OK, so I know I’m always talking about how when someone dies they are done with what they are supposed to do here, and they are just taking the next step on the path, I just had that EXACT conversation yesterday.  And I do really believe that, and I know it’s true.  But right now I don’t care about that. This sucks.

I grew up listening to the Beastie Boys.  Their music is like a soundtrack to my life, as so many other people have said today. I remember being a sheltered Catholic School girl in Middle School and hearing Licensed to Ill and just thinking – what the hell is this, who are these guys?? –  in High School driving around blasting Paul’s Boutique on CASSETTE with all my windows down, head bobbin’. When my kids were tots and other moms were driving around listening to freakin’ BARNEY and Wiggles and whatever such shit, my little ones were cold chillin’ to Brass Monkey and Hey Ladies, singing along to Funky Boss.  Any road trip included at least one full play of Paul’s Boutique.  Still does.  DAMN IT!! I’m sad and lonely feeling and stupid emotional – not because I care one bit about celebrities – I’m not into that, but because I feel like a childhood friend died.  It’s crazy.  Not only am I sad for that piece of the past it feels like is lost, but for all the bad ass music I won’t be hearing in the future that Adam Yauch would have had a hand in putting out there.

 

I’m bummed.  I’m bummed my kids won’t see them live.  I was stoked when I heard they were touring this last time around, looking forward to buying ticket and going as a family, so the kids could see this freakin’ phenominal band I had (as well as they had) grown up with.  But that’s not to be.  I’m about as equally bummed out about it as I am that I never got to see Johnny Cash play live.  Actually more.  But I am glad that I got to see them a few times, getting a bloody nose at one show.  Hung out with them after another, shared a meal after even another.  What a great bunch of guys.  To me at least, just nice.  Jeez, this blows.

 

Today I was driving with my husband and we made it to Pass the Mic before I got teary.  I was sad and mad at the same time.  When I was a kid and Elvis died, my mom cried.  Now I fully understand why.  Now my mom was crazy about Elvis, but it was more than that.  Now I get it.  The music is just kind of a part of who you are.  What a beautiful and crazy thing.

I know that cancer is just a vehicle, doing what it’s supposed to do to relieve the body of it’s soul, but I’m pissed at cancer right now.  It’s done it’s job – and taken my favorite Beastie Boy – the one with the best voice, and that quirky little smile.  I know you’re doing your thing somewhere else, somewhere, soaring.  That’s great for everyone there, but for now, it really sucks for us.

No matter how old I am when Paul Revere comes on, I crank it, the windows go down, my head bobs and I’m 20 again.

Thanks MCA for the good times.  Namaste.

 

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