Now My Empty Cup Is as Sweet as the Punch

Walking out into a bluster a few months ago, the song "Wendy" by The Association popped into my head, apropos since I had mistaken the name for many years, and old habits die hard.

A friend of mine, whom I had actually met only two days before and spent many hours with since, walked out behind me and noted that the song had found its way out of my brain and into my throat.

"Do you just have a song going through your head all the time?" He asked. I was unsure if I was being mocked. He assured me I was not.

Succored, I thought, "What a charming quality, all this singing I guess I do. How pleasant I must appear. How jovial and warm hearted. How avuncular."

All to plan until a few days ago I walked into my room and found that I had the theme song from "America's Funniest Home Videos" running along in between my synapses. Not only that, it had been playing for a full minute before I noticed. What on earth could have inspired this anachronism? Was I hit in the groin just now? Did my cat make cute with a box of cereal on the kitchen counter? Lose my pants in a public place?

Huh-uh.

The magazine cover I just spied was decorated in the colors Red, White and Blue...

For the funny things you do...

America...

Et cetera...

I know all the words to this song, I discovered. Not just the refrain.

The entire thing.

How did this happen. All those hours, straining, crying, memorizing Fire Side Poets, Capitals of Spanish Speaking Countries, Cell Reproduction.

Current State of Retention: Bupkis.

I don't have bon mots from Sartre and Balzac running caressing my think meat throughout the day. I've got Saget and jingles. Cheesy 60s pop music--which I love, but can't I get some classy stuff to stick around up there, too?

I want to be the kind of guy who can quote Dickens and Mankiewiez, reference factoids about historical epochs, display an effortless understanding of complicated concepts so that I can be the kind of guy who's actually way too cool to do any of that stuff.

What's with all this? Why is it that the song "The Dance" by Garth Brooks is more important to me than any poem I have ever read? I don't even like country music, but OMG he needed the pain to get to that one moment he can't imagine his life without and I KNOW JUST WHAT HE MEANS.

Jeez. The person I want to be and the person I am need to get together and hash some stuff out.
We'll keep "Muppet Babies" if we can get the lyrics to a solid string of Cole Porter tunes.

A few cocktail recipes would be nice, too. I'd say that is worth half a season of "Step By Step."

And, seriously, if we could finally get down pat some solid base of appreciation for opera we would throw in everything we know about Oprah's personal life, every headliner celebrity marriage of the past eight years, and Michael Jackson's baby's name.

Sound fair?