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Okay readers and fellow bloggers, what do we make of love at first sight? I’ll go first! Love exists on many levels, and can mean many different things. When I say that I am in love with my girlfriend, I mean something far different than when I say I love waffles, which in turn is different than the love I may profess for a close friend or relative.

When judged by the “in love with you” standard, the concept of love at first sight seems absurd. The former, the in love love as it were, is the culmination of a long process of getting to know all about another person while at the same time sharing with them your innermost workings. In other words, it’s all hella deep and stuff. Meanwhile, love at first sight is a different flavor of animal; it’s the hazelnut giraffe of the love world, if you follow my meaning. It is the perfect stranger, perhaps only seen for a few moments, but remembered years later– maybe even someone never spoken to or even met, but someone with such beauty and/ or grace that they remain a part of your heart’s history.

I’m kind of blogging out of my ass right now, because I honestly have never yet encountered a hazelnut giraffe, whatever the hell that means. Today’s Question: Have you?

(I began this blog with the intent of saying something along the lines of “love at first sight is kind of like having a crush on someone on account of they are pretty, and then you try to get to know them better,” but the hazelnut giraffe part sounded to good to delete. Plus it is almost 5:00 am.)

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I was happily surprised that so many of you enjoyed the story last time, and as such I shall now tell you the rest of it. As before, I will tell the tale in the context of a song that is relevant to the story.

Currently Playing: Bunny Berigan – I Can’t Get Started

When we left off, Daddy and Mommy were back together in L.A., except they weren’t Daddy and Mommy yet. They were just two people who liked to hang out together. At that time, she worked at a soda fountain and he drove a taxi. On her breaks, she’d sometimes sit in his cab and they’d listen to the radio. Their favorite thing to hear was the now-legendary Joe Hernandez calling the horse races at Santa Anita.

Naturally, my mom had a fiancee at the time, but she apparently wasn’t too serious about him, for when my dad asked her to go on a date, she agreed. On their date, he took her to the racetrack at Santa Anita to see the horse races they’d previously only heard on the radio. According to my mom, the combination of the day at the races and a hot roast beef sandwich he bought her at the track (a big deal to her as she was very poor) was enough to win her over, so when soon thereafter he asked her to elope to Las Vegas with him soon thereafter, she said “yes.”

They each brought a friend along to act as a witness for the wedding, and drove to Las Vegas to tie the knot. However, this story does not have the happy ending you may be expecting. My mom got cold feet at the altar and said “no.” It worked out sort of okay, because the two friends they’d brought to act as witnesses decided to get married instead, so the chaplain still had someone to marry. In the meantime, while the newlyweds stayed to honeymoon, my parents had to make the awkward drive back to Los Angeles.

I’ve flown around the world in a plane
I’ve settled revolutions in Spain
And the North Pole I have charted
Still I can’t get started with you

While driving her home, my dad sang “I Can’t Get Started” to my mom. She said it was the first time she’d ever heard it, and to this day it is one of her favorite songs. Meanwhile, back in Los Angeles, they kept seeing one another, and eventually, they tried again and eloped (successfully) to Tijuana, and they lived happily ever after. Until Peasprout was born and behaved very brattily. The end.

I’ve been consulted by Franklin D.
Greta Garbo has had me to tea
Still, I’m broken-hearted
‘Cause I can’t get started with you.

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My father’s parents both emigrated from Sicily, independently of one another. They met in New York, fell in love, and got married. I think they hoped/ expected their children would also marry Sicilians. Their eldest, my uncle, married a Sicilian girl, and the youngest, my aunt, was set to marry that girl’s younger brother in an arranged marriage. Did that make sense? Anyway, you’d think that two out of three ain’t bad, but when my father began dating my mom, who was Mexican, they were not very happy. They went as far as to send my dad back to Detroit (they’d moved from New York to Detroit before coming to Los Angeles) to meet the nice Sicilian girl they had arranged for him to marry. It was all for naught. He pretended to go along with the plan, and arranged to return to Los Angeles to purchase a ring or some such thing, but it was all trickeration and chicanery, and once he got back to California he stayed for good.

Currently Playing: Frankie Laine – That’s My Desire

Meanwhile, Frankie Laine was all the rage in the world of music. The song that made him famous was “That’s My Desire,” which had made it as far as number four on the charts back in 1946. You can click the above link to hear the song, if that is your desire. Haw haw. Get it?

When my dad got back to Los Angeles he learned that Frankie Laine was scheduled to perform in Hollywood that night, and immediately asked my mom out on a date. She said she would go out with him, but there was a show she really wanted to see. He told her that he also had something in mind he wanted to do, but maybe they could do both. They didn’t need to, as she had the Frankie Laine concert in Hollywood in mind too. So they went, and lived happily ever after. Later that year they were married, and after some time my grandparents finally accepted Mom into the family, and turned her into an honorary Sicilian.

The song came on the radio the other night as I was driving my Mom home from her weekly chemotherapy appointment. My father passed away a little over two years ago, but he and my mother had more than 50 happy years of marriage before they did, and he’s still missed. My mother shared the story with me, and I liked it so much that I am now sharing it with you.

I am realizing that as you age, your life becomes more and more memories of the past, and less about the present or the future. I hope I’m making the most of my youth while I have it, and creating lasting memories to one day share with my offspring. Today’s Question: Are you?

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Dream dream, even for a little while
Dream dream, filling up an idle hour
Fade away, radiate.
I sit by and watch the river flow
I sit by and watch the traffic go
Imagine something of your very own
Something you can have and hold
I’d build a road in gold
Just to have some dreaming
Dreaming is free

Years ago, I used to sneak out late at night and climb onto the rooftops of the tallest buildings I could find, just to sit and stare at the near-empty city below me. Everything I knew to be broken or dirty at surface level took on a feeling of newness when seen from afar; especially when basked in moonlight. It was on those rooftops, so long ago, where I first began to understand myself as an individual, and to wrestle with the notion of my mortality and how to make the best use of whatever brief time was allotted me on earth.

I had very little going for me at the time– I had few friends, my family was very poor, I’d never had a girlfriend, and I had no clear picture of what I was to do with my life. What ambitions, goals, and dreams I had then were simple and not very well-articulated, and although on some level I believed in my ability to achieve them, that belief was vague, and I never knew for sure if it was justified.

I’ve grown up a lot since then. I’m no longer the unpopular, awkward kid shunned by his peers, nor must I hoard pennies and nickels in an attempt to come up with enough money to buy something to eat; I’ve even kissed a girl or two. More significantly, the dreams and fantasies of childhood have given way to the realities of an adult life. But still I remember those nights, waiting for the sunrise with my head full of hopes, fears, and questions; I still remember my dreams.

Some people value money or success before all else, and only with an unlimited bankroll can they truly say they have “made it.” Others measure their success by how true they are to their spiritual beliefs, or through devotion to their family. My chief dream, the one I thought of most, and hoped would be fulfilled more than any other, was that I would one day find true love. Though I probably could not have verbalized it, I think that even at an early age I subconsciously knew that everything else I found myself wishing for would fall into place were I in love.

If ever I saw anything more than cheese in the moon above me, it was the disembodied face of an unknown girl I would one day love. For years she remained just that and nothing more, an abstract construct of my mind, and eventually I resigned myself to the fact that I’d never find her. I’d instead aspire to a fulfilling life of intellectual pursuits and artistic endeavors. Then, once I’d stopped looking, I found her.

When Alexander saw the breadth of his domain he wept,
for there were no more worlds left to conquer.

What do you do when one day you wake up and realize all of your dreams have become reality? While I’m not sure I have conquered anyone or anything, if I wept, mine would be tears of joy. I make more money than I need doing a job I enjoy– a job that brings happiness into the lives of other people, and affords me the opportunity to give work and money to those who need it. Moreover, I have ample free time to indulge whatever whimsical, philanthropic notion that may pop into my admittedly eccentric mind, be it driving around offering rides to strangers, sending wedding gifts to people chosen at random from Macy’s wedding gift registry computer (actually Fizzy’s idea, that one), or even just normal volunteer work at the local food bank.

Above all else, the most important dream of them all came true. I’m in love with a best friend who loves me back.

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As several commenters have so skillfully pointed out, I have not posted for some time. Initially this was due to the busy December party season, but a little more than a week ago my mom fell ill, and I have been with her ever since. I have three siblings, but none live in California, so until they arrived a couple days ago I’d been the only one around to help. They timed their arrivals well, however, and not just because of the pending holiday– today I’ve been feeling sick, and I’m not supposed to visit mom until I feel better. However, this means I am alone on Christmas for the first time in my life, as Sue is in Los Angeles with her family, and what little family I have is at the hospital.

I will try to post again soon, but I can’t say when that will be. In case I’m not back for a few days (or more) here is a question to ponder and/ or answer.

Today’s Question: What do you hope Santa will leave in your stocking?

Neither of my Christmas wishes will be under a tree or in a stocking come the morning.

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Tomorrow the December holiday party season begins in earnest. I shouldn’t complain, for I make a significant percentage of my annual income in the month of December, but it comes at a cost. While everyone else is enjoying the holiday season, taking vacations, shopping for gifts, and generally making merry, I am hard at work. In some years I have had 15 day stretches in which I have at least one event per day. Some days I have had as many as five simultaneous events. It really ruins the month, and makes me dread December. I really cannot wait for this month to be over.

In fact, I am already looking forward to New Year’s Eve, as I think this is going to be one of the rare and wonderful years in which I don’t have to DJ that night. I read about a neat party on an aircraft carrier, at which a big band will play a salute to Benny Goodman. That sounds like my kind of New Year’s Eve party!

Pessi is going to be in town, and I imagine she will want to drag Fizzy and I to some swanky, trendy night spot, but I’ll definitely put in my sales pitch for the big band. Either way, the highlight of it all will be kissing my girlfriend at midnight. Though this will be the sixth time the calendars have changed since we met, it will be our first New Year’s Eve together, for in previous years either she has been in Los Angeles, or I have been working. I can hardly wait for a Fizzified smoochero come y2.04k.

Let the casino parties begin! Today’s Question: Do you hit a 3 card 16 vs. a dealer’s 10?

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Currently Playing: The Flamingos – I Only Have Eyes for You

I think this is a lovely sounding song, and it’s definitely “up there” on my mental list of favorite love songs; probably on the list of favorite songs in general. Beautiful though it is, there is a spooky element to the song. Part of it is the music– there is a ghostly quality to it that is hard to capture in words. Maybe this is something only I take away from this song, but my ear definitely hears some other-worldly overtones going on in there someplace.

Possibly eerie music aside, the message of the song is unquestionably heart-meltingly adoring:

My love must be a kind of blind love
I can’t see anyone but you.

You are here and so am I
Maybe millions of people go by,
But they all disappear from view.
And I only have eyes for you.

When you lose track of all around you, and can only focus on the object of your affection in front of you, you know you have found true love. In my experience, moments like the above while rare and wonderful, do happen. You find yourself staring starry-eyed at a certain someone, oblivious to all else around you, utterly overpowered by emotion.

I have no doubt in my mind that love is the most powerful emotion known to man, and the guiding force behind nearly all actions we undertake as a race.

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I discovered Nick Drake quite by accident. I’m a huge fan of The Smiths, and I when I watched Ferris Bueller’s Day Off I recognized one of my favorite of their songs, “Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want,” being covered in spectacular fashion during the scene in the Art Institute Museum. I found out the band covering the song was The Dream Academy, and I looked for their music the next time I was in a record store. The Dream Academy had recorded a hit single, “Life in a Northern Town,” which I quickly grew to adore. At some point, I noticed the song was dedicated to someone named Nick Drake, and set about finding some of his music.

It wasn’t easy to find his albums. He only recorded three, and none sold very well. They were out of print for a while, then reissued, but not in vast quantities. Eventually, I tracked down a copy of Pink Moon and fell in love with it upon my first listen.

Currently Playing: Nick Drake – Pink Moon

Nick Drake’s story is a tragic one, and I won’t delve too deeply into it. He was a near recluse who seldom performed, was interviewed in print but once, and was never captured on film other than in childhood home movies. Pink Moon, his final, and in my opinion best, album clocks in at less than 30 minutes long. When asked why it was so short, he is said to have replied, “that’s all I had to say.” Sadly, his words were too true– he never recorded another album, and within less than three years, Drake was dead from an overdose of antidepressants. His death was ruled a suicide, though his family disputes that finding.

I saw it written and I saw it say
Pink moon is on its way
And none of you stand so tall
Pink moon gonna’ get you all

So simple, and yet if you hear it sung, and the accompanying music, you can’t help but feel your soul overwhelmed by anguish mixed with beauty. More so than any other singer I know, Drake’s music encompasses heartache and sorrow in a way vague enough to allow you to apply it to your own life, and yet in a manner that appears deeply personal at the same time. Many bands accomplish the first half of that equation; Radiohead comes to mind. Myriad others capture the latter half; Morrissey anyone? Who but Nick Drake successfully juggled both elements at once?

In the opening paragraph I traced my meandering journey to discovering Drake’s music, because in many ways it mirrors the equally rambling path his music took from unknown to popular. For nearly 30 years after his death, Drake and his music languished in obscurity, only surfacing occasionally, as in the dedication that helped me discover him. In another blip on the radar, Robert Smith once stated that his band The Cure was named after a Nick Drake lyric, taken from “Time Has Told Me,” another one of my favorite Drake songs.

Time has told me
You’re a rare rare find
A troubled cure
For a troubled mind.

Then, nearly overnight, Nick Drake became a posthumous celebrity. “Pink Moon” was used as the backing track for a car commercial, and within a few days, the improbable had happened– Nick Drake knocked N*Sync out of the Top 5. When I read the headline I was dumbfounded. I hadn’t seen the commercial, and my mind could not comprehend what I was reading. “Obscure English Folk Singer Nick Drake Nudges Pop Superstars N*Sync from Chart” made as much sense to me as would have “Jimmy Hoffa Found Living on Venus.” Once I read the article and learned about the commercial, of course it all became clear, but that may have been the only moment in my life where I was awake and honestly wondered if I were dreaming.

I’ll close with an excerpt from “Life in a Northern Town,” the tribute to Nick Drake that led me to discover his beautiful, yet pained, songs.

The evening had turned to rain
Watch the water roll down the drain,
As we followed him down
To the station
And though he never would wave goodbye,
You could see it written in his eyes
As the train rolled out of sight
Bye-bye.

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My recent song blogs have digressed into personal anecdotes, musings on love, or commentaries on the gap between the always fantastic life one hopes to lead and the often mundane life one actually does lead. In short, I’ve strayed away from the original concept behind the posts, namely dissecting a song I find to be especially well-written. In what I hope will be harbinger of song-related song posts to come, today I will share with you the second of my triumvirate of favorite songs; I already wrote about one in a previous post.

Currently Playing: Pulp – Disco 2000

Well we were born within an hour of each other
Our mothers said we could be sister and brother
Your name is Deborah, Deborah,
It never suited ya.
Oh they said that when we grew up,
we’d get married, and never split up.
We never did it, although often I thought of it.

“Disco 2000” is another example of an uptempo, danceable song that sounds happy from a musical standpoint, but is lyrically a fairly somber and serious song.

I said let’s all meet up in the year 2000

Won’t it be strange when we’re all fully grown?

Be there 2 o’clock by the fountain down the road.

I never knew that you’d get married

I would be living down here on my own

On that damp and lonely
Thursday years ago.

Really, what more need I say? Jarvis Cocker, Pulp’s lead singer and songwriter, pretty much said it all right there. He continues the tale, recalling his unspoken crush on Deborah throughout their school years together:

You were the first girl at school to get breasts.

Martin said that you were the best.

The boys all loved you but I was a mess
I had to watch them try to get you undressed

We were friends that was as far as it went

I used to walk you home sometimes but it meant,

Oh it meant nothing to you.

’Cause you were so popular.



Deborah do you recall?
Your house was very small,
with wood chip on the wall.
When I came around to call,
you didn’t notice me at all.

For whatever reason, while this song is a positive dance floor anthem in most parts of the world, it never climbed the American pop charts. Unless you found yourself at some niche Britpop club back in the ’90s, á la San Francisco’s Pop Scene, you have probably never heard this song, which is a pity, for it is, at least in my opinion, one of the greatest pop songs of all time. I hope you’ve clicked the above link and heard it. Even if you don’t share my opinion, you can’t deny that it is danceable to the extreme.

It’s also enigmatic in its finale:

What are you doing Sunday baby?

Would you like to come and meet me maybe?

You can even bring your baby.


Will Deborah meet the protagonist on Sunday? Is her baby her husband, or is it her child? Has she divorced, and is she at last ready to embark on romance with the boy who has adored her since childhood?

A final note, and a personal one (I can’t escape it, can I?), this is the song that made Fizzy and I, well, Fizzy and I. We met in an elevator five years ago, almost to the day, and in the time it took the elevator to rise eight floors, we ascertained that this was both of our favorite songs. And then we fell in love. Okay, more stuff happened in between, but seriously– thank you Jarvis Cocker! I knew Pulp could do nearly anything, but I never knew Pulp could do anything like that…

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I perused fellow blogger MandyMae‘s page the other day, and lo’ and behold she produced a list of traits that the man of her dreams would possess. This reminded me of a conversation I had in an email about six years ago, in which a friend and I were comparing traits we found desirable in members of the opposite sex. Being but babes in the woods, mere children if you will, we knew very little of what it meant to find love. Our notion was that somewhere out there existed our ideal match, and the clearer our picture was of this ideal, the easier it would be to recognize him or her when they appeared in our life. Having decided this, we set to work describing our future wives in as much detail as possible. I slogged through my email outbox and found the original thread, so I can present unto you the list I concocted in 1997:

1. She’s a smartie. Not showy pseudo-intellectual or yap yap yap talkie smart, but a bright girl.
2. She is a logical person, but not a robot. Emotion is important too, but I think one’s path in life should be logic-based.
3. She’s tall, maybe 5’7 or so, and kinda’ thin.
4. She has a wonderfully cute face.
5. She’s an atheist, at the very least agnostic, and isn’t superstitious.
6. She is very confident in herself, but not cocky.
7. She is open-minded about sex; has maybe more than a little experience under her belt.
8. She’s honest and loyal.
9. She has a sense of humor, which includes the ability to laugh at herself, as well as all the awful things life throws in her way from time to time.
10. She’s modest.
11. She likes to read; she is probably an English major.
12. She’s a little bit quirky or eccentric and not terribly mainstream, but not on purpose.
13. She likes to eat almost everything, and will try anything at least once.
14. She is spontaneous, but not irresponsible.
15. She can tolerate movies, lots of movies, both new and old.
16. She stays up late, except on occasion.
17. She can handle the occasional sarcasm, and even dish out some of her own.
18. She likes to play board games, especially Scrabble, and card games, too.
19. She’s blonde, but not the pale sickly blonde. More surfer girl, less Barbie doll.
20. Above all else, her personality meshes well with mine, in some undefinable way that can never be communicated in list form.

Re-reading this list so many years later, I can’t help but laugh at my youthful naïveté. The odds of my even finding someone to match so specific and exacting criteria seem steeper than those of finding a unicorn on the moon, let alone those of convincing said ideal to go steady with me, as it is almost certain that I fall far short of whatever requirements one would find enumerated on her own list. Yet, find her I did, a few random traits notwithstanding.

I know by now you are asking– what if you go gay? Who would be your ideal guy? Let’s ask Quizilla, for they seem to know everything.

Thom: Design Doctor

Which Member from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy is your type?

And now we know.