Square ONE: Welcome Back Potters

I nearly forgot my login name and password.

I’m back!
Because I have to be. Because there are too many songs stuck in my head (see below). Because I have inappropriate thoughts too often. Because I was encouraged. Because I was discouraged. Because a loyal crocker stalker and awesome friend (CARRIE ROBINSON I’m crockin’ at YOU) made me a crocker stalker fishcrockpot t-shirt! And it’s green! And so fantastic! And publicity!

I’d be a bastard not to write again.

I’m a bastard anyway.
But I’m here.
And I’m back with the attitude that I feel I’ve only seen on an episode of Fame where some musical theater kid is singing “GOTTA DANCE!”

I feel it too.
GOTTA WRITE! Even if it’s crap. Woo!

I just googled “gotta dance,” and let me tell you, discovering this has made me very happy:
GOTTA DANCE

I will never, NEVER be as talented as that dog. But I have access to the same internet as the people who put him at my fingertips. And I’ve already seen this video. It was an email forward once! All the better.
Let’s do this!


I started a draft of a giant, unwieldy, rather negative post on either Monday or Tuesday of this week. I was rusty. It was called "Live and Let Die." I was a mess of conflicting moods: peeved, inspired, manic, meek, and ready to show no mercy to the readership and blurt it all out there.
Luckily, I think time constraints and my inner knowledge of how rambling and boring what I was writing really was made me check myself before I wrecked myself.

But not today!

I spent much of today resorting to the inner sanctum of my headphones while at work, and once my ears were out of the office air stream, I tuned my pandora.com station to “Howard Jones Radio.” At times, Howard Jones radio is capable of triggering an escapist montage in my mind that enables me either to do work, or drown out distractions to internet surfing, or imagine myself starring in any number of videos from the 80s. A boon in any case.
Today I was enjoying probably the third Pet Shop Boys song of the morning when I considered the name Pet Shop Boys, and thought it was an odd one. If they were Pet Shop Boys back in the day, what would they be now?

So came my idea to write an open letter to the Pet Shop Boys in the language of Howard Jones Radio.

May 7, 2009

Dear Pet Shop Boys,

I write to you now as I enjoy some of your finest work. Though you came of age artistically at a time before I came of age in any regard, I must assume that now you – like me – have grown up. My next question then, naturally, is are you now the Pet Shop Men? My next question then, desperately, is are you available? Would you like to go out sometime? We could get together for drinks or something…see where the night takes us. The west end perhaps?

Did you catch that? That’s the look. That’s the look. The look of love. I mean, yes, I know this is out of the blue, but I’ve thought about you before. A lot. But I was always too shy shy to do anything about it. Here’s the truth though - I need you. I need you, by day and by night. You are obsession. You’re my obsession. What do you want me to do?

It just seems that our sensibilities are so well matched – the enjoyment of electronically delightful beats, the tendency to ask ourselves lengthy rhetorical questions or deliver monologues and sidebars to no one in particular in the middle of something else, the love of Willie Nelson – things can only get better.

See, you guys are always on my mind, and every time I chicken out of just, you know, putting myself out there and seeing if you’re free sometime, I ask myself what have I, what have I, what have I done to deserve this? How am I going to get through? Maybe I’m not worth your time.

I know that it would be a bizarre love triangle with three of us, but I think we could make it equilateral – just like a dream. I’ve got the brains, you’ve got the brawn. I’m looking for a partner, someone who gets things fixed.

Ok, ok, I’m probably being too pushy – a.k.a., love my way. But really, what is love, anyway? Does anybody love anybody anyway?

You know I can’t believe it when I hear that you won’t see me.

Wait, I’m doing it again – I’m letting my doubts get the better of me. It’s the reflex. You haven’t even read this – how could you have responded already! I’m sorry but I’m just thinking of the right words to say. But please know that I’m lying when I say I don't care about this. I may have found you too late in life, perhaps. Musically. Emotionally. I mean, since you went away, I’ve been hangin’ around, wondering why I’m feeling down. But I haven’t really asked if you’d even come back to my life in a more solid manner than song. I’ve just let myself keep feeling fascination. Keep listening to your songs. I can’t say no one is to blame anymore. I’m to blame. And what have you done to deserve this?

Here it is. The truth – I need an everlasting love. I need a friend and a lover divine. A man. Or two. Men who were once boys. But who are now men. With or without hats. At work or at play – men.

So, if you’re free some time, I’d love to get together. I would need advanced notice as I have several pet allergies and would need to take some Claritin if you guys are coming straight from work. That stuff really works! I’ve seen the difference and it’s getting better all the time.

As for your response, I know you’re busy so I’ll wait for it – give it some time. Because I truly do believe this is something worth waiting for. Something special. Something pure. What have I done to deserve this?

Just wrote a letter, that’s all.

May the chains of our love be unbroken! Or at least this chain letter.
From fan girl to fan woman,

ginny