Hidden Hobbies

I have an unsung talent (ha!) as a lyricist….spent too many of my formative years reading Mad Magazine. These songs just bubble up in my head, all the time, and I sing them – not just in the shower, but around the house, I whistle them at work, and so on. I can’t stop. Many of my songs are sung about or to my dogs, who know which songs are “theirs” and generally wag their tails when they hear their special melody about to begin.

“Phoebe” (aka "Feelings" with apologies to MORRIS ALBERT )

Phoebe, nothing more than Phoebe

Trying not to forget my poodle that I love’d

Kisses rolling down on my face

Trying not to forget my poodle of love

Phoebe, for all my life I'll love you

I wish you’d never leave me, girl

You'll like will never come again

Phoebe, woo-o-o Phoebe

Woo-o-o, Phoebe, again in my arms

Phoebe, feelings like I've never lost you

And feelings like I'll never have you again in my heart

Phoebe, for all my life I'll feel it

I wish I've never lost you, girl; you'll never come again

Phoebe, feelings like I've never lost you

And feelings like I'll never have you again in my life

Phoebe, woo-o-o feeling it,

woo-o-o, Phoebe again in my arms

Feelings

“Malcolm the Boxer” (aka “Frosty the Snowman”, by Wallace/Nelson)

Malcolm the Boxer, was a very happy dog,

With a wiggly butt and a big wet nose, and two eyes made of coal.

Malcolm the Boxer, is a fairytale, they say.

He was made of fur, but the children know how he came to life one day.

There must have been some magic in that big brown dog they found,

For when they patted him on his head, he began to dance around!

Oh, Malcolm, the Boxer, was as lively as could be;

and the children say he could laugh and play,

All day long,

Just the same as you and me.

Thumpety thump, thump, thumpety thump, thump,

look at Malcolm go.

Thumpety thump, thump, thumpety thump, thump,

over the coach he goes.

“The Addie Wind”   (aka “The Summer Wind with apologies to Frank Sinatra)

The Addie wind, came blowin' in from betwixt her cheeks

It lingered there to touch the air and made us sick for weeks

All summer long we smelled her song and then we saw that golden turd

Two big fat turds, and the Addie wind

Of course, Rick gets his own songs, too.  Lots of them. “I’m Gonna Wash tha Man Right Outta My Hair”, the theme from the old Ricola herbal cough remedy commercials ( Swiss yodeling ) “Rick-o-la!” , etc – but these don’t even need the words changed. Here is another one:

“Rick be a Reidy” (aka “Luck Be A Lady”)

They call you Rick Reidy. 
But there is room for doubt 
At times you have a very unReidylike way of acting out

You're on this a date with me
The pickings have been lush
And yet before this evening is over you might give me the brush
You might forget your manners
You might refuse to stay and

So all the best that I can do is pray.

Rick be a Reidy tonight
Rick be a Reidy tonight
Rick if you've ever been a Reidy to begin with
Rick be a Reidy tonight.

Rick be a gentleman, see
How nice a dame I can be
I've seen the way you've treated other girls you've been with
Rick be a Reidy with me.

A Reidy doesn't pass out drunken
It isn't fair, it isn't nice
A Reidy doesn't vomit all over the room
And drink till the sun’s about to rise.
So let's keep the party polite
Never get out of my sight
Stick with me baby, you’re lucky that I’m with you
Rick be a Reidy
Rick be a Reidy
Rick be a Reidy tonight.

Rick be a Reidy tonight
Rick be a Reidy tonight
Rick if you've ever been a Reidy to begin with
Rick be a Reidy tonight. 

A Reidy likes to sail the Potomac
And when the weather’s fair, it’s so nice
A Reidy summers in the Outer Banks 

And visits the Smithsonian Art Museum
So let's keep our dating polite
Never ask me to go for a hike
Stick with me baby, let’s go to the opera
Rick be a Reidy
Rick be a Reidy
Rick be a Reidy tonight. 

Rick be a Reidy tonight
Rick be a Reidy tonight
Rick if you've ever been a Reidy to begin with
Rick be a Reidy tonight. 

A Reidy doesn't cheap out on dinner

It isn't fair, it isn't nice

A Reidy doesn't ask me to go steady with him

And not take me out on a date, first.

So let's keep our relationship nice

Never forget my advice

Stick with me baby, I'm the lady you want to go home with

Rick be a Reidy

Rick be a Reidy

Rick be a Reidy tonight.

Rick be a Reidy tonight
Rick be a Reidy tonight
Rick if you've ever been a Reidy to begin with
Rick be a Reidy tonight. 

A Reidy doesn't forget to call me
It isn't fair, it isn't nice
A Reidy doesn't force me to watch sports tv
When I’d rather catch “Masterpiece”
So let's keep the party polite
Never forget I am right
Stick with me baby, I'm the lady you came in with
Rick be a Reidy
Rick be a Reidy
Rick be a Reidy tonight.

Rick, I’m your ladyfriend, see
How nice a guy can you be ?
I know the way you've treated other gals you've been with
Rick I’m a lady, a lady, a lady you see

A Lady doesn’t flirt with strangers
She has a heart, don’t you know?
A lady doesn’t want you to talk all night long
To someone else, some doll.
Never get out of my sight.
Stick with me, baby, I'm the lady you came in with
Rick I’m your lady
Rick I’m your lady
Rick I’m your lady tonight. 

Coincidence? I Think Not

 

Lady Gaga's "meat " dress and the plastic counter covers in the cafeteria at my school...notice the resemblance?

My Favorite Time of Year

Once the hoopla of the Super Bowl is over, I breathe a collected sigh of relief  and just b-r-e-a-t-h-e . For the previous six months, hubster has monopolized every tv in the house, watching football games in every room, and not content with that, roaming around yelling at all the different games on the various tv's. There is just no escape. The madness starts in August and goes non stop until February. Football games are on  Thurs, Fri, Sat, Sun, Mon and now on Wed nights as well , plus all day on Sat and Sun. Football mania is all fine and good but in this house it's just too much. The dogs cower and hide under the bed. I just leave - go out to lunch, get a massage, go to a movie. Yet it feels forced, and the house is a stressful place to be.The stress seems to follow, like a cloud.

 

But this time of year - Feb through May, what we call "spring" - is the best season of the year. Post Super Bowl (the real end of the holidays ), post Hanukkah, Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Year's. Deep winter and early spring are a peaceful time, quiet, calm, reflective. In Texas, it is also sunny and mild. The arts calendars are in full swing - there's opera, gallery exhibits, symphony concerts, author talks, foreign films, jazz festivals - something for everyone.

The farmer's market goes year round, pulling produce from south Texas. MMMM! I think I'll cook something.

Something

Something in the way it smells,
Repels me like no other odor.
Something in the way it oo-oo-ooozes.
I don't want to clean it now,
 But I know I need to and how.

Da-da-DA-daa-daaaaaa

Somewhere in the dark it grows,
Making a stink like no other odor.
Something in the stickiness glow-ow-ows.
I don't want to clean it now,
But I know I need to and how.

Da-da-DA-daa-daaaaaa

You're asking me will this mess grow,
I don't know, I don't know.
Stick around, and it may slow
But I don't know, I don't know.

Something in the way it smells,
And all I have to do is open it.
Something in the back- it scares me.
I don't want to clean it now.
You know I believe and how.

Denton Arts and Jazzfest

The University of North Texas is home to a mighty fine music school that specializes in Jazz, so it is no wonder that the hometown of UNT would host a local Arts and Jazz Festival. Spring is the time of year for festivals all over the place, and this one features a typical collection of arts and crafts vendors, typical summer fair type food vendors, kiddie activities, "green" vendors, and of course, multiple music venues large and small. There are geriatric cloggers, local school bands and choirs, big name groups from far and wide that span the genres from conjunto to swing to blues to techno jazz.. A few years back I heard Wynton Marsalis play at this festival (for free I might add) and it was awesome. Brave Combo, the grammy award winning polka band, nearly always closes out the weekend. This fest is always the last weekend in April ; come on by if you can ! It's free !

Ft Worth Opera Fest Rocks on

Fort Worth Opera happens in the beautiful of Bass Hall, a venue with incredible sweetness of sound and few "dead spots" (where listening is muddled or dulled)

It has quickly become an annual treat to attend the Fort Worth Opera festival with one of my oldest and dearest friends, a boy whose contagious enthusiasm for the genre sparked my own interest in this art form way back in 1975. We began our opera going lives with "Siege of Corinth" starring Beverly Sills and Shirley Verrett - not a bad way to begin this life-long adventure, with famous stars and a world class performance from the Dallas Civic Opera. Soon we added Wagner's "Tristan and Isolde" (we still joke about the wisdom or weirdness of teens choosing to spend 5 hours enduring a minimalist production of Wagner) and another iconic Beverly Sills performance in "La Traviata" - all before we graduated from high school. Here we are, some 30+ years later, still enjoying opera together, and this year's addition to the roster of performances seen together has proven a refreshing delight.




"It's not over till the FIT lady sings !

It must be noted that the Fort Worth Opera Fest typically puts on three or four productions a year, and has recently evolved into a compact season with an intense series of full (2 or 3 shows, each differing performances) weekends that run through May and June. Hectic end-of-school year scheduling often prohibits me from attending more than one show a year; my childhood friend, now a noted opera critic, flies in from France to experience as many performances as he can. We have recently been joined by a young friend and enthusiast whose charm and education in this and many areas adds vibrancy to our intermission conversations. This small slice of operatic heaven provides such fun that it carries me for weeks.
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The opera I saw last year, "Dead Man Walking" (written by Jake Heggie) was a modern style opera written/sung in English and was so moving and beautiful that the ancient Greek concept of catharsis (i.e., great art should produce in the viewer emotional release) was achieved and my friends and I sobbed the entire time.
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This year my schedule permitted me to attend a lighter, more comedic (in the true Shakespearean sense, that is, a romance with comedic moments) opera, "The Elixir of Love" ("L'elisir d'amore")by Gaetano Donizetti. The show was staged with a pre WWI setting in small town America, much like "The Music Man" or "Carousel". While no major headliners sang this year with the Fort Worth Opera Fest, the local singers did quite nicely. This bel canto style opera was sung with great skill and dexterity by Ava Pine, Michael Fabiano, and Rod Nelman. The beauty of the trilling notes and vocalizations felt like coming home to me, with moments recalling some of the vocal dexterity of Beverly Sills at her greatest.

Sounds of the Season

I was standing in the elevator at the doctor's office just the other day , and some of that nauseating holiday muzak was playing. The cheap cheezy kind, you know what I mean, no discern able artist, the kind where you can't get that annoying refrain out of your head, no matter how hard you try. Thinking I was alone, I muttered to myself ,"F-L-O-G, I absolutely HATE this time of year ! " - just as the door to the elevator opened and a large officious looking woman walked in. When the elevator door closed, I had a very uncomfortable 20 second ride with this woman, who glared at me the entire time while looking me up and down as though I were some sort of space alien, because she thought she heard me say I hated Christmas. Now granted, in theory we have freedom of religion, assembly, and speech in this country, so I am free to like or dislike whatever I want, but living here in the buckle of the Bible belt, any person who hates Christmas is just, well, un-American.
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I spent many years of my young life working in a variety of finer and lesser retail establishments, and listened for countless hours to those Christmas jingle tapes which stores play in endless loops ( it used to be they started after Thanksgiving, but lately they seem to start after Halloween), all of which are somehow supposed to encourage shoppers to "buy, buy, buy". When I was a kid , people used to say there were subliminal messages in those tapes.....after years of listening to them, I am not so sure. All I feel like doing, after hours/days/weeks of listening to them, is drive aggressively, and vent a little pent up energy by way of road rage, not shopping frenzy.
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True, there are many other things that drive me crazy abut the holiday season, as well, esp as relates to the way we live in in this consumer-oriented overly media-ized wonderful nation of ours. (Read "12 days of Christmas", for more info on that topic.) I hate the endless tv commercials that try to convince my kids to nag me to buy things they really don't want or need, having too many school/kid activities all spaced into the 2 weeks prior to school letting out (all in the name of "family togetherness" - how about letting me decide how to spend time with my own family?), feel guilty about more hands out, asking for donations than I can comfortably contribute to, and worry about students of mine who might go hungry or have nothing at all in the way of Christmas gifts.
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In spite of my seeming "Grinchy-ness", however, there are many things I love about Christmas. I loved it when I lived back east to go outside, esp at night, for the first really serious snowfall of the season, and look up into the sky, and watch the spiraling effect of the snow as it comes down onto your face. I love to curl up in front of roaring fire with cookies and hot cocoa and good book to read. I don't mind listening to carolers who come to the door - so few do , any more. I loved watching my children's faces light up, when they were little, and they opened their gifts. I loved watching our old boxer, Leto, pull my son around the yard in a little sled we tied to his collar. I have always enjoyed decorating, putting up the tree ( had a live one, till my son came along who was allergic to them), looking at the holiday lights in the dark. Used to go ice skating - when living in Houston, at the Galleria. When living in Westchester Co, NY, on the pond at the bottom of the hill from my home. Skated there with my dog, Addie, while the neighborhood kids played hockey all around us. When I taught at EHS, I used to really love their Christmas "Lessons and Carols" service most of all. The choir master there was trained in the British tradition , and the music program at that school was just breath-taking. The student choir was really beautiful , with those high, arching voices, echoing down the long narrow nave, just like angels.
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I still do enjoy, and listen quite a bit, to special holiday themed music. It's just that my idea of glorious Christmas music is often quite different from that of the store manager at my local discount center or the dj at the local "top 40" radio station. Muzak, in fact any sort of whiney pop fakely peppy pseudo - rock holiday tunes are absolutely unbearable to me .They make me nauseous and wish fervently to run as fast as I can away. I love jazzy holiday standards from the 40's and 50's : Bing and Benny and Ella; all the Vince Gauraldi music form the "Charlie Brown " Christmas special, and modern crooners such as Norah Jones and Josh Groban and Micheal Buble. But most of all, I love old English church music.....from medieval monks chanting to Victorian hymns. "In the Bleak Midwinter","O Holy Night", "What Child Is This ? ". Some of the songs I love are old carols from France or Germany : "Bring a Torch, Jeannette Isabella. " "Still, Still, Still". My favorite Christmas song of all is titled "Once in Royal David's City". It is the traditional first song of my own church's Christmas Eve Mass. It starts small, with one little choir boy's voice, perhaps recalling the Christ child or a little shepherd boy who has come to see Him. The next verse builds to several singers ( I always imagine, more shepherds, or the Wise Men). Each stanza grows and grows, more majestic, with more singers, until the organ chimes in and the whole church joins , too. It is like all of heaven has opened up to sing along. Makes me a little verklempt, just thinking about it.

Here, you can listen for yourself :
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pc_Mo2KrIzw&feature=related

Late Night Song Dedications

Pretend for a moment that this is not a blog posting, but a late night radio show. The kind you used to listen to as a kid, where the dj spoke in a sultry smokey voice and played the long version of songs like "Freebird" by Lyndyrd Skynyrd, or "Blackwater" by the Dooby Brothers. When I was 13 or 14 years old, too young to go out but too old to be content with merely going to sleep, I used to talk for hours on the phone to my best gf Calan or this boy I had a crush on, known in this blog as Vincent the Spellchecker. (Kind of like Luke Skywalker.....in many ways.) Back in the olden days, as I often tell my children, we didn't have cell phones or cordless phones that let us talk to our friends wherever we were . No indeedy, we had the rectangular wall phone, most frequently mounted in the kitchen, and if we were lucky, our parents had already grown annoyed with the fact that we were always on it, and purchased an extra long handset cord, so we could get out of the kitchen , go around the corner into the laundry room or the guest bathroom, tethered to this earth by a 20 ft length of spiral-twisted plastic coated wiring,often in Harvest Gold or Avocado Green. There, perched on the washing machine or sitting on the floor of the bathroom, we would talk all night long, often while listening to the local "Top 40" radio stations. Conversations often went something like this :
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(Both friends listening to the same radio station in their separate homes)
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"I like this song...mmmm-hmmm-dadaaaaadadaaaa. So what did he say ?"
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"Nothing, he just looked at me. I was asking YOU if you thought it was a significant look, or just a random look.You know, like you've been doing your homework and to take a mental break, you just look up, and I happened to be in your line of sight , kind of look."
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"But I thought you said you sat BEHIND him in English class."
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In the background : "Nights in white satin, Never reaching the end, Letters I've written, Never meaning to send. Beauty I'd always missed, With these eyes before, Just what the truth is, I can't say anymore. 'Cause I love you,Yes, I love you,Oh, how, I love you. "
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In those misty hours between midnight and dawn, many important topics were discussed while the music rolled on. Interrupting the late night dj's patter were occasional phone calls from listeners with song requests and dedications. This premise , used to terrorize a character in the film "Play Misty for Me", is not really seen anymore - it seems that it is cheaper to have pre-recorded play lists set up and ready to roll, all promoting the album or song the music company wants to sell, not what members of the audience actually want to hear.
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In the interest of remembering and preserving that moment, I offer up : Song Dedications. I have long thought of various people from my life in terms of which song I would dedicate to him/her on just such a late night radio show, and I include them here, just to amuse myself . Sending it out into the blog-o-sphere, just like those radio waves they say from the earliest days of broadcasting which are somewhere near Jupiter about now.
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To Steve I dedicate : "Spiders and Snakes" by Jim Stafford.
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To Michael I dedicate : "Whiskey River", because he used to take me to a bar by the same name. I like the Willie Nelson version best.
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My parents always make me think of John Denver songs and all those happy childhood summers spent in Colorado. "Rocky Mountain High", "Country Roads" and "Mother Nature's Son" .
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Calan gets anything by Elton John, b/c she used to love him so
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Spuddie and her brothers get "Never Marry a Girl From Monrobia" and all that other strange wonderful crazy African pop music they brought to the USA with them from Liberia in 1972
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Bill gets several songs, many of them from opera, such as the main theme from "Tristan and Isolde" . I also associate him with movie themes, such as the music to "Breakfast at Tiffany's" and most songs from "Mary Poppins" or "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang". He has long maintained that his song for me is "Tainted Love". As far as pop music goes, I often think of "House of the Rising Sun" for him, mostly b/c I associate him strongly with New Orleans
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To Judy I dedicate : "Time Warp" from Rocky Horror Picture Show b/c we used to dance it together , in hallways, late at night.
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Bart gets pretty much anything by Led Zepplin.
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Nathan gets "Heart of Glass" by Blondie
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To Tom I dedicate "Science Fiction, Double Feature" from the Rocky Horror Picture Show, b/c he took me to see that movie dozens of times.
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To Robert I dedicate "Don't It Make My Brown Eyes Blue" by Crystal Gale, also anything by The Judys
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Hal gets all that weird new wave stuff, like Gary Numan and Iggy Pop
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Pretty much anything by the Rolling Stones makes me think of Ronald, esp the "Some Girls" album.
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To Susan B I dedicate : "Swingin'" by John Anderson, mostly b/c she loved that song and sang it constantly. (Personally, it drove me nuts.)
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CaCo gets "Material Girl" by Madonna
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To Chip I dedicate : "Afternoon Delight" by the Starland Vocal Band.
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Rodney gets anything by the Thompson Twins, b/c he used to be their Number One Fan
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To Greg I dedicate : "Good-bye Earl" by the Dixie Chicks. I actually plan to drive 'round and 'round his funeral ceremony, if I outlive him, blasting this one from my car stereo as loud as I can.
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To Rick I dedicate :"I Can Help" written by Billy Swann and sung by Clyde McPhatter; also anything written by Springsteen, b/c he is the one who introduced me to The Boss. He likes "Tramps Like Us" for our theme song.

Do you have special songs that you would like to dedicate ? Email me on facebook, and I will add them to this site !

Make A Joyful Noise......

"Rockband" the video game may be all the rage with the kids these days, but a certain element of young man ( and girl !) still dreams of becoming an actual player in a rock 'n roll band. It is not enough to own simulated instruments in a video game, no, real ( and expensive) instruments must be purchased, too. Countless hours are spent in the family garage practicing songs , writing new ones, hanging with friends, getting the act down just right. It is one of the joys of parenthood that weekends at my house are often spent listening to the deafening screech of feedback when the electric guitars get plugged in and ramped up. The constant drumming I am used to. Fortunately, this is a home that was built for having teenagers, and I can almost get far enough away in the master suite from the kids' rooms that I can barely hear the "music" as I sleep.

Tramps Like Us Relive Glory Days While Dancing in the Dark

I was going to title this piece "Old Farts Attend Rock Concert" , but the hubster said that was just too depressing. Yet all too true ; as we were parking and walking in to this, our first rock concert in nearly 25 years ( not counting a Keane concert we went to about 2 years ago, which was at Nokia Center, which looks like a theater on the inside, and the audience was way too well behaved to feel like an actual rock concert , with folks tamely sitting in their seats applauding - those Brits !) , I couldn't help but notice that 80% of all the folks parking their BMW's, Lexuses and Escalades next to our Scion xb were 40 years old or older. The remaining 20% of attendees were clearly the teen aged children of the other 80%.

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This well - heeled crowd ( not sure if the Boss drew such an upscale group because we are all old now, and making more than we did 25 years ago, or because at nearly $100 a pop for the cheap seats, all his working and middle class fans stayed home that night) chose one of two strategies , in terms of attire, to see Springsteen at AA Center in Dallas this warm spring night. A few, like my dear hubbie, chose to wear something they once owned or wore back in the late 80's, to get into the spirit of things. I tried very hard not to be embarrassed as my spousal unit came out of the bedroom, ready to roll in an acid washed jean jacket, pale jeans, and a surfer t-shirt that had seen better days. (I thought I'd thrown all those outfits out ! He must have found the bound-for-Goodwill-bag, in the back of the closet, and taken back all those clothes of his that had been consigned to leave our home.) Most of us, however, either threw all those golden oldies out, or have , like me, gained a few pounds in the intervening years , and just dressed in our ordinary everyday clothes. Expensive haircuts, shoes, and handbags belied the fact that we were once hippies, full of contempt for The Man, and all those material things that He stood for.

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Going to a rock concert is so exciting, and yet many, I am sure, had doubts they could handle it at midlife - like myself. Sure, I've been to dozens of them in my youth. Once spent an entire day at TexJam, frying myself all day on the field at the Cotton Bowl, painting baby oil on my skin and drinking Southern Comfort while listening to Aerosmith, Van Halen, Blue Oyster Cult, and Hart. Spent the early 80' s at a variety of new wave and punk concerts - Ramones, Gary Numan, the Judys, B-52's, the GoGo's, Eurythmics. Also a big jazz fan, and have been known to frequent smokey dark dives listening to BB King, Muddy Waters, both of the Marsalis' brothers. I've been to several Springsteen concerts, as well, back in college days , when the Boss was young and nubile, before he became all "swole" and buff. The entire week before this particular event, I'd been angsting about it to my co-workers, trying to figure out how late I'd be out, if I'd need a day off from work to recover. (It was on a Sunday night , and I did .) Long gone are the days when one could attend a rock concert, dance in the aisles the entire time, go to an all night diner afterwards to discuss it all with friends, drive to Galveston to watch the sun come up , and still attend classes/work the next day. Those were the days.

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Let it be noted that I had to beg, plead, harass and threaten hubby dear to even buy the tickets to see Springsteen on his stop through Dallas. I finally convinced him to do it as a bday treat for himself. Yet while we were there, hubby leaned over to me, gave me a big hug , and said, "I'm glad you made me do this." Those moments are rare, and I treasured it.

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The Boss was known in the old days for giving awesome value for the money- 3 hour concerts without break were common. Even now, at the age of 58, he sang for over 2 1/2 hours non-stop. Towards the end, he was a little hoarse, but who wouldn't be. Some of the members of the E-street band looked a bit pooped. The review in the Dallas Morning News said, to paraphrase, he showed us once again why he's the Boss. The energy was there, the excitement, the joy of the old familiar tunes mixed with music from his latest album. Nearly all the 15,000 seats in the AA center ( where the Mavs and the Stars play) were sold out, and about 1000 stalwart fans stood the entire time in " the pit". ( Real test of loyalty, considering how enfeebled we all are, how many folks were there in walkers, wheelchairs. God bless us baby boomers......will we still be going to rock concerts when we're 80?) The cutest thing was a play on one of his oldest shticks.......Springsteen always finds some buxom hottie to bring up on stage when he sings "Dancing in the Dark". (That was how Courtney Cox got her start.) But this time, the arms reaching up to him from the front row of the pit belonged to a gaggle of 9 year olds, brought to the concert by their moms. So for his traditional bring-an-audience-member-up-to-dance-with -him manoeuvre, he invited one of the 9 year olds. As she clambered up, so did all her little friends. Suddenly Bruce was like the Pied Piper, leading a conga line of a dozen little girls, laughing and dancing. It was all too cute - I felt myself get a little verklempt. My how rock concerts have changed.

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As the magical evening wound up, all the 40 somethings waved their cell phones in the dark when the Boss sang "Badlands" and "Born to Run" . This being the non-smoking equivalent of waving your lighter, to show approval and solidarity. I was surrounded by frantically dancing folks, who like me, would all need a couple of Advil the next day to recover......except for 2 kids, about the age of my sons, sitting a few seats down. They were boredly playing video games on their cell phones.

Don't Let Me Down

Pretend, for a moment, that this song is not about a girl, but is instead a fan's plea to their favorite artist / band not to give up their artisic integrity :

Don't let me down

Don't let me down

Don't let me down

Don't let me down

I'm in love for the first time

Don't you know it's going to last

It's a love that lasts forever

It's a love that has no past

Don't let me down

Don't let me down

Don't let me down

Don't let me down

And from the first time that she really done me

Ooh she done me. She done me good

I guess nobody ever really done me

Ooh she done me She done me

She done me good

Don't let me down, John, Paul, George and Ringo

Don't let me down.

Look guys, I know you and your wives need the money. It’s been years since you’ve had a real hit, and lord knows Sir Paul’s most recent divorce is costing him big time. Paul and Ringo, Yoko and Olivia, you're not getting any younger. Social security isn't going to be enough. If I were you, I’d be tempted to sell out, too. But one of the things that gave you guys such integrety, such a loyal following, such street cred in the first place, was that the Beatles were against the man. Playfully contemptuous of society, mocking it all while raking it in. You might have done a commercial bit now and then, but always in good taste. Sure you guys all made millions, billions, who knows. John was right when he said you had more influence on earth than Jesus Christ - for a moment. That was - years ago. What have you done , lately ?

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For awhile ,there were all those rumors about Michael Jackson owning rights to all the songs, and the urban myth debunking web site snopes.com explains that it is mostly true :

http://www.snopes.com/music/artists/jackson.asp

After reading this, I can understand the reasoning behind it. Part of me thinks, right on! Laugh all the way to the bank. I know it costs a pretty penny for the upkeep on all those houses, and the Dakota, too. But the other part of me, a die hard loyal fan, also thinks, c’mon, a Target commercial ? Where's the style, the artistic expression- what would Ravi Shankar think ?

You say “ good buy”, and I say “ hello”
Hello, good buy
I don’t know why you say “good buy”
I say hello. Hello-o-o.

Clever play on words, smart use of your legacy , or just plain tacky ? I know this much is true, while I admit to being occasionally hypnotized by the images in those commercials, they are kind of like watching an acid trip; neither the music nor the image makes me want to shop there.

Rock Band

Dateline : Somewhere in Tx, Jan 04, 2008

Tonight, a teen's tenuous social life is a little bit stronger, and a parent's worries about him are a little less consuming, all thanks to an extremely fortuitous birthday gift from the mysterious 'UncleBill'. "It was so unexpected," says Will, 15. "How did 'Uncle Bill' know this was the answer to all my peer group issues ?"

The mysterious package arrived just in time for the lucky teen's birthday in late December . The carton it arrived in, large enough to contain a human, was a little confusing at first. "We thought maybe 'Uncle Bill' had mailed himself to us, " explained Tommy, the little brother, age 11. But no, the enormous mysterious box contained what every teen wants - the ever popular, elusive video game system, known only to parents and other adults over the age of 35, as Rock Band.

What is this Rock Band , you ask ? What strange power does it hold over the hearts and minds of teens all over the world ? Let us explore its power with an example, drawn from real life.

Friday, Jan 04, 2008 dawned much like any other day at the R-- household. Mr R-- overslept his alarm. Mrs R-- nagged the children to get up and get dressed for school. There was much arguing over who would shower first , second, third, etc, because after the first shower, there is no hot water. The outside temperature was 34 degrees.

Eventually, the children were dropped off at school. Mrs R-- spent the day tutoring reluctant, disinterested students. Will slogged through his classes, making up missing assignments , arguing with his ex girlfriend, flirting with the potentially next one. Tommy told all his friends and teachers about his plans for spring break, almost 3 months away. Mr R-- sat in countless meetings. No one listened to anyone else, no one cared. It was only one of a thousand days in the lives of our typical American family.

As the school/work day ended, Mrs R-- was impatient to leave school - it was Friday, after all. Will tried to hide at the bottom of the campus stairwell, so he could flirt with a cluster of friends that contained possibly the next girl destined to be crowned "Will's girlfriend". A row ensued. Will , embarrassed at his mother's presence and mere existence, lashed out. Words were said, ugly words. Mrs R-- responded with the typical mother reply, "Just wait till your father gets home". Things were not going well.

Back at the house , after various members of the family had been picked up, including Danny, not related by blood but owning a stake in the outcome of events due to his continual presence, a decision was reached : the family went out to dinner. The R-- parents were hoping against hope that something, a miracle perhaps, would happen to restore harmony in their modest home. Little did they know what was only 3 hours away on the horizon.

After dinner, the family returned home. All seemed at peace. Mr R-- watched tv. Mrs R-- surfed the internet. The 3 R-- children, Will, Danny, and Tommy, played upstairs. Ralph the dog slept on his dog bed. It was just another typical Friday night.

At 10:30 pm, there was a sudden and unexpected knock on the door."Who the hell can that be ?" grumbled Mr R--. Mrs R-- scuttled around to pick up all the dirty boy socks laying about, a constant fixture in her home.

The unexpected visitor at the door turned out to be a roving gang of hoodlums, otherwise known as Will and Danny's friends. A loose group of half a dozen male and female 14 /15 year olds, all out wandering in the dark cold lonely small town streets. It was a drizzly 40 degree evening outside ; Mrs R-- had no choice but to invite the interlopers inside.

Awkwardly, the group moved into the game room. A few rounds of pool were listlessly played, soda was drunk,but the party seemed to lack something. A deathly quiet settled onto the group, the evening seemed doomed to failure.

Suddenly, without warning, Will dashed up the stairs, and grabbed his Rock Band. "This will fix everything! " he said to himself. And he was right. Rock Band was just what this sorry, lackluster teen party needed to get things going.

Soon the group was animatedly playing drums, guitars, and singing tonelessly to famous rock songs of old and new. Even little brother Tom chimed in. This gathering had style, it had pizazz. Girls appeared prettier, boys seemed taller, sexier. It was magical. Social tensions ebbed, individuals forgot their petty nervousness. The party flowed well into the wee hours of the morning - and all, I might add, without the corrosive effects of demon alcohol.

"Its the Christmas miracle I was hoping for," Mrs R-- exclaimed."It just arrived a few days late ."

And who is this elusive , mysterious 'Uncle Bill ', the one whose gift made all this possible ? He is continually referred to , but rarely seen in these parts. Is he imaginary, like Santa Claus ? Or real and hard to track down, like Al Queda ? The world may never know.