Category Archives: Falderal

Quotes about life, from some of my favorite living icons and a couple of dead ones.


“In art and dream may you proceed with abandon. In life may you proceed with balance and stealth.” ~Patti Smith

Iggy-Pop-tumblr“They say that death kills you, but death doesn’t kill you. Boredom and indifference kill you.” ~Iggy Pop

“True friends. Hardest thing to find, but you never look for them – they found you; you just grow into each other” ~Keith Richards

“Style is whatever you want to do, if you can do it with confidence.” ~George Clinton geo

“Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free.” ~Jim Morrison

“I never make stupid mistakes. Only very, very clever ones.” ~John Peel

“I’ve learned quite a lot over the years by avoiding what I was supposed to be learning.” Margaret Atwood

“I have no idea why a guy would bring a jar of peanut butter to a concert.” ~Iggy Pop

Do I Mind?


No, I don’t, actually. Keeping in mind that I’m talking about mindfulness, which I am dutifully learning about and thinking about trying on for size. Do I mind? Well, maybe I could… Could I meditate? Could I stop my busy buzz buzz noggin and settle in for a quiet sit? Maybe after an hour of walking, swimming or yoga – but that’s so hard. Oh there you go with the negativity, buzzy noggin. I’m working with a Zen master who could certainly teach me how to quiet things down up there, but I’m worried that my eyes will start twitching and watering, or I’ll start laughing or something. Do I have to quit coffee to do this – cuz I don’t want to give up coffee – it’s like my last addiction and I think I’m allowed to have my last addiction, come on! Maybe “unplugging” one day a week would be advisable…I could be getting a wee bit stressed from being hunched over this laptop to which I’ve become enslaved. No, I’m fine. Really.  zencoffee

I can’t even calm down during massages, and I’ve got a super massage therapist. At least I feel comfortable with telling her I can’t relax. I’ve been to massage practitioners where I felt I had to act a certain way during the massage, lest they judge me – now that’s just wrong, isn’t it? Jesus, I’m paying them to relax me and I’m worrying about what they think of me. I am one mixed up puppy. So now I have a regular therapist with whom I can say anything…I’ve been going to her for years and it’s like finding that one person who can cut your hair right – you need to foster and nourish that relationship just like your best friendship or even your marriage.

My typical exercise for relaxation is taking my two dogs out to the dogpark, letting them run and I walk a couple of miles. I’m on edge out there, too; what if I don’t catch Egor pooping – he sometimes runs way ahead and does his business where I can’t see him. I bring bags and clean up after them if I catch them, but, you know, shit happens. There are “poop police” out there, I swear, waiting to find the terrible, terrible dog owners who didn’t pick up. They even try to shame you on a Facebook page. Another anxiety is 95 pound Iggy, who occasionally likes to bark at guys, especially if they are wearing a hat and carrying one of those ball-throwing things – they just piss him off and he expresses himself to them. He just barks a couple of times, but it always hurts the barkee’s feelings and I always feel the need to apologize for Iggy’s insensitivity and explain that he’s just saying “Hi” in a really loud voice. Then I walk away, embarrassed.

Am I overly concerned about things? Maybe so. But maybe I’m already mindful…how about that? Maybe I’m not a nervous nelly ~ I have already reached a mindful, Zen state; I am just not aware of it yet. Yeah ok, I thought not. A mindful practice is just that – practice – and I know it takes a certain amount of discipline to do that. I’m not good with discipline – the word reminds me of Catholic school. Could we find another word for discipline? The words “obedience” and “regiment” come to mind, never mind. I need to just bite the bullet and try some guided meditation. So what if my eyes twitch and water? I will just have to accept that with loving kindness towards myself. See, I can do this.

And When I Die….


I’m not dying or anything, but I have a rather morbid preoccupation with planning the playlist for when I die (perfect Halloween theme here….) I guess I’ve just been to many funerals of people I’ve known who would’ve absolutely HATED the music played at their wake and funeral – I know, I know, they weren’t THERE. But suppose they were…. Anyway, here are some of my bequests:
Frank Zappa – Peaches in Regalia
Funkadelic – Maggot Brain
The Stooges – I Got a Right
Patti Smith – Gloria
The Kinks – This is Where I Belong

The MC5 – Kick out the Jams (the Motherfucker version – I don’t care, I’ll be dead, sorry, Aunt Nancy, if you’re there)

The Beatles – In my life (ok, that’s sort of a standard funeral one)
The Beatles – Helter Skelter
Pink Floyd – Lucifer Sam
Tiny Tim – Livin’ in the Sunlight, Lovin’ in the Moonlight
The Stooges – Down on the Street
Sonic’s Rendezvous – City Slang
The Animals – It’s my Life
Cows – Hitting the Wall
Then there’s some stuff like Muslimgauze and other droning things like Big Lights in a Fat City I’d have playing in the background while the mourners eat and get drunk, and a few Irish tunes – Boiled in Lead playing Son O Son and Step it up, Mary.
I better put this in my will. Oh yeah, I better write a will.
What’s in your death mix?

I don’t usually think of myself of inspirational, but gee, thanks!



Thanks so very much to The Undomestic Goddess at for nominating me for Very Inspiring Blogger Award. Gosh, I’m really honored. Or honoured, for my Aussie and British pals…. I love the extra u’s sometimes.

Now I need to get down to business.

Here are the rules:

  1. Thank and link to the amazing person who nominated you.
  2. List the rules and display the award.
  3. Share seven facts about yourself.
  4. Nominate 15 other amazing blogs and comment on their posts to let them know they have been nominated.
  5. Proudly display the award logo on your blog and follow the blogger who nominated you.

Now for the seven facts:

  1. I was born in Newark, New Jersey and we lived in Bergen County NJ until I was 12, when we moved to Detroit, Michigan. I went kicking and screaming, not wanting to go and afraid of Detroit.
  2. I wound up in Mpls after living in Houston, Texas, for 7 years. That story is far too long for a numbered list here. Keep reading popforunpop, it’s liking to emerge at any time.
  3. My husband and I have refurbished our 1908 Dutch Colonial – every room – since 1993 and now want to go back to the first project and begin to undo our mistakes.
  4. I love my dogs, Iggy and Egor, sort of like they are my doggie children. Ok, maybe that’s apparent from my blog, and not a great revelation.
  5. I got bullied as a kid for having red hair and freckles.
  6. I own about 3,000 lps, 45s, cds and cassettes, and I am running out of room in said 1908 house in which to store them. I keep buying vinyl, and Machinist Man thinks I’m a lunatic for loving that format. He’s a digital guy and thinks it sounds better. The argument continues.
  7. I believe that music has the power to connect people and transform society and the world.

And I nominate:


First World Problem


I downloaded something or other this week and a very, very nasty bit of malware attacked my ‘puter. “Patti, what exactly did you do?” Machinist Man demanded. “I don’t know,” in my weak little 8-year-old Patti-Ann voice. “Can’t you fix it?” He worked on it for hours. It beat him. He asked me if I had stuff backed up. Amazingly, I did. So, total wipe-out of everything. I’m having to set everything up again. What a bleeping pain in the ass.

“How awful!” said Fartun, the founder of the organization I’m working with. We help Somali refugees. I had to stop and just say, “Oh shit, first world problem, really, isn’t it?” She cracked up.

Anyhow, here’s a song dedicated to my poor laptop.



Thank you Ted from Rock ‘n’ Roll Freaks for letting me share this amazing list.

Conversation with Machinist Man – “What were you really listening to in 1967 –  you were 10 years old…?” Me: “Well, you know, The Monkees and stuff, but me and Bunny Mellish would go into her older brother Eddie’s room and listen to The Fugs and The Mothers of Invention and smoke his cigarettes.” “The Fugs? You were 10 and listening to The Fugs?” “Yeah, then he caught us one time and we got into a lot of trouble. He narced on us and everything.” “Well, that explains a lot,” he says.

Oh Evil Earworm


Earworm tunes. This happens to me ALL THE TIME. I have a great record collection which I listen to all the time. I listen to my favorite shows on KFAI and try to surround myself with music I love as much as I can. However, weird tunes enter and infect my ears and brain frequently and the only way that I can expunge them is to inflict them upon others. Sort of an exorcism. One time (years before the internet and youtube and stuff) I had Bryan Adams’ “Everybody Wants You,” stuck in my head for almost a week, so I broke down and bought the 45 and opened up my radio show with that insidious song. I’m sure I irritated my audience, but it needed to be done. Mental floss.

Alright, here was the first one…I think I just saw the words “Black is Back,” and that of course set me off:

And then – and this is a bad one – I was whistling (my whistling skills are really lame) and this little ditty came to mind. (I posted that one on Facebook, and I think my husband and my friend Jeff unfriended me.)




Memories 1, 2, 3


My dad’s favorite joke: At a dance a guy with a wooden eye goes up to a gal with a hairlip and he asks her to dance. She goes, “oh, would I, would I,” and he goes, “hairlip, hairlip!” He’d tell that joke after a couple of scotch and sodas and just laugh and laugh. Oh, dad.

My youngest brother and sister, who were born eight months apart (Irish twins) had their own language that no one understood. They’d sometimes say the same word at the same time, and they’d go “jinx,” and then “you ate it.” And then laugh hysterically.

One time as a teenager I came home stoned and almost late for supper. This used to infuriate my father – he wouldn’t really know that I was stoned, just that I was late for dinner. So this time I was late and he goes, “You’re DOCKED!” And I go, “I AM NOT!” thinking he was saying that I was stoned. I didn’t realize that he was saying that I was grounded. The initial grounding went from two to three weeks, which I thought was extra punitive.