{"id":90343,"date":"2015-09-29T16:05:50","date_gmt":"2015-09-29T20:05:50","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=90343"},"modified":"2015-09-29T17:34:09","modified_gmt":"2015-09-29T21:34:09","slug":"bad-moon-on-the-rise","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2015\/09\/29\/bad-moon-on-the-rise\/","title":{"rendered":"Bad Moon on the Rise"},"content":{"rendered":"<div id=\"attachment_90345\" style=\"width: 610px\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/09\/bloodmoonpatrickmurtha.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" aria-describedby=\"caption-attachment-90345\" class=\"wp-image-90345\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/09\/bloodmoonpatrickmurtha.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"600\" height=\"431\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/09\/bloodmoonpatrickmurtha.jpg 1791w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/09\/bloodmoonpatrickmurtha-300x216.jpg 300w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/09\/bloodmoonpatrickmurtha-1024x736.jpg 1024w\" sizes=\"auto, (min-width: 62.5em) 67vw, 100vw\" \/><\/a><p id=\"caption-attachment-90345\" class=\"wp-caption-text\">Photo: Patrick Murtha<\/p><\/div>\n<p>In the hours before the lunar eclipse, my husband and I were in one of those nightmarish, mammoth craft stores\u2014shopping for some vellum, as one does\u2014and I began to sing along with Dion\u2019s cover of Del Shannon\u2019s \u201c<a href=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/watch?v=p_cr6yEfShk\">Runaway<\/a>.\u201d I sing <em>a lot<\/em>, and with great gusto. And if you\u2019re doing Dion, well, you have no choice but to go full falsetto on the <em>wah-wah-wah-wah-wonder<\/em> part. I mean, anything worth doing, et cetera.<\/p>\n<p>My husband looked slightly self-conscious. After a moment, he said, \u201cIt makes me feel funny sometimes when you sing along like that in public.\u201d\u00a0<!--more--><\/p>\n<p>I was stung. Because, again, I sing <em>a lot<\/em>. By myself, too\u2014it\u2019s a spontaneous expression of joy in life. Or so I have always thought. First tears came to my eyes. Then, in short order, I became coldly furious.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI wish you hadn\u2019t said that,\u201d I said with great dignity. \u201cI\u2019m sorry I embarrass you. It won\u2019t happen again.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>And then he was immediately contrite and said he loved my singing, and it was his problem, and he envied my lack of self-consciousness, and he was so sorry, and please never stop doing it.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI don\u2019t think I\u2019ll be able to, anymore,\u201d I said, with a sort of disillusioned gravity. \u201cI\u2019m glad you were honest with me.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Then I said I thought I\u2019d better do the grocery shopping by myself and meet him at home, and I walked away in high dudgeon.<\/p>\n<p>I was singing along with that Smash Mouth song \u201cAll Star\u201d in the supermarket when it happened. I bent over to retrieve a coin and felt a sharp, ominous pain on the right side of my lower back. When I tried to stand up, I yelped in agony.<\/p>\n<p>I managed to hobble to the street and find a taxi. When I got home, I took Advil and tried to stretch my back with a roller. It hurt horribly, but I figured that probably meant it was working. However, by the time my husband returned home it was to find me supine and exhausted, unable to sit, walk, or roll. He was terribly alarmed.<\/p>\n<p>We agreed I\u2019d see a doctor as soon as possible. In the meantime, he insisted I stay absolutely still, with a heating pad under my back. He put soft socks on my feet and ran out to get more painkillers. And although I was initially resistant, within an hour I was requesting pillow adjustments and a bite of the top crust of a baguette, dipped in pan sauce.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBut we have to see the moon!\u201d I said in a panic. Out of the question, he said. And it didn\u2019t matter, and we\u2019d see the one in thirty-three years, health permitting.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cJust one look,\u201d I pleaded. So with great difficulty, he helped me stand up. First he thought he\u2019d carry me to the elevator, but this was more painful still, so instead I walked, very slowly, wincing like the Little Mermaid in the original, terrifying, Hans Christian Andersen version.<\/p>\n<p>When we got to the roof, I very carefully lay down on the tar paper and looked up at the sky. There was nothing\u2014just clouds. And then, a tiny sliver of moon. Bright, yes, but barely visible. And then, gone again\u2014a huge mass of clouds was moving in and showed no signs of lifting. Several other neighbors showed up on the roof, stood around for a second, and then left, deflated.<\/p>\n<p>The old man who lives in a sort of shack on the roof of the neighboring building\u2014somewhere between magical and depressing, depending on who you ask\u2014came out briefly, looked around, then went back inside and turned on a football game. It made me sad, because this was surely his last chance for a blood moon. On the other hand, he was ambulant, which was more than I could say.<\/p>\n<p>It was all pretty\u00a0disappointing.\u00a0Then my husband started to sing.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cTurn around \u2026 \u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cEvery now and then I get a little bit lonely and you\u2019re never coming round,\u201d I added.<\/p>\n<p>We sang and sang. We harmonized on \u201cnow I\u2019m only falling apart\u201d and \u201cnow there\u2019s only love in the dark.\u201d We had never sounded better.<\/p>\n<blockquote>\n<p>I don\u2019t know what to do<br \/>I\u2019m always in the dark<br \/>Living in a powder keg and giving off sparks<br \/>I really need you tonight<br \/>Forever\u2019s gonna start tonight<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p>I wondered if it bothered the old man in the sort of shack. He lived alone.<\/p>\n<p>It was hard to stand, and the brief walk to and from the elevator was painful. But after I was tucked up in bed with a hot-water bottle and some painkillers, I was able to sleep. And in the morning, I felt slightly but perceptibly better.<\/p>\n<p><em>Sadie Stein is contributing editor of <\/em>The Paris Review<em>, and the <\/em>Daily<em>\u2019s correspondent.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>In the hours before the lunar eclipse, my husband and I were in one of those nightmarish, mammoth craft stores\u2014shopping for some vellum, as one does\u2014and I began to sing along with Dion\u2019s cover of Del Shannon\u2019s \u201cRunaway.\u201d I sing a lot, and with great gusto. And if you\u2019re doing Dion, well, you have no [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":178,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[13115],"tags":[19588,12511,17034,19586,6664,13375,13487,19587],"class_list":["post-90343","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-our-daily-correspondent","tag-blood-moon","tag-city-life","tag-embarrassment","tag-lunar-eclipse","tag-shopping","tag-singing","tag-songs","tag-total-eclipse-of-the-heart"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v25.4 (Yoast SEO v25.4) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>On Blood Moons and Singing in Public<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"September 29, 2015 \u2013 In the hours before the lunar eclipse, my husband and I were in one of those nightmarish, mammoth craft 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