Who Are You?
I want a show of hands. Who of you have played a C.W. song in the past 24 hours? Good. The rest of you, write “I Will Listen To C.W. McCall Every Day” on the blackboard, 64 times.
There are, as of today, 26 subscribers to the mailing list, not including myself. In alphabetical order, you are: Alan, Barb, Bob, Bradyn, C K, Carlos, Chris, Dave, Doug, Gordon, Greg, Janice, Jan, Jerry, Joe, John, Ken, Marshall, Matt, Mike, Paul, Pony, Ron, Scott, and Todd.
And that’s not counting the people who have written directly to me, seeking sources for C.W. McCall records. When I think of the wit and wisdom that they’re missing, I could cry. (Hint, hint.)
Like me, you’re crazy. We’re fans of a man* who most people consider a flash-in-the-pan relic of ’70s, but we all know him as a poet and singer with a style that stands out from the ordinary country singer. Now, if we could only get the rest of the world to recognize his genius…
*Technically, C.W. McCall is really the name of the group which included Bill Fries, Chip Davis, and the Fort Calhoun Nuclear Power Plant Boys, but if you don’t tell, I won’t.
I filled out my tax forms yesterday, which only proves that I don’t own enough of anything to require more than two hours’ work to tell the government something that it already knows. And during that waste of time, I discovered exactly how much money I still needed to send to those blood-sucking wastrels in Washington. I will now be joining a grassroots effort to reduce income tax, and to simplify the annual tax report forms. :)
Song A’ Th’ Week.
And now, for those of us who have their credit card limits raised every month because we’re just so darn reliable with our payments, here’s the story of a man who could have used some credit himself.
From the album Roses For Mama