Emo
For some reason summer makes me fell nostalgic. Nostalgic for things that I haven't ever experienced, but that I have romanticized. This is a phenomenon that can usually be summoned by listening to certain music, and not just during the summer. For example, listening to U2 makes me think of Germany during the 70's and 80's. Don't ask me why. But whenever I hear old U2, those are the images that come associated with it. I've talked about this with few people, and they have a similar thing, for other music and other places/things/events, etc.
So this evening, I came home from work and put on my Bruce Springsteen & The E. Street Band Live/1975-85 and am having a somewhat similar association/reaction. Only, this time its for my past.
When I was little, these albums was always on the turntable. My parents were big Bruce fans, and I guess it rubbed off. Now that I'm sitting here and listening to these albums, albums I haven't heard in I suppose almost 20 years, (that's when we got a CD player, 1989, and the turntable along with all those records were packed away,) I'm getting all nostalgic.
I don't know why these memories are being dragged out of me but they are. Memories of my great-grandparents, long dead. I can remember sitting with them on the barn-red deck, with the built-in benches and chairs, with the brown seat cushions that we had to put away every night. I can remember the smell of the Merit lights and the Old Milwaukee that I used to sneak sips of. I remember the upright piano and sitting at it with Gramps, as he bounced me on his knee. /this is what I got from Rosalita (Come Out Tonight).
Listening to Thunder Road, I remember my Grandpa and Grandma coming over in their new Dodge Caravan, the one with the faux-wood sides. I remember them bringing their tape recorder over and setting it on the coffee table, where I would talk into it and play it back over and over. And I remember my Grandma's purse and how I would root around in it looking for God only knows what. And how I would fight having to take a bath, but when I did, I felt better, and I got to come back downstairs in my pajamas with the feet on them. It was summer, and I would be able to run around outside, even though my mom was having a heart attack at the thought of the dirt I would bring in.
4th of July Asbury Park is bringing back the time my Dad put the speakers in the window so we could listen as he grilled while smoking his Merit lites. I remember the weird swimming trunks and the tank top. That was the night my uncle David, my Aunt Amy, their friend Wheels, my Grandpa, my Mom, Dad and I all got in a big water fight. We were throwing buckets of water and chasing each other around with a hose. That is until I fell into the bushes and got all scraped up. I remember the fight started because my Grandpa was sitting with his feet in the pool and I splashed him. He got mad because I got his cigarettes wet, but then somehow it became funny. I remember sitting wrapped in a towel on the deck, eating a popsicle.
These albums are really dredging things I haven't thought about in a long time. I don't remember much from my childhood. Everything from about 3rd grade through 8th grade is pretty much gone. Forgotten not all that intentionally, but probably for the best. I'm glad that these songs are bringing back good memories, albeit somewhat fuzzy. My Grandpa died 7 years ago, and I didn't get to see him for a good 4 years before he died, before the cancer really got to him. My Great-Grandparents, Nanny and Gramps, like I said above are all long since gone. Taken by alcoholism and old age. My Gramps used to take me around to his bar and show me off to all his friends. I used to get to ride around in the front seat of his white Cadillac and he'd lift me up to play pool and drink his beer.
I am lucky to still have my Grandma around. I need to talk to her more than I do, because she's really all I have left, besides my Mom. My Dad and I don't talk anymore. I don't see my aunts and I kind of live my own life here in Madison, alone for better or worse.
I talked to my mom the other day, and she threw away my turntable, so now I'm on the search for a new one, and a Bruce Springsteen & The E. Street Band Live/1975-85 album set. All I have is the cold, impersonal MP3 version. I need the warm, crackly albums. I need that connection to something I've lost.
This is probably the most Emo post ever, and my longest and most stream of consciousness, but if you've read this far, thanks. It helps to get out somewhere. I miss some people so much. I miss them and all that I've lost.
So this evening, I came home from work and put on my Bruce Springsteen & The E. Street Band Live/1975-85 and am having a somewhat similar association/reaction. Only, this time its for my past.
When I was little, these albums was always on the turntable. My parents were big Bruce fans, and I guess it rubbed off. Now that I'm sitting here and listening to these albums, albums I haven't heard in I suppose almost 20 years, (that's when we got a CD player, 1989, and the turntable along with all those records were packed away,) I'm getting all nostalgic.
I don't know why these memories are being dragged out of me but they are. Memories of my great-grandparents, long dead. I can remember sitting with them on the barn-red deck, with the built-in benches and chairs, with the brown seat cushions that we had to put away every night. I can remember the smell of the Merit lights and the Old Milwaukee that I used to sneak sips of. I remember the upright piano and sitting at it with Gramps, as he bounced me on his knee. /this is what I got from Rosalita (Come Out Tonight).
Listening to Thunder Road, I remember my Grandpa and Grandma coming over in their new Dodge Caravan, the one with the faux-wood sides. I remember them bringing their tape recorder over and setting it on the coffee table, where I would talk into it and play it back over and over. And I remember my Grandma's purse and how I would root around in it looking for God only knows what. And how I would fight having to take a bath, but when I did, I felt better, and I got to come back downstairs in my pajamas with the feet on them. It was summer, and I would be able to run around outside, even though my mom was having a heart attack at the thought of the dirt I would bring in.
4th of July Asbury Park is bringing back the time my Dad put the speakers in the window so we could listen as he grilled while smoking his Merit lites. I remember the weird swimming trunks and the tank top. That was the night my uncle David, my Aunt Amy, their friend Wheels, my Grandpa, my Mom, Dad and I all got in a big water fight. We were throwing buckets of water and chasing each other around with a hose. That is until I fell into the bushes and got all scraped up. I remember the fight started because my Grandpa was sitting with his feet in the pool and I splashed him. He got mad because I got his cigarettes wet, but then somehow it became funny. I remember sitting wrapped in a towel on the deck, eating a popsicle.
These albums are really dredging things I haven't thought about in a long time. I don't remember much from my childhood. Everything from about 3rd grade through 8th grade is pretty much gone. Forgotten not all that intentionally, but probably for the best. I'm glad that these songs are bringing back good memories, albeit somewhat fuzzy. My Grandpa died 7 years ago, and I didn't get to see him for a good 4 years before he died, before the cancer really got to him. My Great-Grandparents, Nanny and Gramps, like I said above are all long since gone. Taken by alcoholism and old age. My Gramps used to take me around to his bar and show me off to all his friends. I used to get to ride around in the front seat of his white Cadillac and he'd lift me up to play pool and drink his beer.
I am lucky to still have my Grandma around. I need to talk to her more than I do, because she's really all I have left, besides my Mom. My Dad and I don't talk anymore. I don't see my aunts and I kind of live my own life here in Madison, alone for better or worse.
I talked to my mom the other day, and she threw away my turntable, so now I'm on the search for a new one, and a Bruce Springsteen & The E. Street Band Live/1975-85 album set. All I have is the cold, impersonal MP3 version. I need the warm, crackly albums. I need that connection to something I've lost.
This is probably the most Emo post ever, and my longest and most stream of consciousness, but if you've read this far, thanks. It helps to get out somewhere. I miss some people so much. I miss them and all that I've lost.