SIDE A
1. Hard rockin’ statement of intent
2. Slightly less rockin’ followup
3. Style/tempo shift to inform fans/critics that you aren’t a one-trick pony
4. Get back on your one-trick pony
5. Mid-tempo ballad/mini-epic (depending on available space)
Dear CBS:
You’re probably wondering why there are numerous dots instead of a noun at the beginning of the title. It’s because I couldn’t think of a catchy, yet comprehensive name for this. I was originally going to call it ‘Kids Say the Darndest Things, Still’ but the world has apparently changed. It seems a middle aged man with a tape recorder and a camera can’t just ‘borrow’ children off the street without all sorts of kerfuffle and pepper spray. In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have tried to use that van for interviewing the tots. America, sadly, has lost its innocence.
Dear Uncle Jay:
My friend Irwin’s favorite song is “Angie Baby,” sung by Helen Reddy. What he likes about it is the line, It’s so nice to be insane/no one asks you to explain…Irwin thinks that insane people have it made. He says that they are excused from the rules of conduct required from the rest of us, that they can be as rude as they want. Of course, Irwin’s idea of good manners is to raise his pinkies while chugging a 40 oz. of malt liquor at a PTA meeting, but is he finally right about something?
A diagnosis
of psychosis
is not good cause
to dis the hostess.
TOP HAT: Hello cellmates! Top Hat, esquire, at your service. It looks as though you will have the pleasure of my company for a little while. You see, I had the utter misfortune of landing on Go to Jail, and well, here I am! But, no worries, I’m sure we will have a grand ol’ time together! So, tell me, what brings the rest of you to this dreadfully decorated place of incarceration?
Shopping grounds me. I interpret my sense of personal success, as usual, on my alacrity and ability to bargain. Striking my Safeway card through the machine like a knife. The checker, a handsome teenager with a faint, pitiful mustache, fails to meet my gaze. Am I really so old? I ask him how his day went. The question misses him, no entry, no exit, no effect. Just fine. He hands me my two plastic bags. Ghosts to carry home.