Dear Dear Enemy

Dear Dear Enemy,

Firstly, sorry about the double "dear" thing.  It's perhaps a bit confusing.  But this is one of a group of posts I have on here called Dear ... which are addressed to different musicians about different song lyrics, and so while it is a little clunky having "Dear Dear Enemy" it's sort of cool at the same time.

Because I like your weird name, Dear Enemy.  I don't know what it means but it sounds nice and kind and compassionate, and I'm quite fond of those sorts of things.

Just like I'm fond of your song Computer One.  International visitors probably won't know this song because I don't think it charted out of its native Australia in 1983 (they can see the bottom of this post for the YouTube clip, if they so desire.  What's a post, you ask from 1983.  What's a YouTube clip? You'll just have to wait and see, Dear Enemies).

I loved this song in 1983 and I love it now 31 years later, in 2014.  I even bought the album Ransom Note.  It was one of the albums I bought from that mail order music club whose name escapes me.  I remember the LPs coming in the mail - geez, giant things they were.  We had enormous storage mediums in the 1970's and 1980's.  They matched our enormous computer systems and our enormous pubic hair.  I remember when I first started working we stored our stuff on these bloody disks that were so big you had to almost hold them with both hands to slot them into the computer.  They stored a whopping one megabyte of data on them.

Anyway, where was I?  Yes, that's right.  I was complimenting you on your song Computer One.  I still love it. I still love so many songs from 1983.  I gotta say though, dudes, it sounds a bit dated - from the lyrics though, rather than the music.

The film clip features a modern, streamlined and rather steel-encrusted beginning, all cool blues and greys, signifying a brave new world of impersonality.  Hmm, guys, I don't want to scare you or anything, but it gets just a tad more impersonal after 1983. I guess the popularity of computers might have something to do with that, I hate to say.  Though I love them, they do seem to have taken over just a smidge.  Whereas in 1983, you, Ron Martini, are at work because none of us have computers at home yet, and because your work is some sort of top secret operation hidden behind steel doors.  Your workspace is surrounded by banks of computer-ish looking thingymies ... and a photocopier!  Dude, where on earth do you work?  I didn't think photocopiers were around in 1983?  And if they were, I'm pretty sure a toner cartridge cost, like, $983 each and you copying pictures of your girlfriend who has left you probably wouldn't have gone down all that well.

Oh, hang on.  Is it a printer?  It looks like a photocopier but I actually think it's a printer.  Sorry.  I don't mean to come across all laughy and sneery at your technology.  I hate that whole technological disdain thing.  It's why we have giant piles of ewaste because we're too easily beholden to the latest version that's really not all that much more awesome.  But looking at your printer, I see how amazingly far we've come.  You can print photo quality now, at home, in colour, for a fraction of the price, Dear Enemy.  So I'm sorry to laugh, but it just gets a bit better.

I'm very sorry your girlfriend left you.  You seem like a lovely bloke with a beautiful singing voice and you're a bit of a spunk too. 

I feel a great nostalgia for the colour of that green that is the text on your computer.  Green on a black background.  Ohhh, you have no idea how much better those computer screens are going to get.  Which might be a problem for you because I sort of get the feeling that Computer One has been the cause of your breakup.  It has come between you and your girlfriend.  And now she has gone with her suitcase of clothes.

:(

I like how you talk to your computer as if it's real.  You say, "Computer One, if you know all you say you do, why isn't the answer on the screen?  Do you sleep at night, when the program's through, or do you lie awake at night like me?" 

I'm really interested in knowing what program it is that Computer One is running through. Is it something governmental?  You just wait - a couple of decades down the track you will be amazed at what happens in terms of computers and top secret information.  The internet, Julian Assange, Edward Snowden - the internet will be a force for social change, just you wait and see.  What's the internet?  It's a collection of computers all joined together that can talk to each other!  I imagine you have something like that in your top secret governmental office, yeah?  Well, it goes mainstream, baby.  And then people like Assange hack into computers of big governments and tell the rest of us how they are spying on us and what bastards humans are when they're in power.  And people will take to the streets because we're all just fucking sick and tired of the way these top level people behave, and people will have these sort of hand-held computers that they can take photos on while they're out and about and send them to the internet.  This is a pretty cool force for democracy, but it gets messier before it gets better.  You'll see.

Plus, the hand-held computers are also phones.  You don't need a house phone anymore that's connected to a cable.  You can talk to someone across the world if you want, from your mobile phone.  They're wonderful.  Perhaps if you and your girlfriend had email and SMS it might have kept you together.  I can't be bothered explaining what those are.  But, as I'm sure you're starting to pick up, computers and mobile phones are a bit of a blight as well as being wonderful.  They've made us even more distrustful of each other in some ways.  Our public social skills, Dear Enemy, have decimated a little since 1983.  But I guess you're probably aware of the theme beginning to occur here about technology being awesome and having unforseen nasty underbites.

I think it's really sort of sweet that you are concerned about Computer One's psychological health.  You really love that computer, even though you can't look at any porn on it.  You probably can't play any game on it either, other than the types that I played in Grade Six at school the year before, called Worms I think, with that same green on blackness that was just different types of lines.  I thought it was so awesome!  Worms involved moving the cursor around which grew and grew as you went like a rampaging worm, and the object was for the worm not to touch any part of itself or the game was over.

That was cutting edge stuff that was exciting to me, even though it is very easy to laugh about it now.

There are a few things I wish to know, Dear Enemy, that have me curious.  The questions come into my head on occasions - like in the Aldi car park a few weeks ago, and now every time I think of Computer One the Aldi car park comes into my head.  We're weird creatures, are we not? But what I'm curious about is where Ron Martini says, "Computer One, you are the one I've been talking to.  Maybe that's where I went wrong.  All the secrets that I told to you I should have told to her all along."

I don't understand this bit - why are you telling your secrets to Computer One in the first place?  Do you mean you're writing a diary on it?  In work time, again?  Because I'm pretty sure there weren't any BBSs or anything like back then for you to be talking to anyone else on, and, well, Computer One doesn't really seem like it would have a program that would give you the impression that it's listening and cares about you.  It seems pretty limited.  If you are writing a diary that happens to be situated on Computer One, you can't really blame the computer that once you've written it out to yourself you didn't then go and talk to your girlfriend about it. I mean, if you were writing a diary in a paper notebook, the same thing could happen.  But then I guess if that was the case you'd be writing a song called Notebook 78.  And that would probably be a bit more naff than this techno-groovy 1983ness.

And I'm interested also in knowing why it's called Computer One.  I mean, is it the first computer in the country, or in your office, or what?

If any members of Dear Enemy would like to leave a comment I would really appreciate it.

Dear Enemy, you foresaw the alienation that computerisation could bring.  You don't know the extent of it.  And yet ~ ending this long post on a note of sunniness and cheeriness ~ it's also done amazing things.  I think, in the end, computerisation is a balancing force for democracy.  People could not uprise in quite the way they do now without it.  We just have to learn how to manage it all a bit more so it doesn't get quite so much in the way of our relating with each other face to face.

But I think you know enough about that.

I Really Do Not Feel That Adrian Gurvitz Ended up Writing a Classic, Do You?

I'm sure he really wanted to write a classic. And yet his motivations seem faintly suspicious to me. They have all the hallmarks of someone who is spilling their creative seed all over the ground because it's easier to talk about their art than to make it. Look at him, babe. He's an addict for your love, blustering and swaggering. You're probably the 11th person he's developed an addiction to since January. He seems obsessional because he's a blocked artist. He's a blocked artist because he insists on writing a classic instead of just writing a goddamn song.

I suspect he has as much creative discipline as a shoelace. You, babe, seem like a pretty switched on gal. God knows, you turned his head, being different from the rest. I wonder if his cheap talk is fooling you?

The whole attic thing is a giveaway. He's playing that game where he states his intention, and then inserts a few subclauses that guarantee he never will achieve it. Not for him the standard pedestrianism of "I would go and write a classic but I can't tear myself away from Bejeweled Blitz." No, he needs to invent an entire attic space. "Dammit, I can feel the classic whirling around inside of me. How unfortunate that I live in a single storey house. May as well go look at porn instead."

He should rethink his idea about sending his classic right away, if he manages to get anything finished. I think he should consider a second draft and a spot of proofreading for grammar. It's only polite. And maybe he should lower his sights, get a bit more playful - try just writing a song, instead of aiming for a classic, maybe? From one perfectionist to another :) If it's anything like this tripe he's already written, he really should aim lower ;)

Dear Corey Hart's Cheating Girlfriend

Dear Corey Hart's Cheating Girlfriend,

He wears his sunglasses at night so he can, so he can watch you weave then breathe your storylines, huh?

Just what material are your storylines made out of exactly? Some kind of invisible material that becomes apparent when you put on your Raybans, like x-rays or 3D glasses? How very strange. Oh, it's a metaphor? Goodness me. It's rather a clunky, crap one, isn't it!

Okay, so I can see what drew you to him. He's gorgeous. Yum yum. So what was it that sent you off on the road to deceiving him? Was that what came first? Did you deceive him first, or did he start placing a bit too much faith in his sunnies' super-powers? Is that what got your eye straying somewhere else?

I mean, obviously he's insecure, right? Good looks don't mean anything in the security stakes. And I don't know how secure he was before you came along, but now you've done your bitch act on him ... well, your deception has cut his security. He feels like everything is out of control, like this relationship is terribly unbalanced. He wonders if you've got control of him. He's certainly given away all of his power to you. So, did that go to your head? Did you suddenly start tying him to the bed with leopard skin scarves and have your evil way with him? Start belittling him? Criticising the things important to him - his mother, his eyewear? Whatever you did, it didn't sound like it was all that nice. Sounds like it drew him ever further into the delusional belief that his Oakleys will save him. But really, how different is he to the rest of us? We all put faith in stupid things, in our little power ploys and control freak tactics to get people to dance the way we want them to. Or we place our faith in money, in the stockmarket, in the new dress we've bought, in our big house. Whatever. We all do it. It doesn't give you any reason to treat him like shite and sleep with his best friend.

Okay, so he's delusional, obviously. But you sound like a bit of a bitch, too, when all is said and done. So what did you do when he turned to you and angrily informed you that you better not switch the blade or masquerade with the guy in shades? Did this sudden display of assertiveness sway you at all? Or did his propensity to place all of his faith in a piece of plastic to redeem his own shaky confidence make you despise the fact that you've got it made with the guy in shades, and make you realise that suddenly, you don't want anything with him at all?

I think you should move on, personally. He sounds a bit flaky to me. Beautifully flaky, though, must be said. Like a chocolate bar. I imagine chowing down on him would still be a pleasurable experience, even though he has ill-placed trust in his accessories. But you sound like a bit of a torture chamber yourself. Move on, darling. Onto your next victim.

+++++++++++++++++++=

Edit: chowing down on him sounds rather risque, I admit. But maybe you should just get your head out of the gutter :)

Mixed messages

Dear Pretty Baby,

I don't believe him. I just don't. Yes, yes, I know on the one hand he's telling you he wants to be yours and yours alone, and he's doing that thing with his eyes while he's saying it. But listen, girl. In the next breath he is here to tell you, honey, that he is bad to the bone. He's not sticking around, Pretty Baby. He may sound like he's going to, but he's already told you in verse 1 how not only has he broken a thousand hearts before you, but he's only halfway through. He's got another thousand to go.

Yours and yours alone, yes. Until he starts bonking your mother. Wake up to yourself, Pretty Baby.

(Aside: George Thorogood must be singing about someone else here, 'cause seriously, I don't think he's got the goods to make royalty deflate and chicks everywhere show him their tits and lose all their self-esteem. Maybe it's just me.)