it's a good thing that baby boomers either don't listen to pop music or are starting to go deaf.
denise treated me to a concert not too long ago: sheryl crow and john mayer. had ms. crow taken the stage first, we'd already made a pact to leave before mr. mayer's act. as it turned out, tho, their order was switched and we had to stay.
after mayer lulled us to the brink of hibernation, crow took the stage to conduct her own personal version of an anti-war demonstration, which didn't seem to mesh with denise's headache. war is not the answer, ya know. then we got lost on the back roads of manassas for a half hour, but still managed to beat her sister and brother-in-law in the race back home.
anyway! john mayer made the teenagers swoon and the adults yawn. as aaron pointed out before we even left, "isn't he the guy whose songs all sound the same?" turns out he is. "1....2....3....4....1....2....3....4....1....2....3....4....," he sang. then came "it's time to rock this place!" girls screamed and we got, "1....2....3....4....1....2....3....4...."
on the journey up, i remember telling denise that i really wasn't much john mayer fan ... i'd only ever heard the songs that are played on the radio over and over and over again, and i thought i liked his newest release. it wasn't until i heard it in concert that i realized my true feelings about his newest song.
if i like a song the first time i hear it, it's because of the actual music part ... melodies, harmonies, beats, etc. once i decided those are fun, i start paying attention to the words.
my original intention was to share with you only a few of the most unbelievable lines. honestly, i found it difficult to delete anything. enjoy.
me and all my friends
we're all misunderstood
they say we stand for nothing and
there's no way we ever could
now we see everything that's going wrong
with the world and those who lead it
we just feel like we don't have the means
to rise above and beat it
so we keep waiting
waiting on the world to change
we keep on waiting
waiting on the world to change
it's hard to beat the system
when we're standing at a distance
so we keep waiting
waiting on the world to change
now if we had the power
to bring our neighbors home from war
they would have never missed a Christmas
no more ribbons on their door
and when you trust your television
what you get is what you got
cause when they own the information, oh
they can bend it all they want
so we keep waiting
waiting on the world to change
we keep on waiting
waiting on the world to change
it's not that we don't care,
we just know that the fight ain't fair
so we keep on waiting
waiting on the world to change
one day our generation
is gonna rule the population
so we keep on waiting
waiting on the world to change
we keep on waiting
waiting on the world to change
what the hell? i certainly hope young people aren't hearing this. i hope his mumbled, droning words aren't getting through. maybe no one's listening and dj's will immediately stop playing it. maybe he wrote it in great haste, meant to change the lyrics before recording it but forgot.
or maybe not. maybe the teeny boppers are listening. maybe they're deciding that it's more comfortable to listen to an iPod than it is to sing out loud. maybe the limbs of disinterest are stretching. maybe we should be listening to the curious george soundtrack instead:
Who's to say
I can't do everything
Well I can try
And as I roll along I begin to find
Things aren't always just what they seem
I wanna turn the whole thing upside down
I'll find the things they say just can't be found
I'll share this love I find with everyone
We'll sing and dance to Mother Nature's songs
This world keeps spinning and there's no time to waste
Will it all keep spinning spinning round and round
so ... you say you want a revolution? well, ya know, we all want to change the world.
er, wait ...
September 22, 2006
August 25, 2006
the writing assignment
smith was wearing a cool linen suit and a dandelion in his lapel when he swung his red-tipped cane to the north, finding the old brick sidewalk and a leg of the chair penny sat poised in. she glanced up from that morning's paper to find the dapper gentleman bowing his apology in her general direction and tipping a hat that he wasn't wearing.
"please sit," she said, lightly kicking chair across from her, which he briefly marked with his hand before setting himself on its plane surface.
"a lovely morning for breakfast outside," he gestured to the sky and unwittingly smacked the waiter who was approaching from behind. "a thousand apologies, my dear!" he said to the form that was now lingering next to the table. "i fear the wind took my hand."
"don't worry about it," said the slightly gruff voice of the offended party. "i'm adrian and i'll be taking care of you."
"good heavens," smith replied, looking surprised and amused at once. "nothing for me, thank you. i trust my lady friend has been, as you put it, 'taken care of?'" he gestured again, this time toward penny ... his sleeve dragging through a bit of powdered sugar where her donut had been.
"yes, i'm fine thank you," penny smiled and touched smith's hand, which he then returned it to the table.
the disinterested waiter hooked his unused pen to his apron and retreated as his internal radar informed him that the table of teenagers in the corner was, once again, attempting to set fire to their tablecloth.
"tell me, love, what's the latest dish?"
"oh, smith," penny said folding the news in her lap and taking his hand across a plate of eggs. "i'm afraid the critics have panned your performance again."
"damn," he said as he turned around in time to see adrian threaten the table in the corner with the business end a fire extinguisher.
"please sit," she said, lightly kicking chair across from her, which he briefly marked with his hand before setting himself on its plane surface.
"a lovely morning for breakfast outside," he gestured to the sky and unwittingly smacked the waiter who was approaching from behind. "a thousand apologies, my dear!" he said to the form that was now lingering next to the table. "i fear the wind took my hand."
"don't worry about it," said the slightly gruff voice of the offended party. "i'm adrian and i'll be taking care of you."
"good heavens," smith replied, looking surprised and amused at once. "nothing for me, thank you. i trust my lady friend has been, as you put it, 'taken care of?'" he gestured again, this time toward penny ... his sleeve dragging through a bit of powdered sugar where her donut had been.
"yes, i'm fine thank you," penny smiled and touched smith's hand, which he then returned it to the table.
the disinterested waiter hooked his unused pen to his apron and retreated as his internal radar informed him that the table of teenagers in the corner was, once again, attempting to set fire to their tablecloth.
"tell me, love, what's the latest dish?"
"oh, smith," penny said folding the news in her lap and taking his hand across a plate of eggs. "i'm afraid the critics have panned your performance again."
"damn," he said as he turned around in time to see adrian threaten the table in the corner with the business end a fire extinguisher.
August 21, 2006
not the writing assignment
it was one of those weekends during which you make a realization about your past that profoundly impacts your present and at the same time learn how to perform basic vacuum cleaner maintenance ... beyond the bag change.
it all began as many things do: with dog hair.
but why would i start with the floors when i could less easily start with the closets? well, one closet specifically. the one that couldn't be opened without the fear of blunt head trauma. the one that hasn't gotten any attention since the water heater died ... and before that, since i bought the place.
inside said closet, i dodged and weaved my way around a box of desk supplies, a mass of cords and wires half the size of zoey, a keyboard, a printer, a handful of retired purses, a dog crate, wrapping paper, a water bed mattress, and a porch swing. i kid you not.
the most interesting finds, tho, were the folders upon folders of college papers. as an english major, i wrote a lot. to complete the curriculum, i occasionally had to take two and three literature courses at a time. what a good idea.
i remember one stellar term near the end of it all when marcia and i took nothing but lit classes, and two of them were parallel topics ... we wrote daily journals, mid-terms, finals, long papers, short papers, daily journals, daily journals, and daily journals.
so, when i say i wrote a lot, i compare that output to, say, aaron’s DVD collection ... except that my collection only took four years to accumulate, it doesn't have to ever be alphabetized, and there are no duplicates. well, at least not many duplicates.
i also compare the quality of those papers to the quality of aaron's DVDs. there's a decent Criterion contingent, but there are many, many Shriek of the Mutliated resemblances.
sitting in the closet, reading all the red ink, i realized that i spent my college years applying myself just enough to courteously get by.
that hurt. most especially when the flood of awareness swept over me, and my head hit the door.
B, B+, B+, B. in the stacks of papers, i found one solid C, and it was well deserved: "please make sure your essays are at least 500 words long." yeah, man ... freshman composition. shortly thereafter, i declared my major. perhaps i should have done a little more thinking, but i was just a kid. how could i be expected to make an intelligent and important decision then?
honestly, now that i'm an "adult" how can i be expected to make an intelligent and important decision? am i still aiming to get by? the answers are i don't see how and yes, respectfully.
do you know that a small but essential plastic nub fell off one of the venetian blinds in my living room last week? of course not ... but i'm sure you know what i did about it. that's right … i opened the blind using the pull string rather than the twisty thing.
do i plan to replace that blind? of course not ... that is, not until mother visits and insists that it be replaced.
there i go again ... just getting by.
*sigh*
it all began as many things do: with dog hair.
but why would i start with the floors when i could less easily start with the closets? well, one closet specifically. the one that couldn't be opened without the fear of blunt head trauma. the one that hasn't gotten any attention since the water heater died ... and before that, since i bought the place.
inside said closet, i dodged and weaved my way around a box of desk supplies, a mass of cords and wires half the size of zoey, a keyboard, a printer, a handful of retired purses, a dog crate, wrapping paper, a water bed mattress, and a porch swing. i kid you not.
the most interesting finds, tho, were the folders upon folders of college papers. as an english major, i wrote a lot. to complete the curriculum, i occasionally had to take two and three literature courses at a time. what a good idea.
i remember one stellar term near the end of it all when marcia and i took nothing but lit classes, and two of them were parallel topics ... we wrote daily journals, mid-terms, finals, long papers, short papers, daily journals, daily journals, and daily journals.
so, when i say i wrote a lot, i compare that output to, say, aaron’s DVD collection ... except that my collection only took four years to accumulate, it doesn't have to ever be alphabetized, and there are no duplicates. well, at least not many duplicates.
i also compare the quality of those papers to the quality of aaron's DVDs. there's a decent Criterion contingent, but there are many, many Shriek of the Mutliated resemblances.
sitting in the closet, reading all the red ink, i realized that i spent my college years applying myself just enough to courteously get by.
that hurt. most especially when the flood of awareness swept over me, and my head hit the door.
B, B+, B+, B. in the stacks of papers, i found one solid C, and it was well deserved: "please make sure your essays are at least 500 words long." yeah, man ... freshman composition. shortly thereafter, i declared my major. perhaps i should have done a little more thinking, but i was just a kid. how could i be expected to make an intelligent and important decision then?
honestly, now that i'm an "adult" how can i be expected to make an intelligent and important decision? am i still aiming to get by? the answers are i don't see how and yes, respectfully.
do you know that a small but essential plastic nub fell off one of the venetian blinds in my living room last week? of course not ... but i'm sure you know what i did about it. that's right … i opened the blind using the pull string rather than the twisty thing.
do i plan to replace that blind? of course not ... that is, not until mother visits and insists that it be replaced.
there i go again ... just getting by.
*sigh*
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