I'm reading Easter Rising: A Memoir of Roots and Rebellion by Michael Patrick MacDonald and got to this passage on page 22 which may be the most surreal thing I've ever read in a memoir.

My first afternoon there I was just about to leave the store when one of the clerks took down a Patti Smith record that was propped on a fireplace mantel that was left over from the days when the shop had been an apartment. I had seen Patti Smith a couple of  years earlier on the Saturday morning TV show Kids Are People Too.  She wore an oversized man's blazer and her gaunt face made her look something like Jesus on the cross.  She sang Debby Boone's "You Light Up My Life" surrounded by an audience of entranced eight-year-olds.  The show host* had announced her a "punk poet" and "the female Mick Jagger."  As a kid I hadn't been into rock 'n' roll.  All we ever listened to in Southie was soul or disco even though the neighborhood wasn't safe for black people - or anyone else different from us - after the busing riots.  Still everyone knew who Mick Jagger was - especially after the Rolling Stones' "Miss You" became a disco hit.  If Patti Smith was his female counterpart I was surprised I'd never heard of her.  Seeing her on TV on that Saturday morning gave me the willies, and I couldn't get her blank stare out of my head all day.  I was probably eleven and couldn't believe she was on a show for kids younger than me, singing the worst soft-rock ever but turning it into an intense dirge with her deep and onimous voice.  The show's host asked her "Are you punk rock?"  She simply answer, "No," her blank stare unmoved by the host's enthusiasm.  "Well, we think you're punk rock, right, kids?" the apple-cheeked host shouted, to the cheers of dozens of eight-year-olds screaming, "Yeah!"  I had no idea what was going on. Punk rock?  And the Debby Boone song?  And that frightening gaze?

Oh, look, here it is:

Be sure to listen to the question portion where she says that she wanted to be a missionary.

And if you want to read a more light-hearted description of the whole thing, try this article on Open Culture.

And the rest of the book?  Definitely recommended.



* Michael Young

Make a Wish!

Let me start this by saying that I don't think I have ever prayed for a physical object.

I've wished for plenty of them ...*


When I was in college, my friend Erika would notice if the catch on my necklace had worked its way down to the bottom and she would move it back behind my neck and say "Make a wish!"

Over the years, I wished for various things but always only made positive wishes.  Wishing misfortune on another person is just bad karma.  How can I ask the universe to be kind to me if I ask it to be cruel to others? So I won't wish that people who trouble me come to a bad end but I might wish that they'd change their minds about doing what troubles me. 

But over the past several years when it felt as though I was living too hand-to-mouth, my wishes settled on one word:  money.**  Because pretty much everything I didn't like about my life related to two numbers:  my weight and my bank balance.  Because I have a lovely boyfriend, a great and loving family, a good job, wonderful friends, the Finest Kind cat, and a hobby that is truly my happy place.

I lost about 30 pounds a few years ago so that number bothered me less.***  But my bank balance was always scary, so whenever I was prompted for any reason to "Make a wish!" I'd wish for money.  Just that abstract concept:  money. 

After Mom left me a bunch of money, I paid my debts, better funded my retirement, and replaced my old car.  I pick up the check or donate to good causes more often because I can.

Which means that I no longer wish for money.  It would just seem churlish and ungrateful.

But that left me in wish void. Wishing for money was such a habit that I really had no idea what to wish for.  And I guess that I could have just not wished for anything but, I dunno, that just seems like a waste.

I tried wishing for World Peace but I guess I'm too cynical.  I couldn't believe in that wish.  The lyric is not "when you wish upon a star, it don't matter who you are, 'cause when you wish upon a star ... your brain whispers 'yeah, right, that's gonna happen.' "

Hmmmmm.  What to do ....

So I thought.  And thought.

And now I have a new wish.  I wish for "the best."  Literally "the best."  As I pull the clasp back up to the top, or sight the first star of the evening, or what-have-you, I close my eyes and think "The best.  I wish for the best."

Human beings to not always long-sighted enough to see the full-play out of every action but sometimes things that seem bad to begin with turn out better than the original plan.  For example, if an old friend had gotten pregnant rather than going though the heartbreak of not being able to conceive and then deciding to adopt and having to jump through a bunch of foreign adoption hoop medical tests, the usually undetectable until it's too late cancer would not have been found in time to save her life. 

Wishing for "the best" seems like a vote for the positive.  It means hoping that the result of the things my friends and I struggle with will make us happy and keep us safe in the long run; it means understanding that not every dream deferred is a dream denied; it means trying to listen to a voice other than my own.

I wish for the best.

Make a wish!


* Because prayers are for things you are truly asking for.  Prayers are "please."  Wishes are "wouldn't it be nice if ..."

** Although I did stop wishing that I'd find money in the street some time ago when it occurred to me that for me to find it, someone else would have to lose it. 


*** Bothered me less, not "doesn't bother me."  But that's partly because the number that I regard as the magical, perfect weight is -- according to my doctor -- inappropriate for me.  So I will never, ever weigh the magical, perfect number again.****


**** I was too skinny until college and too heavy after.  I weighed the magical, perfect number for about three years.  And it's too low of a number.  Really.

Veris me facies

"Leta - that's a pretty name. What does it mean?"

"It's Latin for 'joyful'."

And my face is pretty joyful that spring is here.

Veris Leta Facies

from the Carmina Burana by Carl Orff

Veris leta facies
mundo propinatur,
hiemalis acies
victa iam fugatur,
in vestitu vario
Flora principatur,
nemorum dulcisono
que cantu celebratur.

Flore fusus gremio
Phebus novo more
risum dat, hac vario
iam stipate flore.
Zephyrus nectareo
spirans in odore.
Certatim pro bravio
curramus in amore.

Cytharizat cantico
dulcis Philomena,
flore rident vario
prata iam serena,
salit cetus avium
silve per amena,
chorus promit virgin
iam gaudia millena.

The joyful face of spring

turns to the world,

sharp winter

now flees, vanquished;

bedecked in various colours

Flora reigns,

the harmony of the woods

praises her in song.

Ah!

Lying in Flora's lap

Phoebus once more

smiles, now covered

in multi-coloured flowers,

Zephyr breathes nectar-

scented breezes.

Let us rush to compete

for love's prize.

Ah!

In harp-like tones sings

the sweet nightingale,

with many flowers

the joyous meadows are laughing,

a flock of birds rises up

through the pleasant forests,

the chorus of maidens

already promises a thousand joys.

Ah!

In this bleak midwinter

I have a great fondness for what a friend of mine labled "downer Christmas songs." You know, "Do They Know It's Christmas" and "Carol of the Bells" and the most Downer Christmas Song of them all, "In the Bleak Midwinter."

The only part of it that doesn't work for me is that we sing it (or, more likely, listen to it) in mid-December, which around here is more like "In the Reall Late Autumn."

Our bleak midwinter is actually about now and this midwinter is bleaker than most. We got a big snow on December 18th (24 inches), another on January 30th (about a foot), another on February 2nd (5 inches) and another over this past weekend (another 24 inches).

We are now expecting another 4 to 12 inches before Wednesday evening. The frozen heaps from December haven't yet eroded and we've had more and yet more. I love snow, but we've had enough.

And when someone on the radio described this past week as "snow on snow on snow," I realized that the theme song for me for SnOMG 2010 is the poem written by Christina Rossetti well over a century ago.


In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter,
Long ago

Because it's been raining a lot lately

"Fool In The Rain"
Jones, Page, Plant

Well there's a light in your eye that keeps shining
Like a star that can't wait for the night
I hate to think I've been blinded baby
Why can't I see you tonight?

And the warmth of your smile starts a-burnin'
And the thrill of your touch gives me fright
And I'm shaking so much, really yearning
Why don't you show up, make it all right?
Yeah, it's all right.

And if you promised you'd love so completely
and you said you would always be true
You swore that you would never leave me, baby:
What ever happened to you?

And you thought it was only in movies
As you wish all your dreams would come true
It ain't the first time believe me, baby
I'm standin here feeling blue
Yeah I'm blue

Now I will stand in the rain on the corner
I'll watch the people go shuffling downtown
Another ten minutes no longer
And then I'm turning around

The clock on the wall's moving slower
My heart it sinks to the ground
And the storm that I thought would blow over
Clouds the light of the love that I found

Now my body is starting to quiver
And the palms of my hands getting wet
I've got no reason to doubt you baby,
It's all a terrible mess

I'll run in the rain till I'm breathless
When I'm breathless I'll run till I drop, hey
The thoughts of a fool's kind of careless
I'm just a fool waiting on the wrong block, oh yeah
Light of the love that I found...

Wearing my poppy

When I was growing up I believed that Memorial Day honored those who died in War and Veterans Day honored all service personnel. It turns out that I was mistaken.

Memorial Day (originally Decoration Day) celebrated Union soldiers and the date (last Monday in May) was chosen to match the day of reunification after the Civil War.

Veterans Day (also known as Armistice Day or Remembrance Day) originally honored the veterans of the first World War. When I was in England last November, we stopped our singing and such in time for the moment of silence at 11:11 am and afterwards our host, Bob, asked if any of us had parents or grandparents who fought in that war. His father fought for England as the did the fathers and uncles of several of the people in the room.

I had landed at Heathrow a couple of days before and as I was going through the airport with Carol and Claire and Mariel, I saw a box labeled "Poppy Appeal". Ignorant American that I am, I asked what it was and what it meant. I was told that the Poppy Appeal which offers little paper poppies in exchange for donations, supports the Royal British Legion, the nation's leading Armed Forces charity providing care and support to all members of the British Armed Forces past and present.

I asked if a pound was enough (oh, any amount is fine, luv), put my pound in the tin, and took a poppy. I put it through the button hole of my sweater and was severely grateful that I had learned this before I had needed any kind of assistance, as I had assumed that the many people wearing poppies were airport personnel of some kind.

I made sure to wear it that Sunday and also made sure to put it where I wouldn't lose it when I got home.

A couple of months later, I was at the James Lee Community Center for an audition or a rehearsal or something and was chatting with a friend who works there. I noticed a box of poppies on the counter and asked about them. It seems that the American Legion also uses poppies to raise money for the support of veterans.

So now I have two poppies and this week I have worn my British poppy on Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday for Remembrance Day and will wear my American poppy today, tomorrow and Friday for Veterans Day. My Boss saw my English poppy on Monday and today is wearing the one that he got on a recent trip to London. My other boss has not been able to find a poppy anywhere locally, so I have lent him my English one. And the three of us are explaining our poppies to the many people who ask about the paper flowers we are wearing.

Why poppies? Because many of the fallen in World War I were buried in Flanders Field in Belgium where poppies grow like poppies.

To all who served my country or their own, including my father and grandfathers, my thanks. Thank you for your service.

The Poppy Appeal

American Legion Auxilliary Poppy Campaign

How to escape terrible radio

I get two stations at work - 88.5 (wamu), the local NPR station, and 107.3, the local pop and "personality DJ" station. Mostly I divide my time between the two of them, but every now and then - and more and more frequently these days - I need a break. I was reluctant to use Smudge* at work because when my boss needs me, I don't want to have to take out ear buds before I look attentive. Or miss him when he calls for me.

But then one day ... then one day ... ** then one day I realized that even though the external speaker makes the sound a little teeny, tiny, itsy-bitsy bit tinny, Smudge still lacks the static of my radio and I could hear it just fine even without the ear buds.

So now when I need to avoid hearing about Virginia politics on NPR or to avoid being subjected to the biggest blowhard DJ in radio on 107.3, I grab Smudgy, chose a random song and hit "genius." Et voila!***

Sometimes I use the wi-fi network that I can get to and use Pandora. Also good. Thank you, Modern Technology!


* My name for my iPod Touch because what have I re-learned from having an iPod Touch? That human beings are greasy little animals.

** Oh crap. I cannot seem to stop quoting from Edward Albee's The Goat. That is so not fair.

*** I've done this a bunch of times, so I really should stop looking over at Smudgy as each next song comes up and thinking "Oh! I like that song." Of course, I do. It's on my iPod.

Time to buy some rap

Bill Forman wrote such an interesting piece about Busdriver that I'm going to have to pick up a couple of his songs. Because even if they don't sound entirely like G&S, it's hard to resist someone this engaging. And it will add another entry to the list of stuff that people wouldn't suspect that I have on MyPod.*

As on previous albums, he employs a rapid-fire delivery and convoluted rhyme schemes, like some unholy offspring of Jamaican dancehall deejay Bounty Killer and light opera savants Gilbert and Sullivan. Asked which he found more influential, Busdriver says he appreciates rap's debt to "old-school Jamaican toasters, but I never really sought that out. So I would have to say the latter. Unfortunately, I don't spend enough time with [Gilbert and Sullivan's work], but I know what you're talking about and I do shoot for things like that."

*Or in my bookcase. Unflattering f'rinstance: "You? Like Mamet? You? Really?"

How to listen at work

Radio in this area is pretty bad. And the cheap little Sony that I have on my desk generally picks up about 5 stations, three of which I actually listen to: NPR on 88.5 (WAMU); classic rock on the sad, pathetic remains of 94.7; and Top 20* on 107.3.

Whereas I like to complain, David is a problem solver at heart, so he gave me a very nice JBL iPod dock for Christmas. I have it on the desk at work and I listen to Morning Edition on the radio until 10:00 and then plug in myPod for the rest of the day. I generally go through about 50 - 80 songs between 10:00 and whenever I chose to leave and, because they are on myPod, they are all songs that I like, although that doesn't stop me from glancing over every so often and thinking "Oh! I like that song!" Such a genius, I tell you.... (At this minute, it's Gene Kelly melting me with "Singin' in the Rain" from a collection of movie music.)

I had been very foot-draggy about ripping my CDs to the computer, but now that I use myPod at work so much, I'm more inspired. As of this morning, there are 901 songs on myPod and I'm hearing music that has been just sitting and waiting for me, feeling all neglected.

The other inspiration to better populate those bit receptors is that Carl, with whom I'm performing in Rehearsal for Murder, is a DJ (weddings, not radio) and we tend to talk music a lot. He has challenged me to put together a mix-CD of songs I like and he will do the same for me. If I'm going to put it on a CD, I need to have it on the computer, so I've been ripping up a storm.**

Because no one should ask for a CD of my favorites and not find the Partridge Family on it, I jumped ahead in my mostly alphabetical ripping order, which means that I get the occasional "I Think I Love You" or "Point Me in the Direction of Albuquerque" at the office, which only improves my day.

The hard part will be narrowing down the playlist to something manageable, but I have decided that it should be a true sampler: pop music new and old; what David calls "art music" and everyone else I know calls "classical;" some jazz; some nonsense; some show tunes; some G&S.

And speaking of G&S, I am very fond of the Savoy operas, but myPod is strongly preferential to them. I only have Gondoliers, Sorcerer, The Zoo, and Iolanthe on so far (loaded for different singing projects), but I hear much more Sullivan (especially Sorcerer) in a day than I do, say Warren Zevon or Mary-Chapin Carpenter.

And, as I like to point out, the reason that pop music is such good office music is that it has just the one dynamic (mf)*** whereas jazz is often softer and classical is all over the map. So I am constantly diving for the little volume buttons so that my co-workers aren't unexpectedly dealing with something fff after a mp Josephine Baker piece.

This morning before work I copied music from The Little Rascals played by the Beau Hunks which includes the particularly nice "Jazz Wedding." Tonight Ludwig van joins the gang.

Hmmm. Maybe Carl is open to this being a box set.



*Based on their extremely limited playlist one could not call them Top 40 without feeling dishonest.
** If you can call it ripping up a storm when the computer crashes and needs to be restarted after each CD, but let that pass.
***Uhh -- mezzo forte. Jeez. You people. Honestly.

Inauguration Day 2009

Simple Gifts by Elder Joseph Brackett

'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free,
'Tis the gift to come down where you ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gain'd,
To bow and to bend we shan't be asham'd,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come round right.

(Kathy Sobansky of Clam Chowder wrote second verse of:)

Tis a gift to be simple,'Tis a gift to be free,
For the proud are cast down deeper than the sea,
The first shall be last and the last shall be first,
And the meek at last shall receive the earth.
When true simplicity is gain'd,
To bow and to bend we shan't be asham'd,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come round right.

Election Day

A good friend, whose opinions I otherwise respect, doesn't vote saying that if G-d has intended for us to vote, he'd give us real candidates...

Well,...If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.

Free Will by Rush

There are those who think that life is nothing left to chance
A host of holy horrors to direct our aimless dance.

A planet of playthings,
We dance on the strings
Of powers we cannot perceive.
"The stars aren't aligned
Or the gods are malign"
Blame is better to give than receive.

You can choose a ready guide in some celestial voice.
If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.
You can choose from phantom fears and kindness that can kill
I will choose a path that's clear
I will choose free will.

There are those who think that they were dealt a losing hand,
The cards were stacked against them
They weren't born in lotus land.

All preordained
A prisoner in chains
A victim of venomous fate.

Kicked in the face,
You can pray for a place
In heaven's unearthly estate.

You can choose a ready guide in some celestial voice.
If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.
You can choose from phantom fears and kindness that can kill
I will choose a path that's clear
I will choose free will.

Each of us
A cell of awareness
Imperfect and incomplete.
Genetic blends
With uncertain ends
On a fortune hunt that's far too fleet.

You can choose a ready guide in some celestial voice.
If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.
You can choose from phantom fears and kindness that can kill
I will choose a path that's clear
I will choose free will.

Reminder

(Martha Raye & William Katt in "Pippin.")


"No Time at All"

When you are as old as I, my dear
And I hope that you never are
You will woefully wonder why, my dear
Through your cataracts and catarrh
You could squander away or sequester
A drop of a precious year
For when your best days are yester
The rest'er twice as dear....

What good is a field on a fine summer night
When you sit all alone with the weeds?
Or a succulent pear if with each juicy bite
You spit out your teeth with the seeds?
Before it's too late stop trying to wait
For fortune and fame you're secure of
For there's one thing to be sure of, mate:
There's nothing to be sure of!

Oh, it's time to start livin'
Time to take a little from this world we're given
Time to take time, cause spring will turn to fall
In just no time at all....

I've never wondered if I was afraid
When there was a challenge to take
I never thought about how much I weighed
When there was still one piece of cake
Maybe it's meant the hours I've spent
Feeling broken and bent and unwell
But there's still no cure more heaven-sent
As the chance to raise some hell

Oh, it's time to start livin'
Time to take a little from this world we're given
Time to take time, cause spring will turn to fall
In just no time at all....

Now when the drearies do attack
And a siege of the sads begins
I just throw these noble shoulders back
And lift these noble chins
Give me a man who is handsome and strong
Someone who's stalwart and steady
Give me a night that's romantic and long
And give me a month to get ready
Now I could waylay some aging roue
And persuade him to play in some cranny
But it's hard to believe I'm being led astray
By a man who calls me granny

Oh, it's time to start livin'
Time to take a little from this world we're given
Time to take time, cause spring will turn to fall
In just no time at all....

Sages tweet that age is sweet
Good deeds and good work earns you laurels
But what could make you feel more obsolete
Than being noted for your morals?

Here is a secret I never have told
Maybe you'll understand why
I believe if I refuse to grow old
I can stay young till I die
Now, I've known the fears of sixty-six years
I've had troubles and tears by the score
But the only thing I'd trade them for
Is sixty-seven more....

Oh, it's time to keep livin'
Time to keep takin' from this world we're given
You are my time, so I'll throw off my shawl
And watching your flings be flung all over
Makes me feel young all over

Asking permission

Sally, Paul, David, and I went to Christine Lavin's concert at the Barns of Wolf Trap last night and during intermission I got to distribute Christine's homemade Barackolate Chip Cookies.* She gave away copies of the recipe as well and I've written her an e-mail asking for her permission to post it here because it sounds yummy and is fun to read.

Fingers are crossed that permission is granted because, well, read this excerpt and you'll see what I mean:

"Mix all the chips together in a separate bowl, stir them around -- look, all different color chips! And they're all gettting along peacefully, like our Founding Fathers hoped we would."**

Clearly this is the cookie recipe American needs this week.


*Guess how she'll be voting on Tuesday...

**Formatting Chistine's.

My favorite thing about Pink's "So What"

She calls her ex a "tool." You just don't hear that enough in pop music.

All Around My Hat

Incorruptible is deliberately anachronistic which has all sorts of time-tossed music running through my head as we get the show ready to go up. Now, naturally, no one could consider herself a college medievalist who wasn't familiar with Steeleye Span, so this song seems to be nudging Apollo 100's Joy from the top of the list of "my current braingum."

Want it stuck in your head, too? Here 'tis! But I'm sure that it won't get at all stuck in your head. Not at all. It's perfectly safe to listen to and will leave your memory practically as the song finishes. You won't be humming it at the coffee maker or in the elevator because it won't be stuck in your head. Nor will you turn it up and sing along until your Boss shuts his door.

Steeleye Span - All Around My Hat / Farewell He

All around my hat I will wear the green willow
and all around my hat for a twelve month and a day
and if any one should ask me the reason why I'm wearing it
it's all for my true love who's far, far away.

Fare thee well cold winter and fare thee well cold frost
nothing have I gained but my own true love I've lost
I'll sing and I'll be merry when occasion I do see
he's a false deluding young man let him go farewell he

Other night he brought me a fine diamond ring
but he thought to have deprived me of a far better thing
but I being careful like lovers ought to be
he's a false deluding young man let him go farewell he and

All around my hat I will wear the green willow
and all around my hat for a twelve month and a day
and if any one should ask me the reason why I'm wearing it
it's all for my true love who's far, far away.

Quarter pound of reasons and a half a pound of sense
a small sprig of time and as much of prudence
you mix them all together and you will plainly see
he's a much deluding young man let him go farewell he and

All around my hat I will wear the green willow
and all around my hat for a twelve month and a day
and if any one should ask me the reason why I'm wearing it
it's all for my true love who's far, far away.

Shout hello to someone and get naked

My spiffy new Jason Mraz CD (We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things) has the following quote from Rachel Corrie which (obviously) I really liked.

"I'm building the world myself and putting new hats on everybody one by one... Before I go out I'm gonna have people in tutus, cops wearing sombreros, stockbrokers with viking hats, priests with panties on their heads. In the world I'm building, everybody shouts hello to everybody else from their car windows. People have speakers attached to their chests that pour out music so you can tell from a distance what mood they're in, and they won't be too chicken to get naked when the rain comes."

David and I saw My Name is Rachel Corrie* at the CATF last year (his comments on the production here), so there was the tiny shock of recognition at seeing her name in the quote credit.**


*And, yes, I knew who she was before that. I don't actually get all of my information about the world from plays. Just most of it.

**Which, by the way, reads in part "From Let Me Stand Alone: The Journals of Rachel Corrie by Rachel Corrie, edited with an introduction by the Corrie family."

Precious Lord

Take My Hand, Precious Lord, usually the version recorded by Mahalia Jackson, is often the music playing as a button for public radio pieces on the death of Martin Luther King, Jr. Written by a man who had just lost his wife and child, the song asks for strength and comfort in a time of loss and despair.

I first encountered Precious Lord while singing with The Metropolitan Chorus, which performs a beautiful arrangement for solo and chorus composed by music director Barry Hemphill.

It's a lovely, lovely piece and hearing those tiny snippets on the radio made me want to hear the whole thing, even if only in my head. For those of you not as familiar with the tune, there's a midi on Cyberhymnal.

Take My Hand, Precious Lord
Lyrics by Thomas A. Dorsey
Music, Maitland by George N. Allen

Precious Lord, take my hand,
Lead me on, let me stand,
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn;
Through the storm, through the night,
Lead me on to the light:

Refrain

Take my hand, precious Lord,
Lead me home.

When my way grows drear,
Precious Lord, linger near,
When my life is almost gone,
Hear my cry, hear my call,
Hold my hand lest I fall:

Refrain

When the darkness appears
And the night draws near,
And the day is past and gone,
At the river I stand,
Guide my feet, hold my hand:

Refrain

Sorry, Mollie

"Taking to the Backstreet Boys is time out of my life that I'll never get back."
Trace Adkins

And with such a lovely baritone did Mr. Adkins dis my former housemate's favorite child band.

Screechy 80s Band

I like Rush, Canada's major contribution to the world of music. And I particularly like this Rush song, which I haven't heard for eons.

David is not so big on Rush, whom he calls a screechy 80s band. He tried to call them a screechy 80s hair band, but I argued that hair bands are glam rockers like Cinderella or Ratt or Poison, not Rush, who in comparison to Cinderella, et al, are downright somber. And he saw my point.

Rush is a progressive rock band, according to those strangers on Wikipedia, who have written about Rush the most glowing tribute to living people that I can remember seeing.


Freewill

There are those who think that life has nothing left to chance
A host of holy horrors to direct our aimless dance

A planet of play things
We dance on the strings
Of powers we cannot perceive
'The stars aren't aligned
Or the gods are malign...'
Blame is better to give than receive

[Chorus:]
You can choose a ready guide in some celestial voice
If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice
You can choose from phantom fears and kindness that can kill
I will choose a path that's clear
I will choose freewill

There are those who think
That they were dealt a losing hand
The cards were stacked against them
They weren't born in Lotusland

All preordained
A prisoner in chains
A victim of venomous fate
Kicked in the face
You can't pray for a place
In heaven's unearthly estate

[Chorus]

Each of us
A cell of awareness
Imperfect and incomplete
Genetic blends
With uncertain ends
On a fortune hunt that's far too fleet

[Chorus]

A couple of quotes for Friday

Richard Land, with whom I so rarely find myself in agreement, said something that rang totally true for me:

I feel sorry for Hilary Clinton running against Barack Obama. She's trying to conduct a job interview and he's on a date.

And I ran into this one from Sean Combs in whichever Time magazine I'm currently carrying around. He was asked "what factor makes a record a sure hit"?

Melody. When you hear a Beatles' melody or Marvin Gaye, it changes everything around you. You ever see those commercials where somebody's someplace and then the whole room changes? Melody does that.