This songs matters to me, because: (your explanation here)

[buckweaver]

Good stuff, ServeItUp. Paraphrasing an old saying my grandfather used to say to me:

I'm an Easterner by birth, Westerner by choice.

And my song when I went west, young man, was ... "Going to California", Led Zeppelin.

Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams,
Telling myself its not as hard, hard, hard as it seems.

Listened to that over and over again -- especially on nights when I was sleeping alone on an air mattress because I had sold all my furniture and filled up the back of my truck with whatever was left to be able to afford to move out here. I never regretted the move, and have never looked back, but there were times when it was a monumental struggle to make ends meet on my own.

Took me six months to be able to buy a used bed (mattress was new, at least), and almost a year to buy a small couch (I used to sit on a metal folding chair at my computer desk -- a do-it-yourself for $28 at Wal-Mart -- whenever I wanted to watch TV.)

But I persevered.

 

[BYH]

I've been reluctant to wade into the waters, since everything here is so eloquent and wonderful, but ServeItUp's post reminded me of something cheesy yet meaningful that I did on my first day away at college. I was a big Foreigner fan (no! really?) and once I got into the school of my choice I always said I'd play "Long Long Way From Home" before my first day.

Sure enough, I got up (on time, for one of the few times ever), showered and put Foreigner's first CD in my boom box. Yes. We had those back then.

It was a Monday
A day like any other day
I left a small town
For the apple in decay

It was my destiny
It's what we needed to do
They were telling me
I'm telling you

I was inside looking outside
The millions of faces
But still I'm alone
Waiting, hours of waiting
Paying a penance
I was longing for home

It wasn't entirely true: I wasn't "looking out for the two of us," as the song went. I wasn't intimidated by the hundreds of unfamiliar faces. And I wasn't longing for home at that point. I was energized--as energized as I'd ever been in my life to that point. I felt independent and on my own. In retrospect, of course, that wasn't true in the least. I was there because I was blessed with a set of parents who were footing the bill. But I wanted out of my small town and into something bigger and more challenging, and I knew this was the first step towards that goal. And I was right.

 

[forever_town]

Here's another of my stories, although this one's about something markedly different. I'd like to warn people that some of what's going to be discussed here may not be for the faint of heart. If that scares you, feel free to skip this one.

Many years ago, I had surgery for something that I dare say is NSFW, so I will spare you the details. All I will say is that I didn't feel ready to get back to a normal routine until about a week or so later. About three years or so ago, I made an appointment with a specialist for an issue that in retrospect was really trivial, but it was one that affected my self esteem. Again, I won't give the details of that.

However, in the space of this appointment, I found out that I had a lump in my scrotal area. The left testicle was abnormally large and the doctor was worried. After a brief exam, he recommended I have it removed. As soon as I heard that, I immediately decided to seek a second opinion. The last thing I wanted to do was to get chopped up because one doctor was worried.

However, now *I* was worried. I went to a second doctor and he raised some possibilities that I hadn't considered or heard of. Just to play it safe, he had me go through an MRI. Feeling a little more at ease, I talked with my father, who's a retired RN. Hopefully, I'd get good news and the brief scare would be enough.

A few days later, however, this doctor called and told me the news I was hoping I'd never hear: He recommended I get the operation, explaining his concerns about the MRI results. I then did the one thing you should never do. I waited. I sat on it. Over the months that followed, I'd occasionally get a sudden, dull pain in that area but it always went away.

Then a few months after those doctor's appointments, I got my current job. That meant a few months without health insurance since COBRA was prohibitively expensive. That also meant this medical issue would go on the backburner. I had suddenly gone from being a low level grunt whose work was but one spoke in the wheel that was my company's business to being directly responsible for getting a weekly newspaper on the stands on time.

Finally, I got onto my company's health plan. Considering how badly my bosses scrimp on everything, I thought it was going to be an insurance plan in name only. Thus, I wasn't too optimistic in the event the proverbial **** it the fan. Although I was hoping that somehow, the issue I was facing would go away on its own.

All this while, I kept the extent of what I was facing away from all but perhaps one or two of my closest friends. Both of them were at least 1,000 miles away from me, so all they could do was provide sympathetic pairs of eyes. I didn't want to tell anyone, but I knew I had to tell someone. So those were the two people who knew.

On my way home from a party, the problem shoved its way out of hiding in the form of excruciating pain. It was so bad that I limped from the subway to my car. In retrospect, the very next thing I should have done was to drive myself to the hospital. However, I looked for and found pain medication and tried my damnest to hide the agony I felt, then the dull pain that followed it. I knew, though, that it was time to go through the last thing I wanted to do at that moment.

I made the appointment with the internal medicine doctor who said the same thing the other two doctors did, then referred me to a urologist. By now, I began to confide in my closest friends at work. The ad director offered to drive me to the hospital since I hadn't told my father yet. The production manager listened and offered sympathy. The work-related part I was dreading the most was telling my reporters. Both were 10 years my junior and one had just given his two week's notice a handful of days prior. Thus, I had one more worry in mind: How the hell would I get the paper out?

Both reporters turned out to be gold. The reporter who stayed told me that I couldn't worry about the unknown. It would later be the same thing a nurse at the hospital I was going to go to (which I didn't want to go to because I had bad experiences there) told me over the phone. The guy who was leaving asked me what my plans were to get the paper out and I told him I would try to get in and paginate. He then said, "I'll do it." I hesitated, only because I didn't think it was fair to put that on someone who was entering his last week on the job. However, he said something to me that I'll never forget and I had no answer or argument for -- "Don't feel like you have to be involved with every aspect of the newspaper." As soon as he said that, I thanked him and let him take over for me.

I would also tell my online friends about what I was going through. Many offered their prayers or their best wishes. Many offered their support. I did something that was foreign to me: I went extremely public with something that was bothering me to the core. I went public with my very basic life and death struggle. To this day, I don't know what came over me. I guess it was a sense that I needed the additional help. It could have been a sense of need to help someone else with what I was going through. But I would later get a message from one of my online friends who told me it meant a lot to her and our other friends that I opened up and I allowed them to rally around me.

I would later have the surgery and -- this was the biggest shock to me -- I was physically and emotionally ready to go back to work three days later. I stayed home an extra day as a show of confidence for the reporter, since he'd taken over for me once before and did a great job. That was in spite of my father's trying to get me to go back to work that Monday (I'd had surgery on Friday). I finally returned to the office on Tuesday because he was driving me even more nuts than I already am.

I would later find out I had testicular cancer. Oddly, I felt more fear before the diagnosis than I did when I actually found out. The urologist explained to me and my father what he'd found -- it basically was the best news I could have gotten other than "no cancer" because the version I had was the easiest to treat. He also said the markers after surgery appeared normal, which meant he didn't think the cancer spread beyond what he removed.

Next was a series of tests to determine how much it had advanced and how much of a fight I had on my hands. Twenty days after the surgery, I had a series of tests to go through, and since they were on a Thursday, I prepared for a whole weekend of uncertainty that nearly matched the fear I had before I knew I had cancer.

At 4:32 p.m. that Friday afternoon, the doctor called. He had more news for me: All the tests came back normal. That meant the cancer didn't spread beyond what got removed. That meant we'd go with single-dose chemotherapy just to make sure all the cancer cells were gone. After I got off the phone, I exulted, running through the office as if I'd won the lottery. In a larger sense, I had. After I told the ad director and production manager the good news, I called my father. Then I went to karaoke that night and sang the first song that came to mind: Celebrate by Three Dog Night. I was celebrating not just a great diagnosis. I was celebrating what I considered the day my life began again. These days, though, when I think about everything I've gone through, the Sheryl Crow song Live It Up is the song that plays in my head. Not just because she's a fellow cancer survivor. But to me, the chorus spoke directly to me: "Live it up like there's no time left/Just like there's no tomorrow/Live it up like there's no time left/There's no time to kill/Live it up like there's no time left/No time left to borrow/Why don't you try to get it right this time/Get it right this time."

I hope people get from this post the need to act quickly anytime cancer is involved. I was blessed. If anyone ever doubted the power of prayer, I'm living proof that it works.

 

[budcrew08]

Cancer is a scary opponent, but you fought it off courageously.

Terrific story. Thanks for telling it.

 

[Cadet]

My breakup song: "King of Pain" by the Police

Unfortunately, it's been my breakup song for years. Most relationships end at some point, and some end badly. Mine blow up spectacularly.

Mine is a story of truth being stranger than fiction. Some doubt the details of my relationships, which include a schizophrenic, a butterflied penis, a fairy-tale romance turned scandal, and the one who confessed six weeks before our wedding that he was gay. Some doubt, but that doesn't make it less true.

As things got progressively worse, one after another, I began to feel like the universe was conspiring against me.

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

It was my destiny to be used and manipulated by those who claimed they loved me. I wanted the universe to end its reign of terror on my life, because during these years I gave up so much more than just relationships. Each time my love, and my life, would hit rock bottom, this song would go on repeat.

A few more years went by, and something important happened. I grew up. I learned to speak up. I learned what I wanted by realizing what I didn't want. I recognized that I have a hand in my destiny.

When I listen to this song now, I still feel the sting (no pun intended) of those bad situations. My mind still reels at the enormity of the bad luck, bad timing and cruelty. But I see it in hindsight, realizing that I made it through all that and I'm still here.

It has become a survivor song.

 

[Fenian_Bastard]

Just a bump up for the Greatest Thread Ever.

 

[Double Down]

Ok, I'll help Fenian with his bump.

(P.S.: If you haven't shared yet, and you're timid about contributing to this thread, please don't be. And if you know someone on the board whose storytelling skills you admire, or just someone who loves music, reach out to them and encourage them to share a song and a memory.)

I've always loved songs that are named after places, even if those places are really about person or a feeling. Seems like half my favorite songs fit the description: Oh My Sweet Carolina by Ryan Adams. Via Chicago by Wilco. Jacksonville Skyline by Whiskeytown. If I Hurry I Can Still Make Cheyenne by George Strait. Alberta Bound by Gordon Lightfoot. Raining in Baltimore by Counting Crows. California Stars by Wilco (and Woody Guthrie). Grey In L.A. by Louden Wainwright. Ireland by Garth Brooks. London Calling by The Clash.

Etc, etc...

Through very little of my own doing, I got to cover my first Olympics at age 24. Another writer pulled out at the last minute, citing family concerns, and an editor, desperate for a replacement, looked at me an all my prep football experience and figured, what the hell?

"Do you have a passport?" he asked.

"I do."

"Start learning about figure skating," he said. "You're going to the Olympics."

Everyone in their career catches a break at some point. It might be a tiny crack that you dig your fingernail into and hold on for dear life; it might be a door you waltz through on your way to something bigger. For me, the Olympics wasn't just about a career opportunity; it allowed me to see about a girl.

For months, I'd harbored a silent and private crush on another reporter at my paper. She had blue eyes, freckles, sandy blond hair and a razor sharp wit I couldn't get out of my head. From the moment I met her, I'd been trying to manufacture excuses to bump into her in the newsroom, and brainstorming and cataloging funny anecdotes I hoped would impress her. Stuff I hoped would make her laugh. She was Eastern city girl, I was an unsophisticated Westerner; she seemed smart and confident and worldly in ways that I was not. As a lowly preps reporter, I couldn't ask her out. Her last boyfriend was just a few years older than me, and had already covered the White House. But as an "Olympics reporter" I was flush with confidence.

"Hey there Double Down," she said, running into me one afternoon in the office. "What's up?"

"GuesswhatI'mgoingtotheOlympics!" I blurted out. (So much for playing it cool.)

"Um, wow. That's great," she said. "When?"

"Like next week," I answered.

Both of us were quiet for what, to me, felt like hours.

"(Sophisticated Eastern City Girl), do you want to have a drink with me before I go?" I said, hopeful and eager. Perhaps too eager, I thought. Curses.

"Yeah, I'd like that," she said. "Call me."

A drink turned into two. The next night, we had pizza. She cancelled a date with another guy to hang out with me for a third straight evening. We told stories and shared memories for the rest of the week, uncertain what it all meant or where it was going, both of us exhausted from staying up so late but too excited to care. That Sunday, she dropped me off at the airport, gave me a kiss and said goodbye, said she'd see me in a month. During the day, I'd cover hockey, figure skating or downhill skiing, rubbing elbows with the likes of Wilbon, Reilly, Plaschke, Jenkins, Layden, Roberts, Brennan and countless others, and at night, I'd talk to her on the phone, confessing my dreams and aspirations, as well as my fear of failure. We played a game we dubbed "Personal History Jeopardy" where we plumbed one another's backstories by saying, "I'll take 'Broken Hearts' for 300." Or, "Give me, 'Relationship with your sister' for 200." The higher the point value, the more intense the story had to be.

Thousands of miles apart, we could not touch. Only talk.

The last week I was there, she sent me a CD. It showed up in a manila envelope leaned against my hotel room door. "Something to listen to for the trip home," her note said. There were tons of beautiful songs on it, most of which I'd never heard, and I can still hear them in my head as I type:

Tom Waits gravely classic, "I Hope That I Don't Fall In Love With You."; Bob Dylan growling "I Want You."; U2's "Beautiful Day. "Can't Hardly Wait" by The Replacements.

But the one that's always stuck with me the most was one I never would have cared about, never given a chance, had she not put it on the mix, right near the end. I listened to that song on countless dark bus rides during that final week, wearing down three sets of batteries in my black Panasonic CD player. It's a song I always associate with sunsets and quiet, lonely rides with strangers in the snow. The piano always makes me smile. But it's one that also always makes me think about how my life was changing. I had been rattled that month; as a writer I had swung and missed a few times on a big stage, but I had done well too. I had survived. I had risen to the challenge, and now there would be more challenges, more opportunities ahead. I was headed home, not to the place where I'd grown up, but to a place that was quickly becoming a new concept of home. I was going back to see a woman I knew I was falling in love with, someone who would become my best friend, and someone who, in two short years, would agree to be my wife. (She's sitting next to me as I type this, reading a book in her slippers, oblivious.) Marriage is not easy, but she's still my best friend, and still remembers every nervous moment about our first date so she can someday tell our kids. And someday I'll probably tell them this story, and play them this song, because on some level, I think I understood that, right then, the next part of my life had just begun.

I've been thinking
I've been thinking I've been thinking too much
I just want to live now for a little while
And cast my dreams to the wind

Don't wanna wonder
Don't wanna wonder what it's all about
I'm just working for a living singing with my friends
As I cast my dreams to the wind

Maryland, I'm coming home
Never worry about what I did wrong

And that I'll never be what my daddy wanted me to be
And I'll never see what my mama's dreams were
But I will sing.

 

[HC]

That's a beautiful story, DD. And on a less romantic note I'd like to add "Ohio" by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young to the list. I can remember being in my Grade 8 English History class and my teacher telling us about Kent State (which was only 3 or 4 years in the past at the time). He then played "Ohio" for us and I think it was the first time I really got that music could be about something. I was one of the oldest kids of European immigrants so a lot of pop culture (other than television) I caught up with later than most.

I got my first radio in the early 70s and I can remember lying there listening to my first AM pop station and hearing "American Pie" and "Brand New Key". They became whole new songs when I understood what they were really about.

 

[mike311gd]

Once again, I'm impressed, DD. Beautiful.

 

[BYH]

That's remarkable stuff, DD.

 

[ralph wiggum]

Beautiful story DD. As a young, single writer, I hope I can someday have a story like yours, both professionally and personally.

 

[mike311gd]

I've mentioned this woman plenty of times before -- both in passing and detailed stories -- so you’re probably all sick of me writing about her. But I don’t care. This thread, in my opinion, is more therapeutic than anything else -- and I really dig that.

Coming off a bad break-up, I found myself at this girl's doorstep before a party. Extremely nervous because I'd never really spoken to her, I mustered the courage to knock on the door, and there she was -- truly, an angelic vision. She had long, brown hair, an amazing smile and gorgeous, blue eyes. She seemed too good to be real, as if she was something out of a dream. And to this day, I still believe she is.

After several shots of Aftershock, we went out to a party with a couple friends, and all I could think was, "This girl is amazing. I really want to kiss her." I spent the entire party getting to know her. This one dude was hitting her all night until I finally tapped on his shoulder. When he looked around, I just smiled and gave him an enthusiastic wave -- like I was a few fries short of a Happy Meal. He left. Problem solved.

I had so much fun with her that I didn’t even think about why I was out drinking -- to forget my ex-girlfriend. I couldn’t think of my past because this girl wouldn't let me. I didn't know if she knew what exactly she was doing to me, and neither did I at the time; she was changing my life.

I was having a lot of fun that night, and consequently had a bit too much to drink. My friends took me back to my room and made sure I was OK. This girl, whom I'd only really met six hours earlier, stayed by my side and took care of me. She got me a washcloth, changed my garbage bags, my sheets and made sure I stayed alive.

When I woke up the next morning, I stumbled to my computer and typed her screen name onto my list. All I wanted to do was say thanks ... and maybe hang out a little bit. Luckily, I remembered her screen name and asked her if I could buy her a pizza to show my gratitude for the last night. After three hours of talking, we finalized our plans and said our goodbyes. I couldn't wait to see her. I even left my football game an hour early. I was doing real well, too -- I had two touchdown catches and an interception -- but I could care less about the game. This girl was worth the sacrifice.

We hung out all night. I stayed in her room talking until 7:30 a.m., and when I left, I knew she was for me. For nearly 12 hours -- and for the first time in a month -- I smiled. She is the hardest person to be unhappy around. She can sense the displeasure and kills it with a joke, a story or a smile. I felt like a winner again.

We repeated this every night over the next two weeks. I must have been like a bad rash because I barely left her room, and when I did, we’d talk on the computer for hours. We never tired of each other.

After a couple weeks of talking, we hit almost every subject -- our families, failed relationships, classes and, especially, our tastes in music. We're both punks. If it's got a fast, melodic beat, chances are, we were digging it. Her favorite band was Green Day, which was a definite perk to me. But she was a big fan of The Ataris, and her favorite song was "I.O.U. One Galaxy." Mine was "Teenage Riot," so we differed on that one. But we got through that.

I really liked her. I couldn't eat, think, sleep or listen to music without having her cross my mind. It'd been nearly four years since I confessed my feelings to a girl, and I really never thought I'd have to after meeting my first girlfriend. I was terrified to make the next step. The last thing I wanted to do was lose her, too.

Then she took a four-day trip to New Orleans and left me behind. I missed her so much more than I could ever have imagined. I was depressed the first day. I didn't know what to do or say. I couldn't hide out in her room and take up all the space on her futon. And I didn't even know if she shared my feelings. Then the phone rang, and I heard the most wonderful voice. She did it again. Suddenly, everything was OK.

A good friend of mine came down to visit us that next weekend and Mike told me, "You better ask her out before I leave, dude." And I did.

We all went to a playground later the next night after a party. We were playing around when a couple frat brothers started talking to us; my history with the Greeks at school was ... not good. She and I began making fun of them a little too loudly. Drunk and stupid, I whispered to her, "Hey, let's walk away before I get my ass kicked." She agreed, and it was finally time.

We walked over to a little pavilion and sat on the picnic bench. To this day, I don't know how I got the words out of my mouth, but after a month of studying this girl, I said, "I really like you." She said, "I like you, too," and I countered with, "No, I really like you, like, I want to you to be my girlfriend." Then she leaned over and kissed me. It's easily the best night I've ever had.

We went back to her room, with Mike and our friend, Jenn, and decided to stay there. Mike and Jenn were turning the futon into a bed, and I stood in the middle of the room, contemplating my options: Do I go into her room now? Or is that moving too quickly? It'd been four years since I started a relationship, and I was 16 then, so I was clueless -- like usual. But she grabbed my hand, said, "Come play with me," and led me into her room. We made out passionately, pet each other at a feverish pace and dry-humped ourselves to sleep.

She rolled over to the left side of the bed, and for the next six hours, inch by inch, she pushed me off the right side. I woke up with no sheets and my right limbs on the floor. But I had the girl on top of my left arm with hers wrapped around my chest. I turned my head to the left and saw her blue eyes open. To this day, it's the most beautiful site I've ever seen.

Even now, I can't think about that moment without feeling a bit faint. I've never been able to shake it. More than four years later, through dating, pushing each other away and chasing each other, when I look into her eyes, I hear the same song: The Ataris’ “I.O.U. One Galaxy.”

And through all the time we've been apart, more than three years now, it's never lost its meaning. And it likely never will. ...

Stars are out tonight
And you're the brightest one shining in my sky.
It's like every wish I ever made came true.
The day I woke up lying next to you.

Will you be my best friend
If I offer you my heart?
'Cause it's already yours.
We could hang out every night
And watch the sun go down.
As long as we could watch it rise again.

Gave me a Valentine.
It's these little things that stand the test of time.
I've saved the tickets from the shows that we've been to.
And a thousand other memories of you.

Will you be my best friend
If I offer you my heart?
'Cause it's already yours.

Gave you this I.O.U. today.
It said, "Good for one galaxy."
Once I build my rocket to the stars.
We'll fly away just you and me.

 

[Double Down]

You know what's kind of fun to do with this thread:

Start at the beginning and look up the songs mentioned on YouTube, then re-read the posts as the song plays.

Kind of like being in a movie.

 

[HC]

This thread reinforces a conversation I had with a friend recently. I was trying to explain to her how small the world was when I was younger. I lived in my little suburb and my experience of the world was what I was told by my family and teachers. It wasn't until I moved away to go to University that I began the journey to a much larger world and that story seems to me to be reflected in a lot of the stories on this thread.

Maybe that's why movies have soundtracks. It's art imitating life.

 

[Diabeetus]

I don't think it could have been said any better, HC.

 

[Fenian_Bastard]

A brief, somewhat lighter one.
Back in college, I had a summer job as a forest ranger. Couple of times I year, I drew fire tower duty. All I had was an transistor AM radio and, yes kids, back then there was music on AM radio. A lot of it was real schlock. There were never any fires, but I'd sit in the tower and scan the forest, and there'd be a hawk circling in the distance, and I had a grown-up job making damn good coin and I wasn't stuck in a store somewhere, and my senses would be so wide open that everything mattered, every little breeze went right through me to my heart. I swear to god I was soaring with the hawk. If there is a soul, mine would have been sailing. There is only one song that brings back those glorious, weightless days.

Brandy (You're A Fine Girl) by Looking Glass.

 

[HC]

Love that one, FB. I had a job delivering pizza when I was 19 and I loved just driving around with the window down, listening to AM radio and dropping pizzas. Probably one of my favourite jobs.

 

[HC]

Personally, I have nothing to add to the thread but still wanted to say thanks.

Amazing, inspiring stuff ... if you folks are writing this on a message board, I can't imagine what your clips are like.

Please forgive my ignorance, but what are clips?

 

[shotglass]

Clips are stories you write for the paper which you save to provide samples for prospective employers.

 

[Tom Petty]

Wow. ...
This thread has floored me.

i've laughed, cried and then laughed again.