And I wriggle like a fish caught on dry land

I can't stop talking about Sting sometimes--though apparently I have for the last 7 years.

Do you know how you're pulling yourself out of and/or away from one way of being and surging, imperceptibly, toward another? 

Sure, this takes me back, way back, to MQ and Jennifer's room in Tower Hall, where one of them had this CD or tape, and I distinctly recall hearing half or most of the album in one sitting in their room, which overlooked the always-moaning Marquette Interchange to the south.

But since then, it's about the surging uncertainty in it. Positively tensed, and ready.

Says she likes the group 'cause we pull in the slack

If Bandwagonesque had come out when I was in high school instead of in college, I would have have worn out the cassette. Because by then I'd discovered pop music from the UK that was slightly denser and more complex, and had experienced the clothes-vibrating thrum of Midwest precision rock sludge, and was a frenzied fangirl for funky-punk ska, this was overlooked. Plus, though I'd heard of Alex Chilton, I wasn't one of the children by the millions into Big Star. God, that didn't happen for another fifteen or so years.



Because of the three-minute-plus guitar solo wrap-up of "Freebird" proportions, now this song is a bit more than some  pleasant sonic wallpaper circa 1991. Today has been about gentle nudging reminders of that time, like a languid screech from a long-haired guy's Rickenbacker or whatever. It's perfect for today: I have my days in the theatre and beyond on my mind, and I even sped past the Helfaer, Tower, Cobeen, et al on a quick day trip in/out of Milwaukee.