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Nostalgia, Meet Zen

10 tracks that only skim the surface

By chris miskec-rhymes-with-whiskeyPublished 3 years ago 11 min read
2
Moment of Zen

Track 1:

The first kiss between my parents witnessed by my cognitive self was at a Neil Diamond concert. As an 8th grader, was the bottom tier of fashion, wearing a knock-off Panama Jack light blue long-sleeve t-shirt from Ventures with “jeans” in the flimsiest sense of the word, in that they were made with denim but missing a zipper and button, flared along the waist with full-on ruffles, and a built in belt, to ensure I was never invited to a sleepover.

We were in the far end of the arena when apparently their baby makin’ song came ringing through the expansive, auditorily painful rafters of Kemper Arena. Kemper Arena was in the river bottoms, aka, right next to the Stockyards, of Kansas City. In my glee at attending my first concert, as the introduction of meeting my new and ever-present friend, tinnitus, was unfolding, I slowly turned to my left just as my two creators decided to Braille each other’s tonsils.

To this day, these lyrics bring tears to my eyes with an image that can never be erased:

"I am"... I cried

"I am"... said I

And I am lost and I can't

Even say why

Leavin' me lonely still

Track 2:

Our family enjoyed at least one day a weekend of marathon card games. I’m not talking about your grandma’s gin or canasta. It was rummy, for five cents a point, regardless of age or income. The table sat only four participants comfortably as the sweet-tea glasses mingled with the ashtrays and persnickety manner in which each placed their cache of allotted funds for the day. Until Babe, the matriarch, lost one too many deals, and with his gorilla hands, tore the deck in half, tossed it overhead, Rip Taylor-esque, his catcher mitts arriving back down upon the table with a thunder which sent ashes, coins, and ice soaring.

When my grandparents, first Babe, then Mable, passed away, the 1st and 2nd generation offspring were tasked with preparing the home, including the kitchen, where the table and appliances, still stood, for sale. Fourteen different decks of cards, in varying remnants, were exposed in the nooks and crannies of the 10 x 10 room. As the brooms and scrub brushes kept time, you could hear:

“Every gambler knows

That the secret to survivin'

Is knowin' what to throw away

And knowin' what to keep

'Cause every hand's a winner

And every hand's a loser

And the best that you can hope for

Is to die in your sleep"

Track 3:

When you are four and you sprint to hold onto your friend EVERY.TIME. she comes into sight, you know a lesbian life is awaiting you once the timing is square.

In 1988, at the emotionally stable age of 19, Melissa Etheridge’s first album was released, and so was I. My K-Mart Walkman was essentially another appendage. And her tape was stretched to the point she began to sound like Kathleen Turner after three scotches and one-too-many cigarettes.

I dissected every lyric for any nuances of similarities of how I felt about an opponent on the basketball/softball/soccer team du jour, and knew she felt what I was being consumed with as I mouthed these omniscient sensations of self:

“Will this aching pass?

Will this night be through?

I wanna hear the breaking glass

I only feel the steel of the red hot truth

And I'd do anything to get it out of my mind

I need some insanity, that temporary kind

Tell me how will I ever be the same?

When I know that that woman is whispering your name”

Track 4:

As Melissa strode onto the stage at the Triangle Ball, with kd lang fist pumping her announcement of womanly love, I was slow dancing with alcohol-soaked legs at Dessert Heart, a bar the goddess I prayed to at a Catholic college dropped down a mere six block stumble home to my dorm room.

Inevitably, when my first girlfriend heard “Nothing Compares 2 U”, she knew regardless of her drink or cigarette status, I would tug her onto the floor, get as close to the mirrored wall as the troops of similar couplings would allow, and wail into her ears Prince’s serenade sung by Sinead. We broke up more times in two years than most couples say “I love you”.

It’s easy to transpose words in songs about losing and longing, especially ones written by men, sung by women:

“It's been so lonely without you here

Like a bird without a song

Nothing can stop these lonely tears from falling

Tell me baby, where did I go wrong?

I could put my arms around every boy(girl) I see

But they'd only remind me of you

I went to the doctor, guess what he told me

Guess what he told me

He said, "Girl you better try to have fun, no matter what you do"

But he's a fool

'Cause nothing compares, nothing compares to you”

Track 5:

A move 37 miles west to Lawrence, Kansas, brings new interests, new shenanigans, new music. Attempting to earn a master’s degree in a field you are supremely underqualified in sets one up for significant times of distraction so as not to focus on your inadequacies.

Melissa Ferrick. Who the fuck was she? As the album cover attested, my life was a Massive Blur, center stage. Overtime, I have seen her live at various venues, in various roles, more than twenty times. When a musician’s words and melodies weave into your heart, the beat is more pronounced and true. And the vision reflected in your morning mirror is safer to see.

Maybe you could direct me

To the ri ght - the right train of thought

Because you see I don't think that I am on it

'Cause it's foggy down here

I'm along and I'm scared

All I can hear is

Your beating heart

Your beating heart

Your beating heart”

Track 6:

Being sporty is a term someone may use to describe me from pictures of my youth. Notice I did not say athletic. I grew to tolerate the term “chunky athletic” and at times, I was “sturdy athletic”, but I am quite certain many, upon our first introductions, did not automatically equate my stature with standards above varsity high school-level physique.

Regardless, my passion has always been under the umbrella of competition, and for activities that I could experience immediate gratification, unlike studying or tanning, I jumped into sports with my eastern European genetics in full non-grace.

But to achieve the highest levels your lineage allows, you gotta have the pump!! Or you gonna get killed on the rugby pitch.

Trent Reznor came through with Pretty Hate Machine, which summed up quite a bit about my journey during this phase of living.

I would drown my fears with typical clear rail drinks, eat Taco Bell, go to grad school, drive to hills with the most extreme pitch and run, jump, skip, puke, on repeat, as these words permeated the tissue I spent years denying it's potential greatness.

Head like a hole

Black as your soul

I'd rather die than give you control

Head like a hole

Black as your soul

I'd rather die than give you control

Bow down before the one you serve

You're going to get what you deserve

Bow down before the one you serve

You're going to get what you deserve

It's still getting worse after everything I tried

What if I found a way to wash it all aside

What if she touches with those fingertips

As the words spill out like fire from her lips

If she says come inside I'll come inside for her

If she says give it all I'll give everything to her

I am justified

I am purified

I am sanctified

Inside you

Heaven's just a rumor she'll dispel.

As she walks me through the nicest parts of hell.

I still dream of lips I never should have never kissed

Well she knows exactly what I can't resist

Track 7:

When you are 26, moving 584 miles away for a job, in your profession, does not matter. Until you drive north from Kansas, on I-29, through Nebraska, turning left on to Highway 12, into South Dakota, for the first time. In a Saturn. With a dream that one day, you’ll be a NCAA D-I basketball coach. Then you arrive in Aberdeen, SD, and you realize dreams are just that: something that happens at night, when all sense of reality is cut-off and not attenable.

I felt untouchable, not human, ethereal and false. I played songs to soothe my fears and my doubts and sang songs to myself that were meant to be sung to someone I was attempting to fall in love with.

Ani Difranco spoke for the parts of me that had not learned how to speak.

“Tell you the truth I prefer the worst of you

Too bad you had to have a better half

She's not really my type

But I think you two are forever

And I hate to say it, but you're perfect together

So fuck you

And your untouchable face

Fuck you

For existing in the first place

And who am I?

That I should be vying for your touch

I said who am I?

I bet you can't even tell me that much”

Track 8:

My wife can attest: my life has been a series of pushing envelopes which contain pop-up cards of unknown clown faces and sentiments and happy fortune cookies.

I truly do not feel it was luck bestowed upon me and pity presented by the hiring committee who brought me another level of fortune. I truly feel it was karmic timing and charm that took me to Mankato, MN and eventually into the MSU Athletics Hall of Fame. But I digress;

I needed to spin, to become so off balance that my inner compass, literally, pulled me into a wave of vertigo so intense I lost 4 days while lying in a papasan propped up next to a TV with a trash can under my dangling fingers for the unexpected waves of nausea and vomiting accompanying my self-aggrandizing stunt that I told myself I knew how to hogtie life without a rope.

I needed peace. I craved calm. I dove from that papasan into my safety net of Elton John.

"When I think of those east end lights

Muggy nights the curtains drawn

In the little room downstairs

Prima donna Lord you really should have been there

Sittin' like a princess perched in her electric chair

And it's one more beer and I don't hear you anymore

We've all gone crazy lately

My friend's out there rolling 'round the basement floor

(Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh...)

And someone saved my life tonight

Sugar bear (sugar bear...)"

Track 9:

When attempting to master anything in life, Malcolm Gladwell posit that you had to commit 10,000 hours to the endeavor to achieve mastery.

That timeframe, 10,000 hours, is equivocal to just over 415 days.

I call bullshit.

In hindsight, anecdotally, three years, 1095 days, 26,280 hours, are needed to even reach the ground floor of the Mayan temple one builds as someone attains a standard of success no one is able to quantify but self. And that is just the first level.

By the time you have made the executive and fully cognizant decision to rebuild yourself, yet again, the emotion swells and time bends as a slingshot to get further and farther.

This undulation needs a rhythm to lead the way, no matter how crude the lyrics and sentiment. My thought process was devolving as I was emotionally evolving. Time to question all and answer to none. Thank you for validating me, Jenny Owen Youngs.

"Love plows through me like a dozer

I've got more give then a bale of hay

& There's always a big mess left over

With a what did you do and what did you say

What did you do and what did you say

Skillet on the stove

It's such a temptation

Maybe i'll be the lucky one

That doesn't get burnt

What the f-ck was i thinking

What the f-ck was i thinking

What the f-ck was i thinking

What the f-ck was i thinking"

Track 10:

There are so many more between these liner notes of my life. So much more I needed that appeared in time to keep my ears above the waters of living, even if my nose and mouth dipped under for extended periods of time.

The summation of me is not complete, yet, I am now able to see the equation and not be fully confused by the process.

Brandi Carlile's Story is not mine but I’ve hugged these words with such vigor and hope that I am now able to move forward with belief that tomorrow will come and I will be lighter and more loving in spite of what I forgot, fell for, or just planned ignored.

I’m once again singing to myself, off-key, warbly, but no longer afraid.

"All of these lines across my face

Tell you the story of who I am

So many stories of where I've been

And how I got to where I am

But these stories don't mean anything

When you've got no one to tell them to

It's true, I was made for you

I climbed across the mountain tops

Swam all across the ocean blue

I crossed all the lines, and I broke all the rules

But, baby, I broke them all for you

Oh, because even when I was flat broke

You made me feel like a million bucks

You do

I was made for you"

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About the Creator

chris miskec-rhymes-with-whiskey

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