You Never Called Me BY My Name

Steve Goodman! I love Steve Goodman songs.

On a compilation album put out by two female hosts for WGN radio, there's a great segment on "The Dog Farm," which is where all dogs go when they've grown too old and/or sick to be taken care of at home. One listener called in and told how her mother had arranged with an aunt up in Wisconsin to make up letterhead for the "farm" and write a few letter on how well Buster was doing there, and then after a few months, report on his sad demise. Then, for the next five minutes, other listeners called in with similar stories, followed by the capper of the listener who called in to tell that she believed in the Dog Farm until fifteen minutes earlier, when she heard the first caller's story, and realized her parents had lied to her twenty years earlier.

You Never Called Me BY My Name

Steve Goodman! I love Steve Goodman songs

Actually, I think it's David Alan Coe.

Because then, if my own memory of childhood is accurate, she'll actually prefer those toys to our stuff.

Bobby could always play with his toys for hours and amuse himself, but Brendon didn't do that. He wasn't able to entertain himself until he read.

Kids prefer your stuff to theirs. I had key rings with old keys. Other things that didn't look like kid stuff. A nice one was a card holder with a stack of the fake credit cards that you get in the mail. I left them on table tops and places where they could be "found" by little hands.

Actually, I think it's David Alan Coe.

But Steve Goodman wrote it. It says so right in the song.

I love karaoke. There's a karaoke DJ in an American Legion Hall near me who makes damn sure I sing something from Chicago whenever I show up. One weirdo moment I remember was trying to do "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel and realizing partway through that they were using the album cut instead of the version released as a single. I had to struggle through a bridge I'd never heard before. I'm surprised I lived.

But Steve Goodman wrote it. It says so right in the song.

Duh. I think I need to go back to bed.

See, that's what I get for only getting into Steve Goodman songs through his two-disc set--I hear the original versions, and never realize that they were covered by other artists with greater sales than Steve ever got.

On that album, there's a great "dead teen medley" that he did in concert once after being distracted in his usual hunt for someone with a cowboy hat which he would don for "Never Even Call Me." Instead of a cowboy hat, he got a motorcycle helmet, and broke out first into "Born to Be Wild," and then he started with "Teen Angel," followed by "Tell Laura I Love Her," then another one where the guy picks up a cute girl, only to find out later that she was a ghost. Finally, the next track starts with him saying, "Now, to get back to what I was going to sing, before I lost my mind..." and he starts with "Never Even Call Me."

I've killed the thread! I've killed the thread!

Now it can't resurrect until Sunday.

I feel like a Roman centurion. Anyone got a toga I can borrow?

I don't sing. Well, I do something I call singing, but no one believes me. Once, some people made me get up and karoke.... it was bad. but then at least they stopped trying to make me .

Sunday's brunch.

bellinis

chesse and crackers

strawberry soup with a dollop of yogurt sorbet

eggs florentine ( eggs, on a bed of spinach with holindase - can have ham slice and on an english muffin if desires)

some sort of potato side dish ( gratin? )

there is a ham

carrot tort

Oh, god, it's so Friday.

I've been sighing up a storm, and now I'm so tired I'm introducing myself (twice) to people who call me at work.

And it's almost another hour before I can skive off.