August Is The Cruelest Month

There's a song by Elvis Costello called "The Other Side of Summer" from his Mighty Like a Rose album (yes, I wrote “album” -- I’m old, so sue me):

The sun struggles up another beautiful day
And I felt glad in my own suspicious way
Despite the contradiction and confusion
Felt tragic without reason
There’s magic and there’s malice
In every season

From the foaming breakers of the poisonous surf
-- The other side of summer --
To the burning forests and the hills of Astroturf
-- The other side of summer --

Upon hearing this song, it became one of my anthems (I have a few). I don’t like summer. Here, anyway, it’s always too hot and humid. I don’t like weather over 80 degrees (and I can do without 80). I melt. I also feel a sense of foreboding when the weather is beautiful. Some throw-back to my childhood and the striving for and dread of perfection (from perfection you can only go down).

Long Island also gets the poisonous surf; several years back we had medical waste washing up on our beaches. Needles and stuff. Nice. We’re also fortunate to have our Pine Barrens -- protected areas of nature. There’s your “tree museum.” Cynicism and I are no strangers.

The automatic gates close up between the shanties and the palace
The blowtorch amusements, the voodoo chalice
The pale, pathetic promises that everybody swallows
The teenage girl is crying ‘cause she don’t look like a million dollars
So help her if you can, ‘cause she don’t seem to have the attention span.

From the foaming breakers of the poisonous surf
-- The other side of summer --
To the burning forests and the hills of Astroturf
-- The other side of summer --

Again, here on Long Island, we have the same kind of lines between the haves and the have-nots. You can go from tightly packed illegal apartments full of Hispanic immigrants doing day-labor to multi-million-dollar mansions of rich and famous pop singers in less than 5 or 10 minutes. From poverty to posh and back again on less than a gallon of gas. The gates are there, too.

Was it a millionaire who said, “Imagine no possessions”?
A poor little schoolboy who said, “We don’t need no lessons”?
The rabid rebel dogs ransack the shampoo shop
The pop princess is downtown shooting up
And if that goddess is fit for burning
The sun will struggle up, the world will still keep turning

Now, I love John Lennon as much as the next person. I even love the idea behind the song “Imagine.” But I admire Elvis’ balls in pointing out the incongruity of the idea of “no possessions” and the amount of money John made in his lifetime. I get a little guilty pleasure from singing that line out loud. Of course, the grammatical point of the next line falls a little flat when you look at the previous verse -- physician, heal thyself.

Madman standing by the side of the road
Saying, “Look at my eyes, look at my eyes, look at my eyes, look at my eyes”
Now you can’t afford to fake all the drugs your parents used to take
Because of their mistakes,
You’d better be wide-awake.

From the foaming breakers of the poisonous surf
-- The other side of summer --
To the burning forests and the hills of Astroturf
-- The other side of summer --

This verse is a personal thing for me. Whenever I picture the madman standing there repeating, “Look at my eyes!” I think of my friend Jay. I imagine it’s him standing there on a NYCity street corner (in the Village), eyes wide open, half bent over, getting in the faces of passers-by, pointing at his eyes and screaming, “Look at my eyes! Look at my eyes!” He’d do something like that just to get the reaction.

The drugs thing is far more me than my parents. They smoked and drank and that was about it. My mom didn’t even drink much at all. A glass of Cherry Kijafa on holidays was her limit. Dad still has his beer and an occasional scotch or a Rob Roy when out for dinner. He quit smoking before I did; I quit nearly 12 years ago. Mom quit when she went into the hospital for lung cancer.

Well, maybe then again it does pertain to my parents. I don’t drink or smoke anymore. Any of the other drugs were really a phase and there was no struggle to leave them behind.

The mightiest rose
The absence of perfume
The casual killers
The military curfew
The cardboard city
And an unwanted birthday
The other side of summer

Here’s the verse that makes this one of my anthems. I don’t know what he meant when he wrote it (nor that it matters -- art is not for the artist to perceive), but “the absence of perfume” for me means just that -- I refuse to wear perfume or anything (like hairspray or mousse) that might attract bees during the summer (and fall). I’m not allergic to bees, but I sure don’t like them. I’m afraid of them. There. I admit it. My oldest brother Mike once told me I have bees in my bonnet. Fine. Just take the bonnet far away from me.

It’s the “unwanted birthday” that hits home. It didn’t used to. I used to love my birthday. I think everyone looks forward to their birthday when they’re kids. But now that I’m ... let’s say way over 30, I really don’t want anymore of the damn things. Since Elvis has nearly a decade on me, I doubt he wants his anymore either.

Which brings me to the point of this post. I just had another one of those unwanted things on August 9th (Elvis' is August 25th). Although I’m in better health than I was 20 years ago, I’m still 20 years older than I was 20 years ago. Twenty years is a long time. I feel like I haven’t even started my life yet. The fortunate thing is that I don’t feel like my life is over. I still feel pretty much as I did 20 or 25 years ago. But I’m much wiser. Smarter. Less idealistic.

The dancing was desperate, the music was worse
They bury
your dreams and dig up the worthless
Good night, God bless
And kiss
good-bye to the earth
The other side of summer

This last verse just makes me think of disco. I’m sorry. I had no use for disco when it was around and no use for it now. I don’t know what disco has to do with summer (or maybe it’s Donna Summer -- though, to be honest, she’s actually talented), but anything I dislike gets lumped together in the same compost heap -- disco, summer, reality shows.

But, of course, this is an environmental song. Still, I take it for my own.

Please re-cycle.

--Mary