer,
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that laid him down
And cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame,
"I am leaving, I am leaving."
But the fighter still remains."
I can't really tell you why I love this song, or why it resonates so much within me. It speaks to the utter loneliness of trying to do things your own way, and failing. It speaks to finding out that there is always someone else who is worse off than you. It speaks to finding comfort in the most unexpected of places. It speaks of always having your dignity. It speaks of always being true to yourself, no matter how much life knocks you down.
And although it's not a feminine trait (to be a boxer)...no matter how much life knocks you around, you have to get back up, dust yourself off, and keep on going - with yourself intact. You still bear the marks of your knocks - but you are still you.
I love this song, and every single time I hear it, it makes me cry.
"I am just a poor boy.
Though my story's seldom told,
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocketful of mumbles,
Such are promises
All lies and jest
Still, a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest.
When I left my home
And my family,I was no more than a boy
In the company of strangers
In the quiet of the railway station,
Running scared,
Laying low,
Seeking out the poorer quarters
Where the ragged people go,
Looking for the places
Only they would know
.Lie-la-lie...
Asking only workman's wages
I come looking for a job,
But I get no offers,
Just a come-on from the whores
On Seventh Avenue
I do declare,
There were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there.
Lie-la-lie...
Then I'm laying out my winter clothes
And wishing I was gone,
Going home
Where the New York City winters
Aren't bleeding me,
Leading me,
Going home.
In the clearing stands a boxer,
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that laid him down
And cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame,
"I am leaving, I am leaving."
But the fighter still remains."
I can't really tell you why I love this song, or why it resonates so much within me. It speaks to the utter loneliness of trying to do things your own way, and failing. It speaks to finding out that there is always someone else who is worse off than you. It speaks to finding comfort in the most unexpected of places. It speaks of always having your dignity. It speaks of always being true to yourself, no matter how much life knocks you down.
And although it's not a feminine trait (to be a boxer)...no matter how much life knocks you around, you have to get back up, dust yourself off, and keep on going - with yourself intact. You still bear the marks of your knocks - but you are still you.
I love this song, and every single time I hear it, it makes me cry.
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