form and function
a married couple doing home improvement work is a study in contrasts of importance or, said another way, form vs. function.
to a guy a house is where he lives. to a woman a house is her HOME. now while that may sound as if they are the same, they are not. a woman is nesting, a man is staying; though both are in the same place.
as i have said before, we have put new wood floors throughout most of the house and are now putting stone tile in the rest. when ever one of the workmen ask me "this or that?" i always say, let me call rhonda because i don't want to make any decisions; why? because i don't care whether it is 'this' or 'that' and rhonda does. i am sure the workman think i am some kind of pussy but what i am is a husband who wants his wife to happy. if she is happy, i am happy.
we have one room mostly done and in it is a perfect example of form vs. function. the room in question is the guest bedroom and on the bed are 6 pillows, two of which are to be used for sleeping (function) and the other four are strictly for looks (form). it looks nice, don't get me wrong and i am glad she did it but would i have done it? not a chance.
men are much more likely to grasp this than women are. men know they are not the same and never will be the same as women. women spend a good portion of their lives wondering why the guy doesn't have the same priorities as she. here is a clue, girls: our priorities are much more simple than yours, feed us, fuck us, send us to bed and we are happy campers. we don't care what color the wall is, does it hold up the roof? it does? cool. we don't care what color the stove is, we care if the pot roast is ready. pink and yellow pillows? you want an opinion on that? sure baby, they look great! what's for dinner? just don't talk about the pillows when it is the the three-two pitch to manny with runners on board and two outs.
one of the great things about rhonda is that she knows that i don't care and she knows that i am not going to be of any help in getting this all done other than putting the books back into our huge bookcase. i care about my books and my stereo and that is about it as far as home decorating goes. she is real good at doing this and say go baby, go.
going to go play some poker.
to a guy a house is where he lives. to a woman a house is her HOME. now while that may sound as if they are the same, they are not. a woman is nesting, a man is staying; though both are in the same place.
as i have said before, we have put new wood floors throughout most of the house and are now putting stone tile in the rest. when ever one of the workmen ask me "this or that?" i always say, let me call rhonda because i don't want to make any decisions; why? because i don't care whether it is 'this' or 'that' and rhonda does. i am sure the workman think i am some kind of pussy but what i am is a husband who wants his wife to happy. if she is happy, i am happy.
we have one room mostly done and in it is a perfect example of form vs. function. the room in question is the guest bedroom and on the bed are 6 pillows, two of which are to be used for sleeping (function) and the other four are strictly for looks (form). it looks nice, don't get me wrong and i am glad she did it but would i have done it? not a chance.
men are much more likely to grasp this than women are. men know they are not the same and never will be the same as women. women spend a good portion of their lives wondering why the guy doesn't have the same priorities as she. here is a clue, girls: our priorities are much more simple than yours, feed us, fuck us, send us to bed and we are happy campers. we don't care what color the wall is, does it hold up the roof? it does? cool. we don't care what color the stove is, we care if the pot roast is ready. pink and yellow pillows? you want an opinion on that? sure baby, they look great! what's for dinner? just don't talk about the pillows when it is the the three-two pitch to manny with runners on board and two outs.
one of the great things about rhonda is that she knows that i don't care and she knows that i am not going to be of any help in getting this all done other than putting the books back into our huge bookcase. i care about my books and my stereo and that is about it as far as home decorating goes. she is real good at doing this and say go baby, go.
going to go play some poker.
posted by Ron Shock | 3:01 PM
2 Comments:
Hey Ron, Let me hijack your blog comments and leave you this thing I just wrote.
I don't know why I did it, or even why I want anyone to read it, but I value your sense so:
This is the story of the saddest thing I have ever seen.
The actual event was short and heartbreaking, but it requires a lengthier introduction, so bear with me.
Each year my family and I take a vacation at Walt Disney World in Florida. If you know me at all, this will not surprise you. It is my daughter Samantha’s favorite place in the world.
I like it too.
In planning this year’s trip, we booked our stay so it would coincide with the Food and Wine Festival held at Epcot. The Festival features 40 booths with food, wine and beer from countries and cultures all over the globe.
It is good.
There is an outdoor amphitheater at Epcot, and during the Food and Wine Festival, they have free concerts from “oldies” acts like the Herman’s Hermits and the Association.
Being the rock and roll snob that I am, we had never seen one of these shows. We’d walk by without a glance and head to get beer and a pirogue without a second thought. Almost as an afterthought, I checked this year’s music schedule on the dates we’d be there, and lo and behold, on Thursday October 18th, scheduled to perform was: LITTLE RICHARD!
LITTLE RICHARD!
The King and Queen of rock and roll.
The Quasar!
The Architect!
LITTLE RICHARD!
Shut Up!
The Prettiest man in the world!
Shut Up!
LITTLE RICHARD!
Sure, he is 4 decades removed from his prime, and sure, he has become a comical caricature, but this is the man who paved the way for everyone from the Beatles to Elton John to Prince and beyond. Little Richard was not only a flamboyant showman; he was also a remarkable musician and singer. Elvis covered him. Jerry Lee Lewis copied him. Pat Boone built his career doing watered down versions of his tunes that white parents could tolerate.
In his day, Little Richard was dangerous to white America. Here was a black man, an obviously homosexual, black man, gyrating, screaming, and pounding the piano and enticing their kids to dance. Little Richard was banned all over the country. It’s hard now to imagine Little Richard as controversial, but in his day, he was very scary to conservative Eisenhower-era generation.
Cultural significance aside, consider the music.
The records he made for the Specialty label from 55-63 (he took a break to go back to God and preach in 58 but soon came back) are the bedrock foundation of rock and roll.
Rhino Records has a CD compilation of his best Specialty tracks and if I were only allowed one CD, that would be my choice.
To this day, there is no more exciting intro than; AWHAMPBOMAPALULALAAWHOMPBAMPBOOM.
Or
GONNATELLAUNMARYBOUTUNCAJOHNHECLAIMHEGATAMIZRAYBUTHEHAVAALOTTAFUN, Oh, Baby.
Tutti Frutti, Long Tall Sally, Good Golly Miss Molly, I Hear Ya Knocking But You Can’t Come In, etc.
These are songs about S-E-X and not being ashamed to dance and live and feel joy.
A poor, black boy who was different from Macon Georgia went to New Orleans and came up with Rock and Roll.
Richard got no royalties from these recordings and very little cash up front. He was robbed and no one called the police. It’s a typical story for black artists of the early rock and roll era.
So Little Richard was going to be performing for free while I was in Epcot drinking Beers From Around the World and eating exotic food.
I was excited beyond belief.
My family did not share my enthusiasm even after I explained all of the above historical context. In fact I think they thought I’d lost my mind.
I did not expect a life changing performance. Little Richard is 75 years old, and he was playing an open air show at a theme park.
What I wanted to do was to pay my respects. I wanted to stand and clap and cheer. I wanted to apologize for the way he was treated and celebrate the legacy of his music.
If that sounds silly or preposterous to you, SHUT UP!
I drug my family to show and even managed to get them a bit excited. The MC asked there be no photography and no videotaping.
Damn. Oh well.
Showtime came and his band came out and rocked for 15 minutes. This was a crack ensemble with a full horn section and they each took a solo turn and warmed up the crowd. They played a New Orleans based rock/soul/blues/funk groove with feeling and enthusiasm. The crowd was appreciative if not overwhelmed. Besides my daughter, at 44 I may have been the youngest in attendance.
Then the MC announced The Originator! The Architect, the One and Only: LITTLE RICHARD!
Richard appeared from behind the curtain on crutches and frail. He was helped to the piano slowly. The crowd cheered, but the applause soon died down into hushed whispers as the reality set in.
This was a sick and fragile old man being led to the piano.
Still, he was resplendent in a gold lame’ suit and trademark pancake makeup. The band finished the intro and he greeted the crowd and launched into Good Golly Miss Molly.
Sort of.
He barely played or sang; he just smiled a bit and talked the words. The song ended quickly and he then pleaded with the audience not to take his picture. He explained that everything he did was stolen from him and this was all he had. “Please let me have this”.
Many in the audience openly ignored him and continued to take his picture as if he was an animal at the zoo.
He visibly teared up and led the band in a meandering blues tune (in which he did play some very fine piano) then stopped.
He talked for 5 minutes about his sister leaving him alone and not helping him change because she out on a car ride, or some such ramblings. Richard was barely coherent and disoriented.
He once again pleaded with the crowd not to take his picture.
Once again, they did not comply.
He started Long Tall Sally, just the intro, and then got up, bowed, blew kisses, and was helped off the stage.
That was it.
15 minutes.
As I watched him being helped off, I began to cry just a little.
I wanted to see LITTLE RICHARD, but who I saw was 75 year old Richard Penniman. A broken, abused, and sad old man desperately trying to keep something that was long gone.
Given the context of the glory and the passion and the exuberance of his music, this man hobbling off stage was the saddest thing I have ever seen.
I stood and cheered and yelled “THANK YOU”, and I was close enough for him to hear me. I don’t know if he did or not. I do know that he did turn at that moment and blew another kiss and then he disappeared into the curtain.
brad,
that is a heart-breaking story. i, too, look up little richard as an icon and a rock 'n roll god. what society and the record companies did to the black artists of the 40's, 50's and 60's is a crime that will never be punished. (at least not in this lifetime on this plane of existance but one can hope for reincarnation and karma.)
i also hope that the promoters who put him out there on display at least had the soul to pay him well. as for the people taking the pictures, they are just like the record companies just on a smaller scale.
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