When Recovering the Satellites came out, “Another Horsedreamer’s Blues” was my instant fave. I didn’t know what it meant, but there was a girl and she liked horses but she couldn’t have any horses at all because she wanted everyone to approve of her. Or sometimes I thought she could have the horses but didn’t get to play with them much. I was sad for Margery, in that detached way you can feel sadness while it makes you feel more full somehow. Here are the lyrics:
Margery’s dreaming of the middle of the day
Tiyuri to win
Perfect dozen to place
Money is the matter that’s been on her mind
Time ticks by her one race at a timeShe’s tryin’ to be a good girl
And give ‘em what they want
But Margery’s dreaming of horsesLookin’ at a green sky
Sun like a red eye
Bright blue horses are the fortune she lives by
She’s tired and lonely
Scarred and depressed
Her visions of one day go racing the nextShe’s tryin’ to be a good girl
And give ‘em what they want
But Margery’s dreaming of horsesMargie doesn’t say anything all the way home
So afraid she’ll awake to find she’s all aloneMargery’s wingspan’s all feathers and coke cans, and
TV dinners and letters she wont send, and
Every race night is shot through with sunlight for?
Drunken fathers and stupid mothers and
Boys who can’t tell one girl from another
So she takes her pills
Careful and round
One of these days she’s gonna throw the whole bottle downBut she’s tryin’ to be a good girl
And give ‘em what they want
But Margery’s dreaming of horsesTryin’ to be a good girl
And give ‘em what they want
But Margery’s dreaming of horses
At some point, I listened to this song and, while singing along with the lyrics, I was like, “Holy shit! She’s a gambling addict. Margery wants to be a good girl, but she can’t, because of this fucking gambling addiction! And if she can’t get it under control soon she’s gonna OD!!! We need to get Margery some help!”
I think it was this moment in my life where I realized that addiction is a real thing, that it happens, it happens to other people, to damn near everyone, really, it takes all sorts of forms … and, ya know, gasp. Is it everywhere? Does it hide that well? Is it in me, too? This thing that enters a human body, quietly and with great cunning, and leaves a shell, a breathing, pulsing shell of a person who used to love things that could love her back. Is this thing in me?
I don’t know if Margery ever got help.
We went to the horse races at Emerald Downs today for Laremy’s birthday. It was the first perfect day of the year so far. I placed bets on almost every race. I placed bets on the horses who had the coolest sounding names. I picked three and then I’d get them all to show. I did this for every race. I did not win. Any money. No. But betting on a horse makes the whole event so much more exciting, like suddenly your financial future hinges, in some small part, on what happens in the time it takes these horses to traverse 4 Furlongs (Isn’t he an actor? a rapper maybe?). I mean, even though I only bet $2, I was invested. When my little guy placed I got money! And then when two of my little guys showed I got even more money. It was exciting. I think I understand it better now and I want to go back soon and make more money. I think I understand the system.
Except I briefly decided I will not fund this sport, because one horse (my pick!) got injured in the middle of the run and so now everybody knows they kill the horse and I was so sad about that. I had half a mind to make an offer on that lame horse. I will put him in my spare room and tend to his bandages. I will bring him oats and a doggie playfriend and he will love me forever. We can bring other fillies considering going pro into my guest room, where he will tell them his story and warn them that there are other choices they can make with their lives. He will remind them not to be like Margery. I will remind them that Margery is a human. This plan will not be pursued further.
What were we talking about?
Oh. Pictures.
Then Jason was in town so we headed over to Beacon Hill for his superhero party. He told me to just dress normally, but when I looked in the mirror I was like “JASON I AM GOING TO YOUR SUPERHERO PARTY DRESSED LIKE A WHORE” and he was like “k”. A super hot guy asked me to do luge shots with him. I told him I didn’t drink. Homeboy didn’t miss a beat: “We’ll do ‘em with Pellegrino, then!” Turned out I have Red Bull with me. “Perfect. We’ll get you a Red Bull luge shot.” And we did, and it was wonderful. The hot guy later turned out to be married, which I should have noticed the VERY FIRST TIME he put his left hand in his pocket throughout our entire conversation. Someone should manufacture pants that are missing a left-hand pocket. For wives to buy for their husbands. For them to wear when they go to parties without them.
Anyway. Pics cuz it happened:
