The Soundtrack of My Life

September 21, 2022

The Soundtrack of My Life – 31 – Closer To Myself

One of my favorite past-times is looking back at who I once was. The beauty of life is there. It shows that no matter what, we are never a fixed point. We move on, grow, change, and become someone almost entirely unrecognizable to the person we once were. In some cases, that person would hate who you’ve become. They would have seen your existence as an absolute failure for the effort they, at the time, invested every ounce of energy into not becoming.

Another lifetime ago I was a very, very devout Christian. Of course that would occur when I was cultivated to be such a child. I went to Christian school from pre-k to 8th grade. And the only reason I ever, ever left religious education was because the local faith based high school priced my parents out. They couldn’t afford the exorbitant tuition. So much for spreading the word of God, right? That’s how you do it. You make it where only the rich can attend.

When I transferred to public school I made my faith my entire identity. From the day I started until the summer after my freshman year, I wore this hideous teal hat, embroidered with a “Jesus fish.” I swore that if I made it to Hollywood (as was my want at the time) and won some sort of acting award I would wear that ratty old hat to show that christ provides. Good lord, I was insufferable.

I was also the worst kind, I was a biblical literalist. I believed that what happened in the Bible absolutely occurred in the timeframe in which was outlined in this ancient text. And the verse I believed, with such a flaming ball of hatred, was the sin of homosexuality.

What makes that so problematic is… well… I am a big ol’ nelly queen.

I remember the rage I felt about any kind of queer representation. I vividly remember, saying out loud, that I wish that all “fags” would be killed; or given their own island where they would die out, because they can’t procreate. Which… in hindsight does actually sound kind of awesome. A gay space with no heteros to ruin our fun? Where do I sign up? And, die out? That doesn’t make any sense. Gay people aren’t just born to gay people… if that was the case… there would be no gay people.

My religious story sounds all too familiar. I will not offer you any new detail that hasn’t been said by countless others before or after me. Faith has become a burden. A costume we all don to “fit in” with the rest. For us to “feel worth.” I tried so hard to be a good Christian. I didn’t want to disappoint myself, my parents, or “my god.” I wrote allegorical stories, I listened to faith based music, and I tried to surround myself with others “like me.” Problem was, I was not like them and never could be.

I would pray every night that god would take away my gay feelings. There were a couple times that I pleaded so much that I cried. Yet, here I am. Sometimes I wonder if I just didn’t want it enough, pray as hard as I could. Then I remind myself that I don’t believe in any powerful deity and those antiquated thoughts leave my mind.

Religion has it’s hooks in me until I die, I’m afraid. I was immersed in it from the moment I could talk. It was the only perspective of the world I was offered and I bought into it because it was what my parents shared with me. And how could they be wrong? They knew everything. And it wasn’t just them, it was my teachers and my peers. All of them going along with this bull shit with zero questions. They just believed for the sake of it, and deliberately searching for “god” in everything they did. The thing about looking through rose colored glasses at the world is you’re always seeing red. So, even now, the faith bubbles up in my brain and I have to talk it through. I ask it questions, because there is nothing “belief” hates more than any kind of inquiring thought.

I do think that faith can do good things, but it doesn’t. It has become too consumed with maintaining power. It’s lost any sense of message, except to hold others down and lift up just a select few.

My loss of faith officially occurred after my mother’s diagnosis. It had been on life support at the back of my thoughts since my early twenties. But when I heard what my mother was about to endure any notion that there was “a higher power in charge of everything” was eliminated. Because how could a “loving god” strike down one of his most devout with such a horrible disease? To teach her a lesson? For what? Believing? Is it a test of her faith? That seems like a pyshopathic god to me. That’s like me sticking out a leg to trip someone, offering them a hand to pick them back up and saying “Now, tell me how awesome I am that I picked you up.”

Embracing the idea that there is no reason for what happens, that life is chaotic and meaningless has actually brought me so much peace. Without any meaning, we get to give life the one we want. We are only guaranteed today. So, I will live it the best way I can for the reason I want.

Letting go of faith has brought me closer to myself.

I gotta say, this song does rock. Despite it being a Christian tune. The fact that it was included in the movie “Never Been Kissed” astounds me to this day. The message in the lyrics is finding a version closer to her true self through faith. They included it in a moment where the main character of the film finds herself through her own self-discovery and failure. They may be similar ideas, however the shared space is very thin when considering the broader implications of the actual song.

I also don’t think god brings us closer to who we are, but separates us from our true identity. It tells us to fear and hate anything that doesn’t fit into the crucifix shaped box. And being such an odd configuration, doesn’t allow for too much.

September 19, 2022

The Soundtrack of My Life – 30 – Heads Carolina, Tails California

Country music will always have my heart. It was the first “non-child,” secular music I first encountered and I fell in love with it the moment I heard that steel guitar. (Still one of my favorite sounds.) It’s funny, because neither of my parents were fans of “western” (what they called it) music. My dad was 60’s and 70’s pop rock and my mom wasn’t one to listen to the radio. Apart from them meeting for the first time in a country-western bar they didn’t have any attachment to the genre.

My father would wonder “Where did you get this love from?” He didn’t remember having set the station on my brand new radio to KFRG, before going outside to work in the yard. It was the first radio station it had been set to and it never strayed from it until we moved.

A lot of my birthday gifts were music related. The following year my parents gifted me a walk-man and two cassette tapes: Billy Ray Cyrus (for of course “Achey Breaky Heart”) and Alan Jackson. Apart from that one song I did not enjoy Billy Ray. I was, however, in love with Alan Jackson. I wrote that tape out. That man had the hits!

For my 11th birthday my parents bought me my first CD player stereo. Accompanying it were two discs by Tim McGraw and Jo Dee Messina.

“Heads Carolina, Tails California” was my favorite at the time. There was one moment when I had been listening to the radio at midnight, bedroom window open, and when this tune came on I started singing. A little too loud it would seem, I thought I was being quiet, but both my parents and the neighbors woke up very, very irritated.

I love the idea of the song: getting away, leaving everything up to chance. Maybe then they could outrun their bad luck with the spontaneity of their decision. It spoke to me at 11. I wasn’t happy living in Bakersfield. I felt so out of place. I never fit in. Most of the kids I started going to school with had been friends since kindergarten and here I was this chubby, quirky kid who used to be the smartest one in the class at his old school.

Most of all though, the idea of aimlessly traveling touched a deep nerve.

I have always loved road trips. I got to listen to music, play video games, and watch the landscape change around me. My family’s habit was getting up at the crack of dawn, grab some McDonald’s, and hit the road. That way it gave us more evening time at our end destination.

My husband is not like that at all. He wants to wake up at a “reasonable” hour (aka 11) and lackadaisically pack the car and head out. Any sense of urgency does not exist in his frame. And that BUGS!

Regardless, we have made our two very different ways of doing things work. Primarily I have just given in because fighting him on it is impossible. He will control the situation no matter what I try to do. Even now, where the brother-husband and I have to do everything, this bitch will find a way to make sure we leave on his schedule. It’s truly remarkable.

This October the three of us will be embarking on a road trip to Boston, looping down to Orlando and then on to Vegas for the MTG 30 event. We will make an overnight stop in North Carolina to visit an old friend and a sort-a-kinda-cousin. (Hard to explain.)

It was intended to be a trip for just the two of us, to give the B-H a break from me and Charlie. However, when the husband brought it up that he requires a lot of help and attention he suggested it would be a good idea if he came along. And he isn’t wrong. The vast majority of the trip would be spent on his general care. We are at the point now where there is nothing he can do without assistance.

I am really looking forward to our trip. The open road calls to me. It’s just a bummer we have to have a schedule and not let our own whims and sense of adventure dictate the route. I guess I’ll leave that to the fantasy of the song.

September 13, 2022

The Soundtrack of My Life – 29 – Always Gold

I do not care what anyone says, Pandora has the best selection of music. The algorithm works to the advantage of the listener, creating a playlist that is at least in the same vein of what you’re interested in. Without it I wouldn’t have found as many artists. Radical Face being one of them. Where is this even played? How would I have heard it, without a friend recommending them? I am not one to actively seek out new artists. I’ve been burned too many times in the past that I refuse to do it.

The only real memory this song has for me is helping to drown out the shrill, irritating voice of the one super opinionated JW woman at my previous place of employ. Listening to music was the only way I could cope with that horrible job. Other than it being a saving grace it has no other meaning. The only reason I use it here now is because of the message sort of applies to my topic.

The song is about a brother’s love and how no matter what paths were chosen they would always be there for the other. It’s a beautiful sentiment and the voice/music is super haunting. In a good way, though.

These past few weeks I have been on an Alaskan cruise with my polycule. And everywhere we went, we were asked by countless women, “Are you brothers?” I lacked any energy to explain the intricacies of our relationship, so instead I would simply answer, “no.” The brother-husband would lay it out there without context or explanation because he likes the shock value. (I do too, but we were trapped on a boat with these people.)

I know they meant nothing in their inquiry, but it opens up a whole other path of questioning. One that for me is centered around the way in which we care for my husband. It is here where I feel these queries are born. Since, it would only be because of our “bond of blood or brotherhood” would we nurture our wheelchair-bound companion. Why must we be brother’s to dote and care for a loved one? It’s truly odd.

It was ALWAYS women who asked. I think because they’ve only seen the disengaged, disinterested demeanor most men carry for anyone. Somewhere in their lives, men are forced into a life of apathetic detachment. Which is horrible and also confusing. Were they not raised by their mothers? Do they continue this irrational tradition of making boys “men?” That’s one point I cannot get over.

Men need permission to be affectionate, compassionate, and caretakers. Whenever they do show any sign of vulnerability they are immediately marked as “gay.” By both hetero and homosexual strangers. And because our society, in general, is anti-gay, men will do whatever to distance themselves from being seen as anything else. It’s super dumb. And that also applies for those in the gay community. The myth of “masculinity” is prized above all else.

Anyway… Fuck masculinity. Fuck the binary. I am me. I will allow myself to be, feel, think however the fuck I want. What someone else perceives you to be should not dictate your happiness or your ability to care for someone. If you love them, do it. Regardless of blood.

The next time someone asks us if we’re brothers I’m just going to say: “Yeah, brothers who fuck.”

August 24, 2022

The Soundtrack of My Life – 28 – Somethin’ Stupid

I don’t know if other teenage boys had a “50’s” obsession, but I sure as shit did. It didn’t even start with Sinatra, Dean, or Sammy Davis. It began with a swing album Robbie Williams released when I was in my sophomore year. I was ENTRANCED. There was a bizarre familiarity to the songs that I could not shake. It brought me immense joy and changed my sense of style and identity.

Today, when I took a shower, I felt the urge to listen to some Robbie. (My husband was in the living-room with the brother-husband watching a show at ear-splitting levels which made me chuckle.) In the shuffle that came out of the speaker one of the songs was one I had simply forgotten existed. “Something Stupid” was a duet that Robbie Williams performed with Nicole Kidman. Like some magical key this song unlocked a forgotten box in my brain and I was transported.

I remember obsessing over swing music. I would sing it up and down the hall of our home (the acoustics were the best there) and in the car. My mother was excited because, for once, she could enjoy the music I was forcing her to listen to. Mirroring my mother in her shock and appreciation, was my grandmother. She got the biggest kick out of listening to me sing along to the songs. One time it even made her cry.

To which I responded by stopping my backseat singing.

This all occurred the same year I joined the chamber choir at school. They placed me in with the tenors, and my grandma was confused. “You’re a baritone! Why did they do that?”

I think my grandmother was “tickled” over my 50’s transformation. She gave me all kinds of tips from her experience, having lived through that period. “All the boys put brill cream in their hair and slicked it back.” Brill cream… Her midwestern colloquialisms still make me smile. (Pop, billfold, warsh…)

It is from this time of my life where my belief in reincarnation took root. The sense of familiarity I felt over the music and clothing of the 50’s was eerily strong. A sensation I can’t quite explain, other than a longing or a sense of loss. Listening to the music and donning clothes similar to the era, felt as if I slipped into a bed, perfectly molded to my body. Perhaps I’m romanticizing it to fit some narrative, or… Perhaps… I am correct.

(If my grandmother heard me talk about reincarnation she would be mortified. She was such a devout Christian…)

On the way into work, I listened to “Something Stupid” once more and I was overcome with the image of my grandmother sitting next to me, in the passenger seat. (That was her seat by the way.) I looked over at her and sang “…I love you…” and in my head I could hear her singing it along with me. It felt so real that I cried.

She was the most wonderful woman. I haven’t missed her as much as I did in that moment. This is the first time I have “felt” her presence in a long time. Maybe I’m just more open to it, or it’s just all in my head.

I am certain most people feel that way about their grandparents. Especially grandmothers. In my polycule, our shared experienced is that these women acted as our “third parent” in our formative years. The first time I ever saw my husband cry over any kind of loss was for his. She passed a few weeks before my father. She was also a wonderful woman. I already loved her because of how she treated me and my mom (her and my mother went to the Native casinos together). But the moment that made my heart melt was when she was in the ER (shortly before she passed) and she introduced my husband and me to the nurse as her “grandsons.”