Too Stoned for Sturgis

That's the title of a Tim Wilson song that offers some curious examples of seemingly impossible extremes:

Too old for Lawrence Welk,
And not young enough for Mickey Mouse,
Too steppin' to Steppenwolf,
And too greasy for the Waffle House...

Also such oxymorons as too ugly for the Rolling Stones (rhymes with too stupid for Jenny Jones), too important for the New York Times (rhymes with too immature for LeAnn Rhymes).

Anyone who watched the Super Bowl half-time show can attest that too ugly for the Rolling Stones is bad. Brings to mind another commedian I remember, a guy who had one memorable line that 'you know you've got problems when you gag a plumber.


When you're too fried for bikers (the song goes) you're pushing the fried envelope. I love hyperbole like that. It's what makes Don DeLillo work when he does. My friend Jay couldn't stick out 'Cosmopolis,' and I think I understand why; I've struggled with some of DD's books, that one managed to connect with me.

Anyway, Yorkist Rose posted a response that I'm obliquely, and probably badly addressing. I'm too tired at the moment to edit it more fully, and I've probably already lost almost anyone who stumbled on my little blog by now, since me typing is even worse than Tim Wilson singing.

I've been married to the artist formerly known as Frau Lobster for 13 years. This leads me dangerously close to those goofy numerologists with the 13 hang-up, because the 13th of the month is also both my daughters' birthdays; they're 13 months apart, etc. If I was a triskaidekaphobic, I could take it further. 'Our song' was actually a divided title. I was rather lopsided to the jazz side (still am), and always thought of our song as 'My Foolish Heart.' This is true because one of the times early in our dating when we were more or less on a break, I played that tune on crappy synthesizer and broke through whatever we'd fought about. But for a 13 tie-in, it doesn't work unless you consider the chromatic scale or circle of fifths.

As I say, we had two 'our songs.' This is probably not a good idea: If you're getting serious with someone and can't settle on a romantic song, get out while the gettin's good. Seriously. Our other song? 'For The Longest Time.'

Okay, you can all say 'awwwh,' but that was the other song we focused on. The then frauline who aspired to lobster status put that tune on a mix tape for me. Remember mix tapes? When there was no such thing as a CD burner outside a factory somewhere, this was how you ripped tunes. There's a catch, though, because you can't tape a song off a record faster than the record turns. A mix-tape recorded at 4X would sound like a chipmunk festival. Back then, taping an album or a mix for someone meant you'd spent at least 90 minutes cussing because the needle-drop came through on the goddamn tape, or puking off the balcony of your apartment because you drank a whole pint of gin making a tape of tunes you'd added up the times for and the whole project was ruined when the last four bars of the climactic tune was cut off by the end of the tape.

No blue bar to tell you there was 90 minutes and 35 seconds of music you were trying to cram onto a 90 minute cassette.

Oh, but the Billy Joel connection isn't obvious, is it? Nope, but I saw an interview with him a few months ago. He was rehearsing for his 'Tired Old Has-Been' tour. Like he couldn't play those songs in his sleep by now. The interviewer had to pretend stupidity, kind of like the U.N. Security Council (the IAEA is going to report Iran to the Security Council, because the Security Council doesn't have CNN, and so has no idea that Iran is a spooky theocracy with nuclear ambitions). The interivewer asked Billy Joel what song he was most sick of, out of all the tired moldy-oldies he would be trotting out in this dog-and-pony show. Joel played the first few bars of 'Just the Way You Are,' and the interviewer (playing dumber than even U.N. ambassadors), had to ask why.

I paraphrase, since this is a fairly vivid memory but I didn't write it down or anything. 'I married a woman who said she loved me and it was forever and it lasted thirteen years.'

There's that damned 13 again.

Oh, but I mentioned Yorkist Rose in a vain attempt to keep even one reader this far, so I better at least pander to her.

You might have guessed, I know Yorkist Rose's 'true' identity. Her actual name is Yor Kisross, a Finnish defector living under a barely-assumed name in Eau Claire. She is a computer hacker by day, and a dairy industry saboteur by night.

Anyway, I won’t hold her illegal status with INS against her, or the fact that she is on good terms with my wife. Almost all my friends are also my wife’s friends, which is why I’ve (as noted in a previous post) worn out my welcome with the few friends I can speak freely with.

But Yor raises a good point. A lot of these mutual friends helped my wife move out. I don’t hold it against them; they were helping a friend who asked for a favor. I’m not happy about it, and when it’s boiled down, I don’t even respect the decision. But it wasn’t them egging her on, at least I'd hope not.

For that matter, even my wife is welcome here. If I wanted to hide something from her, I’d put it somewhere else than the World Wide Web.