Loss

The most morose example of change being the only constant I can offer is death. Yes, death. And as the features of my mortality become ever-clearer, it's only natural that I take note of those taking their leave. Particularly those who, by virtue of their work as a musician, actor or as a writer, indelibly shaped my life and attitudes.

Musicians seem to have been particularly hard-hit lately, with music-makers known and sadly unknown having passed. Loretta Lynn. Mimi Parker. Jeff Beck. Tom Verlaine. Jerry Lee Lewis. Christine McVie. David Crosby. Hamish Kilgour.

I can't say I was a giant fan of all of them, but as with any good work, their talents survived both fashion and time. Not an easy thing to do.

Take Christine McVie. Amid the 24/7 drama surrounding Fleetwood Mac in the late-seventies, McVie seemed a low-key and fairly grounded personality in the maelstrom that surrounded the band. Yet her singing and keyboard work were essential ingredients in their success.

Next to the vocal histrionics of band-mate Stevie Nicks, her plaintive, erstwhile vocals took on a powerful appeal. She reminded me of the teammate you didn't know you missed until they were gone.

Parker and Kilgour weren't huge stars, but each contributed immeasurably to their band's sound. Imagine “Words” (my favorite Low song) without her. Or “Anything Could Happen” without Hamish. It's difficult.

Tom Verlaine wasn't a star, either. Like Parker and Kilgour, he tended towards the cult artist end of things. While critically renowned, Television wasn't on everyone's lips, even in the musical hot bed of 1977. But those who knew, knew. His knotted, asymmetrical guitar work contrasted brilliantly with band mate Richard Lloyd, and their music was merely unforgettable.

After Television imploded, he went on to a solo career and recorded much that is deserving of your time.

I came to Loretta Lynn late, even having seen Coal Miner's Daughter back in the day. In the nineteen-sixties, she was scoring hits by recording feminist anthems before the vast majority of us even knew what feminism was. Even more miraculously, she was having them on country and western radio.

Yep. To paraphrase an old Panasonic tagline, Lynn was just slightly ahead of her time.

(For a lighthearted counter-weight to that weighty significance, check the duet she sang with Conway Twitty “You're the Reason Our Kids are Ugly”)

I was aware of David Crosby before I knew who he was. The Byrds had a great run of singles in the mid-sixties, and “Eight Miles High” was a ground breaker. And Crosby, just entering the zenith of his career, played a large part in it.

But the first-generation Byrds were splintering, and there didn't seem to be a part for Crosby in the new C&W edition.

Timing is everything goes a popular expression. And Crosby served as proof, encountering two other blokes also in-between-bands. Graham Nash, ex-of the Hollies and Stephen Stills, a former Buffalo Springfield, needed gigs.

Somewhere along the line, the trio realized “Why not create our own gig?” And so Crosby, Stills & Nash were born. Decry their politics, their embrace of the hippie ethos or the epic, ego-driven battles they suffered, some great music came out of those three.

Jeff Beck first excited my hormones way back in the nineteen-sixties via his work in the Yardbirds. I wasn't privy to the internal politics going on within the band, but his work on songs like “Over Under Sideways Down” left an indelible impression.

As I grew and learned more about the music quickly becoming an obsession, I discovered the Clapton-Beck-Page succession that happened within the Yardbirds. Furthermore, the guy who really moved me was a guy named Jeff Beck.

And just as I was learning a re-appreciation of his work, his was embarking on a solo career that would yield the most-definitive work of his career.

Blow By Blow and Wired remain two of my favorite examples of fusion, a genre that has sadly fallen on hard times and even suffered critical dismissal. But I point our that musicians as esteemed as Herbie Hancock and Miles Davis weren't too proud to investigate it, recording some of the best, most invigorating music of their careers.

So there.

What can one say about Jerry Lee Lewis in 2023? He was one of rock and roll's most- dangerous personalities at a time when rock and roll itself was considered a viable societal threat. Yes, the tightly-wound conformity of the nineteen-fifties was deeply afraid.

Not that Jerry Lee couldn't play. Au contraire, my friend. Mr. Lewis could play the ivory out of a piano's keys without breaking a sweat. In that first storm of rock and roll, he was a force of nature.

As were all of them.

The Shitshow of Online Dating

Like you, I have been told repeatedly that the way to meet people these days is online. Everybody's doing it. Knowing as I do that social media is stuffed with fakes, frauds and trolls, I wasn't eager to participate.

But more-desperate than I cared to admit, I enrolled with three different sites over the past eight months (not simultaneously). Their names have been withheld to protect the guilty.

My first bit of advice is that if you are male, run away.

Run away in the opposite direction as quickly as your central nervous system will allow. This because if you are a male on a dating site, you are one of three things: a child molester, a serial rapist or a gigolo expert in defrauding lonely divorcees and widows of their assets.

Guilty until proven innocent is a good start.

More to the point, you should consider this: the Puritans believed the best way to determine whether a woman was a witch was to tie her up, weigh her body down with stones and then cast her into a body of water.

If she undid her bindings and rose up out of the water, she must be tied up (again!) and burned at the stake. And if she remained under water? She was not a witch.

Yeah.

And that's with the women presumably seeking a partner.

Then there are the attention whores.

There are attractive women at every age. Some are especially attractive. If their personality profiles seemed a good fit with mine, I would contact them as well.

But just as people in the early days of Facebook would work to accumulate the biggest number of followers as opposed to actual friends, many of these women seek only the greatest number of responses from men.

But know this—that is the end of their interest in you. You are merely a notch on their cyber bed post.

Naturally, these critiques inevitably invoke questions. Questions like “Ever consider they just weren't interested in you?”

Of course.

In any gathering of people, you are going to be liked by some, disliked by others and might fail to even register an impression either way with others. It's a dynamic we encounter everywhere, everyday.

I get it.

I never, ever expected to become “Man of the Month” on any of these sites. But I did possess a realistic expectation that I would encourage some interest. That there would be a woman, somewhere, who would be interested. Or at least curious.

Nope.

Let me say that I am a decent looking guy. I have all my teeth. I have just one nose, correctly positioned in the middle of my face. Ten fingers, ten toes. I am self-supporting. Healthy. I don't possess a record. I own my own home. And genuinely like women.

I am kind. Respectful. Responsible. And like you, I'm not adverse to a good time. I love to dance. Eat. Watch movies, read books and listen to music. Volunteer. I love listening to people's stories. I love getting to know them.

Oh, that's right. I am also a predator, a rapist and a swine. (I keep forgetting.)

So if you're a man looking for a partner, this is the landscape you'll encounter. Good luck. Given my experience, if this is the way people are meeting today, loneliness will become a growth stock. Invest now. 

And what of birth control devices?

“Cancel!”

The crowning blow came from a woman who asked me if I'd had any dates. I told her I hadn't even had a conversation. An actual date was very, very hard to imagine.

She went on to detail the dates she'd had with three different men. It was not nice. It teetered into a full-blown rant as she described them as users, bitter divorcees and men who needed someone to maintain or entertain them until the ideal victim presented herself.

I told her I was sorry for these experiences and meant it. But I soon became aware of another truth. With the assumption that this women had provided accurate descriptions of these men, character deficits notwithstanding, they were getting dates.

I was home.

What's wrong with this picture?

I became angry. I wanted to write her back and say “Good for you. Your obviously unassailable character assessments have led to multiple dates with men who left you feeling bereft and used. Well played!

But you know what the real tragedy is? That would have been if you engaged in conversation with me. Or—gasp—we'd actually gone on a date. It's too unspeakable to even acknowledge. Oh, the horror!”

With this new realization in mind, I at last understood what an endless expanse of waste dating web sites are. (Unless of course you are mentally ill or harbor a need for masochism, in which case I would urge you to enroll in as many sites as you can manage.)

And as badly I feel for the woman who texted me about her dates, I wonder if she is someone prone to unconsciously picking men who seemed familiar to her—like exes. Studies show that we frequently will opt for something uncomfortable-yet-familiar as opposed to something completely different and unfamiliar.

It is entirely possible she continues to date her exes. No wonder the dates don't go well.

But that isn't my problem, is it? What I'm left with is the fact I reached out to something like three-dozen women and had one tepid response. (And no, that doesn't include the ranter.) Not great odds. 

In the end, these sites are for attention whores and former spouses seeking revenge on the opposite sex. And I, unfortunately, am neither.

Goodbye.