I ask you to picture this:
It’s 7:40 pm on a Friday night. I’m alone in my house. My pants are wet on the crotch and Barry Manilow is singing about a romantic weekend in New England - I’m on my third beer doing the dishes. Billy Joel just finished singing about how he may be crazy and my old friend, the Bard, was singing about the government and vandals taking the handles.
A puff of soap bubbles springs from the pot I’m washing to join the wet spot on my crotch.
I hope no one comes to the door. How would I explain the strange combination of soaked crotch and Barry?
But the funny thing is, all these songs are talking about “winds of change” and it makes me wonder why this is such a common metaphor. Why do changes always announce themselves with a brisk wind? Why don’t they appear during a stagnant, humid day? It’s those changes you need to look out for: the ones that sneak up on you. That’s why I’m always on the lookout.
It’s one thing to be poetically sitting on a park bench watching the children play. The clouds darken; the temperature drops and…a wind blows. The winds of change. That’s so dramatic and unrealistically dopey because it never happens like that – except in a song. Or when an afternoon storm does actually blow through it very rarely coincides with any dynamic, social or political adjustments (sorry Mr. Dylan). It’s just a change in the atmospheric conditions and you’re like, “Oh, I knew that was coming because the wind started.”
Real Life isn’t that obvious, that dramatic, that forthcoming – and Real Life doesn’t use foreshadowing. In reality, things sneak up on you when you taking care of business in the restroom. You step out and see it’s been raining for 4 hours, but you’ve only been in the bathroom for 48 seconds. How did you not notice that storm, you wonder.
When will Bob and Billy and Barry sing about that?
I’m gonna go get another beer and see what song comes on next. Ha! “I Love a Rainy Night” by Eddie Rabbitt. I didn’t see that coming.
I love shuffle.