Well, Did You Evah? and other thoughts up to and including etc.

Aside:

I’m rather taken by that handful of people who write both lyrics and music, and manage to do them both fairly well. There are even those who perform their own music, which is a hat trick that virtually guarantees that somewhere, something will be lacking. I mean, I’m okay with (some of) Neil Young, for instance, but he’s no Irving Berlin. For that matter, even Irving Berlin is no Gershwin (George on the piano side or Ira on the pencil side).

Anyhow, the case in point is, I hasten to point out, not Whitesnake (I shudder at the thought) nor the Five Satins.

In the still of the night,
As I gaze from my window,
At the moon in it’s flight,
My thoughts all stray to you.
In the still of the night,
While the world is in slumber,
Oh, the times without number,
Darling, when I say to you;
Do you love me as I love you?
Are you my life to be,
My dream come true?
Or will this dream of mine
Fade out of sight
Like the moon, growing dim,
On the rim of a hill
In the chill, still of the night?

I’m especially taken by those last three lines. Dim/rim, hill/chill/still. Talk about clean. And this is a song, of course, meant to be sung, and setting it in the rather unlikely music practically breaking out from its early contained handful of notes is what makes this a classic. The music without the lyrics is pretty good, the lyrics without the music are pretty good, the two together are pure art. I was listening to it this morning, sung by Helen Merrill, who has a voice like an icicle, perfect for Cole Porter. God, but I do love to shuffle music. (Next up was Midnight Oil’s “Beds are Burning.” I live my life sorting out juxtapositions.)

Not Aside:

Meanwhile, back at the ranch… The Sailors have elected the co-captain team of Robbie and NoShow, a fine choice among many fine choices. I popped over to Greeley yesterday morning to mislead them on Nov-Dec, as they are right across the street and do have a standing offer of befuddlement simply for the asking. I spent this morning doing the happy dance that my “Rock ‘n’ Roll” tickets will actually get me into the play on Saturday. Numerous tournament dbs have been posted for the Sailors to sign up, although they are engaged in a serious game of Judge Chicken (who will wait the longest to volunteer a parent to chaperone, because they don’t believe I’ll strand their little butts back in Montrose as I drive off merrily with 4 of the ones I’ve chosen at random, but then again, they actually do believe that I’ll strand their little butts back in Montrose, so it’s mostly a matter of, hey, it’s not my parent that’s the problem, as I doubt if my mother is interested in either Columbia or Lexington, but maybe you know her better than I do and can convince her to at least do PF and to tell you the truth, she’d probably jump at the $150, but parents don’t get paid, not even mine, and right now you’re asking yourself, are you telling me that old fart Menick’s parents didn’t die about a hundred years ago). I’ve got to answer 20 questions to be one of the District Chairs du jour in January’s Rostrum (How has NFL made you a better person?). Stump the Chump is instantly my favorite part of WTF: it should be every day, and replace all other postings. I almost wish I was going to Princeton, but not a lot. I think I’m calming down regarding Facebook. If you have a Wii, I will come into your house in the night and steal it, leaving broccoli crumbs behind so you’ll suspect some random vegan. Etc.