the island, part 9: weekend in western illinois
This is the ninth in a song-by-song series about why I chose FULL FORCE GALESBURG by The Mountain Goats as the one CD I would take to a desert island. Previous installments are available here.
Drunk on the moon and drunk on possibility and the lack thereof and drunk on vodka I am. Out here where our dreams take form.
What does that mean? If I only knew. But I do know. I just can't put it into words. Or any better words. I take another swig. The taste of vodka rich on my tongue. See, you got it. Don't worry that no one else did.
I imagine a day walking around my neighborhood in Auckland, long after every trace of the magic of living in New Zealand had dissipated, and it was just a place, like where you live is just a place. No place is novel and magic forever. Even now this island threatens to become staid, predictable. There is not limitless buried treasure or a hatch or any future surprises. Probably.
What was I saying? Right. I was walking. As you do. And I had "Weekend in Western Illinois" on my iPod pop up on shuffle mode. And the day just got better. It had been worse. You don't care why, and if you do, tough shit, because I don't want to talk about it. It was probably some self-indulgent tripe that seemed important at the time and seems irrelevant now here, under the stars and the full moon and with the sand on my back.
And the song made its way, as it had to, to the second chorus, which is not to discount the rest of this song, but the words hit one after another:
Yeah, we love these dogs
that loll in the rain here in Galesburg
as the new season rocks them in its terrible arms
Yeah, they howl as though the world were ending
as we are watching the sky unwinding
and some of our promises were binding
up here where our
dreams
take
form
up here in Galesburg
Look, I'll let you in on a secret, though it's not that much of a secret: I hate dogs. Like, really hate them. Either they're big and they scare me or they're small and annoy me. One hits the sweet spot between the two every once in a while, but essentially, I'm the least dog-friendly person that I know.
So it's nothing about the imagery that appeals to me, so maybe it's the music on this, one of the more densely arranged songs on the record (like, three whole instruments! holy cow!), or the melody, or the passion of the delivery, but I looked at the sky just as
up here where our dreams take form
hit, and I got chills, honestly, this is embarrassing probably that music can still affect me like this but fuck you and I have more embarrassing stories, the point is that the way I felt like then was something I could live on forever if you could bottle it.
It was miraculous, and I wish everybody could feel it.
I get up slowly, taking care of my bad foot, stare at the stars.
up here where our dreams take form
and yes i said yes i will yes.
yes
--------------------------
VIDEO #9 for people that don't give a shit about The Mountain Goats: an alternate me saw the Mint Chicks, New Zealand's official band of the year (no, really). Here's their video for their first single from their fawesome album, CRAZY? YES! DUMB? NO!.
Drunk on the moon and drunk on possibility and the lack thereof and drunk on vodka I am. Out here where our dreams take form.
What does that mean? If I only knew. But I do know. I just can't put it into words. Or any better words. I take another swig. The taste of vodka rich on my tongue. See, you got it. Don't worry that no one else did.
I imagine a day walking around my neighborhood in Auckland, long after every trace of the magic of living in New Zealand had dissipated, and it was just a place, like where you live is just a place. No place is novel and magic forever. Even now this island threatens to become staid, predictable. There is not limitless buried treasure or a hatch or any future surprises. Probably.
What was I saying? Right. I was walking. As you do. And I had "Weekend in Western Illinois" on my iPod pop up on shuffle mode. And the day just got better. It had been worse. You don't care why, and if you do, tough shit, because I don't want to talk about it. It was probably some self-indulgent tripe that seemed important at the time and seems irrelevant now here, under the stars and the full moon and with the sand on my back.
And the song made its way, as it had to, to the second chorus, which is not to discount the rest of this song, but the words hit one after another:
Yeah, we love these dogs
that loll in the rain here in Galesburg
as the new season rocks them in its terrible arms
Yeah, they howl as though the world were ending
as we are watching the sky unwinding
and some of our promises were binding
up here where our
dreams
take
form
up here in Galesburg
Look, I'll let you in on a secret, though it's not that much of a secret: I hate dogs. Like, really hate them. Either they're big and they scare me or they're small and annoy me. One hits the sweet spot between the two every once in a while, but essentially, I'm the least dog-friendly person that I know.
So it's nothing about the imagery that appeals to me, so maybe it's the music on this, one of the more densely arranged songs on the record (like, three whole instruments! holy cow!), or the melody, or the passion of the delivery, but I looked at the sky just as
up here where our dreams take form
hit, and I got chills, honestly, this is embarrassing probably that music can still affect me like this but fuck you and I have more embarrassing stories, the point is that the way I felt like then was something I could live on forever if you could bottle it.
It was miraculous, and I wish everybody could feel it.
I get up slowly, taking care of my bad foot, stare at the stars.
up here where our dreams take form
and yes i said yes i will yes.
yes
--------------------------
VIDEO #9 for people that don't give a shit about The Mountain Goats: an alternate me saw the Mint Chicks, New Zealand's official band of the year (no, really). Here's their video for their first single from their fawesome album, CRAZY? YES! DUMB? NO!.
4 Comments:
When I drink vodka (or when I last drank vodka I should say).. I tend to not be very tolerent. I was dancing with a friend at a party here, and this old guy walks up to me and makes a nasty racial slur. I punch him in the head, only he doesn't go down so I punch him again. He later went on to die from a head injury... not one of mine. He lived a wild life.
The Russians up here, don't work on Sundays. They tie their boats to our dock and get wasted on old world vodka. KNowing how to speak a little russian won't help you at all trying to interact on Sunday with some of them.
I can't believe you hate dogs. All dog breeds? well mannered dogs? If you moved to China, you could slaughter them in the streets all day long and no one would bat an eye.
I like dogs, but weiner dogs are fucking ugly and they kind of weird me out.
I can't believe you hate dogs. All dog breeds? well mannered dogs?
I have yet to meet these "well mannered dogs". Actually, I meant one dog I liked who was a way old German Shepherd and super-chilled out, but most of the time my experience is something like:
ME: I'm, um, a bit uncomfortable around dogs.
DOG OWNER: Oh, but don't worry. Our dog is ever so wonderful and well behaved!
(Dog is unleashed, promptly starts jumping all over Doug in menacing manner, teeth glistening as jaw moves uncomfortably close to throat.)
DOG OWNER: Oh, s/he usually isn't like this, I swear! They can sense fear you know!
ME: (unable to talk due to flashbacks to ads for Stephen King movie CUJO)
at which point the sensitive dog owner locks up the dog for the remainder of my stay, and the insensitive dog owner yells at the dog, which leaves me alone long enough for the dog owner to be distracted so that the dog can start intimidating me again.
The other side, of course, are the small yippy dogs, who I simply find infuriatingly annoying. I had to live with one for a while when a flatmate's girlfriend moved in, and I have rarely felt such pure hate. It single-handedly caused me to move out.
I suppose categorically I can't guarantee I won't meet a dog at some point that I'll like, just like I can't guarantee I won't hear a smooth jazz record that I'll like. But experience has taught me that there are safe bets in in this world. In the meantime, it's time for me to learn some Mandarin.
(Need I add that our society's "it's okay to kill pigs and cows and birds for food, but DOGS? perish forbid" attitude bemuses me? Not that I've eaten dog, just saying.)
Doug, have you seen the movie "the year of the dog"?
Carlos and I have both had experience with the most alpha male dog I have ever known, one New York street dog named Deville. He was an unstoppable terror in his time but his fall was quick. He lived out his remaining years in the relative calm of San Antonio and Portland.
Aren't we missing a song from last week?
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