Sha na na
I like having cable on the road.
It’s like a bag of weed that stays fresh in a locked freezer, like one o them safes at Taco Bell that can’t be opened by employees.
I’m reminded I don’t need it,
but I don’t mind it from time to time.
So I’m watching this Toby Keith video on CMT thinkin he’s a handsome feller, albeit his teeth are too white to make the gruff cowboy look stick. Funny thing is, I have most of his albums and he don’t look that handsome on the covers.
Then I started think about album covers and how i seem to just regard them briefly nowadays.
I figure this might have something to do with sheer quantity. I could be lost for months if I took the time to stare at them as much as I did when I picked up The Smiths “Louder Than Bombs” and Prince’s “Sign O the Times” on CD when I was a wee-teen. (The first CDs I bought ’cause they are double albums and I had to ration.)
Then I thought it might have something to do with how tiny CD covers are and how the crappy plastic covers get all scuffed.
So then, Alan Jackson and Jimmy Buffet start singing “It’s five o’clock somewhere” and I realize it’s time to turn off the tv.
Completely disjointed journal entry, all cutup benihana
MTV CMT style.
My life is like Shania Twain video: I touch myself a lot.
But without all the wind machines.