I don’t know whether Janis Joplin, if she was alive today, would make much of an impression on the music world.
I was toodling home today when her “Me and Bobby McGee” came on, a song I’ve loved I think since I was a mere nobbut. Something about “feeling near as faded as my jeans,” and “windshield wipers schlappin’ time” were the first words that ever spoke to me of imagery. And imagery of course, is the soul of poetry.
Notwithstanding meter and rhyme, which are only, when properly deconstructed, mnemonic devices.
Did you know that her final album containing Bobby McGee and “Mercedes Benz” only came out after her overdose? I didn’t.
Neither did I know that she had such a cool car. My own pops had a 356 Porsche Speedster, although not quite so vividly painted. But then again, my father was not, given all his many other virtues, a poet. Insofar at least as I am aware. Neither was he a rock and blues player.
But Janis was, and a damn fine one at that. But she was no more than ordinarily pretty, despite her talents, and so I wonder if she’d have a chance today. It seems more about the look than about the music, anymore. Today’s buzz, tomorrow’s used-to-be.
This is what your MTV hath wrought.
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Continuing a thought (and begging your forgiveness): There’s something in some of the antis that can’t abide the thought of anything good coming out of the war in Iraq. It is all bad, every last bit of, thoroughly and comprehensively. This is something very close to religion, so powerful is the zeal.
Was reading Greyhawk’s comments on his most recent post dealing with the Tall ‘Afar mayor’s letter, and in between all those who read this for good news, there were a few skeptics, people who would warn, “Be careful. We’re not exactly sure where this came from. Some of it sounds kind of strange.”
I’ve got no problem with skepticsm (as opposed to cynicism, a propos of nothing at all) – it’s healthy to be skeptical.
But then there’s a comment like this one:
The letter is a fake.
Posted by Melvin at February 15, 2006 12:39 PM
Not because Melvin isn’t sure that the letter is real, not that he suspects it might be fraudulent – and by the way, it’s looking more and more genuine all the time – but it’s that he doesn’t want it to be real. Can’t be. Won’t.
No.
There’s something pathetic and clutching about this sort of thing.
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D’you want to know what Lex dreams about in his sleep?
And only $265k flies her away. Sigh.
I had the chance to fly the T-28 when I started flight school – the last of them were leaving NAS Whiting Field, near Pensacola, Florida and heading down to NAS Corpus Christi, Texas. They were big, powerful, torquey birds, the Trojans – a lot of airplane for a student to handle. The big radial engine was in the same class as a World War II fighter, with over 1400 horses banging under the cowl at full throttle. It was said that you could tell at T-28 pilot because his right leg was always longer than his left, what from standing on the right rudder during take-off roll.
But I passed on the chance, and flew the T-34C Turbo Mentor instead – a plane the Trojan jocks somewhat dismissively called a “Turbo Weenie,” and extending the same courtesy to those who flew it. The T-34 was far simpler to fly, what with no cowl flaps to worry about, no carb heat, relatively modern avionics and a constant speed prop we always left on “Full Increase.” It was also easier to maintain than the Trojan, about which it was said that the plane must be rejected on preflight if it wasn’t leaking oil – the only plausible reason for such a phenomenon being that there wasn’t any left to leak. And as a plane neared the end of its service life, everything becomes harder to get – spares, technicians, repairables. The end result being that finishing the primary syllabus took nearly twice as long for Trojan jocks as for Mentor weenies, and when you’re a new pilot, learning the trade, it is so very important to fly as often as ever you might.
I sort of regret not having flown the big bird, the last of its kind. On the other hand, none of the kids who went down to Corpus got jets and I ended up in Hornets.
So I don’t regret it that much.
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So, SNO told me he was up for a scholarship from the Order of the Daedelians – a good deal if he gets it, they’ll pay for 12 flight training sessions over the summer, including a solo in a Cessna 172, I believe. Pretty excited about the idea. Asked, wasn’t I too?
Yes. Yes of course.
Thinking privately to myself, My God: Doesn’t he know how dangerous that whole flying gig is? A man could get hurt!
Yes, I know. Shoe on the other foot, pops. Suppose I ought to get used to it.
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More from B2 (I’m rationing this stuff):
A Wal-Mart store that sells husbands has just opened in Dallas , TX , where a woman may go to choose a husband from among many men.
Among the instructions at the entrance, is a description of how the store operates:There are only 6 floors. The attributes of the men increase as the shopper ascends the flights. There is, however, a catch….
As you open the door to any floor you may choose any man from that floor, but if you go up a floor, you cannot go back down except to exit the building.
A woman shopper goes inside the store. On the first floor the sign on the door reads: Floor 1 – These men have jobs. “Fair enough, she thinks. But I could do better than that on my own.”
The second floor sign reads: Floor 2 – These men have jobs and love kids. “Hmm. Getting warmer.”
The third floor sign reads: Floor 3 – These men have jobs, love kids, and are extremely good-looking. “Wow,” she thinks, but feels compelled to keep going.
She goes to the fourth floor and sign reads: Floor 4 – These men have jobs, love kids, are drop-dead good looking and help with the housework. “Oh, mercy me!” she exclaims, “I can hardly stand it!”
Still, she goes to the fifth floor and sign reads: Floor 5 – These men have jobs, love kids, are drop-dead gorgeous, help with the housework, and have a strong romantic streak. She is so tempted to stay, but she goes to the sixth floor and the sign reads:
Floor 6 – You are visitor 3,456,012 to this floor. There are no men on this floor. This floor exists solely as proof that women are impossible to please.
Thank you for shopping Wal-Mart’s Husband Store. Please exit the building.
You do realize of course, that this means wah?
Yes. Yes of course.
I would reply with a defiant, “Bring it!” but I’m already heading for the bunker, hoping to pull the hatch in after me 
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Y’all have a great weekend!
If your Pops had a Porsche, then indeed he was a man of refinement and exquisite taste.You should be proud.If only it was an heirloom.
Visions of James Dean……..
I saw Khris Kristofferson on some show the other day. I said he wrote these lyrics for Bobby McGee–
With them windshield wipers slappin?
I saw Khris Kristofferson on some show the other day. I said he wrote these lyrics for Bobby McGee–
With them windshield wipers slappin’ time and
Bobby clappin’ hands we finally sang up every song
That driver knew.
Don’t you love the rhyming on ‘time’ and the first syllable of ‘finally’? That’s genius songwriting.
Janis didn’t record it that way, though. She sang–
Windshield wipers slapping time, I was holding bobby’s hand in mine,
We sang every song that driver knew.
They asked Kris if thatirritated him. He said Janis had his blessings. He loved her recording and singing of his piece, no matter the mangling.
Kris doesn’t have much of a voice, but he’s a premier songwriter!
I think the alternative to “impossible to please” is “EASY”, and that just wouldn’t be right!
Good girls have standards, and you boys should, too!!!!
There is an associated joke to the Walmart husband store.
“The Walmart wives store soon opened as well, where a man may go to choose a wife from among many women.
Among the instructions at the entrance, is a description of how the store operates:
There are only 6 floors. The attributes of the women increase as the shopper ascends the flights. There is, however, a catch?
There is an associated joke to the Walmart husband store.
“The Walmart wives store soon opened as well, where a man may go to choose a wife from among many women.
Among the instructions at the entrance, is a description of how the store operates:
There are only 6 floors. The attributes of the women increase as the shopper ascends the flights. There is, however, a catch….
As you open the door to any floor you may choose any woman from that floor, but if you go up a floor, you cannot go back down except to exit the building.
A man shopping for a wife goes inside the store. On the first floor the sign on the door reads: Floor 1 – These women have good paying jobs and plenty of money. “Fair enough, he thinks. But money isn’t everything.”
The second floor sign reads: Floor 2 – These women have good paying jobs, plenty of their own money and love sex.
No one but Wal-mart knows what’s on the other floors.”
You may be interested to know that Snopes is on the iraq mayor case. They’re pretty good at sniffing out hoaxes.
http://www.snopes.com/politics/soapbox/iraqmayor.asp
Snopes does a good job of documenting real items as well. The fact that they’re investigating is not a data point in either direction.
On whether the letter was genuine or fake: some details from this blogpost make be believe that it was genuine.
First, we learn that
Tal Afar is a dump. Now that you mention it, Iraq is a dump. But Tal Afar looks poorer than the area near Tikrit I was in last time. Certaintly rattier than Baghdad, according to the guys who spent a year there. It’s also shot up pretty bad, demolished buildings, etc. The AIF fought to hold this town and failed, but the price of throwing them out was a lot of collateral damage. On the bright side, a lot of construction is going on. Oh, and I now truly know what “maneuver damage” is. The Germans and Koreans don’t know crap. Abrams and Bradleys gouge huge chunks of roadway out, leading to potholes you can loose a HMMWV in, and turn around points are hopeless mires of mud.
But despite such a heavy damage,
Speaking of boys and girls, the kids here are mostly pretty well behaved. That is to say, few of them make obscene gestures, beg obnoxiously, or step out into the road in front of armored vehicles with no concern for the laws of inertia. Kids and adults in Tal Afar are generally friendly towards the Coalition, so we are told. I know I’m seeing very few ‘death looks’, and anyone who has been to Iraq knows what I mean.
Why would the locals be generally friendly in such a badly damaged town? The only answer that comes to me is that they are feeling liberated indeed. Another part of this is the presence of Iraqi force, which does most of the patrolling, this way they do not feel “occupied after liberation”: IA/IP. That’s Iraqi Army/Iraqi Police. Wow. Lightyears beyond what I expected. They don’t wear masks in Tal Afar, which means they aren’t afraid of the AIF anymore. That’s good. That’s really good, actually. The IA/IP checkpoints are everywhere in Tal Afar–this is their town.
It’s authentic. Period. Milbloggers have received it from multiple people, such as family and members of the 3rd ACR. And according to an email exchange with the Washington Post thatGreyhawk reports, a WaPo reporter received a copy directly from the major himself, but decided (inexplicably) not to include it in his report on the 3rd ACR.
http://www.mudvillegazette.com/archives/004185.html
I’m kind of getting the impression from your increasingly wistful flying posts and references that you are longing to spend more time aloft. Is this correct? Itching for stick time?
You bet, Chris. The only thing standing between me and bakelite is the age old dilemma of flying: You only need two things to fly, my first instructor said – airspeed and money.
Maybe someday…
Greeting one and all. Me thinks me memory is good enought to make the arguement that the author of Me and Bobby McGee was not Kristofferson but Roger “King of the Road” Miller. Could be in error. I stand in wait for correction.
As for the T-28, I drooled over seeing a couple of them on the ramp in Bangor, Maine many moons ago- early 70′s or thereabouts. Nothing like the old recips and I walked around them and savored the scent of the dripping engine oil and every inch from their leading edges to their tricycle gear’s rubber tires. Just a romantic but I remember from my earliest days hearing the sound of big recips on the bases where I had grown up. When I hear one today I rush out of the building and look around to see what is producing that very distinct throaty sound. I have seen everything from DC3s to B24s. Never got any stick time on them though.Just a sentimental old fool.
When I went through VT-2 as a ‘tread the “c” was brand new and the 28 was offered to volunteers. Being a LT driving a 911, and well used to my creature comforts, I chose the air conditioned (actually works on deck!) Turbo-Mentor! It was July at Whiting.
But I’ll admit the sweet noise the Trojan emitted is one alluring sweetheart. Everyone I knew who flew ‘em still talk about ‘em.
I think I missed something there, too.
B2
Recently read a book about the P-38. The book near the end talks about a pilot who flew one at air shows not long after WW2. He said he bought his in 1946 from surplus for $1500….
Which was still real money in ’46, what with the average household bringing home almost $5000 per year, before taxes.
Still, if you could buy one today at ten times the price of that 1946 offering, it’d be damn good buy.
‘Bird –
Your memory is off, but not without cause:
ME & BOBBY MCGEE
Janis Joplin
- words and music by Kris Kristofferson
- first popularized by Roger Miller in 1969 (#12 Country hit)
- lyrics as recorded by Janis Joplin on the 1971 album “Pearl”
(Columbia VCK-30322)
http://ntl.matrix.com.br/pfilho/html/lyrics/m/me_and_bobby_mcgee.txt
I know I’m chiming in kind of late, but I was getting a little worried when it got down to post 10 before anyone mentioned the aircraft. I guess we all read for different reasons.
If you ever spend that $265,000 fly on up here, I’ll ride with you.
The Warhawk Museum in Nampa, Idaho has a beautifully restored yellow SNJ, which makes me drool every time I see it.
By the way, I’m assuming the Idaho in comment four is a woman. Godd thing I append the “Joe.”