Square One

…in the lyrics to this song, and you have some sense of how my early-to-mid twenties went. (Lyrics are after the jump.) Also, please know that for the benefit of this post, I spent hours searching for some representative photographs of myself in the classic buzzcut of the era, which I would have happily scanned and reproduced here, but they are apparently buried in the detritus of more than fifteen years’ accumulated papers and pictures, scattered hither and yon. When I finally do track them down, I’ll gladly share.

Also, this post should not be construed as a condemnation of any among the varieties of feminism, nor is it a disavowal of my own experiences which are indirectly mirrored in the motif of this song. Rather, it’s just a glimpse back in time, and a gentle pondering of what (at 37) I can now credibly refer to as “my youth.”

(click on triangle to play song - hopefully it will work!)

[special thanks to Nat for the plugin recommendation.]

Did you enjoy that? Go here to buy the all-around brilliant album from the artist’s own site. Alternatively, you can buy just the song from Amazon or iTunes.

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Dar Williams: “The Pointless, Yet Poignant, Crisis of a Co-Ed”

I’m not a leader, I’m not a left-wing rhetoric mobilizing force of one,
But there was a time way back, many years ago in college (don’t laugh),
But I thought I was a radical, I ran the hemp liberation group with my boyfriend,
It was true love, with a common cause, and besides that, he was a Sagittarius.

We used to say that our love was like hemp rope, three times as strong as the rope that
You buy domestically,
And we would bond in the face of oppression from big business and the deans,
But I knew there was a problem, every time the group would meet everyone would light up,
That made it difficult to discuss glaucoma and human rights, not to mention chemotherapy.

Well sometimes, life gives us lessons sent in ridiculous packaging,
And so I found him in the arms of a student against the treacherous use of fur,
And he gave no apology, he just turned to me, stoned out to the edge of oblivion,
He didn’t pull up the sheets and I think he even smiled as he said to me,
’well, I guess our dreams went up in smoke.’
And I said, no, our dreams went up in dreams, you stupid pothead,
And another thing, what kind of a name is Students Against the Treacherous Use of Fur?
Fur is already dead, and besides, a name like that doesn’t make a good acronym.

I am older now, I know the rise and gradual fall of a daily victory.
And I still write to my senators, saying they should legalize cannabis,
And I should know, cause I am a horticulturist, I have a husband and two children out in
Lexington, Mass.
And my ex-boyfriend can’t tell me I’ve sold out, because he’s in a cult.
And he’s not allowed to talk to me.

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* Which is not to say these are mutually exclusive categories. Goodness knows I’ve encountered a fair number of women who could be described both ways.