November 14th, 2004


Green Automobile

There's not much posting at the moment. I'm busy arranging backing tracks for my live appearance next Friday at Bush Hall. I'm nervous. It's a big gig and I want to do something memorable and special. There'll be more information over at the Radio Orchestrar journal shortly. In the meantime, here's what I posted on a message board in response to this story, which is that Secret Service agents had been called into a Boulder high school over a talent night performance of Dylan's Masters of War. So, whither goest thou America...?

[Curiously, that quote seems to have been used within some comment spam for the usual mix of impotence and depression medications. It was quite hard to find a link that wasn't concluded with a vision of detumescence!]

I have to say I found the idea of the Secret Service swooping upon a school talent show over the lyrics for Masters of War hilarious for about three seconds, and then it wasn't anymore.

Boulder has always had a reputation of being a fairly liberal place and I imagine that many of the parents of the children at the high school, maybe even their parents also, have all had copies of Freewheelin' over the years. Apparently Geoff Hoon's favourite...

Reading this news, Dad goes up to the attic and finds the album up there in a box along with CSNY, Creedence, Tim Hardin and so on. He's astonished to find there's a half-smoked joint in between Surrealistic Pillow and a Spike Jones album. Well, it is the weekend and hasn't it been a long time... The smoke drifts in thick blue curls across the room, here and there pinholes of autumn mountain sun cut through the roof, suggesting shapes and other times. Wow! He says aloud, but catches himself, starts laughing but instead finishes with some hefty coughing. The grass has turned fairly raspy over the years.

There's a photograph in the box also. It's him with Susan. Where is that? Is it Berkeley? Might be Monterey. Jesus, that's Frank. Susan stands between them, her hands resting lightly on their shoulders. For a brief gilded moment, he forgets the acrimony and divorce settlement, the fighting over the kids and the dull pain of those years. He remembers love, back when it was as simple as breathing the air around him.

He's just turning his attention to the cover of American Beauty when the bullet pierces his head. Wow! Kind of sounds like Dark Star. And then darkness.

"You did the right thing, son" The agent stands in the kitchen with a glass of milk and some homemade cookies the wife has kindly offered. "Your father was clearly considering a most unpatriotic course of action, not to mention his ongoing involvement with the illegal narcotics trade. I'll put in a good word for you at the Agency, should you ever want a job there. Here's my card."

The boy returns to his room. He adjusts the computer to get a little more resolution on the skins he's just downloaded for the game. There, amidst the rubble and the dunes, soldiers stand above the half-stripped captives. Now, at last, they've got the look he's after. Big-breasted and shaved. Okay, it might not be true to life, but who would want to bone one of those towelhead skanks as they really look anyway?

One hand reaches for controller. Suppressing fire! Woo-Hoo!

Mother calls up to say the meatloaf is on the table.

That kind of says what I think about the news item.