When writing the American Music Show preview, I considered sharing my thought that the show and the Taste of Springfield might have been better scheduled the week before or after the Fourth. My concern was that it would be competing with too many events, not the least of which are the traditional family-and-friends gatherings. It turns out I was prescient on this matter, only it was rain, not backyard barbecues, that proved the event’s undoing.

I had been looking forward to the American Music Show all year. It wasn’t supposed to go down like this:

• Friday – listen to Honeybees for couple of songs and Bill Kirchen for a few, but kids grow restless so leave in pursuit of ice cream.
• Ditch foursome and go downtown Saturday as a lonesome. Dark clouds hover.
  
• Friendless and alone, seek reading material to wait out rain. Hit Prairie Archives and their honor system sidewalk sale. Pick out 1997 issue of Smithsonian magazine, put quarter in envelope and push through  mail slot.
• Arrive at Brew Haus. Dogfish 60 Minute still available on tap. Things looking up. Settle into booth and began to peruse magazine; realize that I’d read almost entire issue 12 years earlier.
• Finish pint, exit bar. Heavy mist blankets area; stage area still draped with tarps.
• Run into Brad Elvis. Outdoor show canceled. Handcuffs will play Bar None at 10:30, post-pumpkin time for me. Go home to sulk.
• Return home. Rare night out ruined. Freedom, Independence, Meaning of Life – questioned.

What Do You Think We Are, Communists?

As I mentioned, many people celebrate the Fourth at private parties. That’s what I hear. Although I can’t be sure because we never get invited to parties on the Fourth of July. Never, ever.

We’ve attended parties in and around the Fourth, but even those invitations have dried up. My kids think that the holiday entails driving to a church parking lot along Woodside Road, watching some fireworks, and then heading home to bed. They have no idea of the feasting and celebrating that goes on in honor of our country.

So I implore you, even if you think me a fascist, invite my children to a Fourth of July party next year. Let them hear freedom ring, won’t you?

You Ain’t Bad Lookin’ and You Smell Good From Here*

Tuning in to Fast Eddie on WQNA last Wednesday morning, I heard a feller a-singing these words:

You don’t live in a beautiful place.
And you don’t dress with the best of taste.
And nature didn’t give you such a beautiful face.
But baby, ooooooooeeeeeeee,
You’ve got what it takes.

Wow, I thought, I can’t imagine too many girls listening to this 45 on the bedroom floor while imagining they were the subject of the singer’s highly qualified and brutally frank admiration. As for the woman who inspired such tepid passion, she surely must have developed a series of disorders after "her song" hit the airwaves.

A little research turned up that this song was actually written by Anne Murray, she of Snowbird fame. The sentiments expressed in the lyrics do seem less harsh when directed at a good-hearted lug who never fancied himself the Cary Grant type anyway.

B-b-b-baby, I-i-i I Can’t Wait**

I’m of the belief that if you’re not a few minutes early to an appointment, you are late. Promptness isn’t just a courtesy, it’s a social imperative. Chronic tardiness is a sign of extreme selfishness and/or a complete absence of self-discipline. No, nothing happened. Why do you ask?

Oh wait, something did happen.

Last week I had an appointment to have my teeth cleaned and arrived five minutes before I was due. Thirty-five minutes later I left with unpolished teeth. When I broke the news that I could no longer stick around and read Newsweek in their waiting room, the staff apologized and said that the person scheduled before me was 20 minutes late.

I now hate that person, whoever it might. Factoring in commute time to and from my office, my entire lunch hour was wasted. They owe me, don’t you think they owe me?

I May Even Show ‘Em My Handstand***

A recent story, attached to the Michael Jackson coverage, reminded me of something that really bugged me about American Bandstand. When musical guests would "perform" they would fade the song out at the end, resulting in an awkward moment when the band members wouldn’t know when to stop pretending to play. World-class rock and roll bands were reduced to looking as ridiculous as the Partridge Family.

And that. . . . is that.

*Name the song that this lyric was lifted from.

**Do the same for this lyric.

***What famous performer wrote the American Bandstand theme song?