Lotsa stuff to empty from the drawer of my mind today, none of which lends itself to a cheap FReedy FRiday segue. Consider:
- The country is on the verge of doing something wonderful and intelligent, something that will alter our perception abroad in ways we couldn’t have imagined 18 months ago. Freedy sings about strippers and tarts, but not about transformative leaders.
- I found Philadelphia’s explosion of joy and relief (and subsequent car-flipping antics) considerably cooler than Boston’s win-gasm in 2004. At least this time around, nobody got shot in the face. Freedy sings about crooked nights in dark corners, but not about the bliss-induced erosion of social morays in an urban setting.
- The little sister hit 30 yesterday, which makes me… older than that. Freedy sings about sad middle-aged people, but not about these young kids today, with the hair and the tattoos and the text phones.
- My chosen profession has shed 26,000 jobs and 113 periodicals in the last two days. Freedy sings about optimism in the face of evolving circumstances, but not about media fragmentation or the death of work.
- I’m taking my annual mosey around New York’s five boroughs on Sunday, which places me somewhere on the anxiety scale between a dangerously underprepared astronaut and a kid whose camp counselor is “teaching” him how to swim by throwing him into the deep end. Freedy sings about the need for sedation via electroshock, but not about efficient, effective stress-management techniques.
See? I got nothin’. Here’s a Freedy ditty about an arsonist: Gone to See the Fire, off Never Home. Buy it here. Check back on Sunday for a live-Tumblr’d marathon photo extravaganza.
