The Joy of Song

For all of my complaints of how overpaid lyricists try to pass off fuzzy rhyme and verse as poetry to music, I must admit there are still songs that can take my breath away. I was reminded of this again today when I took a moment to enjoy the final verse of "The Boxer" by Simon and Garfunkel:

In the clearing stands a boxer,

And a fighter by his trade

And he carries the reminders

Of ev'ry glove that laid him down

Or cut him till he cried out

In his anger and his shame,

"I am leaving, I am leaving."

But the fighter still remains

The imagery is so simple and yet so powerful that it makes me want to weep. I can clearly see the beaten man, head lowered, gloves dangling from tired hands. All he wants to do is go home. But he stays, pursuing a dream built on "lies and jest."

This is the kind of song that makes listening to the radio worthwhile.

And it's the kind of storytelling I aspire to write.

A Long Road to Old

I keep hearing radio commercials advertising that David Cook will perform at the 2009 Oregon State Fair. Initially, all I could think was, "Wow, from American Idol winner to State Fair performer ... that's a long fall from grace in a short period of time."

Then, I realized I saw Sting in concert at the Oregon State Fair.

When I was in college.

Which led me, of course, to my second realization: I'm definitely old.

I'm not sure why it always surprises me when I remember that 40 is a mere 10 months away (exactly 10 months, in fact), but it does. Must be early onset dementia sneaking up on me.

(For all the youngsters out there, Sting used to be the lead singer of The Police. He sang about his love for Roxanne, the prostitute, and begged people not to stand too close to him before leaving the band to start a solo career, which went nowhere fast. Now, he's probably best known for his on-again, off-again claims of marathon sessions of tantric sex with his wife.)

Pondering Moments

Now that I have time, I find I ponder a lot of things. Below is a brief -- and (admittedly) mostly judgmental -- selection of these musings:

-- Do people who dress up in their finest to shop at Target think their attire makes up for the fact that they are chewing gum like a common farm animal?

-- Is there any chance that today's teens will learn that if they will just watch where they are going rather than texting as they walk, they won't crash into others?

-- Is there a chance that those same teens will ever learn that they are at fault for the collisions and stop cussing others out for their rudeness?

-- Do members of a band ever realize that what they term as "poetry" is often just gibberish?

-- Why do people insist on driving in the left-hand lane when they aren't passing anyone?

-- The more famous Kathy Griffin gets, the less funny she becomes

-- Does Starbucks realize that I (and my coffee-loving brethren) have figured out that you get three shots of espresso in an iced venti mocha but only two in a hot venti mocha for the exact same price?

-- Cheese: How could something that tastes so right be so wrong?

-- Wine: Ditto

Off to ponder a little longer ...

Dealing with the Geographically Challenged

The following is an actual conversation between my mother and step-father, who were talking to one of their friends about a trip they are taking:

Step-father: "Our first stop is going to be in Leavenworth, Washington. It's made to look like a Bolivian town ..."

Mother: "No ... no ... Bavarian. It's supposed to look like a Bavarian town."

Step-father: "Bolivian, Bavarian ... it's the same thing."

Mother: "It's not the same thing. Bavaria is Scandinavian and ..."

Me: "No, Mother. Bavaria is not part of Scandinavia."

Mother: "Well, close enough."

-- sigh --

I relate this for two reasons:

1. There's a reason I don't always come across as "worldly"
2. No matter what else is going on in your life, you can generally still find a reason to laugh at your relatives

I double-dog dare you to take a good, hard look at your family and laugh today.

Continuing Absurdity of Commercials Part II

The Celebrity: Sarah Jessica Parker (a.k.a. SJP, ex-Carrie Bradshaw)

The Set Up: Based on the commercial, it's a little hard to tell at first. The only thing I can seem to focus on when SJP appears on screen is how big her forehead seems with her hair pulled back and how bright and smooth and shiny her face appears. Her head almost looks like a bowling ball.

Then, as she starts prattling on and squeezing a little red ball, we get to hear about how she's concerned with preventing and repairing lines and wrinkles on her face.

The Solution/Product: Well, obviously ... it's for a skin care line designed to relieve people of their unsightly wrinkles ... and apparently every distinguishing facial feature they have ever had.

The Absurdity: Where do I even begin? The list seems endless:

1. Her skin has obviously been sandblasted to doll-like perfection (hopefully, by a doctor). It is not natural and no matter how many times you use this over-the-counter product, you will not achieve these results.

2. The commercial is perfectly lit so that it flattens out every feature and no shadow can possibly fall in a wrinkle or a crevice. Unfortunately, the rest of us mere mortals do not have the option of being perfectly lit from all sides at all times.

3. Sorry, but I remember SJP back from the days when she was in "Square Pegs," as well as that painful "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" movie (opposite Helen Hunt) and the delightfully odd "L.A. Story" (opposite Steve Martin). Even then, she sported the first sign of crows feet. Again, believing an over-the-counter potion can counteract the long-term effects of sun and Hollywood is absurd.

4. She smokes. And she's over 40. Smoker + Over 40 = Anything but wrinkle-free skin.

Parting Thought: I don't care how many potions and lotions you inject into SJP's face, if you squash her head the way she squeezes the red rubber ball, nothing would bounce back.

Fun in Wineville

Sunday.

McMenimins.

McMinnville.

While this is clearly a standard stop on Fridays and Saturdays for the wine country crowd, Sundays is for the locals. People just looking to get away from it all. Have a drink or two in peace. And maybe some decent food. While not the most upscale place, of it is definitely homey. And relaxed.

Who could ask for more?