There comes an age when you realize the difference between homesick and home, sick.

Homesickness happens after moving out of state. You miss the backyard you grew up in, your family and friends, whatever it may be that just isn’t the same in your new digs. Home, sick happens when you’re too hungover to function or you’re legitimately ill, sometimes even ill due to the hangover. Most importantly, home, sick, as an adult, is when you realize how great it was when your parents were there to take care of you. Home, sick leads to homesick.

Maybe it was because I have no siblings, but my parents upped the love when I had what my father referred to as “the punies,” always pronounced with an exaggerated pout and a pat on the head, whether I was six or sixteen. He’d then quickly step away and make an x with his index fingers. “Love you, but I don’t want it,” he said, shaking his head sadly. Read More »

I have a really bad habit of singing along to songs I don’t know. I like to sing. It makes me happy. And if I feel so inspired, I don’t really mind if I’ve never heard the song before. I try and predict the next note, and sometimes I’m right….

This bad habit extends to songs I do know, but whose lyrics I’m slightly confused about. I get it in my head that the line should be one way—the first way I heard it—and despite the world being “itch,” and not “bitch,” I feel like it’s OK to give my own interpretation.

Then there’s the songs I just have no idea about. Do you remember that scene from Tommy Boy where Chris Farley and David Spade are trying to sing along to It’s the End of the World as We Know It? “Six o’clock, TV hour, hum-diddy-dum-dum, du….” Yeah. Does anyone know the words to that song? Or how about Bruce Springsteen’s Blinded by the Light—did he really just say “revved up like a douche?” Read More »