Look at me, forgettin’ my own meme.

Good thing I had Scott to remind me. He picked a movie that he saw. Since I didn’t see it, i’ll have to write about what I saw at the theater most recently, Legally Blonde 2.

I mostly wear pink.
Haven’t I been here before?
It worked once before.

Bruiser’s mom locked up?
Animal testing is bad!
D.C. Here I Come!

Hello Patriots!
I am Capitol Barbie!
Where is my office?

Bob Newhart is rad!
My Bruiser is a gay boy!
Stan uses Product!

A Million Dog March
Activate the Delta Nu’s!
We Saved Bruiser’s Bill!

I mostly wear pink.
Haven’t I been here before?
It worked once before.

Schmaltzy vs Schlocky

My phab phemale phriend, Jeanome , refused to allow me to email her an AAC of “Beach Baby”, fearing that it would be too much schmaltz. Schmaltz???

Scott “Palo-stud-puhpet” actually disagreed with my assessment of the Best Pop Song EVER…I am shocked to inner stillness. But his suggestion of “Lonely Boy” is schmaltz…NOT schlock.

Clearly, we need a distinction.

A schmaltzy song, to my way of thinking, involves one or more of the following topics:

  • passing of generations
  • passing of a loved one
  • passing of a pet

In other words, maudlin maudlin maudlin!

Now, a schlocky song, on the other hand, is one that isn’t very well-made, but it’s dumb fun, and makes me smile. Schlocky songs:

  • are about luv, not LOVE
  • say ‘baby’ a LOT
  • usually have complex harmonies that sound simple

Schmaltzy songs: “Alone Again, Naturally” — Gilbert O’Sullivan (rolling eyes at the name) “Seasons in the Sun” — Terry Jacks “Shannon” — must have blocked it out…Henry Gross, I think.

So…death of family, death of self, death of dog.

Schlocky songs: “Heartbeat, It’s a Love Beat” — The DeFranco Family “Beach Baby” — First Class “Julie, Do Ya Love Me?” — Bobby Sherman

Here we have….a 12 yr old boy and his brothers & sisters singing about nebulous ‘Luv”, a song about a summer and a girl and spilled soda….and an anthemic nod to girl from a boy with a crush.

Schlocky songs make me happy…make me want to bounce around. Schmaltzy songs, on the other hand, make me uncomfortable in all those same places where, say, sand would be uncomfortable.

Very simple. Very easy.

Candor, Can Do

It’s strange, the things we’re taught should go unspoken. Like the good feelings we have about our friends and our loved-ones. Stranger still that when we do break through to say those things, the session of being candid becomes something that we don’t speak about after the fact: when a brutally honest, brutally candid, brutally sober instance of taking a friend aside and reminding him or her how important s/he is to me, and how much I enjoy and even depend on the relationship occurs, it’s almost embarrassing to call up the memory later, much less reminisce openly about it.

The resulting silences, when measured against the sheer noise of the negativity that rains down upon us all the time, would suggest that those instances of positivity are rare.

For me, they simply aren’t. Many of my friends remind me, bluntly or in more nuanced ways, that they are happy I am around, that I am their friends. My sense of abundance, as I have referred to it priorly, demands that I burden my friends and family with my feelings in kind, or just as often, that I get the ball rolling.

My friend, Dominic, is a rare bird (and a dirrrdy bird, but that’s another story). He and I are a perverse and, dammit, QUEER, pair. Honesty runs rampant between us; candor has its say. It’s a beautiful thing; he’s a beautiful thing.

This is us at Pink Saturday (our Saturday-night-before-Pride party)…

So do me a favor….go grab a friend (figuratively and literally, if you must/want), and tell that person how amazed and lucky you are to have him/her in your life.