Music at random

As I enjoy my quiet time on this day after Thanksgiving, sipping my DD coffee and listening to 60s/70s music on pandora.com, my neurons precipitate many random thoughts, resulting in random comments as the tunes roll.

What the world is the meaning of the song, “Mrs. Robinson,” by Simon & Garfunkel?

Put it in your pantry with your cupcakes.

Laugh about it, shout about it, when you’ve got to choose.

Any way you look at it, you lose.

Hmmm. I mean, I’ve seen the movie (although it was years ago) The Graduate, and I know it was included on the soundtrack. I went to songfacts.com to try to find out more about it — which I did — but I didn’t see a definite conclusion regarding what exactly the lyrics mean. I hate that.

You know, speaking of Paul and Art…there are some groups that just invite a sing-along. You know what I mean? I remember singing with their voices on the radio when I was in junior high school, adding a third layer of harmony on as many of their tunes as possible. I was such a little rock star.

I loved playing “Sound of Silence” and “The Boxer” on my guitar while I sang every memorized word. The hours I wasted sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of that record player…

Ah, Queen is on the playlist right now. There are two groups of people: the group that knows “Bohemian Rhapsody” from Wayne’s World, and the group that was at that party in 1975 where somebody bought the new record and put it on full blast ten times over so everyone could learn the words.

She packed my bags last night, pre-flight. Elton John, “Rocket Man.” Michael, my friend from high school (actually, he was my boyfriend in high school) who reads RtB might recall a kid in our graduating class who was so obsessed with John’s music and persona, he wore the glasses and platform shoes and everything. We called him “Elton Tom.” Remember him, Mike?

Credence Clearwater Revival — another band that helped me learn my basic guitar chords and strumming chops. Mavis and I loved them. “Have You Ever Seen the Rain?” is on right now. Anyone else like CCR back in the olden days?

Ah…perfection. “Something” by the Beatles. Great way to start your day, mate. I’m off to shop for chocolate molds — hope the Food Dock’s open today.

Happy Black Friday!

Photo credits: simon-and-garfunkel.com; poster.net

Shut up already.

Yes, I know it’s uber-hip to hate Barry Manilow. Usually, when people behave in that type of pile-on manner, they know a lot less about the one they’re piling on than what they think.

I saw a Reuters blog post with the tag line, Warning: readers who are easily disturbed or offended should not read this item. The author even titled it, “Well, this is just too sick!” (Just a *bit* over the top. Overkill, anyone?) It’s about a judge who punished young noise-ordinance offenders by making them sit for an hour and listen to Manilow’s music. HAAAhaHAahAHAAA! That’s HILARIOUS!!! OMG, that’s PRICELESS!!! HO ho Heee hee haha–*BANG*

Shut up already. As knee-slappingly funny and delightfully clever as the judge is, he’s a piler-on. Everyone who possesses the slightest trace amount of cool is supposed to hate Barry Manilow, right? So yeah, let’s run that into the ground.

If you don’t like him for personal or musical reasons, fine. I’m not a huge Manilow fan myself — I wasn’t in the 70s, either. But I respected who he was, and still do. A prolific songwriter, commercial jingle writer, pianist, arranger and producer, he got his start in the bigtime back in the early 70s as music director for an up-and-coming singer named Bette Midler. He has a pleasant voice, sings in tune, and writes some beautiful melodies. He’s a true musician, unlike about fifty other Kool Kids I could name. Just sayin’…give the guy the credit due him.

I don’t particularly like “I Write the Songs” either, but Manilow didn’t even write that. He also didn’t write “Weekend in New England,” but his rendition was gorgeous. He did, however, write the beautiful ballad “Even Now,” and to this day, hearing it makes me bawl (it’s a profoundly sad introspective about a man who has, for all intents and purposes, moved on with his life, but is still tormented by how difficult it is to live without “her”). Equally moving is “Could it Be Magic,” based in part on a Chopin prelude. He had a way of writing chord progressions that seemed to physically “pull” at you, somewhere in your chest, near your heart. Those who have experienced that phenomenon know what I mean. To those who haven’t, I’m not sure I could explain it; when it happens, you just know it, and it’s magnificent and addictive. It’s what makes you play tunes over and over and over, just to get the feeling.

But of course, regardless of his many accomplishments, the kool thing to do is deposit the guy’s entire performing career and song catalog into a stupid box called “Copacabana.” Ok, go ahead. But at least consider this:

With worldwide sales of more than 75 million records, Barry Manilow’s success is a benchmark in popular music. His concerts and night-club performances sell out instantly. He is ranked as the top adult contemporary chart artist of all time, according to R&R (Radio&Records) and Billboard magazines. Rolling Stone crowned him ‘a giant among entertainers… the showman of our generation,’ and Frank Sinatra summed up Manilow best when [he] told the British press, ‘He’s next.’ manilow.com

Yep. No-talent slouch, that Manilow guy. And Sinatra knew bupkes about performing anyhow. Feh.

But enough of the bad stuff. I want to wish a very happy Thanksgiving to all my Finkville fiends. I heart you!

RF, off to finish the pies

Inasmuch as you have done it to the least of these…

You might have read that Michael Vick, former NFL quarterback doing 2 years at Leavenworth, plans to file for reinstatement to the league after pleading guilty to running a dog fighting ring. He hopes that his admission of guilt will shorten his sentence.

Now I believe that someone can do wrong, then rehabilitate. If NFL commissioner Roger Goodell thinks Vick has paid his debt and it’s all right for him to go back to playing football, then that’s his call. I do wonder if the ticket-buying public will completely accept him back, but then again, I’ve heard it said that pro football is more about revenue than football, so…

But why did Vick (and his pals) do this? Certainly it wasn’t because he needed the money — although I guess he needs it now because he’s broke, which makes me wonder how anyone could go through $130 million in such a short time. Still, how could anyone do this and sleep at night?

This is Lucas. He was Vick’s #1 champion fighting dog. His face is torn up with scars. He’s being rehabilitated by some great folks at Best Friends Animal Society in Kanab, Utah, along with 21 of the 47 Pit Bull Terriers seized from “Bad Newz Kennels.”

Georgia, seen here taking a siesta with her handler, was likely one of the most abused of all Vick’s dogs, according to the feature I read. Vick hired a veterinarian (who should have his/her license revoked forever) to pull all 42 of Georgia’s teeth, presumably so she would not bite the male dogs she was repeatedly given to for breeding purposes.

The New York Times article also tells about another Vick-tim named Cherry, who…

…is so terrified of people that he won’t walk on a leash. He just prostrates himself and refuses to budge, so he has to be carried everywhere. Later, when he is finally persuaded to take short walks, he skulks, pressing himself against the nearest wall or fence, as if trying to be invisible.”

It is thought that Cherry was used as a “bait dog.”

Again, I ask: Why would someone do this to an animal? I’m no extremist, but to me, torturing a living being that cannot defend itself, or that does not know what is happening to it or why — for entertainment, fuh cripesake — is the lowest, most vile form of cruelty. The whole mess just makes me seethe with rage.

I believe that the people who did this lack a specific chip in their brain circuitry. The empathy chip; the human decency chip; the Dear-God-Don’t-Make-Me-A-Sociopath chip. Seriously, something is wrong with these guys. And they’re not alone.

In my life, I’ve seen people slap, punch, kick, scream at, and basically try to scare to death innocent dogs. I’ve heard of people feeding them alcohol until the dogs pass out, vomit, or stumble around and hurt themselves. To those folks, I say c’mere. Gotta tell you something. Take your dog to the nearest animal shelter. Then get a cat-o’-nine-tails, remove your shirt, and flog yourself unconscious. Have a friend coat your bed with salt and place you in it. Simmer. Wake up. Scream. Rinse. Repeat.

I think all dog owners should live by this list:

The List of “Nevers”

  1. NEVER hit or kick a dog — ever, for any reason — unless it’s attacking you and you fear for your safety.
  2. NEVER, upon realizing that your puppy has torn up a magazine or had an accident on the floor while you were gone, rub his snout in the mess or shake the magazine in his face while yelling at him. Want to turn your dog into a psychological mess? Then do that Jekyll-and-Hyde song and dance. Did you ever know someone — maybe a family member — whom you loved and wanted to please, but whose moods were so erratic that you feared him/her walking in the door? Then you know what I mean. Your dog adores you; don’t slap his face for it. There are other ways to redirect bad behaviors. Learn them and do what’s right by your pet. There are lots of great sites, like this one, with excellent information, for free.
  3. NEVER assume your dog knows that you’ve had a sucky day at work or school, or a fight with your significant other, or that you’re in a bad mood. Be an adult and put it aside; don’t take it out on your pet.
  4. NEVER blame your dog for what is your fault. If you don’t let him out for 12 hours and he has an accident on the floor, clean it up without comment and learn from your mistake. How would you feel if you weren’t allowed to go to the bathroom for 12 hours at a time, or if you had no water to drink all day long because someone was afraid you’d have to go to the bathroom?
  5. NEVER assume that since you’ve given this dog a home, he should be grateful to be completely ignored. Dogs can feel loss, depression, boredom, anxiety and loneliness, the same as you and I. If the novelty of having a pet has worn off for you, then give the dog to someone who will treat him with the love and respect he deserves.

Our dogs probably think the sun rises and sets on us, and they want nothing more than to please, and be loved by us. We need to give them the chance to do that.

Sure, release Vick early. But release him to a halfway house and give him a job, lasting for the remainder of what would have been his prison term. Put him to work in a local shelter, or in a vet hospital where abused animals are treated.

Fink out.

PS – National Geographic produced a special about Vick’s dogs. I’d like to see it when it comes around again.

PPS – Browns fans: interesting article off the AP wire yesterday (although I don’t know where ESPN gets off coding the link I clicked to say, “Browns owner puts Crennel, Savage on notice”).

Photo credit: New York Times

Nightmare

If I dream, I usually don’t remember doing so. I don’t know why. But there are rare exceptions.

I don’t know exactly when it happened, but at some point last night, I had a nightmare. I dreamed we had a 2-hour delay at school, and I used the time to have coffee at my breakfast table with my parents. La-dee-da, nothing wrong there — except 1) Dad and Mother passed away in 1995 and 1996, respectively, and 2) I don’t have a breakfast table in my tiny little kitchen.

Bizarre, to be sure, but I was enjoying it, apparently. Then the weird thing happened: I forgot to go to school.

The rest of the otherwise-pleasant dream experience was horrifying. I couldn’t find a phone. Anywhere. All I could say to everyone around me (and I didn’t even know some of the people) was, “I’m gonna lose my job! I’m gonna lose my job!” I remember trying desperately to come up with an outfit, and flinging open closet door after closet door, only to find the closets empty.

Then, for the pièce de résistance, I happened to find a phone and called the school. The middle school secretary said, “You can come in, but Terry [my principal] has reassigned all your kids to other teachers.” Great. Not only am I in trouble with my bosses, but I’m a permanent pariah to my colleagues. I’m dead to them.

The nightmare must have faded away, because I remember nothing more after that.

What does this mean, my clever fiends? Any Josephs out there want to interpret? I promise I won’t throw you in jail.

:-)

Fink out(ta here, because there’s no 2-hour delay and I have to get to school on time!)

Over 40 and fabulous

Yesterday I saw a picture of Kurt Russell, and I thought, “Wow, he looks good for 57 years old.” Then I wondered how many other actors, say, over 40, still look great (and by “great,” I mean “not necessarily drop-dead gorgeous, but really good”). Here’s my list, in somewhat ordered fashion (especially the last 2).

Still Got it After 40 List

And just for my friend Bando:

A couple of these photos, admittedly, were taken before the actors were 40 (both Hughs, for instance), but I liked them, so I posted them.

So who are your favorites? Who else in Hollywood has kept it basically together without destroying his face with cosmetic surgery? Let’s stick to men this time — I’ll do a post on girls later.

Photo credits: Time, Vanity Fair, Universal Pictures, GQ, imdb.com, Associated Press, AMC-TV.