Sunday, January 07, 2007

Gershwin and Gershwin. Nothing about the Seattle Symphony

Trashing out my abandoned rental house
I managed to salvage a record of Gershwin hit songs.

One in particular affected me

I have decided to take out the lyrics to this song because I am afraid of lawyers.
Besides Ira was a much better writer than I
It's a song about lonliness or fear of abandonment
The singer ask to be remembered even though separated, either by physical distance or emotional distance

Memory has an odd effect on old people like me
When I hear this song I do remember, must be hundreds of people I've known, many more who I would have liked to have known.
Some are gone
My family, for instance, except for my sister, her lovable husband, her two sons and the one's wife and daughter, are all gone.
O.K. there is an ex-wife (still friends, she sometimes reads my blogs) and an ex husband in the mix.
Makes friends all the more valuable.
I can remember lots of them.
They seem to come and go
Some stay longer and some never get to be known at all.
Some, there must be millions, are just latent, theoretical friends,
strangers I havn't met yet.
But that's not memory.
I guess that the song is more about a specific kind of lonliness, a romantic desire for the feeling of human contact without the awkwardness, discomfort, or commitment of the face to face.
An unfulfillable yearning.
But, the face to face, even with with it's dangers, is still where the real rewards are to be found.
Still, It is reassuring to think of someone off at a distance somewhere, remembering me, as I remember that someone, those someones, all the cats I've known before.
I guess the only thing funny about this post is the turgid prose.
Contrast and compare, Gershwin and Palmer.
I will now stray off.
Do please remember me.



Anonymous Anonymous said...

A most moving message!! And you'll not be forgotten!!

2:23 PM  
Blogger Robin said...

Ditto anon...Hugs, R

12:44 PM  
Blogger butch said...

Ain't blogging fun? I tried to sign up on Google so that I could respond to your post, and it informed me that I already have an account while responding to my Aunt Jean Carpenter's blog. So hey, big boy, just call me Butch. Remember, that's what my family, most of which are gone too, call me. Not Ishmael, putz, Butch.

Anyway, Doug, who the hell could ever forget you. Gosh, I remember you when your last name was Mercer, per your stepfather in West Seattle. But as you know, Buttkus was my stepfather's name, and you never knew me with the last name of Bryden, my mother's first husband, who also turned out to be a stepfather; but that's another story. After mother died in 1966, and Kristi's parents kind of adopted me --before Kris came to live with you, and then I did, coming back from my stint in the U.S.Navy, and prepping for my debut as an actor at the U of W, my parents had a legal name change paper of some kind. Art Buttkus died at 54 from lung cancer, and when I was a professional actor (You remember that brief decade of my psuedo-fame, right?), I had a hell of a time getting my first passport. Keenan Wynn had to lie to the U.S. Government and tell them he had known me since childhood, and they gave me the passport so that I could fly to Sydney, Australia and be in a play with Keenan; my swan song professionally; but that is another story.

Yet, as I am prone to do, I digress. This response is about you, not me, right? Maybe it is about both of us. I agree with the mechanic who told you he was envious of your retirement. How old were you when you retired, 48? I will have to pound these keys and work with blinded veterans for several more years before Social Security says I am entitle to the "big bucks". 2010 is the magic year for me.

I could go on, but I have to get back to work.


7:46 AM  

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