Musical "Dear John" Letter

Do any of us ever actually pay attention to the words of the songs we sing?

"Sure we do," you say, and rightly so. There are certainly times when we sincerely mean what we sing:

• "Happy birthday to you."
• "I once was lost, but now I'm found."
• "Who let the dogs out?"

But I'm thinking when we jump into a group KaraokeFest, we aren't really taking into consideration the sad, mournful meaning of Carole King's divorce ditty, "It's Too Late".

Maybe if we thought of it as a note found on a bedside table...instead of the 469th-greatest song of all time:

Gerry:

I stayed in bed all morning just to pass the time. There's no denying there's something wrong here. One of us is changing, or maybe we've both just stopped trying.

Baby, it's too late now, though we really did try to make it. I can't hide that something inside has died and I just can't fake it.

It used to be so easy living here with you. You were light and breezy; I knew just what to do. But now...now you look so unhappy, and I feel like a fool.

I hope there'll be good times again for me and you, but staying together just doesn't work anymore. Don't you feel it too? Still...I'm glad for what we had. I loved you once. It was good while it lasted.

But it's too late now, baby.

Carole

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

I have to admit that I don't know why she's still calling him "baby".

YIKES! Maybe it's not about a divorce at all! Maybe Ms. King is singing about abandoning her child!

(This rumor has been brought to you by almostthetruth.com.)

This Is Not What It Appears To Be

My hat goes off, my jaw drops, and my hands get put together for Oy to the Vey's conveyance of a practically-perfect-in-every-way meme. It is the essence of Almost the Truth and should be enshrined:

It also served to inspire me to create the following nonsense.

A Jigger of Just-About J Words

A jumble of gems from Almost the Dictionary: The Almost the Truth™ Dictionary of What Words Ought to Actually Mean: A Lexicon for Parallel Thinkers.

JAB (acronym)  -  Jeering At Bears

Jackal (v)  -  How to raise Alabama high enough to change its tires

Jacket (n)  -  A small jack (perhaps to be used on Rhode Island)

Jackhammer (n)  -  J. C. Hammer's given name

Jackknife (v)  -  Creative parking by semi-truck drivers

Jackpot (v)  -  To steal someone's toilet or marijuana

JADE (acronym)  -  Just Another Dirt Enhancement

Jagger (n)  -  From the German for large-lipped but ugly as sin

Jail (n)  -  Primary example of a word that sounds the same whether pronounced or spelled

Jailhouse (n)  -  Where the jail lives

The Manly Joni Mitchell

I didn't recognize Joni Mitchell's "Free Man in Paris" by its title, but when I heard the opening chords it all clicked into place for me.

Just picture a 40ish Robert Redford starring as a record promoter...sitting in a New York City deli with a quirky-but-attractive administrative assistant...absent-mindedly taking drags from a cigarette and lamenting his lost youth and freedom.

"The way I see it," he said, "you just can't win it. Everybody's in it for their own gain. You can't please 'em all. There's always somebody calling you down.

"I do my best, and I do good business. There's a lot of people asking for my time. They're trying to get ahead. They're trying to be a good friend of mine.

"I was a free man in Paris! I felt unfettered and alive. There was nobody calling me up for favors and no one's future to decide. You know, I'd go back there tomorrow but for the work I've taken on: Stoking the star-maker machinery behind the popular song.

"I deal in dreamers and telephone screamers. Lately, I wonder what I do it for. If l had my way, I'd just walk through those doors and wander down the Champs Elysees; going cafe to cabaret, thinking how I'll feel when I find that very good friend of mine."

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

It kind of amazes me that Mitchell could take what would have been a forgettable bit of exposition in a 70's film about people Searching For Themselves and turn it into the 470th greatest song of all time.

The Land of the Free and the Home of Depraved

The neighborhood's been decidedly boisterous lately.

In the great tradition of patriots everywhere, several of our neighbors have gotten a running start at celebrating their inalienable rights by blowing stuph up in their driveways and backyards.

♫♪♪

"I'm proud to be an American..."

BLAM!

"...where at least I know I'm free!"

BOOM!

Did I say free?

Oh no, gentle readers. We here in the U. S. of A. are anything BUT free.

Behold how our duly-elected servants think...

Are you gainfully employed? Good. We'll help ourselves to some of that income.

Are you taking the money that actually finds its way to your bank account and buying things with it? Excellent. Those sales are income for the store, so we'll let them force you to pay those taxes for them.

Did you make some money by selling your house? Yeah, we get some of that, too.

Have you somehow managed to scrape together a little bundle of cash to be able to pass on to your kids when you die? Beautiful. We get a percentage of that money...that has already had taxes taken from it...before your kids see a single penny.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

All of a sudden, I feel like blowing up a few things myself.