being for the benefit of Mr. Kite

the Beatles invented Soft Rock.  knowing what was Rock used to be simple – it’s what your parents don’t like.  sharing songs with your parents – that’s Folk music.  you can relax on the porch, or you can sneer like youth bent on rebellion.

the Beatles didn’t bring orchestras to pop music.  the previous generation loved their Glen Miller.  ballads with lush arrangements were as subversive as having an out-of-date suit.   

I don’t mind the Beatles loving big band.  I mind any suggestion that orchestral ballads being called Rock was subversive or unique.  

let’s say you’re what Allen Ginsberg called a ‘bubble-gum pop band.’  you can hire a sober man from the corporate record industry.  let’s call him ‘George.'  if you’re lucky he might produce Pet Sounds, Forever Changes, or Odyssey & Oracle.  if, sadly, your idea of songwriting is “Mr. Kite,” you’ll get Sergeant Pepper.

mainstream is always the last to admit it defines the mainstream.  the music magazines are run by pimply-faced adults and cigarettes.  if Rolling Stone and your parents wear jeans, buy yourself an out-of-date suit.

ink on sugar

I explained Prima Noctae to my English dinner date last night. otherwise all my recent decisions have been perfect. 

men in their late 20’s have turned the courting process into a third-date rule.  dating resembles strip poker.  

in my 30’s now, I know men who just want to gossip.  I really do.  after drinking until dawn they say, “thank you for your time.  see you at work Monday.”  nothing shocks like a man who’s over his ‘conquest’ phase.  there’s nothing left for that man.  he doesn’t trust joy, and he’s too nice to give a woman pain.

my best decision was to play less Pictionary.  everything looks like a penis this month.  I hate being the girl who keeps saying, “Penis!"