I walked again today, this time down another street in Oakland, listening to the IDLES, thinking about all the paths I could’ve taken in life. Every store I passed, every building for sale, was a question mark–what if I had opened a local artisan boutique, a vintage clothing store, a plant shop? What if I had stuck with bookselling after working at Borders and opened my own indie bookstore? What if I had saved all my money and invested in real estate?
When I dropped off a recyclable metal container at my favorite Middle Eastern restaurant in the neighborhood and absolutely no one seemed to notice me (a round of applause would’ve sufficed), I thought about the triple whammy of not only being a middle-aged lady, but also Gen X, and how we have so little representation in today’s culture. How lame that is, considering all the accomplishments and adaptations of this generation. (Although not mine, obviously.)
As the album ended, then restarted, I thought about my friend Elan. He died a few weeks ago. It was sudden and tragic. I still find it hard to believe that he’s gone, as he always seemed to be the most invincible dude I knew. But of course, that was the story I told myself. We shared a love of music, hard rock especially. How I wish I could share this album with him.
It was February
I was cold and I was high
He wanted love
He wanted soul
There’s not enough
To make him whole
“MTT 420 RR,” IDLES
Also, James Caan died last week. For some reason, this news really bummed me out. It’s not like I knew him, other than admiring him as a truly great actor and enjoying so many of his films, like everyone else. But I was dazzled by him in person once…
It was 1981 and I was visiting my Beverly Vista Elementary schoolmate, Dana. Her mom was sick in bed–she was dying of leukemia–and I remember thinking she looked angelic, with her pale skin and long hair draped over the pillows. We hung out in the kitchen downstairs when Dana’s uncle, James Caan, walked in with bagels and lox. You could feel the sadness in that gigantic house, but he swept in full of life and good uncle energy.
It was just a moment. But I think James’s passing–other than the larger loss to the world–represents to me another life that connected with mine, however briefly, that is now gone forever. And that feels unquestionably lonely.
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