Evolution

The bus home snakes along the midway and pauses at the Fountain of Time. I contemplate the choice to make a sculpture about time out of sandstone and water, its subject its own inevitable demise. The statues, worn faceless, ignore me. The door clicks shut and we plunge into the park.

Universities are monuments to stasis. They all are. They emphasize their unchangingness. But this emphasis throws small changes into relief. I had spent the afternoon making note of the things that had vanished or evolved. The ghost of a tennis court. A new paving stone. A sculpture moved to make way for a whole that is slowly turning into a building. A splash of paint. A bookstore turned bike shop. A bike shop turned noodle stand. A noodle stand vacant.

The students look the same too. I remember when I got my application materials for this university, I laughed at the photos, which appeared to be relics from the early 70s. And then I arrived here and discovered that that’s how many of the students looked, beards unshaven and untrimmed, indian print skirts and scarves over waist-length hair. They still look that way. They probably always will.

The bus ride took a turn through Bronzeville. I haven’t been on this bus in a couple of years, I think. The campus-bound bus doesn’t go through Bronzeville. I was shocked at the changes the economy has ravaged on it. Bronzeville was making so much progress. Everything was being renovated and refurbished and rebuilt. People were moving back. Now, though, every third house is boarded up or burnt out. Every second house has a For Sale sign in front. The loss of a last hope evident in a small yellow sign on a vacant lot: “For Sale, 4 Acres of Land near Olympic Village” and a slash through it, “Cheap.” A few of the carefully maintained mansions are still there, but they look fragile in the sprawl of decay. I kept thinking about Stuart Dybek’s story “Blight,” which is about another neighborhood altogether, but the neighborhoods would understand each other. “Blight” said the brakes of the bus at every light. “Blight. Blight. Blight.”

Coming home, all looks lush and fertile by comparison. The hard edges of the city are worn away like the faces on Fountain of Time. The suburbs are all about change, constant continual change. And consequently, it always looks more or less the same, even when things are not going so well. A friend has slashed the selling price of her house by a third. Women put their heads together on the playground and speak of new foreclosures in hushed tones. A school is closing. The food bank is going empty. It is all invisible here. You would never know it to look at it. There are no signs permitted here.

I come home to find another rejection letter. I try to shake it off, but it hangs with me, follows me around like a sulky shadow. But kind words from a stranger finds me at just the right moment, say just the right things. I am more grateful to you today than you know. Last night, when I read them, they were the difference between my own temporary blight and hope, between erasure and engraving, between staring at my empty hand, and regarding one holding a useful tool, perhaps one for engraving new faces into stone.

Prostrate to the higher mind

I’m on an inbound train, full of commuters, with my suitcase full of library books, my laptop, my iTouch and my cell phone. It’s practically like I haven’t left home at all. If it weren’t for the small matter of registrar appeasement, I could just sit and ride the train all day.

• • • • •

I got to the train a little earlier than usual because I needed to buy a ticket and the ticket seller in our small town is rather like the Mayberry operator – she knows a lot and tells it all. The line gets longer and longer as you hear all about the latest news and try not to reveal any of your own.

• • • • •

I turned on my ITouch at the station to check my calendar and accidentally hit the “YouTube” button, which revealed that AJ, last night when he was supposed to be showing his friend a Coyote and Roadrunner cartoon, was searching for “Elmo death explosions.” I thought immediately of Jingles. While I can’t entirely disagree with the sentiment of Explode-me Elmo, I’m still wondering whether laughing hysterically was the right response to this discovery, or whether I should be concerned about AJ’s recent penchant for death and destruction. I’m rooting for the former.

• • • • •

I’m currently enamored with “I and Love and You” by the Avett brothers, a really beautiful song. Go and listen to it now.

• • • • •

On the train, though, the fortuitous that served as a coffee surrogate: Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies.” I’m awake, already.

• • • • •

Arrived at the library at 9:30, took care of my business with overdue books in about 5 minutes, and headed up to the 3rd floor, which was nearly deserted. I’d forgotten how incredibly quiet this library is, especially before 10 a.m. My fingers banging on the keyboard of my laptop sound shatteringly loud. A long ago habit sent me to the carrel I used to sit in so often, that my friends knew to find me here. My friend M, who’d drop by with snacks or silly cartoons he’d copied for me. My friend L, who’d stop by to commiserate or discuss our classes. My friend P, who’d always check my carrel before he left at night to offer to escort me home – the streets of this neighborhood not being the safest after dark. Back then, I used to resent it when I arrived to find someone else sitting in my carrel. Now, I think, I may be giving someone else the same treatment. Today I am surrounded by ghosts. I may need to seek comfort in the stacks, to reassure myself that I still know where everything is.

Freeze frame

I really didn’t mean to leave the blog hanging on such a depressing note. The problem with blog posts is that they are snapshots. Sometimes I move on and my posts, well, just sit there. In general, this has been less of a problem with the blog than, say, with the journals I kept in junior high. I only ever seemed to write in them when I was in the Depths of Despair (yes, with capital Ds). Consequently, whenever I pick them up to read, which I try to do very, very infrequently, as it is an Excruciatingly Painful project (yes, capital letters required there as well), I am left with the distinct impression that I had a completely Miserable Childhood (capi…oh, you know the drill). But strangely, I can’t remember being miserable at all. not even once. Not until I read the artifacts.

I remember when I was a senior in college and my brother had just started his freshman year, my mom would sometimes call me up and tell me how worried she was about him because every time he called, he had problems or was sad about something. I reminded her that that’s just the way he is (or was then — he doesn’t do this anymore, being a regular grown-up person now). He called when he wanted to feel better. He poured out his problems to his parents, who wanted to listen, and they hung up feeling terrible, while he hung up feeling better and within a few minutes had probably forgotten about the whole thing altogether. But my parents didn’t get to hear about the good stuff, so they thought he was miserable.

So here’s what’s been going on: A lot of writing. Some chess club monitoring. A piano lesson for AJ in which he performed a piece called The Spanish Cabellero and a boy named F, who just started, played the melody line of Ode to Joy while his father beamed. Afterwards, I came out of the building and found F and his father holding hands as they walked across the dark parking lot singing the Ode to Joy wordlessly and loudly into the night. And it was my turn to beam. And there was a great yoga class today and some more writing and the purchasing of office supplies and the loading of a colossal number of books into my rollaway suitcase for tomorrow. For tomorrow, I am making a long overdue trip to the university to deal with some long overdue books and the long overdue updating of my school ID. Such trips fill me with embarrassment these days, because I’m still hanging around, because I live in fear of running into someone I know, because I live in fear of not running into someone I know, because I live in fear of the checkout clerk realizing that I’ve had a couple of these books checked out since he was 10. And so I have a mantra to get me through the day. I think about the three lectures I have lined up for the first few months of next year and I think, “Eyes on the prize. Eyes on the prize. Eyes on the prize.” And also, I have a lunch date with my good friend H, whom I don’t see nearly often enough. If the library is the stick, lunch with H is the carrot.

Prometheus Unbound

This morning before the fierce winds kicked in, I was contemplating walking to the public library, thus efficiently combining exercise and work. I knew it would be a long walk, but I’m a poor judge of most measurements, so I did what anyone else would do in trying to determine how far away something is. I turned to G00gle. G00gle maps informed me that the distance is 2.4 miles, which was actually better than I thought and would be quite doable if it weren’t 40 degrees with gale force winds and the threat of rain. But it takes me along some pretty busy streets, so I zoomed in to try to figure out if there were a side street routing that might work instead. It was then that I noticed that right across the street from the library was a dot marked “Prometheus Unbound.”

I was mystified. Right across the street from the library is a residential neighborhood with a narrow track of bike trail cutting back to a small playlot. There are no businesses there, nor statues. What could it possibly mean? I love random bolts of poetry injected into my day.

* * * * *

And today I could use some poetry. Because we can no longer afford our health insurance — and because I am 42 years old — we dropped our maternity coverage this morning. It breaks my heart. I would have loved to have another child. But we just couldn’t manage it, for any number of reasons but mostly a sense of fiscal responsibility and environmental alarm. We can always add the coverage back, but with the one year waiting period, combined with my age, well, it’s just not going to happen. I don’t worry as much about AJ being an only child as I used to. I worry a lot more about not being able to send him to college. Saving $3,000 a year makes a lot more sense. But still, there was always the possibility of a baby, even if it wasn’t a choice we made. And now there really isn’t. Maybe there wasn’t anyway.

And then there is my moral outrage at the way insurance policies cover abortion but make you pay and pay for maternity coverage. This makes sense from a financial standpoint, of course. Childbirth, even when unremarkable, is a medically expensive venture, mostly thanks to malpractice insurance. But as pro choice as I am — and I was, for many years, a card-carrying member of NOW and NARAL — this state of affairs just seems wrong to me. I’ve paid nearly $20,000 for the privilege of knowing I could have a child if I wanted to, even though I didn’t think I wanted to. I don’t want to keep throwing that kind of money away. There are too many other things for which it’s needed. If I’d just put it in the bank, I might almost have been able to pay cash, had the need arisen.

But after making the call to the insurance company, I’m left here feeling bereft, face to face with the fact that my life is not going at all how I’d planned it. And I’m left feeling like my government has completely abandoned any and all of my health needs in its new proposal. It’s yet another tightening of the vise, another reminder that this is anything but the land of the free, that there is really very little choice at all left here. My life is run by bureaucrats who have never met me and I take family planning advice from my insurance agent. This is not the way it was supposed to happen. The fact is, if I were to get pregnant tomorrow, I wouldn’t have any choice at all.

The rutting season

A good time was had by all yesterday evening. By all reports, AJ and the new babysitter enjoyed each other’s company. And Mr. Spy and I had a lovely time at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Fairlywell. where there was meat on a stick, plenty of bacon and cheese and cake made in coffee cups and topped with chocolate icing so it looked just like hot chocolate. I’m sure we came home larger. There were also conversations about Dr. Who, sex ed in schools, mime training, the alphabetization of DVDs, and many other unexpected topics. It was a lively group.

Today, we discovered that we had absolutely nothing on the calendar. And so we spent the day trying to get the yard ready for winter. For our efforts, we were rewarded with a great show. Several whitetail bucks came through the yard today. We seem many deer all year round, but we don’t often see bucks and only in the fall and winter. Two were chasing down a doe and making their rutting noises and locking antlers. It was fascinating to watch. Later, we heard the sound of a small plane, which is not so unusual, as there is a tiny airport in the next town. But this time it was a parasailer with a rainbow parachute dangling over the barn behind our house. We see hot air balloons out here from time to time, but this was a first. We stood and watched him from the balcony until we got too cold.

After a Friday night sleepover and a Saturday night babysitter, AJ is overtired and very crabby. I’ve left him to his own devices and I am currently watching two Harlem Globetrotters playing volleyball in the mud with other Amazing Racers. I wonder if there’s a swimsuit competition for admission to this show.

* * * * *

There’s a new post at AJ’s Clubhouse about a fantastic free astronomy program for the computer, just in time for the Leonids this week.

On the couch with my special one

I spent 5 hours today cleaning AJ’s room. I know, I’m shocked too. I started early. On the spur of the moment last night, AJ went to The Boy Across the Street’s house for a sleepover. Which is amazing, because The Boy Across the Street has a baby brother who is less than two weeks old. But his mom assured me that AJ would keep TBAS out of her hair, and it was therefore a case of more is less. So AJ wasn’t home to cause trouble. AJ actually thanked me for doing it. He may take his thanks back, however, as I’ve spent the rest of the day reminding him to put his stuff away. I think he’ll be glad when we ditch him with the babysitter tonight.

We are trying a new babysitter tonight. Our old one went to college and we’ve been getting by with relatives or just staying home. But tonight, we are heading to the home of Fairlywell and DJ for a party and so we called the son of one of our neighbors who is a very mature 8th grader who’s been having trouble finding babysitting jobs. Boys get the short end of the stick there, a lot of the time. AJ is excited to have a boy. He’s friends with the sitter’s little brother, who’s a grade ahead of him. I hope they both have fun.

I went out to the store to get some babysitter food (frozen pizza, Coke, pretzels). On my way in, I noticed some alarmist signs about the canned pumpkin shortage. I made a mental note to add pumpkin to my list. I wandered through the store picking up things and made a turn into the baking aisle. It was pretty easy to figure out where the pumpkin was. There was quite a crowd. By the time I got there, there were only 6 cans left. I grabbed one and put it in my cart. “You should take another one,” advised one of the other women, who was piling cans in her cart. “They could run out.” “I only need one,” I said smiling. Whether or not there is a real shortage, I do not know, but the signs seem to be an excellent marketing ploy.

Thanksgiving’s in a week and a half. Now begins the process of looking at a gazillion recipes and probably ending up making the same menu I always make. Do I make creamed onions this year? They are finicky, but delicious. Is this the year I try pumpkin creme brulee instead of pie? What are your favorite Thanksgiving recipes?

A shot in the dark

In the wake of the cancellation of AJ’s flu shot a few weeks ago due to a lack of vaccine, I’ve been haunting the website of our pediatrician for news on vaccinations. After my knock-down, drag-out fight with H1N1, I’ve stepped it up and discovered last week that our county Dept. of Health had received H1N1 vaccines and was running clinics for people in the priority groups (children, pregnant women, and those with chronic illnesses). I signed AJ up. Unfortunately, the clinic closest to us was full by the time I found out about it, so I signed him up for one about 45 minutes due west of here. Driving west from here makes me realize just where we are. Once you get through the town next to ours, there’s nothing but flat farm fields as far as the eye can see. There aren’t even any roads to turn off on.

We headed out around dinner time, and arrived about 10 minutes before our appointment. Driving out through the miles of farmland, I realize how easy it is to forget what dark really is. There are no streetlights out that way. Not even that many cars. There aren’t even, for the most part, any lights on the horizon silhouetting dark shapes of farm buildings. It’s just dark, so dark that it would have been easy to miss the signs for school where the clinic was held. But we managed to find it and turn into the crowded parking lot with at least ten minutes to spare. We’d been led to expect huge lines at the clinic. As it happened, this was one of the few that had appointments instead of a cattle call. I don’t know whether it was the appointments or the fact that this clinic was in the middle of nowhere, but we were in and out in ten minutes.

The whole thing was quite an operation. It was held in a huge regional high school. At the front door, we stopped at station one where our names were matched to a list of those with appointments and checked off. We followed arrows on the floor in blue tape to station two and stopped at a stop sign until someone waved us to a table. There someone asked us questions about current health and whether this was the first H1N1 dose, handed us some papers, and directed to the next station. At station three, a nurse went over the paperwork, asked us some questions, and made some notes on our paperwork before handing it back to us and waving it on. We followed and curvy line of arrows to the next stop sign and waiting for about 3 seconds before getting waved to a nurse’s station. There were two nurses at every station, each of which was separated from the others by temporary walls for the illusion of privacy. AJ was feeling a little nervous, which I mentioned to the nurses. They were so nice to him and so friendly, that it was absolutely no big deal. They showed him the vaccine dose, which looked like a syringe, and then pointed out that the tip had not needle so it wouldn’t hurt when they stuck it up his nose. They explained they’d squirt some in each nostril and how he had to sniff in after each one. We were done so fast, I almost forgot to ask them if I needed the vaccine — I’ve been reading conflicting reports on whether those who’ve had H1N1 needed a vaccination. They reassured me that I did not. And then we were on our way back home. AJ was talking a mile a minute about his experience, something he always does when he’s nervous about something and then it’s over. He thought the vaccine tasted a little like mint.

It is a freakishly beautiful day today, already 50 degrees. I’m looking forward to walking up to school to work in the library this afternoon. Hopefully they won’t turn me away for still having a bit of a cough.

Late edition

Today was the first day in over a week that I really got out of the house. And you wouldn’t believe what has happened while I was stuck in bed. Who knew the world didn’t come screeching to a halt? For instance:

1. Someone installed an enormous culvert at the entrance to our neighborhood at the place where the ground erodes every time it rains. It’s about damn time.

2. The construction project on the main road, which they’ve dithered around with for weeks, has suddenly taken off like gangbusters. Half the sidewalk is in already. I can’t wait to ride my bike on it. No longer will we have to walk on the shoulder to get to the Qwik-E-Mart.

3. Someone cut down dozens, maybe hundreds of trees in the nature trail It’s positively tragic. They are preparing for some wetlands restoration, but it looks like they’re about ready to blaze a road through. I am very, very sad about it.

4. Trader Joe’s made their shelves taller to hold more things. This made for a pretty good shopping trip today with one tragic exception — Trader Joe’s will not be carrying their gingerbread house kit this year. I had been all excited to buy it, because I always get it early so they don’t sell out and AJ always wants to do it immediately and I always make him wait until after Thanksgiving. We’ve built a house every year since he was 3 or 4. It’s the end of a cherished family tradition. Whatever shall we do? And don’t say bake one yourself. I did it once and I can tell you NEVER AGAIN. Way to much work.

In non-neighborhood news, I’ve now joined the masses who are trying out Google Wave. It seems like a pretty exciting concept, but I haven’t quite figured out what to do with it yet. Any suggestions?

That’s all the news from here. What’s going on in your neighborhood?

Veteran’s Day

A few days ago, I wrote over at AJ’s Clubhouse about how history starts at home. The post was inspired by a post at another website on creating family histories with kids and also by a letter AJ received from my great uncle.

My great uncle is in his 80s, still tall and anything but frail and sharp as a tack — everything my grandmother was not in her last years. I didn’t really get to know him until about ten years ago, as for a long time, he and my grandmother did not get along so well. There was a lot of history there that I’ll maybe get into some other time. But today, Veteran’s Day, I want to talk about the letter he sent AJ. We had written to him for a school Veteran’s Day project. I knew he’d been in the service and we wanted to ask him about his time there. He came back with an amazing five-page letter of stories from the three wars in which he served (WW II, Korea and Viet Nam). He was a career army officer, a W3st P0int graduate, a paratrooper and a colonel. The stories are amazing, real, heart-breaking and sometimes funny. He didn’t dwell on the gore or romanticize, but he didn’t hide anything either. But it was the paragraph he wrote after the stories that really touched me. I include it here verbatim.

AJ, since your mother asked me to tell some of my military experiences, I thought I would try telling them with a sense of honesty and reality, rather than painting them differently than what they were. Truth is, being a combat soldier is a terribly difficult role, particularly when one must make decisions which sometimes result in the death or maiming of one’s fellow soldiers. Still, almost daily, I think of decisions I made which inadvertently resulted in the deaths of my friends and fellow soldiers. Yes it troubles me and I feel guilt for not having been able to intervene or change unforeseen actions, once in play, or perhaps having made the wrong decision from the start. I suppose most leaders feel that way while evaluating in retrospect. I pray almost daily for families left without husbands and fathers. And I pray for forgiveness of mistakes I may have made which resulted in deaths or wounds. That pains me deeply. One comforting thought is that I never asked anyone to do anything I would not have. I am eternally thankful that God has given me life and spared it through many dangerous times. And I know I am forgiven because of God’s love.

I, like most seasoned soldiers, have respect for the men we were required to fight and kill. For the most-part they too were skilled, tenacious and dedicated to their cause. I shall never belittle or defame them. I pray for them and their families as well.

There are many things on which my great uncle and I do not see eye to eye. Politically, we are not only on opposite sides of the fence, but possibly on different planets. But he is still someone I respect immensely for his kindness, his intelligence, his strong sense of ethics, and his belief that doing the right thing means more than his own personal safety and comfort. I am truly thankful that there have been and are people like him who are willing to put themselves on the line to protect the things they believe in.

Happy Veteran’s Day

I’ve got it covered

There is a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. I’m wearing real clothes today, clothes with buttons and zippers and not lycra and elastic. I’ve done a load of laundry and made my own breakfast. One of my eyes has recovered and the other is on the mend. I’m still banned from the kitchen and AJ’s school and I’ve still spent most of the day in a semi-horizontal position, but there’s hope. I fear, though, for Mr. Spy’s health. Not only has he had germ exposure, but he’s been running around like a madman trying to keep us in food and clean clothes, to make sure AJ gets his homework done and gets to his after school events on time. Solo parenting is no picnic.

Let this be a lesson to you: get your H1N1 vaccines!

Okay, enough about that.

Florinda posted about cover songs today. It’s something I’ve been thinking about, mostly in connection with my new favorite show Glee, which is all about covers. In particular, I’ve been thinking about the covers I like better than the originals. Florinda asked us to dig into our playlists and fess up to our favorite covers. Here are mine, hot off my iPod. I edited out all Christmas carols, of which I have many multiple versions, and classical music, ditto. I’ve also omitted most folk and jazz, where playing old songs anew is part of the aesthetic. You really don’t want to know how may versions I own of “I am a Man of Constant Sorrow,” “Sweet Home Chicago,” “J’attendrai,” or any number of string quartets.

“Walkin(g) After Midnight.” Originally recorded by Patsy Cline (although it had been written for another singer Kay Starr, who didn’t use it); covered by Cowboy Junkies. It’s been covered dozens of times. I have the original — a classic, and also the Cowboy Junkies’ rendition in a live recording from their 200 More Miles compilation. The Cowboy Junkies take is a very different song. It opens with a long slow conversation between violin and guitar. The whole thing is slower and sexier, louche. The violin and guitar come off as characters in a seedy southern drama. It’s terrific.

“The Waters of March.” Originally by Antonio Carlos Jobim; covered by Holly Cole. Do I really need to write about this again? I love this song. I’ve written about it many times before. You can read about it here, where I talk about why I like Cole’s version more than others. Here are the lyrics and why I think it’s the perfect love song. Here is a parody of the song rewritten as an encomium to the Trader Joe’s shopping experience.

“Mad World.” Original by Tears for Fears; covered by Gary Jules with Michael Andrews. I have the original 1982 Tears for Fears version, which was a favorite of mine in high school. I loved it (and still do) for its playful movement between major and minor keys. The cover is best known from the Donnie Darko soundtrack, or so I hear. I’ve never seen the movie, but heard this version on the radio and fell for it. Not a happy song, but a pretty one. It reminds me a lot of “Too Much Between Us” in mood and its major/minor navigation. It slows down the pace, strips away the arrangement. It’s just a ragged voice and a quiet piano. It’s a totally different side of the song, one that’s maybe more appropriate for the lyrics. I’ll probably end up seeing Donnie Darko just because of this song.

“While My Guitar Gently Weeps. Original by The Beatles (written by George Harrison); covered by Jake Shimabukuro. For those who think the ukulele is not a real musical instrument, you have clearly never listened to Jake Shimabukuro. This arrangement is a piece of art. I’ve written about this before too. There’s a link to a video of this song there.

“Wichita Lineman.” Original by Glen Campbell (written by Jimmy Webb); covered by R.E.M. I am not a big fan of Glen Campbell, but I have always loved this song. Mr. Spy has a recording of Jimmy Webb singing it himself with piano, which I really like. But the R.E.M. version off the Bittersweet Me EP, is my favorite. It’s enough off-kilter to keep the song interesting.

“Too Much Between Us.” Original by Procol Harum; covered by Jules Shear. This is a case where I’ve never actually heard the original, recorded by Procol Harum. It’s not for want of trying. I can’t seem to track down a recording. The first version of this song I heard was another cover, a bonus track on a CD of Peanuts music I got for AJ recorded by new age pianist George Winston as a piano solo. The chord changes really drew me in — they’re unusual and interesting. Jules Shear’s version is simple and spare. He’s accompanied by simple chords on the piano and guitar, with a few long tones from a pedal guitar, some light backing vocals, and a couple of sounds I’ve been unable to identify, in part because they’re so soft. The words are front and center. Everything grows out of them. I like Shear’s voice, too. A little gravelly, it contrasts well against the soft “oos” of the background vocals on the chorus.

“King of the Road.” Original by Roger Miller; covered by Rufus Wainwright and R.E.M. I have two versions of this song, one by Rufus Wainwright, one by R.E.M.. Wainwright gives it the character the song’s after. It sounds like a road song. But I really love the R.E.M. off the Dead Letter Office album. It’s something about the way this recording is mike, the slightly off-kilter pitch and the way it sounds like they’re not sure what song they’re going to sing when they start. It sounds like it’s the dance in the high school gym and it’s two in the morning and there are only a few people left propping each other up on the dance floor, but the band, though tired, isn’t ready to call it a night. If truth be told, though, my favorite version of the song was recorded by Mr. Spy on my answering machine when we were first dating. He called back three times to get the whole song on there. I saved it for years until a power outage erased it.

“Somebody to Love.” Originally recorded by Queen; covered by the cast of Glee. Okay, here’s an embarrassing fact. I first heard this song as sung by Ann Hathaway in Ella Enchanted, which I watched by myself with no children in tow. Ann does a fair job, but she’s no singer. But I liked the song and was surprised to find the original was by Queen. I can’t imagine how I’d never heard it before. Queen’s version is (surprise!) an overblown blowsy arrangement in a pseudo-gospel style. The Glee version makes it because Lea Michele has an incredible voice. Strangely, the Glee arrangement sounds as if it might have been inspired by the Ann Hathaway version. Or maybe there are just so many things you can do with a song like this one, that’s based on vocal harmony.

“Take Me to the River.” Originally by Al Green; covered by Talking Heads. I have both of these versions (many others have covered this tune as well). There’s no touching Al Green. It’s a classic. But the Talking Heads is vintage 80s, and for me that’s worth a lot, if only for the memories of a party one night at a friend’s Amh3rst dorm that was pure exuberance. Or maybe that was just beer.

“Why Does the Sun Shine?” Original by Hy Zaret and Lou Singer; covered by They Might Be Giants. This is another case where I heard the cover first. They Might Be Giants stays very true to the spirit of the 1959 original, as you can hear here. I picked up this tune for AJ during his space craze, but I’ve kept it because I like it too.

“Janine.” Originally by Soul Coughing; covered by Mike Doughty. Okay, this isn’t exactly a cover in the strictest sense, seeing as Mike Doughty was a key member of Soul Coughing. But this live solo acoustic version off The Gambler EP is actually quite different, less moody, more appealing. The girl crooning the lemon tree song into the answering machine on the original always irritated me. She’s not in this version, and the song’s the better for it, and also for the interaction between Doughty and his audience, who appear to be standing on the street outside Mike Doughty concert.

“Helter Skelter.” Originally by the Beatles; covered by The Bobs. This song off the Beatles’ White Album has been covered by many, but I love The Bobs’ version best for the vocal pyrotechnics erupt when you turn the instrumentals into a cappella vocals. It was even better live.

“Bali Ha’i.” Originally from Rodgers & Hamerstein’s South Pacific; covered by Frank Sinatra. Okay, this kind of falls in the area I said I wasn’t going to cover, but it’s just such a fabulous version of this song — Ukeleles! Singing in Hawaiian! And a young, very croony Frank! What’s not to love?

“Take a Bow.” Original by Rihanna; covered by the cast of Glee. This is probably the only song on here where I really can’t stand the original version. It’s not a well-written song. But Lea Michele sells it, as I’ve written about here.

“Hallelujah.” Original by Leonard Cohen; covered by k.d. lang. This may be my most favorite song, as a song. But the perfect recording has not yet been made. It’s got to be one of the most covered songs in history. I’ve tried many on, but none gets at what I want to hear. The k.d. lang version comes close, though. I know many others who prefer the Jeff Buckley version, which I hear more often in soundtracks (The West Wing comes to mind). But k.d. lang gets the words better. I’ve written about this song a few times before too. Here is a post about a misguided sermon based on the song. Here is a post about an adventure I had one night that got its title from the song. It’s probably my favorite post I’ve ever written.

Tell me about your favorite cover songs.