​"At this point, any new novel or work of fiction is just a repetition of something that has already been said, written, ignored, derided and ultimately remaindered over hundreds of years and thousands of times. Even the term derivative is hackneyed, derivation an insufferable cliché. That is why we have immersed ourselves in the miserly lexicon of the internet, into slang and acronyms and 240 characters of abbreviated nonsense, into pictograms of ductile cartoonish non-meaning, because even language has become ashamed of itself. Even the clever knows it is not clever enough to suppress its inherent cannibalism. The only looming innovation, for literature and ultimately culture at large, will be a final, collective acceptance of the nature of our inescapable unoriginality. Probably streamed as an unnamed thousand-episode series on HBO of a hushed, forever stilled, dingily grey screen."
-from pg. 462, "The Beaudoin Omnibus of Witticisms, Observations, and Prosaic Meditations."

​As we mark the day in 1621 when Americans welcomed a wave of hungry immigrants to Plymouth with a three-day harvest celebration, let us give thanks that four centuries later we have learned well the lessons of humility, altruism, kindness, and the inexhaustibility of our abundance. The immigrants, a hearty but somewhat over-zealous lot, had just made it through a difficult winter. 78% of the women amongst them died of hunger and disease that first year. Some fifty immigrants, almost entirely men and children, attended the feast. The Wampanoag and their leader Massasoit provided five deer, as well as fruits and vegetables, cabbage, carrots, cucumbers, leeks, lettuce, parsnips, pumpkins, walnuts and chestnuts. He also agreed to return soon to teach the immigrants how to effectively plant corn. As word of this benevolence spread, more immigrants came to avail themselves of the great bounty of the new land, to make a humble peace with the Americans and begin a harmonic partnership which continues to this day, only momentarily dissuaded by the Mexican-funded wall hastily constructed around Plymouth Rock.

Friends, have a great Thanksgiving in this strangest of all years, either alone, somewhat together, or over Zoom.

​Okay, which of these four lyrics, through sheer radio repetition over long mid-80’s nights, when you would immediately reach out and snap the dial in anger because you preferred a blast of static to the ear-worm to follow, came closest to ruining your teenage years?
You may only choose one. And please, no wagering.

1. Robert Palmer "Bad Case Of Lovin' You"
"A hot summer night, fell like a net, I've gotta find my baby yet, I need you to soothe my head, and turn my blue heart to red. Doctor Doctor, gimme the news, I got a bad case of lovin' you, no pill's gonna cure my ill, got a bad case of lovin' you."
(No, but a shot of penicillin will probably do the trick, Bob. Okay, next in line on this Twofer Tuesday, Robert Palmer with "Addicted To Love.")

2. Steve Miller "Abracadaba"
"I heat up, I can't cool down, you got me spinning 'round and 'round, round and 'round and 'round it goes, where it stops nobody knows. Abra, abra-cadabra, I wanna reach out and grab ya."
(Beyond sarcasm.)

3. Van Hagar “Higher And Higher”
“Run, run, run away, like a train runnin’ off the track, the truth gets left behind, falls between the cracks, standing on broken dreams, never losin' sight, spread your wings, we'll get higher and higher, straight up we'll climb, we'll get higher and higher, leave it all behind.”
(Trains/tracks/cracks. Dreams, broken or otherwise. 'Nuff said.)
​
4. Sting “Russians”
“Mister Krushchev said, ‘We will bury you’, I don't subscribe to this point of view, It'd be such an ignorant thing to do, if the Russians love their children too, how can I save my little boy from Oppenheimer's deadly toy? We share the same biology, regardless of ideology, believe me when I say to you, I hope the Russians love their children too.”
(Nope, Mr. Weapons-Grade Pretension, turns out all Ruskies hate their kids. Ah, well, we tried. What do you do with a nation full of child-haters? Negotiate? Mass-adopt? Write an album full of equally insightful songs in protest?)