Deb-Blog

Your Weekly, Sunday Interlude: “Let There Be Peace on Earth”

Philando Castile is the victim of a violent death. His assailant was acquitted of all charges. I’m a Minnesotan, the state where this took place, I know people who knew and loved Philando. I’m white. He’s black. I don’t know what to say. But I can’t let today go by without dedicating this week’s interlude to him.

Dear heaven, the arc of justice is long. Bless all who love Philando and who share my grief.

We will remember you, Mr. Phil, and fight for justice. Some day.

Your Weekly, Sunday Interlude: “Goodbye Earl”

Now, don’t think too much into the words of this song. I don’t condone violence of any kind. But I have more than had it with Mango Mussolini. And I just needed a song that spoke to my level of frustration.  We’re going through the motions of a civil investigation but anyone with two brain cells knows he’s as dirty as a mobster can be. He and his entire ilk have got to go! I want my country back!

And so, I give you “Goodbye Earl,” by the Dixie Chicks. Again. I’m wishing no harm on anyone but I want, from the depth of my being, for that unfit being to go away from my government. And country. Enjoy!

 

Your Weekly, Sunday Interlude: “Nikolina”

Humor me. On my way to work in this Groundhog Day kind of schedule this week, I flipped on KFAI, a great local radio station (even open to amateurs, shout to Dale Connelly). To my surprise the intro to “Nikolina” played and I immediately knew it was a song Mom sang. Now, their version was in Swedish, but the one she sang was in English. And it’s a hoot! It says a lot about Swedish humor and, perhaps, where some of mine originates.

I guess Swedes can be a bit dark. Anyway, it brought back a memory for me I had not recalled in some time. It’s a song that made the US play charts, even though there were no play charts, in 1915. I live in an area where Swedes and Norwegians settled. Yes, we were once the new, funny speaking people.

I don’t know who the DJ was that morning, but your playing “Nikolina” sure brought a smile to the face of this Northern European! Yes, I sang along.

Your Weekly, Sunday Interlude: “My Handy Man”

Crazy mind-numbing hours this week left me unable to conger up the name of an American icon. Now, no one should need a reason to feature Alberta Hunter. But that moment when I was telling a coworker I needed to “mow my lawn,” to which she asked if it was a euphemism, and I immediately sang a couple lines of “My Man,” only to be unable to remember Alberta Hunter’s name compels me to make her my feature this Sunday.

They broke the mold.

 

Your Weekly, Sunday Interlude: “The No No Song”

I find myself singing absurd songs upon hearing more absurd stuff about “45.” I mean, the acts from the Oval Office and the criminality unfolding about same has become the comedy of the absurd. So while on the road this week, I replied to the news with Ringo’s “The No No Song.”

“No, no, no, no, i can’t take it no more,
I’m tired of waking up on the floor.
No, thank you, please, it only makes me sneeze,
And then it makes it hard to find the door.”

Sure, it’s about giving up reality-enhancing chemicals, but wouldn’t you agree our national politics feels like a step away from reality? Enjoy:

Your Weekly, Sunday Interlude: “I Don’t Wanna Play in Your Yard”

It’s a children’s song from 1894, written by Philip Wingate and H.W. Petrie. I had heard “I Don’t Wanna Play in Your Yard” before it was part of the movie “Reds,” but that was the first time I became aware of its adult delivery. The words are as much about two quarrelling little girls, as it is the fractured love between Louise Bryant (Diane Keaton) and John Reed (Warren Beatty). I was humming it this morning in exasperation of the lunacy and danger that is President 45. It works for all cases.

Peggy Lee recorded it like mournful, lovelorn song. Enjoy:

None of the sane among us can rationalize with Trump or even understand him. So let’s boil it down to the most childlike message:

“I don’t want to play in your yard,
I don’t like you anymore,
You’ll be sorry when you see me,
Sliding down our cellar door,
You can’t holler down our rainbarrel,
You can’t climb our apple tree,
I don’t want to play in your yard
If you won’t be good to me.”

Your Weekly, Sunday Interlude: “This Is Not America”

A lot of us feel this is not America.  My country doesn’t look the other way when a grifter family is using political position to make private business deals. My country doesn’t have a religious test or ban people of faith from entering. My country doesn’t make me feel like the Administrative and Congressional branches are the enemy of the people

But my country is strong. Those Founding Fathers really had their stuff together. I’m terrified we may face an attack here or get embroiled in a war or lose our Constitution. It’s bad enough we have an unfit, mentally imbalanced thing in the White House, but the Congressional majority is fine with this. Their calculation is to get as much draconian policy passed before his liability is too risky. That is, if we can still proceed to a full, independent investigation into its ties to Russia. I only hope we can withstand this violent attack. This is a thousand times worse than Watergate. This is the greatest crisis in my lifetime.

And so why not a little Bowie? That’s always good for the soul. “This is Not America” feels like a fitting choice after another horrible week with these clowns.

Honestly, I try to find a happy song for these interludes but we’re under such a pile of garbage, weekly reflection just isn’t very happy these days. Don’t get me wrong; life is good. I am a very happy person. But I care too much to ignore the carnage.

Peace.

Your Weekly, Sunday Interlude: “No Time”

In part because of a busy schedule and because a lunatic is playing leader, The Monkees’ song, “No Time'” lyrics came to mind today, particularly the first line of gibberish:

“Hober reeber sabasoben
Hobaseeba snick
Seeberraber hobosoben
What did you expect?”

If you’ve heard Trump talk, well, that line will make as much sense as anything coming out of his mouth, And the video’s political theme provides appropriate relevance:

How can this be the 101st day that unfit being is still in office?

“Andy, you’re a dandy,
You don’t seem to make no sense.
Nevermind the furthermore,
The plea is self-defense

 No time, no time for you

I got no time, baby,
Got lots of better things to do.”

Your Weekly, Sunday Interlude: “Mercy, Mercy Me”

Earth Day was yesterday and the anniversary of Prince’s death was the day before. And the filthy, hateful madman is in my White House. So many ways to go for this week’s Sunday interlude. But I went with the planet because that trumps (get it?) everything. Marvin Gaye, who left us too soon, inspires with “Mercy, Mercy Me”, released in 1971, and we’re still not taking our home seriously.

There’s something about the jazzy, funky and soulful sound that makes the issue of the planet’s health cool. And it has a rare line about human over-population, a terribly taboo subject today. “What about this overcrowded land? How much more abuse from man can she stand?”

Whoa, ah, mercy mercy me
Oh things ain’t what they used to be, no no
Where did all the blue skies go?
Poison is the wind that blows from the north and south and east
Whoa mercy, mercy me,
Oh things ain’t what they used to be, no no
Oil wasted on the oceans and upon our seas, fish full of mercury
Ah, oh mercy, mercy me
Ah things ain’t what they used to be, no no
Radiation under ground and in the sky
Animals and birds who live nearby are dying
Oh mercy, mercy me
Oh things ain’t what they used to be
What about this overcrowded land
How much more abuse from man can she stand?
Oh, no no, na, na na, na
My sweet Lord, na, na, na
My Lord, my sweet Lord

 

I was taught humans are stewards of the Earth. I can’t tolerate the devastation to our awesome planet, its water, air, land and other species. It’s why I checked the ego and chose not to make a mini me and why I don’t require animals to satisfy my belly.  These are the two greatest things to limit your footprint. Try it. It avoids a lot of personal denial. I don’t know what else to do, folks. Greed seems to have won.

Your Weekly, Sunday Interlude: “Psycho Killer”

Last week The Guardian reported British intelligence has confirmed there to be “concrete evidence” of Trump-Russia collusion in the presidential campaign. Trump support has been dropping by the day as his campaign promises fail one by one. No Muslim ban, no wall, no repeal of the ACA replaced with “something terrific”. Perhaps coincidently, he ordered the bombings of Yemen, Syria and Afghanistan over dinner and “beautiful piece of chocolate cake,” all which gave him a ratings’ bump. Pundits speculate about his military strategy or tactics because he offered more details about dessert, and simply called the dropping of the “mother of all bombs” on Afghanistan a “successful event.” And now that boy seems to be getting ready to bomb North Korea who has its own imbalanced leader. If that ain’t psycho, I don’t know how to describe it.

I have hope our justice system will act soon and charge him and/or his inner circle with Russian colluding, violating the Emoluments Clause, or call his mental capacities into question and thus, prevent him from eliminating life on the planet. I’m frightened what this person with such power might do. Time is of the essence.

My stress level is back where it was before the House Intelligence Committee met in March on the Trump-Russia investigation. So it’s time for a Sunday interlude fitting Trump’s mental capacity, as well as how crazy-making he is: “Psycho Killer,” by Talking Heads.

The song borrows from “Psycho’s” character, Norman Bates. “I hate people when they’re not polite.” I’ve always enjoyed dancing and body slamming to the song. The lyrics speak to our modern, human condition where the sanest among us can have moments of feeling crazy, snapping from everyday inconveniences and pressures, albeit stopping short of murder. Our political condition is crazy making, to be certain:

“We are vain and we are blind
I hate people when they’re not polite”

“Psycho Killer” takes me back to a simpler time when it only reminded me of serial killers or the “St. Elsewhere” episode with this song as a backdrop to Howie Mandel’s character playing out his inner child with a barrage of pranks as he gives in to turning 30. Sadly, now the song’s about my country’s Administrative branch and fear that the president is imbalanced enough to fire nuclear bombs. Help us.

So enjoy “Psycho Killer” and happy Easter.