Robert (gurdonark) wrote,

Where have all the Good Times Gone?

"Any major dude with half a heart surely will tell you my friend
Any minor world that breaks apart falls together again
When the demon is at your door
In the morning it won't be there no more
Any major dude will tell you"--old Steely Dan song

That fellow Ray Davies has a way with a song. My personal theory is that anyone whose brother accompanies him with a "harmony" one octave higher than the melody starts with a tremendous advantage. As my own brother is an intellectual giant, he'd be practically perfect if he could chip in an octave higher while I do my best "Love Hurts". I have racing through my mind Bowie's cover of an early Kinks song, as somehow the Bowie covers of anything stick with me longer than the originals. It's that delightful sheen of remove, that sense that the singer is singing the song, but is not quite part of the song. Jacques Brel is dead, but he'll send you a postcard of Paris from the beyond.

I know just how that fellow in REM felt when he sang how he was superman, and he knew what was happening, not because I am superman or know what is happening, but because sometimes life just feels that way. Thursday's passage also marked the passage of the busy, out of the office in a meeting part of my week, and now I get to have the Friday "lots of good work to do" part of the week.

This weekend my wife's social group does the Plano Christmas homes thing, which is apparently a very worthy set of tours, although I annually forego that sublime pleasure in favor of work or fishing or Indian buffet. Everyone needs a little time to just relax, once in a while.

I had the most charming e mail today. Someone wrote to ask me if I wish a free donation of guppies and mollies. What fun! Someone is moving, and actually needs literal feeder guppy rescue. I'm a shelter for the poecilids. This will be my incentive to get rolling, I think!

I auctioned 15 books off on eBay for 1 dollar, which is great because I needed to clear them out, and it's easier to sell them than to give them away.

I've got a burning desire to go see the exhibition of Stubbs' horse paintings this weekend over in Fort Worth, but that may have to await another time, as I also want to rest this weekend.

I suppose I should draw up an x-mas list this year, to simplify life for family. I usually "need" so few things, and I don't always get what I want, because I usually want something obscure. But lists have their virtues.

I remember when I got my first telescope for Christmas, and my dad set it up in our backyard, and trained it on a fullish moon on a cool, dry, clear night. It was Heaven. It was everything the Heavens ought to be. I love seeing what a grand adventure all this, this reality thing, is, just by looking up overhead.

My aunt and her friends come this weekend to see the home tour and holiday shop. They live in Tulsa. Although my spare room is better, it is not ready for prime time. Perhaps a simple "do not open this door on penalty of no penalty" sign would be in order.

If I could go on any game show, I'd travel back in time and try to win Ben Stein's money.

I think I'm going to get some kiwi shoe polish this weekend. I do not any longer instill that "spit polish" look in shoes. I used to love those huge brisk shoe brushes one used when polishing shoes was less optional than in this less polished time.

I'm ready for really good times this weekend. I mean, like really good. I don't know how good, but I'm talking Victorian novel on a rainy afternoon good. I'm talking progress on all fronts good. I'm talking
"Waterloo Sunset" good, even "Warsawa" good. I see this Saturday as a big stack of flapjacks, with maple syrup, and a fork the size of the Milky Way.

I like that my K Mart bongo drums have sea turtle drawings on them.
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