honky cracker: An Unsolicited Saturday Night E-Mail to a Dear, Dear Friend I love this song. It's off Alice. It kinda fits that story I was tellin' you about... bout the high school kids up on the mountain... Anyways, I don't think you have the Alice album, so I thought I'd share the lyrics with you, as I drink alone and write away...
They bought a round for the sailor And they heard his tale Of a world that was so far away And a song that we'd never heard A song of a little bird That fell in love with a whale
He said, 'You cannot live in the ocean' And she said to him 'You never can live in the sky' But the ocean is filled with tears And the sea turns into a mirror There's a whale in the moon when it's clear And a bird on the tide
Please don't cry Let me dry your eyes
So tell me that you will wait for me Hold me in your arms I promise we never will part I'll never sail back to the time But I'll always pretend you're mine Though I know that we both must part You can live in my heart
Please don't cry Let me dry your eyes
And tell me that you will wait for me Hold me in your arms I promise we never will part I'll never sail back to the time But I'll always pretend that you're mine I know that we both must part You can live in my heart
("Fish & Bird" by Tom Waits)
and seeing as it's Saturday night now... funny.... I think of this song, and I remember Saturday night as a four or five year old when my parents -- younger than you are now, and only 6 months older than I am -- they had their childless friends over playin' pool and drinkin' beer in the basement (we still have that ol' pool table and table hockey table collecting dust in the basement) geez... I remember being a little tiny boy listening to Waits with my dad and he said "this guy's the greatest songwriter you'll ever hear"
...and I said "this guy sounds bad."
I was four. Or five. What did I know? Does my dad have a copy of Alice? Bone Machine? Swordfish Trombones? I don't think so.
In honor of Saturday Night:
Well you gassed her up Behind the wheel With your arm around your sweet one In your Oldsmobile Barrelin' down the boulevard You're looking for the heart of Saturday night
And you got paid on Friday And your pockets are jinglin' And you see the lights You get all tinglin' cause you're cruisin' with a 6 And you're looking for the heart of Saturday night
Then you comb your hair Shave your face Tryin' to wipe out ev'ry trace All the other days In the week you know that this'll be the Saturday You're reachin' your peak
Stoppin' on the red You're goin' on the green 'Cause tonight'll be like nothin' You've ever seen And you're barrelin' down the boulevard Lookin' for the heart of Saturday night
Tell me is the crack of the poolballs, neon buzzin? Telephone's ringin'; it's your second cousin Is it the barmaid that's smilin' from the corner of her eye? Magic of the melancholy tear in your eye.
Makes it kind of quiver down in the core 'Cause you're dreamin' of them Saturdays that came before And now you're stumblin' You're stumblin' onto the heart of Saturday night
Well you gassed her up And you're behind the wheel With your arm around your sweet one In your Oldsmobile Barrellin' down the boulevard, You're lookin' for the heart of Saturday night
Is the crack of the poolballs, neon buzzin? Telephone's ringin'; it's your second cousin And the barmaid is smilin' from the corner of her eye Magic of the melancholy tear in your eye.
Makes it kind of special down in the core And you're dreamin' of them Saturdays that came before It's found you stumblin' Stumblin' onto the heart of Saturday night And you're stumblin' Stumblin onto the heart of Saturday night
("The Heart of Saturday Night" by Tom Waits)
Some girl I used to know just IMed me. She says: "Have you ever had a yeast infection?"
I said "No. I have never had a yeast infection"
Do guys get yeast infections? Does bread grow on a fertile cock?
Side note -- 'rents want me to go home. I have a week to go. Dad's intestines are distended. I'm goin' nuts.
If I go home, I'm doin' this:
"Dad. I go out and drink with my bestest of friends. If you wanna know what's goin' on with me, and if we're gonna be tight, then I'm buyin' us a handle of Tanqueray... we're clearing off the pool table and putting Tom Waits' on the ol' 45... and we're drinkin'. You and me and the pool table you used to get drunk around, boy. David's in bed. Mom's asleep. It's you, me, a bottle of gin and the pool table, just like you had it when you were my age. Let's rock."
And if I blow up his intestines, well then fuck it. At least I'd have had one night, man to man, with my own father who's too afraid to admit he once was as human and as vulnerable as I am.
My dad's beer can collection from college is still set up in the basement. I remember goin' down in the basement with my father when I was 8... there was a whole shelf full of 24 oz bottles of Colt 45 (which they don't make anymore...)
"Your mother LOVED the Colt 45" he'd say. And, of course, at 8, I didn't know Colt 45 from a Budweiser. Or from a glass of milk, for that matter.
"Shut up! I did not!" my mom would retort.
"If you didn't love the Colt, he wouldn't be here!" my dad fired back.
That's why he's my Dad. That's why she's my Mom. And that's why I love the living hell out of the both of them.
