Trust me......

It's my favorite movie. "A chic flick" he said, lazily swooshing the margarita in the oversized, salted glass. Mmmmmmmm.

"We're watching it" I purred, flopping on the leopard skin rug just behind him. The first afternoon of the Long Hot Summer had arrived and after floating in the hammock and lolling around in the pool, it wasn't quite time to throw the steaks on. "We're watching it" I whispered, reaching around him to hit play.

Sometime during the can-can, boredom left his eyes and without an audience to notice him, he drifted into the story. Margarita in his right hand, absentmindly swished just every now and then. He didn't notice when I topped it off again.

Mmmmmmmmmmm.....

I scooched the markers closer. Snuck them into my space behind him. NOW, I thought. I traced a word on his back with my finger. "Know what that says?" Mmmmmmm, noooooo"...blue eyes following Satine's every move.

The markers followed her every word......

Saturday afternoon at the movies.
Trust me, you're gonna like it.

And then.....there was Disco....

And the silver glittered shoes....

We didn't trade our tattered levi's and Rolling Stones for anything, but we snatched a little "oooooooooooh, ahhhhhhhhhhhhh" "do the bump" and melded it into our week-ends. We added sparkled belts and wore blue mascara. We hit the clubs.

On Friday nights, we'd pile into Million's van and do the drive-in thing, cheap wine or expensive beer on ice....B-rated movies on the screen. We'd wander from car to car, an open air party. Admission: $2.00 a car. In our world we were hippies.

On Saturday night, we'd trade in our flip flops for platforms, and join Christian and his boys at The Palace. In Christian's world, we were movie stars.... The dance floor was an ever changing Twister game, smoke seeping from it's edges. The disco lights flooded our late night faces with pelting prisms. It was a bottle club. Bring your own. Buy the cup, the ice, the mixers. Tip the pretend bartender well......

"Riunite on ice. That's nice" I loved the commercials. The color of the wine. And the sound the ice made clanking in the glass. We tipped the bartender well......

Last night, we danced in the kitchen....

Turned the disco light on....

Traveled.....

We danced through my 8th grade birthday party, an all nighter at Peace Creek.....We swayed through my Senior Prom, and went low for Bob Segar.....held up our lighters and waited for more.....

We swished the Riunite (yep, they still make it!) and prayed we wouldn't have headaches today....

I wore the silver shoes....

Jonah crashed the party. "Guess what I got, Ma?" "A tattoo".......He made fried egg sandwiches and drank beer in the kitchen.....John Travolted across the vinyl floor. We laughed. And he did it again.

We lowered the music and lull-a-byed him to sleep.....

And danced in the kitchen.....

I can't talk now, we're dancing in the kitchen...

The first time I heard/saw Lyle Lovett was late at night. I was pacing in the kitchen. The TV (one of the few moments in my life I have actually owned a TV, much less had it turned on) was background noise littering the living room space while I circled from the sink to the phone to the sink to the phone to the sink. Wash a dish. Walk to the phone. Wash a fork. Walk to the phone. Klink! Break a glass. Walk to the phone. God, I wanted to pick up that phone and call him so bad. And it was so late. And what would it accomplish anyway…

The incessant humming of the TV wafted around the corner. A different noise. I stopped. Listened. Smiled. Crept around the corner peeking. Like there was a secret waiting there and I was playing “I spy”. I loved it. The sound. The raspy earthy wailfull voice. The rhythm. It moved me. I crouched on the floor , scrunched close to the tiny TV, and fell in love with the words, the laughter, the morning after voice. Write it down. Write down his name. BUY THIS CD!

I’m a rock and roll girl, and maybe a little soul, a little blues, a little country. But a lotta rock and roll. I love to play my music loud, so that the bass thumps on your heartstrings, the guitars become your heartstrings, the drums…Oh God, I love drums. And then came this Lyle thing. I just wanted to sway. To swoop. To dip.

I bought the CD. And gave it away. I bought another one. And loaned it out. Another one. Played it until the tracks skipped and the scratchy voice was stuck on random words, over and over again. I didn’t buy another.

Years went by. Skinny got married and I danced with an old friend. Until the sun came up. A week later, the Lyle Lovett CD came in the mail. Bootlegged, of course. No Smokey portrait of this strange looking gentleman on the jacket. Just the word “Lyle” scribbled in Sharpie marker across the CD itself. I tossed it in the car and rode to work with The Big Band for a day or too, and then there was Janis, The Rolling Stones, a few rants, and a few love songs, and I sort of forgot.

Until last night.

When I ran barefoot out in the rain to plunder through the glove box, and barefoot back …

To sway. To swoop. To dip.

Love it!

Last Call

Sorry guys, I had to go here. I have a stack of LPs , tattered cardboard corners, and covers I used to croon over, in the corner of the living room. A collaged heap of CDs tossed randomly on the floorboard of my car (front seat passenger side). An ever growing, ever reminiscent collection of sound. That I like to play LOUD. And sing to. And yes, dance to…

And sometimes the music is new and noisy and grindy and great, and sometimes, it’s just old school. The stuff that memories are made of. For whatever reason, I started thinking about certain songs and how you can remember the EXACT moment when you heard it….. felt it....banked it forever into your memory.

So here it goes….

Smoke on the Water, Deep Purple…
Million’s van, flying down Drewer Hill, well we were rolling really, but it felt like flying…blue lights dimmed behind us, just watching, And finally, I threw up

Just the two of us
A champagne and caviar party resulting in the first of many endless nights at The Entertainer, (now, a topless go-round) dancing in circles. And then, what the hell, getting married. I have since given up Champagne, and the husband

Aquarius, The Fifth Dimension
Getting kicked out of PCS Christian school. Age: 13 It was on the radio when my Father came to fetch us Filthy little sinners! How dare you have a pool party (on your own time) and invite mixed (boys and girls) company to bathe (swim, play Marco-polo, float, dive) together while listening to Rock and Steal your Soul (The Beatles) music? Ummmmmm…..It was my birthday?

Red Rubber Ball
Christian’s funeral. The procession. The absolutely ridiculous words ringing tin-like out of the radio. And how prophetic they were.

Moon River, Andy Williams
Ohhh, I shouldn’t be sitting right next to my Mom on this couch listening to this in the state I’m in.

Tainted Love…
The Palace. You were there SLB.

The Kiss, Tom Jones and The Art of Noise
Dancing, gliding, dreamily off the deck and into the pool, satin dress parachuting up to the surface…..
Plop, splash, splish, slip, swoosh…..a sea of wedding-goers joining us. Pool party anyone?

The Letter, The Boxtops
Soldiers. My soldier. Yellow envelopes. Homecomings

Pink Cadillac….
Rumors! The Other Side. I still do NOT know how to do the electric slide!

Private Dancer, Tina Turner
Tami on the mike, belting it out at Fitzgerald’s. No Karaoke. Just a mike and her voice filling the room. She‘s 12 years old and we have her at the bar drinking Shirley Temples! Our parental instincts were always ….proper?

Build me up Buttercup
The 6th grade. Ronnie Beasley and a valentine too big to slide under the desk.

Mr. Lonely, Bobby Vinton
Pale blue carpet in a long long living room. Stereo at the far end of the room. Furniture lining the walls leaving the center open for a plushly padded dance floor. Mom and Dad on Friday nights, Martini’s on the coffee table. Kimbies and I, long legs dangling, parked on the couch, watching them dance in rhythm, in sync, in love.

Funeral for a Friend, Elton John
Dancing on the tables. Kim’s living room. Birthdays. Slumber party. (We had to have a slumber party, we couldn’t drive home)

Queen, anything Queen
Our first apartment. “We are the Champions”. Throwing BYOP parties just to stock the bar ...aka... the dishwasher…top rack glasses…bottom rack bottles. Loading the tub with ice and beer. Sleep walking in the window.

Creep, Radio Head
The radio cannot play this loud enough. Reversing all the “I’m a creep’s” to “You’re a creep’s” ….. This would be my all time favorite Rant song. And I’m not even gonna say why.

To be continued….
On another reminiscent night….
And oh yeah, I just did the spell check, and I do make up words!

Sometimes you sing
Sometimes you dance
Sometimes you just go backwards