Skip to main content

Song of the Week: "Testing 1, 2, 3"

In keeping loosely with my previous blog, my song of the week is "Testing 1, 2, 3" from the BNL album Everything to Everyone.

To be fair, though, I've really had the whole album in mind. Thelma and I have seven BNL albums in our collection. This is our sixth. It's a soft-sell criticism of celebrity culture, corporate excess and government policy, but somehow it still manages to play like a pop album instead of a lecture.

"Testing 1, 2, 3" captures the internal thoughts of someone who wants to move beyond the identity everyone else seems content to affix to them. It rings true to me when I think about people who have an overly simple and static idea of who I am or what I stand for.

Testing 1,2,3
Can anybody hear me?
If I shed the irony
Would anybody cheer me?
If I acted less like me
Would I be in the clear?


I remember when Thelma and I were wrapping up our time in Provo. It was the summer of 1997. Braeden was just a few months old. I had been accepted to Yale but I wasn't eager to let anyone know about it. I wasn't comfortable with how people reacted. For some people Yale connotes elitism or aloofness. I didn't like having that image projected on me. Even now, if someone asks me about graduate school, I just say I went to school in Connecticut. Most people drop it there. If they ask where, I say New Haven. That's usually enough to smoke out the people who were just asking to be polite. If they press it further, I'll tell them Yale.

Maybe my image could stand for something of a makeover, though. That same summer Thelma told one of our neighbors that we were moving because I had been accepted at Yale. The neighbor looked shocked and volunteered that they "didn't even know [I] was smart."

I suppose we are all richer and more real than we appear. For every moment I've mourned not being understood in my complexity, I'm sure there are countless occasions where I've lazily passed over someone else.

Well, I said it was the album on my mind as much as the song. So, I've included a few other songs in the play list. The best of them, "For You", is a bittersweet love song illustrating the other side of being misunderstood—the inability or unwillingness to share our true feelings.

I will give you all I could ever give
Though it's less than you will need

Could you just forget, if you can't forgive

All the things I cannot concede

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Block Facebook Ads with CSS

(This is my experience evaluating Facebook for my daughter.  It turned into a technical exercise in CSS.  If you want the full narrative, read on.  If you just want the steps for using CSS to block ads on Facebook, jump ahead .) Emma asked permission to create a Facebook account so she can keep in touch with some of her cousins and friends.  Emma has been very responsible using our family computer and does a good job keeping our rules about what to do and how to behave online.  So, Thelma and I decided that it was probably OK once I had a chance to check out and become familiar with the privacy settings and parental controls. Even though I work for an online business and Facebook is a frequent topic of conversation when it comes to reaching out to and retaining online customers, I have to admit that I have rarely used the service.  I created an account for business purposes to become a "fan" of a client so I could keep tabs on some social marketing campaigns.  That's it.

Awake. Again.

I arrived home from work with just enough daylight and just enough Spring to mow the lawn.  Braeden and I reveled in the straight lines and greening blades.  "It's the awakening," he said. — I sat in the temple and smiled at the sight of Emma and Braeden sitting side by side, quiet and content.  Outside the temple, we stared up at the stained glass, the angel, the glowing walls.  I asked Emma how she felt.  "Light and airy," she replied. — Driving home from the airport, I listened to my mother describe her trip to Disneyland with Megan, Talia and Jackson.  "If your dad were still alive..." she began to say.  For the first time, I smiled and laughed instead of fighting back tears. — Awake. Light. Laugh. Alive. Again. — Everyone is asleep.  I sit down to write.  I don't cry.  I don't turn away.  It's a change.  I can write again, at last.  But it's not the same as Before.  Everything seems different now that I live

Helped or Had

I feel uneasy tonight. I'm not sure if I helped or was had. In what has become something of a Thursday-evening-post-basketball tradition, I drove to Walmart for some late night shopping. Two weeks ago it was new shorts and an exercise shirt. Last week it was another exercise shirt (because I liked the first one so much). This week it was new insoles and laces for my basketball shoes. (Thelma, who has thoroughly documented her distaste for shopping at Walmart has driven me to these shopping trips under the cover of night.) Approachable is not how I would have described myself as I trudged across the Walmart parking lot in my wife-beater sleeveless shirt, shorts and coordinating fleece vest. Sweaty, yes. Beleagured, perhaps. Approachable, no. But a woman did approach. Something told me to stop and wait for her. She was caught somewhere between out-of-breath and verge-of-tears. I could see she was nervous talking to me. She tripped quickly over some desperate story that I co