Tag Archives: The Beach Boys Surfer Girl

I Cannot Imagine Why She Would Do That!!

Wow, so judging from my Instagram feed,  it seems like everyone I know (and then some) went to see the Stones in LA last night.

As much as I adored the Stones for, like, 50 years, I cannot imagine wanting to go see them anymore.  And, actually, the times when I did see them, I didn’t actually enjoy them live. I thought their records were better. But technology being what it is now, it could be that they’re lots better live now than they used to be.

(Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, though, were always an incredibly great live band, even way back in the beginning — with electricity but before technology!)

I still love Keith, of course, and Ronnie and Charlie, but Mick just gets on my nerves now. I used to find him entertaining and funny, but now he just sort of creeps me out. Not just the enormous amount of energy he seems to put into not aging, but that whole thing with his girlfriend a few years ago, when she hanged herself around her 50th birthday, after a photo of him in a bathrobe on a hotel balcony in Paris with a 27-year-old ballerina appeared in every single tabloid known to man…

Can you imagine, if he put as much thought into what to give people on their 50th birthdays as he puts into trying to figure out how to not age…?

Anyway. I don’t think anyone, anywhere, ever really owes the world an explanation for anything they’ve done, unless they want to give it. There’s a built-in retribution to everything — a balance that occurs — for everything that happens in the world, whether or not we ever personally see it. But people only owe themselves explanations, and if they feel kind, generous, loving, what have you, maybe they  choose to give explanations to their loved ones, in private.

So it isn’t that I think Mick owed any of us an explanation for his choices re: who he wants to sleep with, but when he actually said in an official public statement that he couldn’t understand why his girlfriend would want to hang herself…

I don’t know. I think a 9-year-old could have seen the picture from Paris and understood what might have been behind that 50-year-old woman’s despair.

Even though he could have gone to his grave offering no explanation at all & I wouldn’t have personally minded, I would have liked him better had he offered something that looked sort of similar to the truth. You know, something like: I’m in my 70s now and I just need to be with women who are younger than most of my children. Otherwise, I feel old. If people can’t handle it, well, that’s their problem.

Something like that.

I personally, had a great time on my 50th birthday. I was with somebody I’d known forever, who always knew how to make me laugh, and we were doing incredibly fun, you know,  “stuff” together in the family room of all places (and then his grown son suddenly called long distance in the middle of it, with some sort of urgent need to catch up & say hello, which was so incredibly awkward for my friend but made us laugh really hard once he got off the phone).

Anyway. I didn’t mind turning 50 at all. I don’t mind aging. Plus, for me, menopause came so early that I was long over it by the time I turned 50, so I didn’t have that looming, or anything — menopause, alone, can sometimes be really hard on women’s self-esteem and the severe hormonal fluctuations can sometimes cause women to feel (imagine this) suicidal. (I don’t think rock stars are taught that in school, though, so I don’t think his possible ignorance of that fact was his fault.)

Also, my dear friend Peitor in Los Angeles was producing a record for Charo at the time of my 50th birthday (a record which turned out to be a huge comeback hit for her on the Dance charts), and he had her call me at home to sing me “Happy Birthday.” If you don’t know who Charo is, rest assured, it is quite an experience to pick up your phone and have Charo on the other end of it, singing to you.

Image result for charo
Charo & Elvis, who, sadly, did not live long enough to have Charo sing to him over the phone on his 50th birthday.

But if people still want to go see the Stones, that’s totally cool. And judging from all the Instagram comments, the show was spectacular. Everybody had a ball.

Dana Petty was at the show, too; she posted to Instagram from the parking lot. And the other day, her dog had a birthday — it turned 11. So she posted a photo of the dog when it was just a little puppy. Honestly, that’s the main reason I love Instagram. Where else would I get to see a photo of Tom Petty’s dog when it was a little puppy? He was so private when he was alive; he rarely let photos of his home life be available to anyone. Now that he’s dead, his various family members post amazingly lovely photos.

In fact, here’s one, of Tom and the same dog, grown; a photo I don’t think we ever would have seen on Instagram if Tom were still alive. (I guess that’s one reason that I’m glad he’s dead — I get to see all these wonderful candid photos of him that make me wish he were still alive.)

All righty!! I’m gonna get more coffee here and get to work on the endless play… Although I hope it won’t feel endless when it’s finally on the stage.

Thanks for visiting. Have a terrific Friday, wherever you are in the world!! Here’s what I was listening to this morning at breakfast, as the stupid school bus went by at 6am!! I refuse to believe the damn summer is OVER!!! I love you guys. See ya!

Drive Happy Continues!

Luckily my brain was in fine working order this morning, gang.

After I left you so abruptly (see earlier post from today), I went downstairs and looked at my little Honda Fit in the sunshine; the same little Honda Fit that has never, ever failed me yet.  And suddenly I wondered …

On Saturday night at the filling station, did I accidentally pop the hood when I was popping the gas tank cover? Lord knows, I’ve done it before and haven’t discovered it until I was out on some highway, going too fast.

So I opened the hood all the way and then slammed it closed.

Then went and got out onto the highway and drove 95 miles an hour for several miles in the direction of the Honda dealer just to make sure….

But the problem was solved! Horrible rattling at high speeds – gone.

I was relieved for many reasons. One being the obvious financial reason – you don’t want to go to the Honda dealership and say to them: “Can you get down, under, and up inside of there and try to figure out what’s wrong?” Because their eyes will pop out of their heads and they’ll say, “Wow! Ma’am, how much money do you actually have??!!

The other being that I hate wasting prodigious amounts of precious writing time in the indescribably brightly lit waiting room of the Honda dealership, no matter how much coffee they’re giving away for free.  And another being that I was wondering how I was going to explain my problem to the Honda dealer and gain any sympathy whatsoever.

ME: “When it’s pushing 90, it starts rattling.”

THEM: “Where is it that you live exactly, where the speed limit is 90?”

Just FYI: Here in the village, the speed limit is 25 mph. Then for a fleeting patch, between the Dollar Store and the cornfields, it’s 35 mph. Once you hit the cornfields, it’s 55 mph. (And at the very beginning of those fields, on a little hidden patch of dirt, is where our one policeman hides, so if you’ve decided to go 55 mph even a speck too soon, he’ll get’cha!) (Luckily, though, I was taught early that if you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime! So I always dutifully wait until I’m way out of his jurisdiction before I hit the gas pedal…)

That stretch that goes 55 mph is fast enough to feel like you’re going somewhere yet slow enough to watch all the adorable little baby calves frolicking in the green pastures for the first time in their tiny little lives.  And once you hit the actual highway, it’s 70 mph. And there it remains.

So you can see where the question about where it is I live exactly might have some validity.

But, whatever. The car was not broken, so the question never came up! Yay!

And I had brought along The Beach Boys’ Greatest Hits because of the song I’d posted this morning, and you know, gang, The Beach Boys’ Greatest Hits makes for really terrific driving-fast-on-the-highway music.  “Fun, Fun Fun,” “Help Me, Rhonda,” “Wouldn’t It Be Nice,” “California Girls,” etc.  Man. Such great songs.

But when it hit “Surfer Girl,” – oh man.  Wow. I’d forgotten what an incredibly sweet song that was. I hit the REPEAT button and just kept playing that one, over & over & over, until I got back home.  And I was thinking that, you know, if you slow-danced to that song with someone you didn’t even know, you’d be in love for sure before that song was over. It’s just too sweet and too dear.

Meanwhile…

I know I talk about Nick Cave’s Red Hand Files here a lot and badger you to go read them (stubborn Americans, that is, who  have that weird resistance to all my pro-Nick-Cave badgering), and today’s newsletter was just so incredibly good. I’m not even going to try to explain why. It just really was.

I have many different photos of Nick Cave, from many different eras, stuck to the walls around my desk and creeping up the side of my book case that’s next to my desk. (This is also where I have tons of photos of Tom Petty, Bob Dylan, and Keith Richards, and also photos of cats that I loved who have passed on.)

But I have one little photo of Nick Cave that I absolutely adore and I keep it in a little holder-thingie and it is always on my desk looking at me.  (The little holder-thingie was a gift from my friend Kara – she  of the unidentifiable Other Planet that I’ve written about here before and I adore her, too.  And, once, we were having espressos and I showed her this photo of Nick Cave that I love back when it was only on my phone and I said, “God I just love this photo. It’s so cute. I can’t quit looking at it.” And even though she has no clue who Nick Cave is, she will dutifully listen to Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds songs that I sometimes text to her in the middle of the night – she stays up really late. And then she went and bought me a holder-thingie so that I could print out the photo and just sort of not have it trapped in my phone anymore!) (No, you’d not know that I will be 59 in a few weeks because I always just feel about 12. I really do.)

Anyway, I do love this photo. I don’t understand what’s going on in the photo and, frankly, I don’t think I want to know! But I do ponder it, for sure. It’s a good “pondering” photo because there is an awful lot going on in this photo that you don’t notice right away.  And that Red Hand Files newsletter today brought to mind this photo, among other things that mean a lot to me.

Photo on my desk in the holder-thingie from Kara!

Okay, gang! On that happy note, I’m going to go down to the kitchen and scrounge around a bit and see if there’s something to eat down there.  And then I have a quiz in Italian waiting for me on the Mondly app! That should be fun.

Have a great evening, folks, wherever you are in the world. I leave you with this!! Go find somebody to hold onto, then listen to this song and fall in love!!!! That’s an order!!

Okay. I love you guys. See ya!

“Surfer Girl”

Little surfer little one
Made my heart come all undone
Do you love me, do you surfer girl
Surfer girl my little surfer girlI have watched you on the shore
Standing by the ocean’s roar
Do you love me do you surfer girl
Surfer girl surfer girlWe could ride the surf together
While our love would grow
In my Woody I would take you everywhere I goSo I say from me to you
I will make your dreams come true
Do you love me do you surfer girl
Surfer girl my little surfer girl
Little one
Girl surfer girl my little surfer girl
Little one
Girl surfer girl my little surfer girl
Little one
Girl surfer girl my little surfer girl
c- 1963 Brian Wilson