On August 26, 1964, the Beatles played a show at Red Rocks Amphitheatre.
On August 26, 2011, they came back.
My daddy and I had a date last night. He surprised me with tickets to go see "1964," a Beatles Tribute band.
IT WAS RIDICULOUS MAN.
One of my great regrets in life is that I will never see the Beatles play. That would've been something else. However, seeing as George and John are no longer with us, it's a dream far beyond my reach.
1964 is the next best thing. Seriously.
They wear costumes so they look like the Beatles. They play the exact same instruments. They sound just like the Beatles. They move just like the Beatles. THEY ARE THE BEATLES.
And maybe the best part is that they play early Beatles stuff (pre-Sgt. Pepper's), which is in my opinion their better music. They ended up playing literally all my favorite songs (Ok, maybe they missed a couple, but they can't sing the whole catalog). I don't remember the order anymore but they played these songs:
-"I Want to Hold Your Hand"
-"Please Please Me"
-"From Me to You"
-"All My Loving"
-"This Boy"
-"Act Naturally"
-"Ticket to Ride"
-"When I Saw Her Standing There"
-"Can't Buy Me Love" (!!!!)
-"Twist and Shout"
-"And Your Bird Can Sing"
-"Taxman"
-"I Feel Fine"
-"You Can't Do That"
-"Hard Day's Night"
-"Drive My Car"
-"In My Life"
-"Til There Was You" (maybe my all time favorite just because it's in The Music Man)
-"Eight Days a Week" (the first Beatles song I ever heard)
-"Day Tripper"
-"She Loves You"
Yeah. It was just generally fantastic. I don't know how to explain it better.
And the thing about the Beatles is they're so anti-age-gap. I'm a teenager, there was a six year old sitting next to us, 20-somethings behind us, and 60-somethings a couple rows down. Modern music doesn't do that. Even your basic classic rock doesn't to the same extent. Only the Beatles, man. Only the Beatles.
ANYWAYS.
I've decided that I'm starting a feature on the blog called "Eight Days a Week." Every eight days I shall post the Beatles song of my choosing, whether for current relevance or just 'cause I like it. Today is appropriately "Eight Days a Week."
That is all.
(If you ever get the chance, go see 1964.)
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Superman at Home
You’re maybe the very last person on earth I expected to see
At a humdrum neighborhood Walmart on a Sunday afternoon.
I don’t know where I expected you to purchase your boxes
Of cereal or your socks or your five dollar movies.
You seem like the kind of person who would buy your movies
For twenty dollars, or eat the organic super-deluxe
Two-calorie multi-vitamin cornflakes from Sunflower.
Maybe the white shelves, the ceilings, the fluorescent lights
Drain and diminish your super powers until you’re only
Just as good as me or anybody else on Krypton.
Did you know your nose is a just a smidgen
Too big for the rest of your face?
I think I’ll say hello.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Usually I write poems about things that happened to me. Or people I know. Or feelings I feel. And this is none of the above. I really couldn't tell you where on earth this came from. But it's cute anyway. I guess it's about realizing that everyone's human, no matter how much of a pedestal you put them on in their head. Everybody goes to Walmart.
And it has a fun superhero metaphor and on-purpose line lengths. I like it. :)
Aaaahhhh! I'm turning into one of those obnoxious tell-a-story-that-never-happened poets!
At a humdrum neighborhood Walmart on a Sunday afternoon.
I don’t know where I expected you to purchase your boxes
Of cereal or your socks or your five dollar movies.
You seem like the kind of person who would buy your movies
For twenty dollars, or eat the organic super-deluxe
Two-calorie multi-vitamin cornflakes from Sunflower.
Maybe the white shelves, the ceilings, the fluorescent lights
Drain and diminish your super powers until you’re only
Just as good as me or anybody else on Krypton.
Did you know your nose is a just a smidgen
Too big for the rest of your face?
I think I’ll say hello.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Usually I write poems about things that happened to me. Or people I know. Or feelings I feel. And this is none of the above. I really couldn't tell you where on earth this came from. But it's cute anyway. I guess it's about realizing that everyone's human, no matter how much of a pedestal you put them on in their head. Everybody goes to Walmart.
And it has a fun superhero metaphor and on-purpose line lengths. I like it. :)
Aaaahhhh! I'm turning into one of those obnoxious tell-a-story-that-never-happened poets!
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Miss Lissa's Encyclopedia of Music Fandom
The Bandwagon Fan. Your favorite band has been on the scene for ages, but they haven't exactly been at the top of the charts. Then one number one single changes everything. Suddenly all your friends claim to love this band too. The Bandwagon curse has befallen you. Now, it's not impossible to truly discover a love for an artist that happens to have just recently gained popularity. But if you ONLY KNOW THE NUMBER ONE SINGLE, you're probably not a true fan. It's not their best song anyway. I promise. One must not judge Bandwagon Fans too harshly, though, or one risks the danger of becoming a Music Snob (see below).
The Faux Fan. This person is closely related to, but not exactly the same as, the Bandwagon Fan, as the Faux Fan usually carries an association with classic rock. This is the obnoxious kid that owns fifteen Beatles shirts, but has never heard "Penny Lane". The one that lists Journey as one of his favorite bands, but only knows "Don't Stop Believing." This person wants to go against the grain of typical teenaged music tastes (just like every other person you know of) but really carries no affection for whatever band or artist he professes to love. This is a heinous crime against music. The only appropriate sentence for such a person is a full listen-through of the ENTIRE Beatles catalog. Twice.
The iPod Judger. The iPod Judger is one who, after asking to look through a friend's music player, finds herself constantly saying, "You have that? You have that?! A word to the iPod Judger: you are the visitor here. Would you walk into Parliament and tell the Brits that a House of Representatives, a Congress, and a President would work much better? No. It is not your position to judge another's tastes, even if he does have Miley Cyrus on his iPod. Nobody likes an iPod Judger.
The Lady Gaga Fan. There is no hope for this person. End of story.
The Long Play Fan. This is the music lover who is appalled at the single song nature of modern music. The one who believes firmly that albums were meant to be continuous works of art rather than piecemeal scraps thrown together to be torn apart by $1.29 purchases. The one who buys full albums whenever possible. The one who ends up with a whole lot of songs she doesn't really like and a whole lot less money. See also Miss Lissa.
The Marry Me Fan. This is the person, usually of the feminine persuasion, who loves an artist not because of his musical prowess, but exclusively because of his hair, eyes, abs, or general good looks. See also Justin Bieber Fan.
The Music Snob. This is the exact opposite of a Bandwagon fan. This person takes immense pride in always being ahead of the trends... WAY ahead. As soon as more than three people become fans of the Music Snob's favorite artist, that artist instantly becomes "uncool." See also hipster, indie.
The True Fan. This is the music fan all music fans should aspire to be. The one inhales melodies and exhales lyrics. The one who feels the kinship of all humanity in the lyrics of a song, the oneness of emotion, the I'm-not-alone-ness. This is the one in whom wellsprings of emotion rise at the sound of a favorite song, who dances in the rain, who sings at the top of her lungs. This is the music lover. This is the True Fan.
"Music is the universal language of mankind." -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The Faux Fan. This person is closely related to, but not exactly the same as, the Bandwagon Fan, as the Faux Fan usually carries an association with classic rock. This is the obnoxious kid that owns fifteen Beatles shirts, but has never heard "Penny Lane". The one that lists Journey as one of his favorite bands, but only knows "Don't Stop Believing." This person wants to go against the grain of typical teenaged music tastes (just like every other person you know of) but really carries no affection for whatever band or artist he professes to love. This is a heinous crime against music. The only appropriate sentence for such a person is a full listen-through of the ENTIRE Beatles catalog. Twice.
The iPod Judger. The iPod Judger is one who, after asking to look through a friend's music player, finds herself constantly saying, "You have that? You have that?! A word to the iPod Judger: you are the visitor here. Would you walk into Parliament and tell the Brits that a House of Representatives, a Congress, and a President would work much better? No. It is not your position to judge another's tastes, even if he does have Miley Cyrus on his iPod. Nobody likes an iPod Judger.
The Lady Gaga Fan. There is no hope for this person. End of story.
The Long Play Fan. This is the music lover who is appalled at the single song nature of modern music. The one who believes firmly that albums were meant to be continuous works of art rather than piecemeal scraps thrown together to be torn apart by $1.29 purchases. The one who buys full albums whenever possible. The one who ends up with a whole lot of songs she doesn't really like and a whole lot less money. See also Miss Lissa.
The Marry Me Fan. This is the person, usually of the feminine persuasion, who loves an artist not because of his musical prowess, but exclusively because of his hair, eyes, abs, or general good looks. See also Justin Bieber Fan.
The Music Snob. This is the exact opposite of a Bandwagon fan. This person takes immense pride in always being ahead of the trends... WAY ahead. As soon as more than three people become fans of the Music Snob's favorite artist, that artist instantly becomes "uncool." See also hipster, indie.
The True Fan. This is the music fan all music fans should aspire to be. The one inhales melodies and exhales lyrics. The one who feels the kinship of all humanity in the lyrics of a song, the oneness of emotion, the I'm-not-alone-ness. This is the one in whom wellsprings of emotion rise at the sound of a favorite song, who dances in the rain, who sings at the top of her lungs. This is the music lover. This is the True Fan.
"Music is the universal language of mankind." -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Monday, August 8, 2011
When the English Language Lived
Below is the letter of Major Sullivan Ballou of the Union Army's Second Regiment, Rhode Island Volunteers, to his wife Sarah days before he was killed in the Battle of Bull Run. Ballou wrote the letter on July 14, 1861 while awaiting orders that would take him down to Manassas, Virginia where he was killed on July 28. Ballou, 32, was a lawyer and father of two small boys, Edgar and Willie, who volunteered to fight for the Union Army.
My very dear Sarah:
The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days -- perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.
Our movement may be one of a few days duration and full of pleasure -- and it may be one of severe conflict and death to me. Not my will, but thine O God, be done.
If it is necessary that I should fall on the battlefield for my country, I am ready. I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter.
I know how strongly American Civilization now leans upon the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing -- perfectly willing -- to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt.
But, my dear wife, when I know that with my own joys I lay down nearly all of yours, and replace them in this life with cares and sorrows -- when, after having eaten for long years the bitter fruit of orphanage myself, I must offer it as their only sustenance to my dear little children -- is it weak or dishonorable, while the banner of my purpose floats calmly and proudly in the breeze, that my unbounded love for you, my darling wife and children, should struggle in fierce, though useless, contest with my love of country?
I cannot describe to you my feelings on this calm summer night, when two thousand men are sleeping around me, many of them enjoying the last, perhaps, before that of death -- and I, suspicious that Death is creeping behind me with his fatal dart, am communing with God, my country, and thee.
I have sought most closely and diligently, and often in my breast, for a wrong motive in thus hazarding the happiness of those I loved and I could not find one. A pure love of my country and of the principles I have often advocated before the people and "the name of honor that I love more than I fear death" have called upon me, and I have obeyed.
Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.
The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us.
I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me -- perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar -- that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.
Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have oftentimes been!
How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness, and struggle with all the misfortune of this world, to shield you and my children from harm. But I cannot. I must watch you from the spirit land and hover near you, while you buffet the storms with your precious little freight, and wait with sad patience till we meet to part no more.
But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the garish day and in the darkest night -- amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours -- always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.
Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.
As for my little boys, they will grow as I have done, and never know a father's love and care. Little Willie is too young to remember me long, and my blue-eyed Edgar will keep my frolics with him among the dimmest memories of his childhood.
Sarah, I have unlimited confidence in your maternal care and your development of their characters.
Tell my two mothers his and hers I call God's blessing upon them.
O Sarah, I wait for you there! Come to me, and lead thither my children.
Sullivan
Remember the days when people actually put thought into writing? When proper word choice actually mattered to the average man? When men were men and women were women?
Yeah. I miss those days. Oh for the 1800s...
My very dear Sarah:
The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days -- perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.
Our movement may be one of a few days duration and full of pleasure -- and it may be one of severe conflict and death to me. Not my will, but thine O God, be done.
If it is necessary that I should fall on the battlefield for my country, I am ready. I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter.
I know how strongly American Civilization now leans upon the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing -- perfectly willing -- to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt.
But, my dear wife, when I know that with my own joys I lay down nearly all of yours, and replace them in this life with cares and sorrows -- when, after having eaten for long years the bitter fruit of orphanage myself, I must offer it as their only sustenance to my dear little children -- is it weak or dishonorable, while the banner of my purpose floats calmly and proudly in the breeze, that my unbounded love for you, my darling wife and children, should struggle in fierce, though useless, contest with my love of country?
I cannot describe to you my feelings on this calm summer night, when two thousand men are sleeping around me, many of them enjoying the last, perhaps, before that of death -- and I, suspicious that Death is creeping behind me with his fatal dart, am communing with God, my country, and thee.
I have sought most closely and diligently, and often in my breast, for a wrong motive in thus hazarding the happiness of those I loved and I could not find one. A pure love of my country and of the principles I have often advocated before the people and "the name of honor that I love more than I fear death" have called upon me, and I have obeyed.
Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.
The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us.
I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me -- perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar -- that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.
Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have oftentimes been!
How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness, and struggle with all the misfortune of this world, to shield you and my children from harm. But I cannot. I must watch you from the spirit land and hover near you, while you buffet the storms with your precious little freight, and wait with sad patience till we meet to part no more.
But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the garish day and in the darkest night -- amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours -- always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.
Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.
As for my little boys, they will grow as I have done, and never know a father's love and care. Little Willie is too young to remember me long, and my blue-eyed Edgar will keep my frolics with him among the dimmest memories of his childhood.
Sarah, I have unlimited confidence in your maternal care and your development of their characters.
Tell my two mothers his and hers I call God's blessing upon them.
O Sarah, I wait for you there! Come to me, and lead thither my children.
Sullivan
Remember the days when people actually put thought into writing? When proper word choice actually mattered to the average man? When men were men and women were women?
Yeah. I miss those days. Oh for the 1800s...
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