And you may ask yourself
And you may ask yourself, "Did that cat really just bite my head off?" And you may ask yourself, "Did that guy really come into my life?" And you may ask yourself, "Is this really our awesome place?"
I was introduced to Talking Heads by a friend's son. I ended up dating him briefly, and when the dalliance ended, so did my beginning appreciation for the music he'd brought to my awareness. The appreciation resurfaced when I dated another admirer a while later. This gentleman was refined and artsy, even if darkly stoic. His taste in music inevitably involved a marching rhythm - evidenced readily by his strong familiarity with Kate Bush. I could easily picture him in a Victorian mansion: Aptly buttoned jacket perfectly adorning his tall, thin frame; walking slowly and erectly down the polished wood of the stairs; wife spreading place settings upon the long table; children perfect replicas of their parents, speaking only when spoken to and as polite as can be. But for all his intriguing eccentricities, I found something lacking as I took note of his music collection. There were frames, but no furnishings.
So as the dapper young Stoic drifted sadly and slowly away into his lonely Mansion, once again, so did Talking Heads. I thought little of it until today when I opened Windows Media Player and happened across a song called "Like Humans Do" by a guy named David Byrne. I have no idea where it came from, but I listened to it. The voice and rhythm were both eerily familiar to me. So I dragged out my meager collection of Talking Heads and found "This Must Be The Place." It is a song which both Momma's Boy and Stoic Victorian had appreciated.
I have now rediscovered Talking Heads in addition to discovering this odd fellow, David Byrne. David has a website, www.davidbyrne.com . He keeps a journal which offers insights I don't often see from a singer. He has a lot of music available. And yes, he was the singer in Talking Heads that I recall.
My close friends know that I place a high importance on Peter Cetera's music, as it's played a vital role in my life. I associate sign posts with each of his albums, right down to the songs themselves, both when he was solo and when he was with Chicago. At least one of Talking Heads' songs, however, appears to have particularly symbolic meaning in my life: Two of the most similiar - and opposite - people I've ever known introduced me to the song as they were also introducing me to the concept of what I was looking for in a mate. While simple, the song combines a rhythmic frame with a fun optimism. The lyrics flow easily into my current life: Ironically enough, what I was looking for in a mate is Aflac, and we have this apartment we call "The Place." Home is where I want to be, but I guess I'm already there. I love the passing of time...
As to the inspiration for this posting, however, I must touch upon another song: "Same As It Ever Was." I was downstairs earlier, in the window, watching Aflac get into his car. Kitty had alighted herself upon the sill, and I was feeling cuddly, so I rubbed my head playfully into her fur. She started purring, and it felt good, so I kept rubbing up against her fuzziness. More purring, more rubbing. I was somewhat aware that Aflac was watching us, bemused, from his car, but I was so caught up in the rare moment of Kitty-enjoyment that I decided to wait until his car moved before I'd react to him and wave "I love you" for the day.
Then she bit my head.
~nv
I was introduced to Talking Heads by a friend's son. I ended up dating him briefly, and when the dalliance ended, so did my beginning appreciation for the music he'd brought to my awareness. The appreciation resurfaced when I dated another admirer a while later. This gentleman was refined and artsy, even if darkly stoic. His taste in music inevitably involved a marching rhythm - evidenced readily by his strong familiarity with Kate Bush. I could easily picture him in a Victorian mansion: Aptly buttoned jacket perfectly adorning his tall, thin frame; walking slowly and erectly down the polished wood of the stairs; wife spreading place settings upon the long table; children perfect replicas of their parents, speaking only when spoken to and as polite as can be. But for all his intriguing eccentricities, I found something lacking as I took note of his music collection. There were frames, but no furnishings.
So as the dapper young Stoic drifted sadly and slowly away into his lonely Mansion, once again, so did Talking Heads. I thought little of it until today when I opened Windows Media Player and happened across a song called "Like Humans Do" by a guy named David Byrne. I have no idea where it came from, but I listened to it. The voice and rhythm were both eerily familiar to me. So I dragged out my meager collection of Talking Heads and found "This Must Be The Place." It is a song which both Momma's Boy and Stoic Victorian had appreciated.
I have now rediscovered Talking Heads in addition to discovering this odd fellow, David Byrne. David has a website, www.davidbyrne.com . He keeps a journal which offers insights I don't often see from a singer. He has a lot of music available. And yes, he was the singer in Talking Heads that I recall.
My close friends know that I place a high importance on Peter Cetera's music, as it's played a vital role in my life. I associate sign posts with each of his albums, right down to the songs themselves, both when he was solo and when he was with Chicago. At least one of Talking Heads' songs, however, appears to have particularly symbolic meaning in my life: Two of the most similiar - and opposite - people I've ever known introduced me to the song as they were also introducing me to the concept of what I was looking for in a mate. While simple, the song combines a rhythmic frame with a fun optimism. The lyrics flow easily into my current life: Ironically enough, what I was looking for in a mate is Aflac, and we have this apartment we call "The Place." Home is where I want to be, but I guess I'm already there. I love the passing of time...
As to the inspiration for this posting, however, I must touch upon another song: "Same As It Ever Was." I was downstairs earlier, in the window, watching Aflac get into his car. Kitty had alighted herself upon the sill, and I was feeling cuddly, so I rubbed my head playfully into her fur. She started purring, and it felt good, so I kept rubbing up against her fuzziness. More purring, more rubbing. I was somewhat aware that Aflac was watching us, bemused, from his car, but I was so caught up in the rare moment of Kitty-enjoyment that I decided to wait until his car moved before I'd react to him and wave "I love you" for the day.
Then she bit my head.
~nv
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