Thursday, February 22, 2007

Tales of blargy blee


Recently I was interviewing the guys in Scissors For Lefty, and I learned that the bassist and drummer's mother used to be a pop star -- in Borneo. In fact, when they go back to visit they still hear her played on the radio. When I asked if she still sang, the drummer said, "No, in Borneo, being a pop star is something you do until you're married."

I thought about that quote while listening to the Hot Toddies play the Rickshaw tonight. They're four cute young girls from Oakland and they sing salacious songs about Swedish boys' bare asses and getting horny in Seattle. (They made me feel a little like a dirty old man when I told them I liked their songs, which is good I guess, because I am older and it'd be weird if I didn't feel a little strange telling a much younger woman that I liked her flirty songs. Oh god, my feminist mom would be so proud.) But anyway, I couldn't help wondering if they'd give up their music when they settled into jobs and families. Or if they'd grow tired of subsisting on bean burritos and No Doze and move to Ukiah or Des Moines to get an advanced degree in biochemistry. And years later, would they ever get played on the radio in Borneo? Probably not.

This getting older thing is weird. How exactly do you age gracefully? In the words of Captain Fatass, "What's the use of parking lots/ if you ain't makin' out and smokin' pot?" There was an article in the Chronicle recently about a woman turning 40 and hating it, about how she had always thought women who dyed their hair and wore trendy clothes were hideous caricatures. But now that's she older, she understands the need to try to maintain your youth, no matter how.

I think I know why I'm having these thoughts. Every year around my birthday, I get moody and bonkers. Or thoughtful and melancholy. Or manic and wild. And then, usually right after my birthday, I'm back to normal. I'm not sure what it will be this year, but I can feel it coming on, something bubbling up below the surface. It might help if I could figure out what to do for my actual birthday, which is less than a month away now. Can't decide on a day or a theme or a venue. Next year will be a big one, and there's plans afoot for a trip to Mexico. But this year is smaller, more contained. Maybe some bowling. Or dancing. Or eating.

Right now, I'm staving off the Blue Meanies by reading Tales of Blarg #9. It's a long-running local zine by Janelle Hessig, and it's hella funny. Lots of comics about being a crusty (there's a hilarious punk vs. hipsters strip) and getting older (in her case 30ish), having your hormones rage like never before (all my female friends say this is true) and enjoying vices (like biting your toenails or peeing in weird places). Besides all the poo and dick jokes, there's a surprisingly tender comic about dealing with depression, in which she suggests, "The seemingly endless shit tunnel out of Shawshank doesn't really go on forever. Keep in mind that Frida Kahlo didn't get to painting until she got rooked by that trolley, and the Ramones wouldn't be the Ramones if Joey wasn't crazy. People have come back from worse things and so will you."

Words to grow old by?

2 comments:

Bubeau said...

Things Are Tough All Over.

Anonymous said...

in my dream last night, i had my ponytail back and it was all gray strands. things like flirting should become more natural as we age but it gets worse. like climbing steps.
the yellow dust storms are back.