Defending The Boss

No man can break the ties that bind -- #92

Two things today.

First, last night I dug out the Bruce Springsteen, specifically "The River." One of my least favorite traits of my generation and the pop-culture bastions that define it is the sly jabbings that "hipsters" like to throw at Springsteen and his music. Didn't Chuck Klosterman call "Born to Run" stupid, or something to that effect? Anyway, at some point in the last decade it became real jejune to criticize The Boss -- criticism I get, loving the swell of irony and all. But I don't think it's warranted, especially when you consider the crap that we're listening to now. Springsteen wrote -- I'm pretty sure he died in a car wreck immediately after releasing "The Ghost of Tom Jode" -- some of the most poignant and emotional music EVER, and he absolutely slaved to create it. Some of the lyrics might be hokey (or populist, which is really the same thing), but America itself is hokey. Springsteen wrote a passioned song about wild neon nights along the boardwalk of Asbury Park, which is a total fucking dump. But there's something beautiful about the way that all of his music really dissects things and doesn't look at how things really are but accounts for what the were and where they're going, all at once.

I defy you to find a better album about marriage -- another American institution -- than "The River." It has everything: commitment, nagging mothers-in-law, boredom, wandering eyes, moments of joy and intimacy, terror, elation, fun and heartbreak, possible futures, impossible futures, and the looming fear of death.

That said, I don't know why I was listening to The River. And I also don't know why I had my second weird dream of the week. This time, my brother and I were traveling by subway to somewhere -- through New Jersey, strangely enough -- when we de-boarded because I had to get money from an ATM. The ATM dispensed tons of money (quarters, dollar bills, crumpled fives and tens). A nearby stranger offered to help, only I noticed that he was helping himself to more money that he was giving to me. No one else saw this. To my protest, my brother invited him home with us, for being so helpful. For some reason it was Christmas. My family fell in love with this person, who at some point in the journey became a women. But every time someone turned their back, this person was taking something from me: money, presents, food -- whatever. Finally I had enough. I grabbed her by the head, picked her up, and threw her outside. She landed on the concrete patio, crying. She was now an old woman. She was my mother.

I don't want to talk about it. This entry sucks.