Friends Furever

I'm not usually a sucker for such cheap advertising stunts, but what the hell. It's cute animals and Roger Miller singing Oo-De-Lally. If this doesn't make you smile, nothing will.

Misheard Lyrics #4

As if this blog isn't evidence enough, I can think some really stupid stuff. So I figured I would start to post some of the lyrics to songs that I've misheard over my listening career.

My fourth installment comes on the eve of my birthday. Birthdays aren't really an event for me, but tonight I find myself the slightest bit south of happy. Not surprisingly, I also find myself listening to my favorite song of all time which is, coincidentally, a little melancholy.

Elton Johns' "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road"

Real lyrics in Gold with my misheard lyrics in blue

When are you gonna come down
When are you going to land
When are you going to learn
I should have stayed on the farm
I should have listened to my old man

You know you can't hold me forever
I didn't sign up with you
I didn't sign up for you
I'm not a present for your friends to open
This boy's too young to be singing the blues
This voice to young to be singing the blues

So goodbye yellow brick road
Where the dogs of society how
You can't plant me in your penthouse
I'm going back to my plow

Back to the howling old owl in the woods
Back to the howlin' gold owl in the woods
Hunting the horny back toad
Oh I've finally decided my future lies
Oh I've found that inside my future lies
Beyond the yellow brick road

What do you think you'll do then
I'll bet that'll shoot down your plane
I'll bet they shoot down your plane
It'll take you a couple of vodka and tonics
To set you on your feet again

Maybe you'll get a replacement
There's plenty like me to be found
Mongrels who ain't got a penny
Sniffing for tidbits like you on the ground
Sniffing for takings like you on the ground

Lots of misheard lyrics here, but those are the ones I misheard as a very young boy. And for the sake of my stubborn streak, I continue to hear them today. This is how I've heard this song since I was about six years old. Whether it's an actual memory or a contrived one, I remember laying on the carpet in front of the stereo that sat on the entertainment center (two pine boards and some bricks) in our living room absolutely captivated by this sound.

The really stubborn part is that my version of the lyrics is quite a bit more pessimistic than Bernie Taupin's. I changed "I bet that'll shoot down your plane" to the vengeful "I bet THEY shoot down you plane." "I didn't sign up with you" becomes a more direct "I didn't sign up FOR you." And "When are you going to land" is twisted into a truly desperate "When are you going to LEARN?"

Don't get me wrong; the song as written and performed is as perfect as it could be. I love every note. The strings, the drums, and that guitar, which reading tonight I found out is a guitar played through a Leslie speaker. That's a speaker more typically used to give a Hammond Organ the wobble in its sound but used here with incredible effect.

I also read that this song is in F Major. I had always thought it might be in D Minor, which as Nigel Tufnel told us is "the saddest of all keys." Elton can't sing it anymore in F Major because of the surgery he had on his vocal chords in the 80's and now sings it in Eb Major. But the truth is I don't care to ever hear him perform it live in either key. It's too perfect as it was recorded. Any performance would fall short. I can only imagine what it must have been like to hear the final mix in the recording studio when they realized they had it.

And I don't want anyone reading this to think I'm sitting here listening to this song wallowing in middle-aged birthday misery. I'm not. I'm just not terrifically happy for whatever reason, and I'm listening to my favorite song in the whole world over and over, which happens to be a little melancholy. The song actually makes me happier in a way. It's perfect in my eyes, and it really does represent the ideal of how things can be, which is the point of the lyrics Bernie Taupin wrote before I corrupted them. So perfect that, "displace one note and there would be diminishment. Displace one phrase and the structure would fall." (Points to you if you know that one.)

Sometimes You Get More Than You Pay For

Emissions Testing for cars in this area have to be completed every year as part of getting your vehicle tag renewed. That's a certainty. What isn't certain is how much you will pay for it. In my area, we have as high as $25 and as low as $13. And since it's the exact same test, why would you pay more?

So I went to a $13 emissions testing station right off of Main Street that's located in what used to be an automated car wash behind the gas station on the corner. A goateed, ponytailed, Marlboro smoking Pete was the attendant that helped me. He reminded me of The Dude which isn't really a good thing since I'm not really a fan of that movie. But it did make for an entertaining ten minutes this morning.

Here's what I got for my $13:

• An Emissions Inspector who mumbles so much he has to say everything twice. That's like getting a two for one.
• Pete's view on why Hillary Clinton will be the next president. According to Pete, since we have now had an African American president, the next president will be either gay or female. Pete said he wasn't sure about which way Trump's barn door swings (his words), but since there weren't any openly gay candidates, he thought a female would be the next demographic to take a turn on the presidential merry-go-round.
• Pete's fist pumping in the air when he speaks of Bill Clinton's two terms as president. These apparently were Pete's salad days.
• Pete's carnal attraction to "President Hillary Clinton." He explained that Hillary will have a few guys on the side that she has sex with in the Oval; you know - sweet revenge for Bill's infidelities while in office. Pete said he would sign up for that duty.
• Pete's opinion of the American Sniper movie, which he didn't realize was about a real guy until the end. He also said that Chris Kyle's murder by a former soldier while at the shooting range was "all politics." I didn't ask him to elaborate, but this actually had me a little intrigued.
• Pete's opinion on the Burrell Ellis trial and incarceration. Pete's upset that Ellis will only serve 18 months. I told him I was a county worker, and he seemed to back off a bit like he was scared he might have offended me until I assured him that Ellis was guilty and deserved to rot in jail.
• Pete's offer to sell me his 1996 Honda Accord which he is selling because his license is suspended. Pete isn't confident that he will get his license back when he goes back to court in four months so he's getting rid of his ride and "his troubles."
• Pete's opinion that I should have been in the military. Maybe it's the haircut.
• A Pass on my Emissions Test.

The 50 Mile Rule

A couple of years ago, in my capacity as Chief of Training, I was introduced to the term: The 50 Mile Rule. It was a name for phenomenon  that I knew happened, but wasn't able to express as completely as this phrase does.

Basically, the 50 Mile Rule says that an instructor who is from 50 miles away can tell students something their normal instructors have told them before, but they will receive it as manna from heaven. It's basically based in the fact that this instructor is a stranger.

The picture above is from this last Friday night at the Peachtree High School Band Reunion. The man with me is our Band Director Robert Rice. I remember a lot about my time in the marching band and jazz band, but what I remember most is a conversation in Mr. Rice's office when I was a junior.

As I related to Mr. Rice Friday night at the reunion, during my junior year he sat me down in his office and basically told me I was acting like an ass. I thanked him for taking me to task and told him that I thought he probably didn't remember the conversation. But I wanted him to know that it really  had a profound and long-lasting effect on me. He claimed to remember the conversation, and his comeback was pretty perfect. He said, "You don't remember that we had that conversation multiple times."

When he said I was "acting like an ass," he wasn't talking about the moment just prior to him pulling me into his office; he was talking about my behavior in general. He explained that even though I couldn't see it or realize it, I was a leader in the band and others were looking to me to see how to behave.

Later in the night at the reunion, I heard him bragging to someone else about how he had, as guidance counselor for Chamblee Middle School, requested that I come to talk with students on Career Day. He was pretty complimentary in how he described me to others as a captain leading other firefighters that day, and I have to admit it made me feel really good to see how proud he was.

Now, I wouldn't have taken a sit-down-in-my-office-talking-to from Mr. Rice lightly, but it took a while for what he said that day to seventeen year old Billy to really sink in. I would like to think that it was the beginning of me developing as a leader. And I'm invoking the 50 Mile Rule because I'm sure it's nothing my mother hadn't tried to tell me time and time again.

All that to say, he really was a formative person in my teen years. I know it was the same for many of my fellow band members. Many of them were also influential in me becoming the person I am, and it was really great to see so many of them at the reunion.

So thanks to Mr. Rice. Thanks to anyone who had an effect on me even if I didn't then or don't now recognize it yet. And thanks to my mother and others who by virtue of being around all the time, suffered the bias inherent in not being a "50 Miler."

Misheard Lyrics #3

As if this blog isn't evidence enough, I can think some really stupid stuff. So I figured I would start to post some of the lyrics to songs that I've misheard over my listening career.

My third installment comes at the prompting of my mother who remembered this one from my childhood.

Kenny Rogers' "Lucille"

Real lyrics: You picked a fine time to leave me Lucille
                   Four hungry children and a crop in the field

What I heard: You picked a fine time to leave me loose wheel
                      Four hundred children and a crop in the field

When this song came out, I was seven years old. As recounted by my mother in her text to me: the lyrics were "not the funniest part. You singing along in the car at top volume and singing it wrong was the really funny part."

As a youngster, this story of infidelity was lost on me. Instead, it was all about a very unfortunate episode involving a tire on a vehicle that got away. Makes perfect sense, doesn't it? And having a crop in the field when you have four hundred children to help isn't exactly a problem.

When I checked the Kiss This Guy website of user submitted misheard lyrics, I wasn't alone with the four hundred children (how could you be alone with four hundred children? [snare hit] Thank you, I'm here all week.) There were plenty of entries from other folks who thought it was four hundred children.

Apparently I'm the only one that thought it was about a car tire. But if you listen to the song again, I think you'll find it's a better song about a car tire.

I'm Awesome

Yesterday, I had to have my annual biometric screening at work in order to keep my health care insurance. They weigh you, measure your height and waist, and prick your finger. And from that five minute interaction, the nurse will tell you "how you're doing."

Incidentally, they listed my height as 5' 8". When she told me that, I told her I had been 5' 10" all my life so she measured me again and came up with the same. Screw it. Whatever.

So after all of that, she started to read off my results. It went something like this:

Nurse: Your cholesterol is well within the range where we want it. Your HDL cholesterol is good. Your triglycerides look great. Your blood glucose is a very healthy 82, and your blood pressure is a textbook 120/80.

Here's where we took a left turn.

Nurse: Based on your height and weight, your body mass index is 34. That puts you in the high risk category.

Me: High risk for what? Being awesome?

Me in the fountains of Centennial Park
at the end of my first GoRuck Challenge.
17 miles carrying 35 lbs for 13 hrs left me
feeling pretty unhealthy. And I didn't know it
was the end when this picture was being taken.

I mean really. What the hell?!! I basically just aced your test, but somehow have been put in the same category as all of the truly unhealthy folks. There wasn't anything worse on her chart than "High Risk." That 800 lb bedridden person they make reality television shows about? Yep, he and I are in the same health category.

Me: You just said all of my numbers are perfect, right? I know I need to lose some weight, but I can run 6 miles in 60 minutes. To be perfectly honest, I think your chart is a load of crap.

I thanked her, told her I didn't blame her, and that I knew she was just reading off what she was required to say.

At this point, I could start on a rant about what is wrong with health care or health insurance. As a matter of fact, some of you reading this may be tempted to do the same in your comments. But follow my lead. Count to ten, and let's move on to talking about really stupid stuff like I usually do.

Misheard Lyrics #2

As if this blog isn't evidence enough, I can think some really stupid stuff. So I figured I would start to post some of the lyrics to songs that I've misheard over my listening career.

The Cars' "My Best Friend's Girl"

Real lyrics: 'Cause she's my best friend's girl
                    She's my best friend's girl
                    And she used to be mine

What I heard: 'Cause she's my best French girl
                      She's my best French girl
                      And she used to be mine

Like most of my misheard lyrics, they make absolutely no sense. This one is no different. The amazing thing was how long it was before I realized I was wrong.

Misheard Lyrics #1

As if this blog isn't evidence enough, I can think some really stupid stuff. So I figured I would start to post some of the lyrics to songs that I've misheard over my listening career.

Queen's "We Will Rock You"

Real lyric: You got mud on your face

                  You big disgrace

                  Somebody better put you back into your place

What I heard: You got mud on your face

                      You big disgrace

                      Somebody better push a bag into your face

I know, it doesn't make any sense. At all. But apparently I'm not alone. On the website Kiss This Guy they let folks post their own misheard lyrics. Turns out there's at least one other person who heard that line the way I did. Doesn't make me any less stupid, but at least I have company.

Not That You Care, Butt...

I've been on a real Queen kick for the last week. As a matter of fact, I bought three of their albums that I didn't have in one quick iTunes purchase; The Game, Jazz, and The Works. And what I've realized is that "Fat Bottomed Girls" is Queen's best song. It isn't new to me, but my appreciation for it has definitely blossomed.

Here are the reasons why:

1. With most songs that I really like, there is always an instrument that stands out; something that is so good in the song that I say, "Man, I would love to play the (guitar, bass, drums, piano, etc.) like that." With "Fat Bottomed Girls" I wish I could do all of it. Freddie Mercury is at his best, and the harmonies that Brian May and Roger Taylor provide are perfect. The drums are ridiculously appropriate, not overbearing, and a perfect compliment to the guitar. They couldn't be better than at 2:52. Brian May's guitar is a bluesy relaxed thing that at the same time is driven. It's hard to explain. And the bass, specifically the lead in note at 1:30 is the coolest note of the whole song.

2. It's not overly....Queen. "Bohemian Rhapsody" is the first song people think about when they think about Queen. Don't get me wrong, it's a great song. But it's a little over the top. (And isn't that really what we like about it?) But "Fat Bottomed Girls" is not overindulgent. It's not over produced. It's not too long. It isn't an awesome Queen song, it's just an awesome song.

3. The album version (which is the version posted above) is far superior to the single version. It's a little bit longer, but it's sooooo much better.

4. Freddie Mercury at one point sings "Get on your bikes and ride!" Two songs later on the album is the song "Bicycle Race" which contains the line, "Fat bottomed girls, they'll be riding today..." So you have two songs on an album that very discreetly reference each other, which is pretty cool.

5. It sounds better the louder you turn it up.

That's Gonna Leave A Mark

So, in my search for bad illustrations of the bands featured in the last post, I actually came across tattoos of musicians that are so horrible, they're awesome. Tattoos have become so common, it's almost gotten to the point where more people have them than don't. But quantity of people with tattoos doesn't equal quality.

We'll start this off with a pair of kings.

Thank goodness the tattoo "artist" was kind of enough to label who this is. Otherwise, I might not have recognized the King of Pop Tarts who rests in peace above what looks like a strawberry pop tart.

"I want it to look like what Daniel Day-Lewis would look like if he were to play MJ in the movie of his life." What I really like about this one is all of the pores with hair follicles that were obviously shaved for this work to be done. I can't wait to see what it looks like when the shoulder hair grows back in.

I just love how pensive the King looks here. That and the fact that MJ's left eye seems to be looking right at me; like into my soul. While the right eye seems to be looking into someone else's soul. Maybe someone standing on the other side of the room.

This one looks like Tony Curtis in drag in Some Like It Hot, but instead of impersonating a woman he's impersonating...wait...forget that.

This tattoo combines the wearer's love of Elvis and chameleons. Elvis for his music and chameleons for their eyes' ability to point in two different directions at the same time.

This one is perfect. We've taken the body of Christ and put Elvis' head on it. Elvis is about to smack some absolution on yo' ass. And isn't that the whitest arm you've ever seen?

Wow. That's all I've got for this one. I'm stunned. The name and TCB appear to be red while the "face" isn't which suggests the face has been there for a while. Perhaps the wearer thought it best to have this one labeled for anyone that hadn't ever heard of Elvis.

Stevie Nicks was one I was looking for since she seemed like the kind of musician that fervent fans might want inked on them.

This was done by a talented tattoo artist. My amusement comes from the fact that the wearer chose a picture of Stevie with the headset on.

I wouldn't have known this was Stevie Nicks if it wasn't labeled that way on the internet. Actually, I'm still not sure. And once again, I can't wait to see this when all that leg hair grows back in.

This is classy all the way around. And that red! I just want to kiss that tattoo. The fact that this appears to be on a woman's arm, just makes it that much better.

Freddie Mercury didn't occur to me as someone that people would get tattoos of, but there are a lot of them out there, and many of them are deplorable. These are some of the highlights.

This to me looks like Vince Vaughn portraying Freddie Mercury as a vampire.

I can't tell if that's a mic, or if it's a beer bottle. The man had some serious ass chompers. He could very well be biting off that bottle cap. That makes this a badass tattoo. Well done.

Tattoo Artist: Matt Groening

The Doors can be almost as pretentious as some of their fans. And the only thing more pretentious is a tattoo of the rock god poet.

This might be a little obscure, but I think this one makes the Lizard King look more like one of the aliens from Independence Day.

Jim Morrison was known to drink...a lot. So why not throw some olives in his hair. I think this makes total sense. The only thing that could improve this chest tattoo was if the arms were extended so that Jim was holding onto both nipples.

As good as all those are, this one takes the cake. It seems too great to be real, but from everything I can find online, it appears to be genuine. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Tupac Shakur as a unicorn emerging from the flesh of this very lucky person. I would say this might be the result of a drunken night of bad decisions, but this looks like it might have taken more than one visit to the tattoo parlor. Note the "Outlaw" scribbled on Tupac's fetlock. That's in case you were confused about this creature's intent.

The Five Bands You Will Hear When You Die

Perhaps, the title of this post should have been, "The Five Bands That Will Make You Wish You Were Dead." You see, it's my contention that there is a group of five bands that you can't go more than 15 minutes without hearing on any classic rock radio station.

The Eagles - I actually like The Eagles. My problem with them is that the radio only plays about five of their songs, skipping over the rest of their catalogue. And in full disclosure, I have to say that I can listen to Take It To The Limit or Seven Bridges Road anytime.

Bob Frikkin' Seger - The above picture pretty much sums up everything I hate about ol' Bob. I even hate the way his name is written there. The funny thing about Bob is, everyone says, "he's only got like two songs," but when you really start counting them, he has many different melodies to offend your ears.

Fleetwood Mac - Oh, Fleetwood Mac. Like The Eagles, I don't really hate your music. I just hate the fact that they only play a few of your songs over and over. The only thing more irritating than hearing a Fleetwood Mac song every hour is when I have to suffer a Stevie Nicks/Tom Petty duet.

Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers - Cue the stoner. There is some of Tom's music that I like, but he's become a bit ubiquitous on the radio as of late. He didn't used to be on this list, but they've been playing so much of him lately, I end up thinking it might be a retrospective because he died. No doubt died of relaxation. I mean seriously, the best anti-drug message I've seen in a while is Mr. Petty trying to form thoughts on the Sound City documentary.

Steve Miller Band - My roommate in college really loved Mr. Miller. For a while I seemed to be playing along, but at some point I developed a real dislike for his music. About the only one I can stand anymore is Take the Money and Run. But play Abracadabra or Fly Like an Eagle and I want to shove a screwdriver in my ear.

And it's not just a theory of mine; it's substantiated with statistical data. According to their website, 97.1 The River played the following tonight:

• 6:27 pm Tom Petty - Runnin' Down A Dream
• 6:35 pm Steve Miller Band - The Joker
• 7:08 pm The James Gang (Eagles' Joe Walsh) - Walk Away
• 7:31 pm Fleetwood Mac - Rhiannon
• 7:55 pm Joe Walsh - Rocky Mountain Way
• 8:27 pm Steve Miller Band - Swingtown
• 9:14 pm The Eagles - The Long Run
• 9:37 pm Stevie Nicks and Tom Petty - Stop Draggin' My Heart Around
• 10:34 pm Steve Miller Band - Fly Like an Eagle

In any two hour period of the music on 97.1 The River, they play approximately 22 to 25 songs. When 6 of those 25 songs come from the five bands I've listed you start to see what I'm talking about. I mean, during the 6:27 to 8:27 block, those five bands accounted for 25% of what was played on the radio. AND THAT WAS WITHOUT EVEN TOUCHING ANY BOB SEGER!

So why do I keep turning on the radio, you ask? I'm either a glutton for punishment, or a glutton for being right. Probably the latter since I not only hate spending so much time listening to the aforementioned bands, I've devoted about two hours to writing this post about them.

Look What Tried to Steal My Watch

That's not a magnifying glass; it's a mixing bowl. And the bastard was trying to move it.

So I'm sitting watching television last night when the above mother spider with babies on board goes running across the den floor. The best I can figure, the dog door that I built also happens to be a door for giant spiders.

Incidentally, the next time you're in your back yard with an LED flashlight, shine the light across the grass or pine straw. It's going to look like there's a lot of dew on the grass because of all of the sparkles. Except, if you look at them long enough, and hold the flashlight still enough, you'll realize that the "dew" is blinking. That's right, it's spider eyes. 

Don't believe me? Ask the boys. Most of them are no bigger than a dime, but they're everywhere.

"'Till His Puzzler Was Sore"

Every trip to the beach, I take a puzzle. There's always a point in every day at the beach where I've just had too much surf, sun, and sand. That's when I retreat inside and work on the puzzle.

This one almost didn't get finished before we had to pack up and head home. But thanks to a group effort from Lucas, Andy, and Paula we got it done just about an hour before it was time to hit the road. 

Daniel Craig's Swim Shirt

This is a swim shirt. It's what I wear at the beach to avoid exposure; exposure to too much sun and exposure of everyone else to too much Bill. 

This is also a replacement swim shirt. You see, yesterday while boogie boarding with Luke, I decided to take the shirt off for a few moments; just long enough to catch some rays and a couple of waves. The waves were decent enough for a couple of guys to surf just a hundred yards north of us, and I was riding them about a 150 feet in each time. Lots of fun, especially with "cool dude" Luke riding beside me (he looks back and gives me a thumbs up every time he catches a wave.)

Anyway, I had taken the shirt off and stowed it in a pocket of my swimsuit that has a Velcro flap top. After one particularly turbulent boogie, guess what was no longer in my pocket. I scanned the beach and the water for some time, but it was gone. Gone, gone, gone.

So I had to go buy this replacement one. And while I wasn't happy about the $30 cost of my stupidity, honestly the thing that bothered me most was the fact that I had just littered in the ocean. It bothered me enough that I spent our dusk beach walk picking up trash on the beach as a kind of penance. 

Which brings me to James Bond. I enjoy the Daniel Craig James Bond. Of course, he's a badass and gets the women, but the part of that character that I envy most is his disposable nature. Everything is disposable. When he's done with something he drops it. Literally. Clothes, cars, guns...even women. Monetary value isn't really a consideration. When something is no longer of immediate use, it's left behind. 

I constantly struggle with things' "usefulness." I avoid throwing things away because they might be of future use and end up collecting a lot of crap along the way. It's how my basement ends up full of half broken stuff, like an Island of Misfit Toys, just waiting to be fixed or repurposed. James Bond would drop it all; maybe the house too. 

Not a realistic way to live, but a fun one to daydream about. So, until I magically develop a six pack, an English accent, and an entire branch of a secret organization designed to supply me with disposable stuff, I'll keep scanning the tide for my shirt. 

Post script: I wrote this while sitting on the balcony watching the sun come up. Literally as I hit the post button, a young boy and his mother walked back up from the beach with a towel wrapped around the boy's waist, and the mother carrying his swimsuit in her hand. Does this ocean have it out for swim apparel? 

Cooler Than The Center Seed of a Cucumber

After a somewhat frustrating drive yesterday, filled with idiot drivers and biblical downpours, I have arrived at the beach. I got here pretty late in the afternoon as it was just beginning to rain here, so I didn't see the above beach message until I woke up this morning and wandered out onto the balcony to read my book and check the Internet. Needless to say, "patriotism swells in the heart of the American bear."

Now, the title of this post is a reference from an old Andy Griffith episode (points to you if you recognized it) and my use of it is in two parts.

First, Paula has requested that I be "Andy Griffith" on this trip. Apparently I can be irascible at times. She has very pointedly reminded me on previous trips that "exposure to one grumpy uncle twice a year" isn't going to fix whatever it was I was complaining about. And I'm assuming she has requested I behave in a manner that she knows I'm capable of, though sometimes easily led away from, so I'm going to do my best because she deserves it.

Second, for some reason the beach smells like cucumbers. And not the real cucumber (which I don't care for at all) but the kind of cucumber scent they use in air freshener that is supposed to smell like cucumber (which I really don't care for.) And now I have the Bee Gees' Cucumber Castle in my head. 

Well, my view of the beach has within a matter of minutes just been socked in with fog. Looks like I brought bad weather with me. I can't remember an episode of Andy Griffith that involved fog, but I'm sure he would find a silver lining so I will as well.