(note: I’m changing the first line to be LESS SUBTLE because this post is supposed to be about SOPHIA, not FACEBOOK, and the first five comments seemed to think otherwise. Has the internet replaced real life for all of us? Jeez.)
As I was on Facebook tonight, counting up all the new virtual friends I’ve made in the last week, I BEGAN TO THINK OF SOPHIA, and how none of this means as much to me as the ONE SPECIAL PERSON IN MY LIFE (that would be SOPHIA, not the CEO of Facebook), and how this special feeling I have for this person (SOPHIA, who is the YOU in the upcoming lyrics) can only be expressed through the poetic wisdom of ABBA.
Facing twenty thousand of your friends
How can anyone be so lonely
Part of a success that never ends
Still I’m thinking about YOU only
(Still I’m thinking about YOU only)
There are moments when I think I’m going crazy
(Think I’m going crazy)
But it’s gonna be alright
(You’ll soon be changing everything)
Everything will be so different
When I’m on the stage tonight
Tonight the
Super Trouper lights are gonna find me
Shining like the sun
Smiling, having fun
Feeling like a number one
Tonight the
Super Trouper beams are gonna blind me
But I won’t feel blue
Like I always do
‘Cause somewhere in the crowd there’s you
I never intended for my blog to be about “All Sophia, All the Time,” but lately SHE has been my life. If you ever get the chance to date or marry someone who grew up in another country, you should go for it. It is a great experience, and you learn so much. I’ve always found other cultures fascinating, and I’m especially turned on by exotic accents. It’s not like Sophia walks around dressed like a Russian babushka.  She left Russia at an early age.  It’s just that her eyes grow sleepy when I try to get her enthusiastic about something that is so familiar to me, like… baseball.
In times of stress, you sometimes want the comfort of the familiar, which is usually associated with your childhood — and frankly, our cultural references don’t easily match up. A week ago, I had a dream about the TV show “Happy Days.” I used to watch “Happy Days” after school. Sophia has never seen the show once. Sometimes, I get a little lonely to chat with someone who actually cares that it is the 30th Anniversary of “Star Wars” or even likes the movie (I showed it to her once and she barely watched it). Luckily, I have so many low-brow blogging-friends who enjoy pop culture crap from the past.
Today, I was downloading some music.
“What are you downloading?” she asked.
“Devo.”
“I didn’t know you like them?”
“I once saw them when I was a kid.”
“I didn’t realize they’ve been around so long.”
“They’ve been around forever.”
“I don’t get it. Were they children singers when you saw them?”
“Children singers? No. What are you talking about?”
Sophia: “You know, we should put a personal ad in the New York Jewish newspaper for your mother. Maybe she’ll meet someone.”
Neil: “You mean… like dating? A man?”
Sophia: “Why not? She’s still young. She goes out.”
Neil: “But…”
Sophia: “It’s been a year and a half already since your father passed away. I asked your mother yesterday if she would go out with someone…”
Neil: “You asked my mother THAT?!”
Sophia: “Why not? She said she WOULD if she met someone.”
Neil: “I can’t really visualize…”
Sophia: “She goes out more than we do. She’s younger in spirit than YOU. She goes to the theater and concerts. You just sit there and blog.”
The phone rings. It is my mother.
Neil: “Hi, Mom. What’s that music in the background. Where are you?”
Neil’s Mother: “I took off from work this week. I’m with my friend Laura in Baltimore.”
Neil: “Baltimore? What for?”
Neil’s Mother: “They have this six day classical music “elderhostel” at the Peabody Institute music school at Johns Hopkins. It’s like college for those who remember Elvis. We stay here, there are music classes from professors, and then there are concerts at night.”
Neil: “Sounds fun, but… I wanted to talk to you about…”
Neil’s Mother: “Oops, gotta go. Class is beginning… a lecture about Mozart… Don’t call me. I’m shutting off my phone…”
Neil: “But…”
My mother hung up the phone, more interested in being with her friend than talking to me.
And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me
She’d grown up just like me
My Mom was just like me
Have you ever found yourself feeling like you’re going a little insane? I don’t usually talk about these things, but you’re all my friends and Google doesn’t spider everything so it remains on the internet forever, so I’m safe, right?
Now, I remember ABBA as a youth, but their music means little to me, unlike that of Bruce Springsteen or Prince.
But something strange and magical happened today. After posting those two videos on my blog, I have became ABBA obsessed. I spent all night reading about and listening to ABBA. I even downloaded a documentary about them — in Swedish! I saw them win Eurovision in the seventies with “Waterloo.” I listened to their hits. I learned from Wikipedia that the name ABBA is the combined first letters of the four group members — Agnetha, Anni-Frid “Frida,” Benny, and Bjorn. I’ve become fascinated by the behind-the-scenes romances — the marriage of Frida and Benny, the breakup of Agnetha and Bjorn. For several hours, ABBA has become my life.
Why has this happened? What is going on with me? Is it stress? Sexual frustration? Is it because I got turned on by Frida bouncing on the piano bench in “Does Your Mother Know?”
Actually, no. I know this sounds weird to you, but the ABBA songs were “speaking to me,” as if they were written especially for me — as if they had some inner meaning beyond their silly lyrics. And honestly — no pot was involved, real or virtual. Could it be Trader Joe’s veggie gyozas?
I was especially taken by the lyrics of “Dancing Queen” —
You can dance, you can jive, having the time of your life
See that girl, watch that scene, dig in the dancing queen
Friday night and the lights are low
Looking out for the place to go
Where they play the right music, getting in the swing
You come in to look for a king
Anybody could be that guy
Night is young and the musics high
With a bit of rock music, everything is fine
You’re in the mood for a dance
And when you get the chance…
And guess what — it is FRIDAY NIGHT right now, as I listen to the song! How did they know? Tears were filling my eyes as I heard this. And how do Agnetha, Frida, Benny, and Bjorn know that I’m “looking for the place to go… where they play the right “music?”
I could be that guy.
I can have the time of my life.
I am in the mood for a dance
I am the dancing queen!
Or maybe I should just go out and rent Muriel’s Wedding.
There are some songs that you like because they are good, and some you like just because you associate them with a specific event or memory. I would never consider “Maneater” by Hall and Oates to be a rock classic, but it is memorable to me because it was playing on the radio when Jessica Neinbaum talked to me at a party.
Sometimes, the meaning of a song can change throughout time. “Locomotive Breath” is an old song by Jethro Tull. The reason this song is important to me is that it brings up memories of Camp Kinder-Ring in Sylvan Lake, New York. It was already an old song when I attended camp, but it was the favorite band of one of our camp counselors. Whenever we would practice basketball lay-ups before a game, this counselor would put this high energy song on the loudspeaker in order to energize us. The song became engraved in my mind as a “fight song” before a big game.
I loved summer camp, the song, and the lay-ups. It didn’t matter that I never got a lay-up IN the basket. I was a bad basketball player, despite being one of the tallest campers. Just to make it clear to you how bad I was — this was a JEWISH camp, and I was still one of the worst!
In truth, it was an odd choice for a fight song. Years later, in college, when I actually bought the album, “Aqualung,” and read the lyrics, I noticed how depressing the song actually was:
In the shuffling madness
of the locomotive breath,
runs the all-time loser,
headlong to his death.
He feels the piston scraping —
steam breaking on his brow —
old Charlie stole the handle and
the train won’t stop going —
no way to slow down.
But who cares? It was one of the few Jethro Tull songs with a beat.
Fast forward to three weeks ago. Sophia and I were getting into the car with our luggage, about to go on our trip to Portland.
“One more thing!” I said as I ran back into the house and grabbed a random assortment of music CDs — rock, Latin, classical, jazz, etc. What type of road trip would it be without music?
As I drove up the 405, Sophia rifled through my assortment of CDs.
“What the hell is a Jethro Tull?”
I told her the story about doing lay-ups at my Jewish summer camp.
“Play it. It’s song number 10. Forget the rest of the album which I KNOW you will hate.”
Sophia played the song, and liked it. “Locomotive Breath” became the anthem to our trip. Every morning, as we would start the next leg of our trip, we would put on song number 10, “Locomotive Breath,” and blast it on the speakers.
He sees his children jumping off
at the stations — one by one.
His woman and his best friend —
in bed and having fun.
He’s crawling down the corridor
on his hands and knees —
old Charlie stole the handle and
the train won’t stop going —
no way to slow down.
Gradually, the meaning of this song changed for me. It wasn’t about camp anymore. It was the THEME song to “Neil and Sophia’s Road Trip.”
70’s Progressive Rock.
Ian Anderson on the flute.
Separated husband and wife visiting bloggers in Portland.
It made sense. And maybe it was the bombastic theatricality of our 70’s theme song that inspired us to get stopped by the cops THREE times during our trip (twice for Sophia and once for me. Sophia was let off, of course. I got a ticket).
Jethro Tull made us into progressive rock rebels.
Last night, Sophia asked me to pick up some eggs at the supermarket. We’ve been home a few days now, and there is still nothing in the fridge. I’m embarrassed to say that I decided to drive the one block to the store. When I turned on the ignition, “Locomotive Breath” started playing on the speakers. One of us must have left the CD on when we left the car.
He hears the silence howling —
catches angels as they fall.
And the all-time winner
has got him by the balls.
I sang along in my garbled New York accent as I drove to Von’s Supermarket. I hadn’t gone half a block when I noticed a police car sitting at the corner of the street. He turned his siren and lights on.
“Pull over” he announced.
What was the problem? Get this — I didn’t have my seat-belt on!
Did he know who he was talking to? I follow every driving rule in the book. I always have my seat belt on! I was just driving one block… and Jethro Tull was distracting me!
The officer gave me a ticket… my second ticket in a week.
Locomotive Breathe. From now on, I will remember YOU as the song that made me into a criminal.
He picks up Gideons Bible —
open at page one —
old Charlie stole the handle and
the train won’t stop going —
no way to slow down.
I met this man today who was seventy years old, but looked fifty, and seemed in better shape than me. With people living older nowadays, I think the old way of determining someone’s age is increasingly irrelevant. Someone can be a lot “younger” at 65 than 25. In order to discover a person’s “real age,” I offer the “Britney Spears” age test.
OLD – has never heard of Britney Spears.
SENIORÂ – has some vague knowledge of Britney Spears being pregnant and getting married to someone from hearing her mentioned on Leno.
MIDDLE-AGED – knows who she is and doesn’t give a s**t about Britney Spears and wonders why so much airtime is given to someone so uninteresting.
IMMATUREÂ ADULTÂ – doesn’t give a s**t about Britney Spears and wonders why so much airtime is given to someone so uninteresting, but is willing to still go to some salacious website to see Britney Spears in a car wearing no underwear (find it yourself!).
Â
“GENERATION X” – reads US Magazine and worrries a lot about Paris Hilton’s negative influence on Britney Spears.
CHILD – knows the actual lyrics to four Britney Spears’s songs.
The First Annual Blogger Christmahanukwanzaakah Online Holiday Concert  is coming together.  Since the concert is on December 20th, you need to have your song either in my hands or published by that day (and you need to give me the link). If you want to include a photo of your tree or menorah, try to get it to me by December 18th. Â
If you would like to perform, just add your name and song in the comments or email me.
As of now, our concert includes some of the most talented blogger/performers in the international blogging community. (this is called publicity!)  Never have so many top bloggers/recording artists graced the stage/blog post at one time! These include such superstars as:
Hilly — “Adeste Fideles†Nelumbo — “Up on the House Top†Becky — “God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman†Leezer — “The Little Town of Bethelehem†Erin — “Santa Baby†Dagny — “Christmas Time is Hereâ€
Non-Highlighted Heather — “Silent Night†Elisabeth — “French Carol†Ellen Bloom — “Jingle Bell Rock†Mo — “Blue Christmas” Tiff — “Chestnuts on an Open Fire” Buzzgirl — something in French! Femme D’espoir — “Virgin’s Cradle Song” Caryn — the Chipmunks Christmas song Pam – “Santa Baby” Wendy — “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” Maitresse — “Have Yourself a Very Merry Christmas” Fitena – “Silent Night” Paintergirl – “Rockin the Night Away” SJ – “Let in Snow” Orieyenta –â€Oh Chanukahâ€
Sophia — “Ocho Kandelikas†Scarlet — Klezmer Linda — “Dovid Melech Yisrael†Psychotoddler – “Sevivon” Sarah and daughter — “Hanukkah Song” Sheana – “Dreidel, Dreidel.” Chana – Hanukkah Song Certifiable Princess – “8 Crazy Nights” Priss – self-written Hanukkah song Hila – “Mi Y’Malel”
1) Sign up in the comments.  You can sign up until the day of the concert — December 20th, so don’t worry. The only reason to do it is to make sure that we don’t have ten versions of “Jingle Bells.” If you already know what song you are going to sing or play, tell us. But if five of you MUST sing “Deck the Halls,” then just go for it! We’ll understand. Tis the season…
2) Record your Christmas or Hanukkah or Holiday song. Both Windows and Mac come with sound recorders. You just plug a microphone in. These microphones are very cheap. Don’t worry about sounding professional. You’re a blogger! I will later include the names of some free software that will help you trim the pauses at the beginning and end. If you get a lot of background noise, I have some software that includes a noise reduction filter. I can edit or filter the track for you.
Just remember to watch that you don’t go “INTO THE RED” (or record at too loud of a level) or sound will get distorted.
You can record it in several formats — Mp3 is compressed, .wav sometimes sounds better (but it is a much larger file).
3)Â Family members can contribute to the music or song, but YOU must contribute for this to be a true Bloggers’ Holiday Concert.
4) It is your song. You can put it on your blog or MySpace. It would actually be a lot easier if you post it yourself than sending it to me. Just give me the link to the post.  OR I will host it for you myself. Just send me as an attachment. (I will write more about that later because the file could be very large)
5)Â If anyone knows more about sound recording, sending audio files, etc., please jump in with your advice.
6) I’m also hoping to decorate my post with photos of your menorahs and Christmas trees, so if you are not contributing a song, please help us making the place festive! We can also use some holiday RECIPES for both Hanukkah and Christmas. I will even allow one or two photos of kittens if dressed with the appropriate Holiday spirit.
As a pimply-faced teenager, I dreamt of being a rock star, because even the ugliest musician had a beautiful model at his side. It is almost a cliche to have the scrawny dog-faced male singer arm in arm with America’s newest Top Female Model. Here’s a little secret that most women don’t know — this phenomenon works for men also.
Last night, I went to a chamber concert with Sophia. The soloist was a a stunning young violinist. She was beautiful. She had perfect features and her hair was tied back in a bow like a French movie star. Her arms were as slender and tan as the violin she cradled in her arms. Her posture was like of a ballerina or a royal princess, even in her expensive high heeled shoes. The audience was swooning over her.
She was accompanied by a female pianist. The pianist was not pretty. She was dressed rather frumpish in a shapeless black dress.
But I have a particular fancy for female pianists. The piano is very sexy. I can’t really explain it other than go back to early childhood favorites — Elton John, Billy Joel, George Gershwin, and my all time favorite — Vince Guaraldi’s Charlie Brown’s Christmas.
While everyone was mesmerized by the violinist, my eyes were glued on the pianist. Her fingers would slide over the keys and she hunched over, totally into the Mozart, not giving a care to how she looked to the audience. When she would get to a dramatic musical section, she would move up and down on the piano bench, up and down — sometimes violently, as if she was straddling the piano and giving herself an orgasm as her playing became more intense.
At the end of the concert, the audience gave a standing ovation for the violinist. My penis and I stood for the frumpy, average-looking pianist with the fast fingers. In a bar, I might totally ignore her, but at the concert, she was a Goddess.
MUSICAL NOTE: Christmas-Hanukkah is coming up. I had this idea while driving home last night, but I’m not sure if it would work — a Blogger’s Holiday Concert. I know some of you are actually talented musicians (Scarlet, Psychotoddler, Fictional Rockstar) or singers (Lizardek, others). What if you each made a recording of some holiday song and we’ll post it here next month like one of those Holiday Concerts they have around the country? Would anyone do this?
Neil Kramer has been writing about his life online since 2005. He has worked for Disney and HBO. Neil lives in NYC. You can contact him at neilochka on yahoo.
 
