Typing Out Loud: Oy Vey

The real champions

I try to keep my commentary on this blog PG, but...

Jesus fucking Christ.

Okay. So USA Women's Hockey won the gold medal at the Olympic Games last week. They have been dominant in the sport since it was introduced to the Games in 1998. This includes winning three gold medals in that short span of time. 

Well, the men won too, for the first time in 46 years, since the Miracle on Ice back in 1980. It was a crazy, intense win over Canada, an NHL All-Star team vs. an All-Star team that went into overtime with one guy playing with a broken tooth, blood everywhere.

It was awesome. For a while, anyway. 

Locker room celebration with the head of the FBI chugging beers like a frat bro, and the president calls to congratulate them, and invites them to the White House for a celebration. 

Cheers. 

Then he cracks a joke that he guesses he hasta invite the girls too, or else he'd get impeached. 

One player joyfully shouts, "Absolutely!" while another chimes in, "Two for two!"

The rest groan and laugh at having to share space with the girls. 

Oh, fuck you. Fuck all of you - except those two that spoke up but were drowned out. 

I've heard this my whole life. I wasn't surprised, just disappointed. Again. 

Backlash was swift, but the boys in the clubhouse didn't want to budge on it. 

This is the "make me a sandwich" crowd, defending it as "just" locker room talk. 

This is the pick-me apologists giving the benefit of the doubt to men. Again. 

This is the bros arguing that people don't care about women's sports, and that more people watched the marquee gold medal men's hockey game.

This is dismissing female athletes, as "Men would kick the girls' asses head to head!"

This is the dudes in MAGA hats wondering why the liberals are making it political. 

This is the boys being boys, of course, leading a "USA!" chant while wearing their medals at a freaking strip club.

Then there's the player who attempts to dismiss this uproar as "almost nothing," a quote that, in and of itself, is telling. He knows, deep down, it's something. 

That's It, Just One Line: Another Brick in the Wall

 "We don't need no education."

The Fifth Beatle: The Muses, Phase Two

Phase two, fan fun in Photoshop, L-R: Olivia, Linda, Yoko, Barbara

Yoko

Ooh, the polarizing figure. She sang backup on The White Album, providing the childlike voice in Bungalow Bill. She is hated by Beatles fans for her contribution to "the breakup," although signs were already evident that they were headed in that direction anyway. Paul dismisses the idea of her interference while sitting on an amp, eating chicken, and darning socks. Alas, the allegations of drug abuse didn't help. 

But she has had to put up with fans' shit as a Beatle widow for 46 years, all while continuing to extend John's legacy. If it weren't for her, there wouldn't be the John who healed in the 70s from his traumatic childhood. No Milk and Honey album or Imagine documentary in the 80s. No Anthology in the 90s. No Now and Then in the 20s. 

Linda

Talk about a break from English tradition: Linda was an American divorcee with a child and a career as a photographer. Initially, I don't think she was as interested in him as he was in her, as she was hanging out with the Stones when they first met at the Bag O' Nails nightclub. She came from wealth, so she knew about the trappings of elite social circles and wanted a simple life with lots of kids. She was a hugger and friendly towards the band and Yoko. Watching Get Back documentary, she was refreshing and a comfort. She is my favorite Beatle wife.

She was also Paul's emotional support during the breakup of the Beatles and for the duration of their marriage, see Maybe I'm Amazed. She played keyboards in Wings, and kept up her photography while publishing books and raising children. A vegetarian, she also wrote cookbooks and produced a line of ready-made meals. A cruel twist of fate, she died of breast cancer, as Paul's mother had. C'mon God. 

My brain just compared Maybe I'm Amazed to Here, There and Everywhere, and I got woozy for a moment. There is no contest, they are peak Macca.  

Olivia

How does Olivia, who entered the party late, factor into this? I could end this with her cracking a lamp over the head of an intruder who dared to stab George in the middle of the night. However, it's so much more; without her vote, nothing would have happened after 2001. That includes the Cirque de Soliel Love show in Las Vegas, any of the remasters (including bringing Long Long Long back to life in 2009), a lovely book of poetry, and the last single, Now and Then.

Barbara

Ringo's Bond Girl and Cavewoman, she saved him from self-destruction through alcohol in the 80s, which led to his transformation as Mr. Conductor on Thomas the Tank Engine and the formation of the All-Star Band. 

Love to Nancy, but you arrived at the party a little late; I did, however, change the date of the Fifth Beatle posts to the 14th this year in honor of Paul's song to you, My Valentine.

...I've got nothing to say about Heather Mills. 

Lipstick on the Mic: The Go-Gos

Rock at any age.

When I was 12 or 13, I had a friend group where individuals claimed one member of Def Leppard as our mythical rock star boyfriend. Mine was Steve Clark. 

Why on earth weren't we aspiring for more? Why hang with the band when you could be the band? The Go-Go's had hit it big right around the same time; why weren't we picking our favorite member - Gina Schock - and emulating them to create our own pop-punk bands? 

If there was sexism at play, it was at our own hands. My husband, a Belinda Carlisle fan, would have been keen to be the super-boyfriend of a tribute-act rock star. 

They are Rock and Roll Hall of Famers, are an intimate part of the family tree that is the sisterhood in music, and still tour when the inspiration hits. 

I still want to be Gina. 

Essential tracks: Vacation, Head Over Heels, Turn to You, Lust to Love, This Town, Cool Jerk. 

YA Book Club: Dear Bill, Do You Remember Me?

I do love a good short story. I appreciate the challenge it poses to create a complete, complex character based on one moment in time. 

In this collection, Norma Fox Mazer creates women ages 13-18 and in one case, the journey of a young girl in Poland who forges a new life for herself as a teen, then adult in New York City. 

What's special about these women is the complex characters created in just a few pages: 

Louise, an 18-year-old accepting her fate as terminal cancer ravages her body and memory, while those around her avoid answering questions. 

Jessie, through a series of diary entries, chronicles her contentious first relationship and the steps she takes to find her own voice. 

Zoe, celebrating her 14th birthday and trying to break free of the watchful eye of her mother, aunt, and grandmother. 

Marylee, dealing with her parents' marriage breaking up and setting boundaries with a demanding boyfriend of her own. 

Kathy, attempting to write a letter to Bill, her sister's old boyfriend and her first crush. 

These characters are more complex than the typical romance novel protagonists; they are fully-fleshed out individuals with unusual home lives, often lower to middle class, not living out a fantasy of unlimited resources and wardrobes, flawless skin, winnin the popularity contest. 

Raised on Country Sunshine: The Big Guns

From the Ryman to the Opry

Will had an audition in Nashville for drum corps, so Dave and I took advantage of a weekend away to explore. When he asked me what I wanted to do, I only had one answer: attend the live WSM broadcast of the Grand Ole Opry on Saturday night. Why? I'm not much of a country music fan, but I respect the history. The date we were going was after the 100th anniversary show, which meant we would be in attendance as the Opry kicked off its second century of existence. 

What we got was a show that mixed old and new, as a couple of kids made their Opry debut and one of the oldest, most renowned bluegrass bands returned, with grandpa, dad, and son all playing. Oh, and the guy who wrote The Gambler was there to tell the story and play it. June and Johnny Cash's kid was there with his wife to do a Christmas song, and let's do mom and dad's song "Jackson" for the hell of it. 

So that got me on a kick to start listing what I think are the best country songs out there. Then I ran into a snag. I don't know much about country music, and the genre blurs lines: is it country or country and western? Or is it gospel? Folk? Country rock? Bluegrass? Western swing? Rolling Stone, in its countdown of the greatest country songs ever (which was a guide to help me pick my own), says of country music, "...another reminder that genres are largely arbitrary concepts." 

If you know, you know. And if you don't, you just feel it in your heart and ask for forgiveness instead of permission. 

I'm not going to saddle myself with numbers, since in this case, while I have some solid favorites, a one is as good as a five. And when I was worried about getting a hundred, I shot right past that number. And if I limit myself to 100 this year, while I listen to Willie's Roadhouse and ponder, I can easily come up with many more as my memory is jogged. 

So here's the big guns, the ones I will drop everything to belt along with the rest of y'all: 

Dottie West, Country Sunshine

Bobby Bare, Daddy What If

Donna Fargo, Happiest Girl in the Whole USA

Olivia Newton-John, Let Me Be There 

John Denver, Calypso 

Bobbie Gentry, Ode to Billy Joe 

Patsy Cline, Crazy 

Johnny Cash, Ring of Fire 

Marty Robbins, El Paso 

Willie Nelson, Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground 

Jo-El Sonnier, Jambalaya

That's It, Just One Line: Lust for Life

"I'm worth a million in prizes."

I missed this, so I brought it back.