I dreamed I had sex with Aretha Franklin once. I mean, it wasn’t like I actually pictured either of us naked, or me even kissing her. It’s not like I woke up, needing to use the bathroom, and said to myself (to use the vernacular) “Sistah be goin’ for it!” I just, well, thought we had done that, because……
There’s a place in our town where the interstate crosses over the railroad tracks, and there’s a little one-lane gravel road that runs alongside the tracks, that goes to a gravel pit, and then to some back roads, which you can get to from other ways too. Before they closed it off to unauthorized people, it was a fun little shortcut to those back roads. Apparently the whole concept of a mysterious little gravel lane under a highway fascinated me in my sleep that night, because I dreamed of an overpass bridge, a different one at the other end of town actually, but this time it had 3 narrow gravel roads running in different directions under it. I have no idea where the other two roads led; I’d have to assume to the Unabomber’s cabin and a meth lab, but the 3rd one led to Aretha’s place. So, you know how it is sometimes, I just assumed I went there to have sex with her. Which is silly, of course, because why wouldn’t I go there to do with her the two things that I know she’s good at–singing and eating?
Now, I may have mentioned (or not) that I like to do karaoke when I’m
in the mood drunk enough, and I don’t always scare people with it. Johnny Cash, and a few others, I do okay with, but, even though I know the Bob Seger song “Fire Lake” like the back of my hand, it was a scary situation when I tried that one, as well as a few others. Not cat-torturing scary, but close. Maybe Bob has more of a vocal range than Johnny did. Like I tell people, “Johnny Cash was no Mariah Carey…and Mariah Carey is no Johnny Cash.” He didn’t have much range, but had a lot of feeling, and she has a lot of range, but, except for a couple notable songs, she’s just a lot of squeaking. She did do a great job on “I’ll Be There”, I’ll grant you that.
But, still, even though occasionally I don’t ruin it, the idea of me singing with Aretha is nearly as presumptuous as the sex thing, I suppose. So that leaves us with cooking and eating. There, too, it’s presumptuous, I suppose, to think that, because she’s a smidge overweight, she’d be a great cook. Ah, but, thanks to the magic of the internet, Googling “Cooking with Aretha” does bring up several instances of her “guest-cooking” with folks, including a pretty funny segment with her and Rolanda Watts talking about men in their lives, while cooking. Why she’d want to cook with me, I can’t say, maybe we’d work up an appetite after all the “singin’ and screwin'”. Who knows?
Dreams are funny things. I have infrequent, but recurring dreams, where I’m back on the farm as a kid, or ones where I go to the job I worked at for 27 years, help them build, crate, and ship stuff out, and “get caught” at the end of the day, having helped out. Beyond them shaking their heads at me, I don’t know what they do–fill out a time card for me, or kick me out, I don’t know. I suppose both. Back in 1984, I actually had a “temp” worker, who was helping me package stuff, bring his mom! in (she was not an employee) to take his place for a while, while he went to an appointment (or bought drugs–who knows?). I was too young, and just plain flabbergasted, to report it to anyone. I just went along with it. Another recurring dream theme is that I’m just flat-out fascinated with being able to walk across half a back yard with one step. It always seems to involve stepping off of a low set of steps from, say a kitchen door of a small house, and sort of floating a long frickin’ ways across a yard before having to put my foot down again. Does that mean I really want to be a ghost?–because I’m thinking that’s how they move. If I ever actually write the “Trivial Psychic” blogpost, dreams and premonitions play a part in that, too, but most of the time they’re, well, either really stupid, or they involve me looking in vain for a bathroom and waking up to realize I need one. That’s probably not such a stupid dream if it keeps you from thinking you’re standing at the pisser while you’re in bed, I suppose. (Fall off the bed doing that, and something’s gonna be sprained and something’s gonna be wet)
Getting away from the whole dream thing: Maybe you’ve heard me yappin’ here before that, except for the puky singing and dancing, I like Family Guy, especially the “flashbacks”. I think they should have one where Peter says something like “as big a liar as Jewel”, then they show a clip where Jewel’s rodeo husband is calling her out from the bathroom: “HONEY, you put the f***ing towel on the floor again. I just mean, if you made millions of dollars saying that you never put wet towels on the floor any more, maybe you SHOULDN’T PUT WET F***ING TOWELS ON THE FLOOR ANY MORE!!!” Jewel: “Oh, yeah, well maybe you should read up on the fact that, outside of rodeo, 8 F***ING SECONDS ISN’T CONSIDERED A GOOD RIDE!! What, no more about the towels? Love you honey.”
Two incredible people had birthdays yesterday, May 11th. One was the sweetest person who ever lived: my mom, who lived to be 94 and would have been 96 yesterday. The other is Eric Burdon, who is 70 now. To say he was way ahead of his time is trite but true. I’m saying goodnight (so to speak) with Aretha, then perhaps the best remake ever of an Aretha song, then “the midget that roared”: Eric Burdon of the Animals.
I don’t know if this video shows the raw power of his voice like his records do, but here’s one of the most incredible voices to come out of Great Britain, doing the workingman’s anthem “We’ve Gotta Get Out of This Place”:
I was just going to put one video in of the Animals, but I have to include this bizarre one of another great song of theirs (It’s My Life), because where else do you see 60s go-go girls dancing as mounted heads on the wall? “Show me I’m wrong, hurt me some times, but someday I’ll treat you real fine.” Or hang you on the wall. Thanks for reading.