This weekend was an big weekend for me, though, as I type that sentence I recognize that most weekends are “big” weekends for me.
I’m a person who finds something “big” in most everything I do. It is what it is.
This weekend was a particularly big weekend for me.
There, let’s put it like that.
When I sat down to write about the past few days, to work out my thoughts and feelings and all that emotional jazz, I realized that I really only had one thing I wanted to say:
Perhaps she is the only thing to say about anything, ever.
I got Rumours on vinyl for my birthday this year. It was a perfect gift, a standout in what will surely be remembered as the birthday of stand out gifts.
People get me! I am got!
Ever since then, in any moment I can, I’ve had the album blaring on that forgotten record player of mine.
I have a theory about Rumours, an intense theory about how which Rumours song is “your” Rumours song says so much about you, and what the world would be like if we split up into Rumours song groups, and which public figures fall into each Rumours song group and other such important matters.
Bill Clinton is “Don’t Stop.”
Jewel is “Songbird.”
Alanis Morisette is “The Chain.”
I also have a theory that “You Oughta Know” is simply a continuation of the sentiment expressed in “The Chain,” but, really, that’s another post for another time.
Or maybe not.
Where was I?
Oh yes, the Rumours theory.
I tend to have theories like this about a lot of things in life, like what your favorite Love Actually couple says about you. Or what your favorite fast food restaurant means. All sorts of really wonderful, really streching theories.
But this Rumours one, I kind of love it.
I’ve talked to everyone close to my life about it, which song they are, which song they would like to be. And over and over I affirm that I am “The Chain.” I am in that group of people that sit around yelling, “DAMN YOUR LOVE DAMN YOUR LIES” and pick Alanis’s brain for tips and insight and spiritual guidance.
I am so “The Chain,” it isn’t even funny.
And yet, on Friday night, as I drove down to Disneyland to meet up with my cousin, I realized, at that very flickering instant of a moment, my Rumours song was “Don’t Stop.”
It’s such a weird thing, to suddenly realize that I am in a different place in my life and am looking at the world in a new way. It’s weird to think feelings I thought would never change, have suddenly, ever so slightly, tipped another direction.
It’s weird to think I AM A BILL CLINTON.
I told Caitlin immediately, of course, because this is what one does when one’s Rumours song has changed/whole world is disrupted.
She responded, “I’m so happy for you!”
Two days later Caitlin and I got ready, girl-style, at my place. We were in different rooms, she applying her fake eyelashes with expertise, me attacking my hair with, oh hell, let’s call it expertise.
Rumours played on the record player in between us.
Every once in awhile, I ran out to the hallway and sang along with a lyric, “HOW CAN I EVER CHANGE THINGS THAT I FEEL?” or she came into the bathroom and I monologued about Lindsey and Stevie and what I vibed when I saw them in person.
I will be the annoying person who speaks of those vibes until the day I die, so it’s best you accept this about me now.
Oh hey, did I ever tell you about the time I saw Fleetwood Mac in concert?
Eventually our running back and forth and monologuing and thought-speaking turned to American Horror Story and Stevie Nicks being a witch. I confessed that I’ve been wanting to write an article, “13 Reasons Stevie Nicks may actually be a witch,” but I really only have one point for that article.
It begins and ends with “Silver Springs:”
Time casts a spell on you, you won’t forget me
I know I could have loved you, but you would not let me
I’ll follow you down til the sound of my voice will haunt you
You’ll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you
Watching Stevie, 35 years later, sing that to Lindsey, the man who literally never got away from the sound of her voice, was…
Well, you get it.
This semester in class I am writing a screenplay with a protagonist named Stevie. I tend to write teenage female protagonists who assign themselves their own names. Names like Stevie and Zelda and Winnie. Names for the strong, complicated women they admire and want to become.
It’s one of the themes of my writing, these girls and their names, but that’s another post for another time.
Or maybe not.
As Cait and I were listening to Rumours yesterday, she spoke through her eyelash curler and into the mirror, “I mean this in the most non-pretentious way possible, but Rumours should only be listened to on vinyl.”
And I teased her, and repeated what she said in my best female Hugh Grant voice, because it’s oh-so pretentious.
But it’s also true.
Rumours was made for vinyl.
Which is all to say, this weekend was many things, and many big, important things.
But mainly this weekend was Stevie Nicks.