This is all your fault. I have decided you owe me. And now I have a request.
See, a few weeks ago, while under the influence of prescription cough syrup, I made this necklace out of pearls and fingernails. Fierce right? Then I went and wrote an unreasonably long post about why I made the aforementioned necklace. Why? Because, frankly, the cough syrup went to my head and who else is going to listen to me spill my guts on these things? Blogging is free and cheaper than therapy. You should totally try it sometime.
My post was the story of a raging former beauty queen and her children’s lemming like capacity for common sense. It even included a “pre pubescent Texan stripper” reference that generated a lovely email from a real-life not-so-pubescent former Texan stripper named Jacqueline (hey Jax!), who, I might add, has promised to teach me to dance something called the rocket ship if I come to Fort Worth and show her how to make crepe paper flowers. I am really looking forward to it.
I also got some other emails, including three about you, Mr. Diamond. See, somewhere in the middle of my epic and Tolstoy-esque eloquence, I mentioned that my Mom loved your music. It played non-stop in our house for years. When she got sick, my dad installed speakers and stereo wires all over our house so she could hear your music playing in every room. Even the bathroom. Have you ever listened to the Jungletime in the shower? No? Let me tell you something: it’s Friggin Rad.
Thing is, Mr. Diamond, that line about your music was scarcely more than a mention in a very long story. No one gave a hoot about that fingernail necklace. It’s all about you, you, you.
Then, last week, again I mentioned your song Porcupine Pie and got more emails, all about you. Don’t get me wrong, I love your music almost as much as I love getting emails, but dude, Mr. Diamond, you stole my thunder.
I am mad at you.
Fast forward to tonight. It’s nearly midnight and and I’m watching your recent appearance on Jimmy Kimmel Live chumming it up and talking about your new album of cover songs. Must admit, I prefer your original work, but who am I pass up a new version of Desperado? Thought I would take a quick glace at your stuff on Itunes…new, old, and otherwise.
Big mistake.
Fast forward ten minutes later, to me, right now, on the living room floor, listening to your version of Midnight Train to Georgia, blowing my nose in my shirt, blubbering to the cat about a simpler place and time.
Now the cat is mad at you too.
Mr. Diamond, sir, knock it off. I have work to do. I could be doing something important like glue-gunning sequins to a hippopotamus Christmas tree topper, but instead, now I’m cruising ITunes for songs I haven’t listened to in years and drudging up all kinds of angry, festering emotional dust bunnies. Twenty seconds scanning this list, thinking of all the times and places in my life where you have played a part….
Whoa.
When I scan this list and look at your catalog of work and the course of my life, it becomes plain as day: you, Mr. Diamond, are everywhere.
You were there in the back corner of my elementary school auditorium when I saw people making out for the first time. And by people, I mean 13-year-olds. The whole school was singing Song Sung Blue in a round, lead by Mr. Bukema the music teacher. And by music teacher, I mean the world’s hottest obo player. Holy crap I love that song.
You were there playing Kentucky Woman in the lobby of the restaurant where I saw my ex-fiancé out with his new girlfriend NOT EVEN THREE WEEKS after we broke up. I hated her. She was a size zero and made a casual reference to Kierkegaard in the first five minutes. You would hate her too. I didn’t eat anything at the restaurant that night, or for the next week, for that matter….blah blah blah….now I’m over it, but, Mr. Diamond, if you ever decide to write a song called Up Yours Kentucky Woman, that would be really awesome.
You were there in an army bar in Bishkek, Kyrgystan on New Years Eve 2004. I know, I had never heard of Kyrgyzstan either. It was impressive. Most of the bar patrons smelled like camels and grain alcohol and no one batted an eyelash when the bar keeper hired an exotic dancer to drop by for a live show. So there she was, wearing a bikini made of scrap leather and fur, shaking her tail feather, making freakishly strong eye contact, carrying a boom box with her song of choice: We’re Coming to America.
You were there the one time I ever saw my father cry. It was a random morning when I heard him go out to the car and play Hello Again louder than that car stereo had even been played before. From the corner of my window I could see he had his elbows up on the steering wheel with his head in his hands. When the song ended, he grabbed the cassette tape and turned it back to AM radio like nothing ever happened. He never saw me through the window. I never asked him about it. I really wish I could go back and ask him.
You were there with me on my first real baby sitting job as I sang Sweet Caroline to the 16-month-old little girl whose diaper I was changing at the time. Sweet Caroline is just the sort of upbeat, bouncy song that is good for distracting babies when they are having their private parts cleaned by a strange new babysitter. The crescendo peaked with the line about …reaching out, touching me, touching you… and a sudden explosion of butterscotch sludge. An explosion. I’m not even kidding. It got in my hair, Mr. Diamond. I heard you wrote that song about Caroline Kennedy, but did you know that song has that effect on babies?
You were there when Miss Kimmy, Washington County’s most enchanting 23-year-old tattooed tap dancing teacher, chose the music to the annual recital. Have you ever seen a pack of chubby eight-year-olds shuffle-ball-change to Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show? Yeah, me neither. And neither did Zynetta Hughes’ Mom. She didn’t know your music and thought you were making fun of Christians. Don’t be offended, she was one of those snake dancing church goers. That’s a lie. Mrs. Hughes didn’t dance with snakes, it’s just an expression. Actually, come to think of it, there was a real snake dancing church two counties over but Mrs. Hughes was not a member. Mrs. Hughes was very normal, just uptight. Although, she named her kid Zynetta, so, not that normal.
You were there when I had too much to drink at a wedding reception and danced my butt off to Thank the Lord for the Night Time…one thing lead to another and I told a good friend I hated her dress. She felt so self conscious about her appearance that she left the party before the bride and groom cut the cake to another favorite of yours, Red, Red Wine. I sat there listening to you sing about your blue, blue heart and thought Oh my God, when did I get to be such an insensitive piece of sh*t?
Well, it’s hard to pin point that exact moment in time, but I’m guessing you were there too.
I could fill a book with memories of your songs and their attachments to people and places that you have never heard of…but I digress. There is work to be done and a hippopotamus tree topper to sequin. I cannot stumble down memory lane with you and your Two-Bit Manchild music any further this evening, Mr. Diamond.
However, before I go, I would like to make a small request. Since it is now abundantly clear you will be writing the soundtrack to my life, past, present, and future, I for one would like to hear more harmonicas. You hardly ever incorporate them in your music and they are my favorite instrument. Don’t get me wrong, you know how to write a song just dandy without my two cents, but, if I’m going to be hearing you at nearly every pivotal moment in my life, I feel that I am entitled to some input.
More harmonicas please.
Thank you for your attention to this matter.
Sincerely,
Peaches
Crazy good post! What is that picture of the little tap dancing girl – is that you? Kyrgystan? Sequined hippo tree topper? My head spins.
Well I have no clue about Neil Diamond or the life-long impact of his music on key moments in people’s lives (I lead a sheltered existence admittedly) but I do know this: I was tickled, laughed audibly, and relished (yes RELISHED!) every moment of your spirited, meandering and potentially prescription-cough-syrup-induced way of asking Mr. Diamond for more harmonicas. Thank you for this!!!
xx
Michele
I was just asking my husband on Wed what music he would like to listen to and I said Neil Diamond, as one of the options, just to see if he was listening. Then you posted this incredible letter to Mr Diamond himself. Creepy but in a good way!
I loved your post too! Made me smile and think – YES, music does make us remember EXACTLY what we were doing when we hear a song. Me, I may not be affected by Mr. Diamond like you, THANK GOD, but I have my own demons.
Really enjoyed it, and thanks for making me smile. Of course, it is Friday, so that is making me happy too!
I LOVED your post, and, as a rule, I believe there should be more harmonicas in every kind of music. Just sayin’. Thanks for a trip down memory lane, and enjoyable read, and strange desire to hot glue sequins.
Harmonica’s rule….even a two year old can play a harmonica and it sounds ace.
My Mom loved Neil Diamond too! I sort of wrote him off as “her” music but now I just looked him up and am rethinking that. Will check out that Christmas record! Isnt it funny how we all relate music to places and times? I used to think Nirvana wrote the soundtrack of my life and then i realized that it’s probably whatever is on the crappy radio station. I should work on that!
Haha, you guys crack me up! Thanks for the comments y’all. In the light of morning, this is a wee-bit rambling and doesn’t involve a project, so I’m not 100% on why I felt so compelled to post it last night….but I’m sure glad you enjoyed 🙂
And yes, Michelle, that’s my 8-year-old butt in tap-dancing finery. If only you could see the out-takes, they are even better! And, I did my own makeup I’ll have you know!
I nearly forgot how much I love Neil Diamond. Thanks for the reminder!
Aunt Peaches, you are funny. Quit making do-dads and get yourself published! Just kittens. Keep making stuff ’cause I like all the pictures.
You are the BEST way to start a Saturday morning!!!! I was literally laughing ’til the tears fell. Neil Diamond…I wonder if he’ll ever “really” know just the kind of influence he had on so many of us. My son even went through a Neil Diamond phase. When he was 10. It was awesome. Great post!!! Thanks for the laugh. 🙂
TeeHee! Good post and i agree, hHarmonicas are the best. I’m with you, he needs to use them more often. I also just downloaded the midnight train and started bawling. Ohgeez, music is some powerful stuff. Thanks for the adventure!
Oh yes. Neil. DIamond. This is probably the best letter that’s ever been written to him. Who doesn’t have a ND story? I just love this post, especially the part about your cat being mad at him too!
xo Mary Jo
Great stuff here, Auntie Peaches! I just know it shall find its way to Mr. D. Fans clearly UNDERSTAND the inability to glue a sequin, …while the music is playin’…
Rock on, write on and craft on… as I said, GREAT STUFF!!
Thanks y’all! Glad you appreciated the rambling commentary almost as much as the cat 🙂
I’m sure there are tons of Neil diond fans out there, but it’s always nice to hear from people who also know what it feels like to relate songs to places and people, the same way you might associate a name or a smell or something. Mr Diamond is especially talented at hitting those notes/memories for me.
Music is so cool. Powerful and strange too. How I wish I could play an instrument!!
Hi there from South Africa, Neil Diamond will be visiting us in April next year, can’t wait – I also grew up with his music, even remember the Hot August Night concert, wasn’t there, just the music. Oh boy! those were the days. My birthday was on the 9th,
happy birthday to your niece. Love your blog, please keep us inspired just as you have been doing.
My cousin recommended this blog and she was totally right keep up the fantastic work!
oh.my.gawd.
too funny! and yes, i too, grew up with and love “mr.diamond”!!
Peaches,
You are incredible!
I have been a Neil Diamond fan since I was 14 (well over 30 years) and have seen him in concert many, many times. But in all that time he has never “appeared in any pivotal moments” in my life.
Your comment about “butterscotch sludge” made me laugh so hard I was crying. AND, at my age laughing hard (or softly) creates another form of leakage. Have you ever tried to cross your legs with two arthritic knees as you stumble down the hallway? Not fun – Nope not fun at all. But well worth it.
Thank you for the laugh and also, I had no idea he had a new album out. I agree I like his original stuff the best but I always have an open mind just because it’s Neil Diamond.
Take care,
Cathy
You are just so fun AND creative! Glad, I too, found your site…
I haven’t saved any I’ve come across but yours!
I originally stopped by for the garden markers made out of aluminum tape because in a fit of a mini hoarding frenzy I saw it and new it had to be mine. I’d Pintrested that article, came back to it then just started cruising around your posts. This entry not only made me laugh but brought me back to childhood days of doing chores to the record player filled with Neil Diamond, The Bee Gees and Neil Sedaka. My Mom liked Neil too. Both Neils. Thanks. I’m making the plant markers for her garden: Sage, Eggplant, Cabbage (though you really don’t need to be pointed out cabbage is cabbage right now,) and other vegetables and herbs.
Goodness what a compliment. Thank you!
I totally grew up with Neil Diamond playing in the back ground too! Love this post!
Thanks Jennifer. We are a special breed 🙂
I’m laughing out loud. So much fun to read!
You are one talented nut.
Fantastic. So glad I found this.
I’m glad too 😉
I was a card-carrying member of Friends of Neil Diamond when I was about 13. Saw Jonathon Livingston Seagull 5 times and wore out two copies of the soundtrack. He *was* my adolescence. Thanks so much for this reminder!
You are so awesome, AP! I just discovered your blog and have been reading for about an hour with tears streaming down my face. Tears of laughter, that is. You have such a terrific sense of straightforward humor. I loooooove it! Thank you for the hours of work you put into this blog. I appreciate YOU!
AlyB
I absolutely love this blog. Also, I think if I was that Groundhog girl and met your uncle, I would try to chew a tire as well.
WOW! I just found this post by accident and am sitting in my office laughing so much the rest of the crew thinks I have gone crazy!! You have such a way with words!! Loved it and love Neil too!
Just when I didn’t think it was possible to love you or Neil Diamond more than I already do…
Well, I saw a blip about Neil Diamond on another post of yours and I had to jump over! Neil Diamond, and a few others remind me of my Dad back in the day, you know, the seventies? I am totally a seventies girl at heart. As a latchkey kid, I was literally raised on radio. I began having children in 1990 and ended with our sixth in 2000. I love music but totally missed the nineties. I was busy playing Mozart to my belly and singing lullabies to my kiddos.
Anyhoo, I just picked up a Jonathan Livingston Seagull album at a thrift store the other day. I’d moved our vintage record player out to the living room for Christmas and think I’ll keep it there. My husband and kids marvel at my retention of song lyrics from the recesses of the obscure seventies. Playing that Neil Diamond as I cleaned my beta fish, “Sishy’s” pickle jar fish bowl, well, I was moved. It was a religious experience for me. “Dear Father, we dream. Weeee dream…we dream…while we wait…
Thanks Peaches for the fun and yet deep post.
Found this site accident.
From Henry Hahn (South Africa)
Was introduced to my eternanal music hero by my now late dad in around 1972’ish. by “Hot August Night” which we listened to over and over. (Never boring) 😉
Thank You Mr Neil Diamond Sir for all the many years of your amazing music.
ps my two all time best : Morningside; Canta Libre (Listenin to it as I’m writing this) Fark
We will NEVER have have a man with Neil Diamond’s passion and feeling