There was an error in this gadget

Sunday, August 15, 2004

It's been too long a time since I decided to stop in. The week was uneventful. The political season opens itself up to charge and countercharge. I did my good deed by putting a Kerry/Edwards bumper sticker on my car. I did have one very good experience this week. I met Michael Proft, a fellow member of my Laura Nyro discussion group on Http:// It is always a relief to discover that a like-minded individual resides in your immediate sphere of influence. I hope to have further conversations with Michael as time goes forward. I have a feeling he can add to my generally happy mood. I only hope I can add to his as well.
Currently, I'm listening to the very poor CD release of the album "Wow/Grape Jam" by Moby Grape. I say poor due to the fact that there are tracks missing from it. Hopefully this will be rectified someday.
I'm going to give the reader a bonus this early morning. Instead of just one entry from The Writ, I'm going to offer two. This is my penalty for staying away for a week. Now, where did we leave off?....
The first of tonight's two entries is a relatively new entry. When one listens to a lot of Randy Newman, songs like this tend to pop up. Why anyone would write a song about stealing a dead body on the first day on the job as a hearse driver is beyond me; or perhaps, it's right up my alley. The hardest part of writing this song was thinking about what a man who dies in his sleep dreams about. All in all, if I get the chance to die in my sleep, I guess dreaming about strippers with even tans wouldn't be so bad.

Drivin’ Away

Benny Watson, late of Hunter Park

Died smiling, his eyes closed in the dark

Dreamin’ about strippers with even tans

His family put a little money down

For a lovely casket to be buried in the ground

But that hearse driver, he had other plans

He’s drivin’ away, He’s drivin’ away

That big black car is gonna go far today

He’s drivin’ away. He’s drivin’ away

Where Benny lands, no one can really say

Jimmy Neal, first day behind the wheel

Taking bodies to the cemetery field

Drivin’ slow, leading with his headlights on

In heavy traffic, he saw an exit ramp

His brow was sweaty, his hands a little damp

Before they knew it, Jimmy and Benny were gone


Jimmy drove all day and all night

And Benny never said a word

“What’s a matter Benny? You’re mouth sewn shut?”

Was all that Benny might have heard

Jimmy got hungry; he stopped off for a bite

At a Jersey rest stop in the middle of the night

Had himself a burger and a big ol’ Coke to boot

Out of the window, in the corner of his eye

The hearse he was drivin’ was waving him goodbye

Benny always looked great in his favorite suit

The second selection tonight is of the same ilk as the first, only more outrageous. I feel I must preface this by saying that I'm NOT a fan of the writing of Ernest Hemingway. It becomes more and more dated with each passing day, and reading about some guy's macho exploits is the last thing I feel like doing in this world. Why not just go to a frat party and watch small-minded schmoes drink themselves sick? This song is my revenge for having to read "For Whom The Bell Tolls" in high school. Leslie probably wouldn't appreciate this song, as she works with the mentally ill for a living, but Hemingway is too inviting a target for my pen.

Ernest Hemingway Discovers The Wonders Of Prozac

F. Scott Fitzgerald novels on the bathroom windowsills

And everything looks funny when I take these little pills

Bullfights are less exciting and the fish just aren’t as big

I feel less like a macho man, more like a chauvinist pig

Put away your bullets boys, for my sofa is the sea,

Ask not for whom the pill tolls, man, you know it tolls for me

Well I’m not half as angry and I’m not half as sad

Since I got this here prescription Ketchum doesn’t seem so bad

I think I’ll stick around about another year or ten

And sing songs with that Dylan kid and never say, “Remember when…”


Medication is the answer, my own little movable feast

I might have a shaggy beard, but I don’t feel like a beast……….anymore

Well, I keep them in a bottle just above the bathroom sink

If I knew about this long ago, I’d have never had a drink

I’d never drive an ambulance or try to shoot a deer

And I don’t even give a curse that Marcelline’s not here


CODA: ……..for thee, and all of we.

The sun's getting ready to come up, so I'll bid the world a fond "until we meet again" and shuffle off to bed. Peace and Love

No comments: