President Trump says some of my favorite people hate America. Well, I guess that means I hate America too. I hate America. Hate, hate, hate, HATE!
Let me be clear. I hate America. I hate America.
Well, mostly their lyrics.
Yes, that America, the one that played throughout the seventies with songs like “Horse with No Name” and “Ventura Highway.” Oh, and “Muskrat Love.”
For the past few days, T and I have been on a trip through the South. We are currently in Georgia, recovering from a visit to President Jimmy Carter’s Sunday school class. Which was interesting and exhausting, because you need to arrive at the church where he teaches rather early in the morning–or, better, the afternoon before–if you want to get in.
Anyway, T loves America, and you know, I think I used to. But we’ve been listerning to a greatest hits CD on the way down here, and I came to a conclusion. The goddam lyrics make no sense. Sing “Sandman” to yourself. WTF is going on in that song? At least “Horse” has some pretension to a message…but Ventura highway?
‘Cause the free wind is blowin’ through
And the days surround your daylight
Seasons crying no despair
Alligator lizards in the air