That morning the whole family was in the car, a big blue Ford station wagon. On our way home from church, on a freezing-cold Minnesota February day. The radio was tuned to KDAL-AM, the local CBS affiliate, and an announcer was talking about The Ed Sullivan Show and these four rock’n’roll singers from England who had LONG HAIR and MADE ALL THE GIRLS SCREAM.
My dad said, “We’ll have to watch them on TV tonight.”
And we did.
Coolest dad ever. Click here for more.
“This mess was created by the Republicans for one purpose, and they lost. People in my district are calling in for Obamacare — affordable health care — in large numbers. These guys have lost, and they can’t figure out how to admit it… So we sit here until they figure out they fuckin’ lost.”
A last-ditch desperate effort, a grand gesture, a Hail Mary pass, a demonstration to win her heart again and woo her back into your life is nothing more than a last-ditch desperate effort.
Whaaaaaat?! Romantic high-school movies lied to me all these years?! Yes, I’m afraid so. Chances are Ferris Bueller didn’t graduate with the rest of his class, either, and Spicoli probably didn’t graduate at all. Sorry to harsh your mellow.
“Can you imagine dumping a guy and then having him blast Peter Gabriel out on your lawn for a couple of hours? It’d be like, ‘Homeboy, I’m sorry. Really. Truly. But no.’ And did he rewind the tape every time the song ended, or did he make a tape that was just Peter Gabriel over and over again?” – Christine Friar
She will remember forever that he was so option-less and desperate he disturbed the whole neighborhood, just to beg her to take him back. So will the neighborhood.
Kickboxing, Lloyd. Sport of the future. Put the boombox down.
That evening I was at the Orpheum Theater in downtown Minneapolis, watching “Animal Crackers” starring The Marx Brothers.
They stopped the movie to pipe in the audio feed of Nixon’s resignation speech.
The crowd went wild.
They started the movie again. And Groucho sang, “Hello, I Must Be Going.”
The crowd went wild again.
It seemed altogether appropriate.
When I brought my date back home, her father sat sullenly in the family living room. He’d been a big Nixon booster since the late 1950s.
He would not speak to me.
Never thought of “Walk Like A Man” by The Four Seasons as anything but lame-o. But this awesome post in the website Return Of Kings made me reassess my entire value system. The author, Tuthmosis, writes:
Besides being an absolute gem of 1960s rock, it contains some of the hardest-hitting, no-nonsense manly wisdom ever sung in a falsetto voice. A son, frustrated with his absolute-bitch-of-a-girlfriend, turns to his father for advice.
But my good father
Said, “Give her up, don’t bother
The world isn’t coming to an end”
He said it:
Walk like a man
Talk like a man
Walk like a man, my son
No woman’s worth
Crawling on the earth
So walk like a man, my son
Like every other era of music, the catalog of so-called Golden Oldies (music from the 1950s and 60s) is jam-packed with milquetoast love songs (though admittedly at a time when that fantasy was probably more true than it is today). Despite this, you’ll find some loud proclamations of alpha-male commandments hidden among them if you pay attention.
I part company with Tuthmosis on his affection and praise for the song “If You Wanna Be Happy” by Jimmy Soul. (Sorry, but that song is indefensible. Try as you might, dude, you just can’t polish that turd.) Otherwise the entire write-up is spot on, particularly in light of the wimpery of current pop music (*cough* – Justin Bieber – *cough*).
With the exception of a select group of rappers – who are quick to remind us to “F*ck Bitches, Get Money” and that “Bitches Ain’t Sh*t” – a significant percentage of music today is so nauseatingly beta (i.e., wimpy) that you have to flat-out ignore the lyrics. And, truth be told, most oldies weren’t much better. So, the next time you need a break from all that noise, remember your masculine oldies.