I’m an observer, a chronicler; part of why I write is to record what I perceive, to place the stream of thoughts onto a page. Does something become bigger or smaller when we share it? Share a burden, it’s lighter. Smaller. Open yourself, give it away, and the result feels expansive. My little brain starts tripping out on the idea of that both-ness, the snake eating it’s own tail, cancelling out, or becoming something else entirely by inhabiting two opposites.

Hoping for the latter, because this is what I’ve been observing: the years. the time. It used to happen on occasion, in certain lights, an opaque overlay on my appearance hinting at what lay ahead. I could move, change the light, and the illusion that I was basically the same could stay intact. There’s no 'certain light’ any more, it’s the norm, always there, and there’s no turning back, these things are here to stay: creped, thin skin—what I used to call granny skin. This is on the inner arms mostly, but also on stomach, chest. Above the agey neck tendons are the jowls and sag, the chin hairs —wtf—and the droopy eyes.

I’m writing about these changes because they are real and this is me, present, now me, processing the changes by acknowledgment, and acceptance. Maybe sharing and writing will make the whole coming of aging business smaller and bigger and finally nothing. Nothing but the natural course of…nature.

Please don’t comment how great I look—I’m not fishing for compliments, and don’t need to be told anything. I only want to write about it. And that’s because I’m observing this unfolding of an era, and holding the newness of my oldness with a little bit of grace, and a little bit of dismay, a little bit of curiosity. And a lot of gratitude: I imagine there’s a shit-ton of deads that would’ve loved to live, grow old, and watch the wrinkles and sag take over.

The 2 best things ever said about aging remain:

BEATS THE ALTERNATIVE -this has been attributed to Mark Twain but not sure if it’s really his original quote

GROWING OLD ISN’T FOR SISSIES - this, I believe is from the great Bette Davis.

I’ve been thinking about life events throughout the 90’s. The 90’s isn’t my frame of reference for music and culture like it is for many (younger) people, but it was a profound and impactful decade. I was in my 30’s; strong and healthy. In 1994 and 1999, I reached the five and ten year milestones of solid sobriety, moving into the self that had been me all along, but had been limited by the immaturity and confines that being an alcoholic had wrought on my personal development.

It was a decade of discovery, or rediscovery, an awakening of intellect and curiosity. On my first Mac, (exactly like first pic,) I learned HTML and built my GeoCities website. I was an early internet snob, bypassing AOL for Earthlink. I’m pretty sure my next upgraded computer was an iMac (like the second pic.)

It was a time of bold adventures in traveling: going to Egypt alone, going to Turkey with a virtual stranger I met on a ListServ. (who else remembers these ancient computer words?) Both destinations were chosen because of an accidentally found passion for ancient history; I studied Egyptian hieroglyphs and could spot all the Gods and Goddesses in any tomb or temple. In Turkey, we followed Alexander the Great’s trail of conquest through Asia Minor.

In 1992 I began an academic journey at Glendale Community and Pasadena City Colleges. I met the absolute best professor I would ever have, Dr. Sid Kolpas, and remained in touch with him until his death a few years ago. It was a stunning revelation to learn from this man, who brought mathematics into the realm of magic and spirituality. Really. The language of God, he said, and he showed us why.

My musical and band life took a turn as I returned to the guitar and became close to the player I’d dreamed of being when I started out:

It was a crucial act to get reacquainted with the musician and creative me that had been sucked up and absorbed by the Go-Go’s during the years of our rise and fall. To a general public who doesn’t know me, that’s the entirety of my identity—but for me, the 90’s were when I understood that I could never let that band define me again.

There were a few romances, shallow and deep. Each revealed more about who I was: how far I’d come, how far I had to go. Some people meet their soul mate I suppose, but when I reflect on my romantic life a pattern appears. I fall in love, or lust, or obsession with a person who almost seems as though they were picked by divine intervention to point me in a direction that I need to go. We travel together for a time, and leave an imprint on each other’s lives.

There was the one who made fun of the way I walked—he showed me, determinedly striding across the room, torso at a slight forward angle—I walked the way I pursued what I wanted: just get there. It stung, but I changed my walk, the way I held myself and entered a room. It was a good change.

There was one who reminded me of how and where I grew up, helping me pick the right amp and the right vintage tube screamer to re-boot my guitar playing. A big one was a love that bloomed out of friendship, we shared highbrow off kilter intellectual pursuits and lowbrow goofball humor. He turned me on to jazz and the most obscure blues and in almost every way I was radically changed by our relationship. And there was the guy who showed me that even with years of sobriety and therapy I was capable of having an obsessive schoolgirl crush on a dummy because he was cute and badass.

The cars I drove in the 90’s! —starting with a 1983 brown used El Dorado Cadillac and ending up with a ‘93 silver Mercedes sedan I bought off my friend Sheldon. Somewhere in there I got really into car shows and hotrods and custom cars and bought, with help from Brian Setzer, a ‘56 Mercury Montclair, and then a 1962 Buick Riviera. Both cars I customized to my aesthetic taste with the help of my friend Jim Hayes. Sheldon and Jim are both gone, Brian, still rockin.

There was so much more. Some peak Go-Go’s action, a good ten years after we’d broken up in a messy, horrible divorce. Tours and recording and television shows—it all came back. Just in time too, I was broke. (Hence, driving a 1983 Cadillac for several years.) There were at least six bands I tried and failed at.

The 90’s held years of therapy; the realization of the lack-of-daddy sadness at my core. The anger at my mom, the over-responsible dysfunction of our dynamic that came to a break when she bottomed out and went to rehab. The 90’s are when I became an adult, where I paved the foundation for everything that followed.

Flirting with the 90’s may be my way of circling around what will be the arc of a memoir sequel—my first book ended in 1990, the opposite end of an arc that had started in 1970. A brand new me and brand new life started in the 90’s—which in turn spilled out into another brand new me and life as a mother and wife in the 2000’s.

Or maybe it’s just reflection. This whole idea of a decade that bookends a segment that one can put a “the” to: the 80’s, the 90’s..or a “my” to: my 20’s, my teens, my 30’s, 40’s—it makes sense only because of some inherent human desire to package and sort the abstraction of time. It’s a construct, and when I think about it, it’s a privileged construct—if a person encounters catastrophic change or loss, time becomes less about milestones and eras—you would think in terms of before and after. Still. It beats the alternative, yes?

A few announcement & fyi’s:

I was absolutely thrilled to see my book amongst the top 25 “celebrity” memoirs in Oprah Daily!! The Patti Smith and Bob Dylan books were on my desk the entire time I wrote, for inspiration, for a reminder of what I was shooting for. Sometimes I’d just open one and randomly read pages again, maybe hoping some of the magic would seep into me and onto my pages.

I’m pretty sure most readers saw this last time but I’ll put it again for whoever missed it—if you’re anywhere near any of these cities in the UK next month, I’m doing an opening set for Glen Matlock on his tour. Come on over!

This has been a secret I’ve known for awhile, it’s finally out! Seeing so many bands doing massive venues and festivals, I was kind of wishing I could get to do that…and voila, here it’s happening in 2025.

I did a fun interview with my friend Wendi Aaron’s podcast about…memoirs => It’s Pronounced Memwah. Listen here.

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