There's a really excellent explanation for today's title and topic though I'll concede right now that of the two of us, I may be the only one who feels that way when we get to the end of this, unless you cheat and go there now. Terrific, though not surprising; I'm used to being alone on the island with a lifetime of experience in raft-building.
I am afraid this is sounding more like an 'old guy loses it' story when point in fact I never had it to start with. To appreciate how we got here (assuming you might entertain the idea of ever doing that) I have to tell you it began with my chancing upon a photo the other day of Ray Davies of The Kinks performing perhaps on the Jools Holland TV Show which is on a channel somewhere above the police calls.
We have more televisions in my house than eyes to watch them. I place cardboard boxes in front of the sets to catch all the extra channels, other photons and protons as well as the occasional moron, when the sets are not actually in use. Ray was singing Skin and Bone, from Muswell Hillbillies which is one of my favorite albums, though I've never been a big fan of the shows in support of it.
I like to sing though I have been pointedly told on numerous occasions I have a voice better suited for mime. I will confess to having zero interest in remembering much more than the title of most songs, never mind the actual lyrics as created by the original author.
I should also note I believe singing at the absolute loudest volume can and does compensate for any and all technical shortcomings in my performance. Getting a second for that notion has been problematic.
Thus it is we find ourselves with me emphatically singing (because bellowing is such a harsh term) "I didn't like your little momma or how her hair didn't have a comb as she danced in her pajama and disappeared into the phone. When we found old Elmer Gantry hiding in the pantry foam I got so nervous and unquiet and thought about the Astrodome." This is where I could pause for applause but we both know that's a fool's errand.
You should hear what I do to Fancy. Maybe not. Imagine lemurs in a blender, now add yogurt and some small, smooth stones. There you go. Kidding aside, I'm thinking perhaps Ray Davies owes me some money for improving his song. Of course I may have to wait until Hell freezes over to ask him about that. I'll also need to get my ice skates sharpened.