Barely Related Ponderables

What wine pairs best with a white nightshirt?

A red blend of course. Somewhere between the table and my mouth my wine took a detour, landing in a splatter pattern on my chest.

I know I should have immediately applied Shout or some other brand name stain treatment, but I elected to wear it as is, pretending it’s a work of high end non-representational art.

For some reason this spillage caused me to ponder the music of Neil Young. I’ve been listening to Neil on my Alexa device quite a bit lately, and I have to wonder: Where are the Neil Youngs of today? Where are the singers who are raw and real, who wouldn’t have gotten past the audition stage of The Voice or American Idol, but who speak to the soul of the resistance?

Nowadays someone would try to clean Neil’s vocals up. They’d treat the stains and strains and commercialize the lyrics. Screw that. My nightshirt and Neil are gonna resist that shit.

Peace, people.

Here’s Neil’s Old Man. Enjoy.

https://g.co/kgs/xQedfy

Born to be Mild

I came within a heartbeat of purchasing this box of Partridge Family paper dolls at a garage sale this morning. Thankfully I came to my senses and walked away with my dollar still firmly ensconced in my pocketbook.

There was a time I’d have bought anything with a picture of David Cassidy (aka Keith Partridge) on the box, but maybe I’ve finally grown out of my fan girl years. I texted the photo to an old friend who’d shared my fascination with David and other male teen celebrities—namely John and Barry Cowsill.

Via text we had a couple of giggles, and she asked if we could have been considered groupies. I thought about that term and its negative connotations for a moment and then responded that if so, we’d been lousy groupies, not given to indulging in drugs or orgies. We were born to be mild.

Here’s a bit of The Partridge Family’s I Think I Love You. You’re welcome.

https://youtu.be/bb4FMn-IWEY

Almost Cher

On Tuesday evening my son took me to Lakewood Brewery in Dallas. I had already enjoyed their award winning Temptress imperial milk stout, and Jason wanted me to visit their tasting room.

Temptress is an outstanding ale, but it's not Lakewood's only brew. If you live in the Dallas area you should check them out. http://lakewoodbrewing.com.

My favorite part of the evening was a brush with greatness. Yes, that's almost Cher posing with me.

Here's a little taste of Cher-aoke.

We didn't get to stick around for karaoke, but I enjoyed myself. I even bought a tshirt.

Peace, people!

Tell Me Two Things

Studly and I have been discussing pop music as we drive the back roads around Doright Manor. Well, I’ve been discussing music while he pretends to listen, just occasionally asking, “What?”

I recently told him that I think the Beatles’ Eleanor Rigby has the finest lyrics of any pop song from the 60’s, perhaps the finest of all time. 

“What?” Studly asks, then after I repeat myself, “Oh, yeah, it’s got a catchy tune.”

“Don’t you even listen to the lyrics?”

“Not really,” he said.

How have I managed to stay married to this man for 40+ years? Oh, I guess there is that crazy little thing called love. 

So, readers, tell me two things: 

1)Which pop song from the last five decades has the best lyrics? 

2)Does your significant other understand what lyrics are?

Eleanor Rigby
The Beatles

Lyrics

Ah look at all the lonely people
Ah look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby, picks up the rice
In the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face
That she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Father McKenzie, writing the words
Of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near
Look at him working, darning his socks
In the night when there’s nobody there
What does he care

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Ah look at all the lonely people
Ah look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby, died in the church
And was buried along with her name
Nobody came
Father McKenzie, wiping the dirt
From his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Songwriters: John Lennon / John Winston Lennon / Paul Mccartney / Paul James Mccartney

Eleanor Rigby lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Dancing at the Mall

Dancing at the Mall
by Leslie Noyes

A song from my teens wafted down into the food court where I was engaged in a lackluster meal.

Putting a limp slice of pepperoni pizza aside, I rose from a red plastic bench and danced enthusiastically to

Twist and Shout, my Ferris Buehler moment, while lunch breaking students watched with open mouths,

Giggling and pointing at my intricate gyrations. I winked and smiled and reveled in the knowledge

That I’m alive and at sixty still capable of doing the audacious thing when the music hits me just right.

https://youtu.be/YXUjGftU7-k

Concert Shaming

A Facebook friend started a little guessing game on the social media app and it’s now gone viral. The idea is to list ten concerts and have your friends guess which one you haven’t attended.

I tried to play. I did. But when I realized that all of my groups seemed rather lame compared to those of my friends and acquaintances I deleted the post in progress. I didn’t have the Stones or Paul McCartney or Elton John on my list. No, I had Merle Haggard and Tanya Tucker, Charlie Pride and Brooks and Dunn. Big acts in their day, but I definitely have concert envy after reading some of my friends’ lists.

But just for grins, here are ten concert acts. See if you can guess the one I didn’t see in person. And try not to make fun of my taste in music. 

1. Dixie Chicks

2. Three Dog Night

3. The Fifth Dimension

4. The Cowsills

5. Hootie and the Blowfish

6. Huey Lewis and the News

7. The Captain and Tennille

8. Garth Brooks

9. Boyz 2 Men

10. Foghat 

She’s a What?

Studly Doright and I were cruising around Tallahassee on Saturday afternoon in his now almost un-smelly car. Out of the blue  Studly had a hankering for Kentucky Fried Chicken, so we drove through the drive up and then sat in their parking lot while he nibbled on a breast and a wing. I’m dieting, so I just watched. Willpower is my middle name. Ok, maybe it’s “Biscuit with Honey” since I had a bite of his. 

We were listening to the 60’s channel on Sirius/XM when the song Must to Avoid by Herman’s Hermits started playing. Studly put down his chicken and sang, “She’s a muscular boy.” 

I snorted. “That’s not how it goes! It’s “she’s a must to avoid,” and pointed to the radio’s dashboard display where the correct title was clearly spelled out.

“Oh,” he shrugged. “I always thought it was a strange song.”

And now? Now I can’t help but sing it his way.

https://youtu.be/icEUzyyL88A

Peace, people.