Prince: "When You Were Mine"

God is in the details, and that's clear from a Prince song:

When you were mine,

i gave you all of my money.

Time after time,

You done me wrong.

It was just like a train.

You let all my friends come over and meet.

And you were so strange:

You didn't have the decency to change the sheets.

The guy in this song doesn't seem to mind that his former lover had a series of affairs ("just like a train"). The problem is that she didn't change the used sheets before (her actual, literal) bedtime.

When you were mine,

You were kinda sorta my best friend.

So I was blind:

I let you fool around.

I never cared.

I never was the kind to make a fuss--

When he was there--

Sleeping in between the two of us.

The use of hyperbole is intensified: The faithless lover never changed the sheets, and sometimes, she just forgot to kick her extra boy-toy back to the guest quarters.

When you were mine,

You were all I ever wanted to do.

Now I spend my time--

Following him whenever he's with you.

The final scandalous revelation: In his era of heartbreak, Prince has become a stalker.

I believe that Prince and Janet Jackson were often thinking about each other, and I think that Prince's sexual candor (his third album is "Dirty Mind") had a substantial impact on the albums "Janet" and "The Velvet Rope."

I also think that Prince understood how we're all drowning in ambivalence. "I love you more than I did when you were mine." So foolish! So human!

Comments

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...

Liars and Saints

Search This Blog