Hey Man, Let's Go Out and Get Some Wisdom

You Can't Make It Drink

It's a funny thing, intention.

You think you're doing something. You insist you're doing only that thing.

But you're not.

You're doing something else. The opposite of what you thought. What you insisted.

And if someone points it out to you, you object.

You rant and rave. You rail against it.

You don't want to hear it. Don't want to consider it.

You wear down anyone who points it out to you.

Until they give up.

Until they go away.

Until they think four times before bringing it up again.

You live your life with blinders on.

And insist you're the only one who sees the whole picture.

Needless to say, this doesn't help anyone. Especially you.




When this was recorded, George Harrison was too weak to play guitar. He was probably too weak to sing properly, but he sang it anyway. Eight weeks later, he was dead.

And Sam Brown just knocks this out of the park in the Concert for George. But you already knew that.

Bonus:

Bare Trees

It Was A Cold Night

The trees sway.

THey've always swayed, you say.

You might be right.

The swaying just seems more pronounced now.

Maybe it's the recent storms.

They took down a bunch of the smaller trees. Left an opening that wasn't there before.

Or maybe it was. Maybe. If you looked at it the right way.

The trick of memory makes it hard to tell.

The trick of memory makes you wonder if that fence was always there. If those birds were always around (and so loud).

The fog rolls in. Bringing with it a mystery about the trees.

The wind is still now, but still the trees are moving.

Maybe when the fog burns off we'll see.

Maybe the dead trees will come back again.

Filled with leaves. Bursting with mysteries. Covered in song.

New Minus Five

Lights, Cameras, Girls, Guitars

Listen to this:

Is It Any Wonder

Just watched Family Band, the documentary on the Cowsills.

Between the Cowsills and the Beach Boys, is it any wonder that family bands pushed onto stage by abusive dads lead to tragedy?

And that's not even counting the Jacksons.



(Although one of the Cowsills is married to one of the Bangles. So I guess the story has something of a happy ending...)

How Much Do I Love This?

A lot.

Just a freaking lot.

Something More Than In-Between

Probably Strange But It's Basically True

If I were a songwriter and all I had to show for a lifetime of work was this:



I'd be happy.

(And am I the only one who wants Marshall Crenshaw to cover this? Or Chris Stamey? Or Don Dixon?)

Craigslist Ads and the New Wave Songs That Love Them #13

Number Thirteen in a Very Occasional Series

You: the girl with the Polish dictionary, sitting at the Sidewalk Cafe in Venice.

Me: the incredibly handsome mime who had gathered a small but vibrant crowd just outside.

Your eyes met mine as I struggled against the wind and I could have sworn you smiled when I couldn't get out of that damn box.

After, I collected the money from the hat on the ground. You looked like you wanted me to buy you a drink. Something strong and Eastern European.

I walked away, not wanting to shock you with the existential problem of making small talk with a mime.

When I realized I was an idiot and came back for you, you were gone.

Since then, I've been haunting every borscht joint east of downtown.

Meet me on Sunday. I'll bring the pierogis.