Musical Tastes of a Preschooler

I’ve liked music since my earliest years, as music of all kinds was ever-present in my home as long as I can remember. And even from my preschool years, I expressed my preferences of music I liked best.

Recently, I’ve been exploring YouTube, as much as my limited dial-up connection will allow. I came upon two of my earliest favorite songs, which turned out to be, believe it or not, Dixieland jazz. Odd preferences for a preschooler, but there you are. Listening to them again 40+ years later, I find I still like the songs as much as I did as a little kid.

Below are videos of the two songs.

These are the two songs that made me want to take up the trumpet

Good Riddance to 2009

2009 hasn't been one of my better years. My finances have become increasingly tighter this year -- I'm nearly as broke now as I was in college -- and I remain underemployed in a state with a high unemployment rate. I've spent much of the year robbing Peter to pay Paul just to barely make minimum payments on my bills. My son also lost a good job this year, and he has yet to find permanent employment.

I ended an important relationship this year out of necessity, yet I still miss her to this day. Intellectually, I know it was for the best, but my body tells me differently.

I also lost one of my cats this year and I likewise mourn his loss.

On the plus side, I remain healthy, and no one has died in my family or among my friends this year. That's always something to celebrate.

I finally paid off my car loan, so that should help to ease my finances a bit in the new year.

Plus, my "social life" is still as active as ever which is, again, always a reason to celebrate.

But I can safely say I'll be glad to bid 2009 good riddance and I look forward to see what 2010 will have to offer. I offer no resolutions, as it's not in my nature to do so, except to say that I will be alert to whatever opportunities present themselves in the new year.

Religion Salesman

It seems as if I have a homing device to attract the religious of all stripes. I don't know what it is; perhaps it's my air of disrepute that attracts them like moths to a flame.

Recently, they hired a new guy at my place of employment, a squeaky-clean, straight arrow kind of person. I didn't have a problem with him until he started peddling his religion on me. He'd heard that I liked music and had some formal musical training, so he used that as a way to start preaching to me. Starting out innocently enough, he told me that he was the "praise leader" at his church, in charge of providing the music for their services, blah, blah, blah.

After a few moments of this, he got to his point of the entire conversation -- he wanted to know where I went to church. All the fundies do this, as they believe it's their duty to sell their religion to one and all.

Not really caring to discuss my opinion about religion with him, I simply told him that I didn't go, hoping to leave it at that.

No such luck.

He invited me to attend his church, telling me that I could be an asset to their "praise team" with my musical training.

I nearly choked and laughed myself to death all at the same time. Hell, talk about barking up the wrong tree! I'd probably burst into flames if I ever set foot into his smarmy, fundamentalist church.

Still not wanting to discuss religion in a work setting, I merely declined, citing the fact that I'm scheduled to work every Sunday.

Fortunately, at this moment, he had to get back to work, so I was spared being more blunt with him. But I'm guessing that some time soon, I'll have to tell him to fuck off in no uncertain terms.

Memories in a CD

Lately, I’ve been turning to the library to fill in the gaps in my music collection. I’ve been borrowing CDs to take home to upload into my Windows Media Player and will, at some point, load selected songs into my MP3 player. Money is tight right now, plus I’ve noticed that the places I usually buy CDs at have drastically reduced their selections for some reason.

I didn’t have anything particular in mind, so I just browsed the stacks. After looking through the jazz selection, I ended up with a Dave Brubeck CD, “Time Out”, which included the track “Take Five“. It brought back a lot of memories, as this was a song that I discovered when I was around 11 0r 12.

I began taking piano lessons when I was ten years old, and started in band the following year. At that time, kids in the “band culture” of my school were exposed to a lot of jazz. So, while most kids my age were listening to rock, pop, and the like, I was listening to jazz. Though I like rock music now, my first choices in music when I started getting my own albums were in jazz.

“Take Five” was one of the first jazz songs I got into, and I was fortunate to hear Brubeck, along with Gerry Mulligan perform this song in the summer of 1972 at the Newport Jazz Festival in New York City. I was also lucky enough to meet them after the set, and I think it pleased them that someone as young as I was at the time was getting into their music (I was 14), In next few years, I also saw Maynard Ferguson in concert twice and participated in a jazz workshop with Stan Kenton at my high school. At that time I wanted to be a jazz musician myself (and I’m sorry I didn’t fulfill my dream now).

The CD I borrowed was the original recording with Brubeck and alto saxophonist Paul Desmond (who wrote the song). I was surprised to see that this song was originally recorded in 1959 — at the time I first got into it, I’d assumed it was a recent recording. But as I listened to it in the car on the way home from the library, it still had all the original electricity that attracted me to the song in the first place and in no way sounded as if it had been recorded 50 years ago. It sounds as fresh now as it did in the summer of 1959 when they recorded it. And it still has sufficient power to make me feel the feelings all over again I had as a teen in the early 70s when I first wanted to become a musician.

A Musical Trip Down Memory Lane

Recently, I acquired a used MP3 player to use while driving, so I don’t have to lug around dozens of CDs any longer, nor worry about changing them in traffic.

In preparation for loading it up with music, I ripped all my CDs to my computer’s Windows Media Player, cherry picking the songs I wanted from each CD, in order to save space.

As I pulled out CDs from my car and from every nook and cranny in the house, I realized there were several missing, no doubt having “found” their way into my son’s collection, which I intend to remedy at the soonest opportunity. I also realized that I had a long way to go to replace all the vinyl records I owned when I switched over to CDs years ago.

Working with what I had, I realized that I had a fairly eclectic mix of genres, though it does lean heavily to classic rock. As I ripped the CDs, I listened to some of the songs as the computer uploaded them, some of which I’d not listened to in years

At my age, I am now free to admit my like for various types “uncool” music that I couldn’t have openly admitted twenty years ago: stuff from my parents’ generation, some country and folk music, and classical music.

Other songs brought back strong memories of where I was and what I was doing the first heard them. I particularly have an affinity for ballads that tell a story, as they’re a nice change from the typical songs about love that are ubiquitous to nearly all genres of music.

A small sampling of some of the “uncool” music I listened to and my thoughts about each songs:

Fanfare for the Common Man — Aaron Copland

I’ve been a fan of Copland’s music since I was privileged to play the lead trumpet part for this piece in high school. Fanfare For the Common Man, along with 18 other fanfares written by other composers, was written upon request in 1942 to be “stirring and significant contributions to the war effort….”. Copland’s Fanfare is the only one to have stood the test of time, and when I hear this, I can easily visualize the Normandy landings on D-Day as, in Winston Churchill’s words, “the new world, with all its power and might, stepped forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old.”

Brother, Can You Spare a Dime? — Tom Jones

I know that some people consider Jones little more than a faintly sleazy lounge lizard singer, but Jones in his earlier career, sticking to the ballads which best show off his not inconsiderable talent, is well worth listening to. Brother, Can You Spare a Dime, a Depression-era ballad, is an excellent example of Jones’ sheer vocal power and emotional range.

Originally written in 1931 at the height of the Depression, about a man, who was apparently a WWI veteran, telling about his fall from economic security. The words are uncomfortably relevant again now in the current severe economic downturn.

Once I built a railroad, made it run
Made it race against time
Once I built a railroad, now it’s done
Brother, can you spare a dime

Once I built a tower, to the sun
Bricks, rivet, and lime
Once I built a tower, now it’s done
Brother, can you spare a dime

Once in cocky suits
Gee, we looked swell
Full of that Yankee Doodle-dom

Half a million boots, they went
Slogging through Hell
And I, I was a kid with a drum

Say, don’t you remember
They called me Al
It was Al all the time

Say, don’t you remember
I’m your pal
Buddy, can you spare a dime

It Was a Very Good Year — Frank Sinatra

Though another singer with a reputation as a lounge singer, I have to admit I’ve liked this song, recorded some time during my elementary school years, since I was a kid.

I’d not listened to this song in many, many years until I uploaded the CD to my computer the other night. As I listened to this song, the words hit me like a punch to the gut. Though I’d not noticed it before, this is a song about an aging libertine wistfully remembering his libertine life as he remembered the women he’d been with over the years.

Though I’m not quite at the point of being “in the autumn of the year” yet, now that I’ve hit fifty, the words have suddenly become uncomfortably relevant to me. And I have to admit hearing this song again with new ears gave me a lump in my throat — this is my life and is my future.

When I was seventeen
It was a very good year
It was a very good year for small town girls
And soft summer nights
Wed hide from the lights
On the village green
When I was seventeen

When I was twenty-one
It was a very good year
It was a very good year for city girls
Who lived up the stair
With all that perfumed hair
And it came undone
When I was twenty-one

When I was thirty-five
It was a very good year
It was a very good year for blue-blooded girls
Of independent means
We’d ride in limousines
Their chauffeurs would drive
When I was thirty-five

But now the days grow short
I’m in the autumn of the year
And now I think of my life as vintage wine
from fine old kegs
from the brim to the dregs
It poured sweet and clear
It was a very good year

Life Lessons From My Father

What is the most valuable lesson your father taught you?

1. You can put garbage in a closet, but that doesn’t stop it from stinking

2. There are more horse’s asses in the world than there are horses

3. Everything happens for a reason

4. You can work with the devil himself, if it’s to your benefit.(Advice about bad bosses)

5. There’s good and bad in all kinds

6. Those whom you hold a grudge against, own you.

7. It’s a waste of time to try to argue with willful ignorance.

8. Stupid people are always ignorant, but ignorant people aren’t always stupid.

Snow

We hadn't had any snow this winter in my town. There had been plenty of cold days, but none of the white stuff. Usually, my town gets a snowfall or two every year, but I figured we weren't getting any this year.

The trees in my yard were budding, I'd begun getting bird shit on my car, and the other night I heard crickets chirping. I figured that spring was here, despite it being February.

Winter wasn't quite done yet. Late this afternoon, it began to snow, and I don't mean flurries, either. It fell for a few hours, quickly accumulating, accompanied by thunder and lightning at times -- thundersnow! Unfortunately, because we get so little snow, our town isn't equipped to prepare the roads for safe driving in snow. I had to run out to get some cat food, and I had to slip and slide my way down to the store. Fortunate few cars were out and about, though I passed an SUV who'd gotten stuck.

As of this writing, at around 1030 pm, we're expecting another wave of snow to last until morning, and we're supposed to get about 5 inches or so by then.

It's supposed to get up into the mid-40s tomorrow, so the snow will be gone by this time tomorrow. It was nice to see, even if a bit late in the season. Too bad it didn't come on Christmas Eve.

My Inauguration Memory

On January 20, 1973, I was a high school freshman, and I was in Washington DC to march with my high school band in the Inaugural Parade for the second term of Richard Nixon.

Two bands from each state were chosen for this parade and mine was honored to be chosen that year. I remember being told that the school paid ten thousand dollars to transport the band of 100 musicians, plus around 50 baton twirlers, flag carriers, etc and our equipment in five Greyhound buses and for meals and overnight accommodations. That's right, the school paid for every bit of it; no parents, rich, middling, or poor had to pay out of their pockets, so that every band member could go.

As well as marching in the parade, our trip included a trip to the Smithsonian, which was, unfortunately, far too brief to really get a good look at the place.

As I watched our new President, Barack Obama, get into his new, heavily-armored limousine for the parade, I could not help but contrast it with the limousine Richard Nixon rode in for the 1973 Inauguration parade. I remember seeing Nixon ride by in a limo that was little different from other limousines. The window was down and I caught a glimpse of him, his arm out the window waving to the crowd. Even though this was ten years after the assassination of John F Kennedy, security was still not yet at the level it would later take.

Have any of you attended an Inauguration in the past? Feel free to post memories in the comment section.

One Car Families

When I was growing up, one didn't usually see as many cars per household as is common today. Many middle class families had just one car, even when another car could have been afforded.

I'm not sure of why this was so, but I would imagine the fact that more women were stay at home mothers back then, plus the fact that people simply stayed at home more had something to do with it. I'm guessing that the biggest reason was that people had a different yardstick of what they really needed as opposed to what was a luxury back then.

And this many times turned into a reasonable amount of inconvenience for many families, particularly the at home mother. In most one-car families, the husband took the car to get to work each morning, leaving the wife stranded at home until he returned, even in areas where public transportation was readily available. This meant that the mother could not go grocery shopping, take a kid to the doctor, or pick them up from school if they got sick there during the day.

We had only one car when my mother was still alive, though I know my Dad could have afforded a second car. However, as a thoughtful husband, he took the bus and later the high-speed commuter train to go to work, leaving my mother with the car for the day. She simply drove him to the bus stop por train station each morning, then picked him up again in the afternoon.
I remember one time when I was nine or ten that I went with her one afternoon to pick him up at the bus stop but he never appeared at the right time. It turned out that he fell asleep on the 20 mile bus ride back home and had ridden past his stop. I don't remember exactly how we sorted it out, but I imagine we just went home and waited for him to call.

I can't imagine one-car households where more than one licensed driver lives anymore -- even poor people now usually have more than one car, even if both of them are old bombs. But if gas prices continue their upward spiral, I imagine we could see this phenomenon again one day soon.

I'd be curious to hear about the experiences of any of my readers who grew up in one-car households.

I Hate the Olympics

The Beijing Summer Olympics are nearly upon us, starting on 8-8-08. But I have absolutely no intention of watching any of the events.

I have to admit that the Olympic Games bore me witless. I've never been all that much into sports in general, but the Olympics have a special place in boredom hell for me. At least with the Big 3 sports of football, baseball, and basketball, some fun can be had actually playing these sports, if one isn't much into watching them. Same goes for hockey and soccer as well.

During the summer of the 1972 Olympics, most of my friends were into watching the Olympics, while I nearly fell into a coma when I joined them. As this was my last summer as a virgin, I figure that I probably got more books read and hours in practicing the trumpet because of all the time my friends spent watching these soporific events.

My sister has always been big into the Olympics as well, going so far as to attend a few events of the 1996 games, which were not particularly cheap.

I won't be watching the games again this year, unless I happen to have insomnia one night and can't get to sleep any other way.

Thoughts?

Thoughts on Father's Day

Father's Day, yet again. It is a day for me to remember my father and it has never felt right for me being the one in the role of father. Nor has my son ever made any particular effort to remember me on Father's Day, either.

Several months ago, my sister saw fit to relate a conversation to me that she'd had with my father during the last year of his life, where they'd talked hypothetically about how life would be after his death. According to her, he'd told her that he wondered what would become of me after his death. Her implication was that my father was worried about my future happiness because of my lack of vocational success, because I'd not "settled down" into a marriage, and my promiscuous life.

Never mind that my father had not expressed any dire worry about my future to me directly when he had the opportunity to do so.

I have to question her motives of waiting over a decade to mention such a conversation with me -- if it actually happened as she said it did. What earthly good could it have done for her to mention it to me after all that time?

Did she really need to shatter my image of my father and the relationship we'd had by telling me that he'd never had any respect for me, after all? When I told her this, she was quick to assure me that our father had "loved" me, but she apparently doesn't understand that love without respect isn't really love at all.

Today, I find myself reliving this conversation with her and feeling resentful.

One of My Worst Faults, Illustrated

Below is a funny illustration of one of my worst faults. I challenge readers to find a picture that depicts one of their worst faults.

Some Thoughts on Sex Education

Over at Alternet today, there's an article entitled "Sex Ed in the Bible Belt", which is about the author's experience with abstinence-based sex education.

My reply contrasted my own experience with sex education with that of the author and follows below:

My junior high and high school sex-ed classes were in the early to mid 70s in New Jersey. The junior high classes were sex-segregated and dealt mainly with the biological facts of reproduction.

In high school, however, it was in mixed-sex classes conducted by the football coach and the emphasis was pregnancy prevention, not abstinence. It was assumed that we would be having sex before we were married, though some attention was given to encouraging us to wait until we were mature enough to handle it.

I remember one class in particular where the coach couldn't stress strongly enough how useless the "withdrawal" method was, telling us that people who used withdrawal were usually more commonly known as "parents".

Abortion had recently become legal when I was in high school, and this, too, was addressed in the classes, with the emphasis being that consistent use of birth control would make this option unnecessary.

Questions were encouraged, no matter how frank, and were answered in an equally frank manner.

The issue of love and relationships as how it related to sex were covered in a separate family living class.

I'm glad I grew up when and where I did and was fortunate enough to receive a comprehensive sex education.

The only topics not covered in what would be considered in an adequate manner today would have been the topic of STDs, which were still commonly referred to as "VD" back then. But, to be fair, AIDs did not yet exist at the time and what STDs that did exist could be cured with a trip to the doctor, so what education we did receive on STDs was adequate for the time.

What was your experience of school sex education?

A Thoughtful Gesture

Yesterday, a regular reader of my blog, John Sherck, contacted me on IM to wish me a happy birthday.

We chatted for awhile about various things and he eventually commented about my blog entry that day. I'd said that I wished I could stop by the cemetery and leaves flowers on my mother's grave on Mother's Day. As he lives in the same city where my parents are buried, he offered to take a trip down there and leave some flowers on the grave for me. He added that he'd take some photos, so that I could have a "virtual visit to the cemetery".

I gave him directions to where the grave was located in this large cemetery, where the first graves date from the 17th century, hoping for the best. Before he signed off, he promised me he'd email me later about what had transpired, and said he'd send photos if he'd found the grave.

Hours later, when I got home from work, his email was waiting for me, with an account of how he found the grave, along with nine photos complete with descriptions.

I am quite touched by his kindness and I'm using this entry to thank him publicly for his thoughtfulness. Below is one of the nine photos he snapped.

Thanks, John.

Sharing Two Holidays on the Same Day

The dreaded day is here at last. My birthday. And it's also Mother's Day. The end result is that I'm bummed about the milestone birthday and I'm missing my mother, all at once.

She and I got to share my birthday and Mother's Day on the same day once or twice back when I was a kid. My mother would have been happy to let that day be all about me, but my Dad made sure that her day wasn't forgotten about, either. After all, on the day I was born, she became a mother (albeit for the third time).

Though my mother made the birthday cake from scratch for me as she did any other year, my father made the meal. And although my Dad usually got her a potted plant of some kind for her garden, he had me to present a dozen roses to her as well.

My memory is a bit unclear on this part, but think the Mother's Day gift presentations came first, before the candles on my cake were lit and my presents appeared.

And, as I remember, my mother would always feel a little blue on Mother's Day, missing her own mother who had died the same year I was born. But I think on the time or two we shared the day, she was able to keep those thoughts at bay.

If my mother wasn't buried nearly a thousand miles away from me, I'd have stopped by the cemetery and left her some flowers today. As it is, my memories will have to do.

Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers out there.

Dreading the Date

I'm in the home stretch -- I'm living the last week of my life in my forties. I've been down in the dumps about turning fifty since the beginning of the year.

Turning thirty didn't bother me, nor did turning forty. But fifty is different. It's either the last act of middle age or it's the prologue to old age.

Last week, I was sent an AARP membership package, though I'd not requested one. I'm not fucking ready for this shit! I threw the envelope into the trash and hoped that no one saw the mailman put it in my box with my name on it.

I'm not ready for cardigan sweaters, polyester sansabelt pants...errr trousers...up to my armpits, or velcro-fastening Hush Puppies. Nor am I ready for a light blue or light brown Buick Century. Ditto to senior citizen discounts. And I'm DAMN SURE not yet needing Viagra. Hell, I still get that amazed feeling that I'm a grown-up already from time to time.

I've slowed down some in my sex life since my early 20s, to be sure, but it's not because of a lack of virility. And my sex life is still a hell of a lot more busy than most men twenty years younger than me. But I must admit that since the beginning of the year, I've engaged in a lot more random hookups than I'd been doing in the few previous years. I don't know, I guess I'm reassuring myself that my virility and desirability to the opposite sex isn't about to go down the tubes.

But, still, the first time I hook up for a one night stand after my birthday, I don't think I'll be able to tell them that I'm fifty. It's only a year, but forty-nine sounds a lot younger than fifty for some odd reason.

For those of you who have already passed this milestone or will soon face it, how does/did it make you feel?

More Wacky Dreams

Following is an account of some of my more recent dreams:

In the first dream I was at Wal Mart just before closing time. I bought an item and left the store through the lawn and garden area. The parking lot was completely empty when I came out. I got into my car and started driving away when I noticed several tornadoes approaching from several different directions. They were skinny, ropey-looking tornadoes.

I drove back to where I came out of Wal Mart, parking my car in a little open shed near the employee's entrance door. I banged on the door to be let back in, telling them there were tornadoes on the way.

They let me in and I followed them to a long, narrow corridor made out of cinder blocks to wait out the storm. At the end of the corridor was a small window with opaque, bubbled glass, like some people have in their bathrooms. I looked out the window and saw a tornado funnel waiting there, deciding which way to go. It came through the window and wall without destroying it, then passed harmlessly down the hall before heading back out into the parking lot.
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In the next dream, I was running away from Hitler and his men before they killed everyone in the room. I ran outside a college building of some sort, across a large lawn, then across the street, then down a slight incline in a meadow that led to the edge of a river. The river's edge was lined with willow trees. I had someone with me, but it wasn't clear who it was. I was suddenly aware that Hitler and his henchmen were on our trail, but suddenly it wasn't Hitler anymore; he'd turned into Voldemort.
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In the next dream, I was working at the police department and I was told I had to change shifts to temporarily cover the job of a dispatcher who was on leave. I told them I didn't know how to do that job, but they waved away my concerns.

When I arrived to do this job, I went into a room like a radio station control booth. I didn't know what to do, pushing buttons randomly, but somehow, I managed to get through the shift.
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In yet another dream, I was taking a nap in my brother's room in the houseI lived in when I was a teenager. I woke up and went in to where my mother was taking a nap.

I was dismayed to see she'd gotten tattoos on one hand and wrist, with another tattoo extending up her forearm. The tattoos were pink and lime green and of a haphazard pattern with diamond-shaped latticework on the upper forearm. I asked her why she would do such a thing and her response to me was a defensive one.
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I dreamed I got my job back at the police department and as the dream began, I was walking down the sidewalk across from the parking lot on my first day back. The entrance, unlike in real life, was in a recessed area, looking much like a garage with no door, except that the floor was tiled. Once I stepped in, the entrance doors themselves were in a recessed alcove to the left.

There was a police car inside the garage-like area, facing the double glass doors. It was a tight fit because this area wasn't as large as a real garage and the car was facing sideways instead of straight in.

The driver's window was down and there were several red-and-blue bound law books resting on the window's "sill".

The car drove through the double doors and the law books fell out onto the ground. I went to pick the books up, then I went through the doors to find a long narrow room that had several desks and office personnel jammed up against the right wall in a row. At the top left of the room was a single door, which the car had also driven through. Inside the next room was the detectives' "bullpen".

The dream faded after this.
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In the last dream, I was facing the wrong way on an interstate highway's shoulder. I was on my way to deliver a pizza, but I'd gotten lost and ended up stuck on the highway.

I got out of the car to walk up a ways to see if there was somewhere to turn around to get headed in the right direction.

A highway patrol car pulled up beside me and I leaned in the passenger window and said, "Hey, buddy." I immediately realized my mistake, as it was a female trooper, wearing her red hair in two pigtails. She decided to help me and not give me a ticket because she found me attractive.

She told me that I could back the car to the next exit; that it wasn't too far. I got in the car and backed a slight distance when I saw a break in the median. I decided to simply dash across that , where I merged with traffic that was heading in the same direction I was pointed.
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Have any of you had an interesting dreams lately?

Disaster or Opportunity?

Yesterday, I found out that one of my "friends with benefits" has moved into the same apartment complex as my primary lover. And not only did she move into the same complex -- she moved into the same building!

I'm of two minds about this. It could be a disaster -- a logistical nightmare that would provide ample occasion for unwanted conflict.

On the other hand, it could work out in my favor, as it's the perfect setup for impromptu threesomes, not to mention the gas I'd save in travel time.

I'm guessing the reality will be somewhere in between the two.

I do have an interesting life, don't I?

Memories in a Song

Going through the supermarket this evening, I heard an old song that brought back a memory from years ago that I'd not thought about in a long time. It was the old Fifth Dimension song, "Wedding Bell Blues" from 1969.

It's part of my memory because my son's mother used to sing this one to me all the time before we got married (such a subtle hint, hmm). She'd change Bill to Will when singing this song to me. I guess you could say it was "our song".

Reading the words now again after so many years, they still seem oddly appropriate, as the song spoke to my reluctance to marry.

Bill, I love you so, I always will
I look at you and see the passion eyes of May
Oh, but am I ever gonna see my wedding day
I was on your side Bill when you were losin'
I never scheme or lie Bill, there's been no foolin'
But kisses and love won't carry me till you marry me Bill

I love you so, I always will
And in your voice I hear a choir of carousels
Oh, but am I ever gonna hear my wedding bells
I was the one who came runnin' when you were lonely
I haven't lived one day not lovin' you only
But kisses and love won't carry me til you marry me Bill

I love you so, I always will
And though devotion rules my heart I take no bows
But Bill you're never gonna take those wedding vows
Oh, come on Bill
Oh, come on Bill
Come on and marry me Bill
I got the wedding bell blues
Please marry me Bill
I got the wedding bell blues
Marry me Bill

Feel free to name some of your songs with current or former partners in the comment box.

Moral Indignation vs Jealousy

Moral indignation is jealousy with a halo.
-- H. G. Wells

My brother and I have led very different lives. He is a few years shy of being old enough to be my father. And though he came of age during the turbulent sixties, the sexual revolution pretty much passed him by. As a teenager and young adult, he was passive and reserved among strangers and I don't think he dated until he left high school.

I remember him having only one girlfriend before meeting the woman who is now his wife. From the very beginning, she was the dominant force of the couple -- she was even the one to propose marriage.

They've been married for around thirty-five years and he's just as passive as ever. Whenever I've spoken to him over the phone, I can always hear the wife bickering in the background, and his attitude toward his marriage and his life seems more resigned than content to me.

As those who have read my blog for any time, my life is entirely different from his. I'm not the slightest bit passive when it comes to pursuing the opposite sex, nor have I ever allowed a woman to lead me around by the nose, nor would I abide a woman who constantly bickered just to hear her own voice. And I can't imagine myself staying in a situation that I was merely resigned to stick out, and not there because it made me happy.

Several years ago, when I was still in my brief marriage, not long after my son was born, my brother abandoned his passive nature for once and took it upon himself to lecture me about my tomcatting, telling me that I ought to settle down for the sake of my wife and son, that what I was doing was "disgusting", blah, blah, blah.

I didn't take kindly to this, as I never discussed my personal life with him and felt like it wasn't any of his business and I told him so, noting that he didn't seem particularly happy in the life he led.

He never mentioned it again, but ever since, there has been an invisible wall between us, and we've never been entirely comfortable with one another since.

From the perspective of years, I've realized that part of the motivation to his meddling was jealousy and, of course, "sour grapes".

I've not seen him in over a decade, nor spoken with him in about five years or so. I'm perfectly willing to do so, but I'm not going to go out of my way to do it, either.

It's too bad because we always got along fine when I was a kid and before he got married.