Recovered from the Wayback Machine.
My back felt better today, though my headache remains, so I decided to get away from the computer and do a little shopping—music shopping. I couldn’t find the CD I was looking for, so I splurged on Dave Matthews new CD Busted Stuff. While I was at the register I noticed a group of sale CDs, so Dave was joined by a Nat King Cole’s greatest hits and a 2 CD compilation of Tony Bennett songs.
Out in the car I unwrapped the jewel boxes and added my purchases to the existing selection, which included Coldplay’s Parachute, Bon Jovi’s Cross Road, and the sound track from the movie, General’s Daughter.
A question: am I the only person who has trouble removing the wrappers and all the little seals and stickers from a jewel box? The seals have the words “peel here”, but then you have to scrape the label up at that spot and when you start to pull it, it rips lose from the rest. And just when you think you have all of it removed, you go to open the box only to find it’s sealed in yet another spot.
Regardless of the joys of CD packaging, after I finally loaded the music into the player, I grabbed an ice coffee and went down to my favorite river park for a little quiet time. I sat in the car, windows open, watching the river lazily flow past, listening to the mellow, wonderful tones of Nat King Cole as he sang out “Mona Lisa”, “Route 66”, and the unforgettable “Unforgettable”. That man’s voice was pure creamery butter and whiskey and the best coffee and sweet maple syrup all rolled up into one rich, listening experience.
One very, very fine moment.
I got into a conversation earlier this week with a friend about music, comparing who we like, don’t like. I mentioned I liked the old Beatles but he prefers the Rolling Stones, thinks they have more character. I like the Stones, too, but those boys are beginning to scare me. Well, Keith Richards has always scared me, but Mick is becoming better preserved than Dick Clark, and Dick Clark is kind of spooky.
I love most kinds of music including Verdi opera, Spanish guitar, David Bowie, classical piano, Beach Boys, new McCartney, U2, 40’s music, Madonna, AC/DC, Celtic, country, Alanis Morrisette, Rush, Eminem, Lifehouse, and on and on. About the only type of music I don’t like is cheap Pop (Spice Girls and Backstreet Boys come to mind), Disco (that’s because I’m writing this in public, in private I can still get down and boogie, baby), and the music group America.
I hate America. That’s unfortunate too, because by not liking this group I have put into writing the words “I hate America”. But I’m sorry, I can’t stand this group.
Oh, I’ve been in the desert on a horse with no name
it felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert you can remember your name
cuz there ain’t no one for to give you no pain.
La la la la la….
Pickled tripe. Pure pickled tripe. It’s music like this that led to George Bush being elected president. And the insiduous thing about America is that once you’ve heard tunes such as the dismortal “Horse with no Name”, you can’t get the bugger out of your head.
I really hate America.
Shannon, nightingale, sister. Pure nightingale.