January 10, 2008

Sigh. Maybe it’s just a case of the post-holiday blues.

Or, the fact that, like my good buddy Rob, it’s a new year and maybe the creative writing juices are running a little dry at the present time.

Or, most likely, it’s just the sober realization that 2008 promises to be nothing more than an endless series of exhausting and crazy work weeks followed by the mindless chipping away at a mountain of credit card debt.

Either way, it’s only the second week into a new year and all I want to do is walk away from it all. Somewhere. Anywhere. Now.

Even better, with a case of Sam Adams under my arm.

I kinda feel like Lee Marvin in that scene from the movie “Paint Your Wagon”, where, playing the role of Ben, he decides he’s not going to follow the wagon train any further and has this conversation with another man who has decided to do the same:

Man: I guess there’s two kinds in the world, Ben, people who move, people who stay. Ain’t that true?

Ben: No that ain’t true.

Man: Well, what’s true?

Ben: Well, there’s two kinds of people, them goin’ somewhere and them goin’ nowhere. That’s what true.

Upon which, he sings (well, sorta) the song “Wand’rin Star”. (Note: this is just a partial clip, the whole song can be found here. Boy, they sure don’t write lyrics like this anymore:

I was born under a wand’rin’ star
I was born under a wand’rin’ star

Wheels are made for rollin’
Mules are made to pack
I never seen a sight that didn’t look better looking back.

I was born under a wand’rin’ star

Mud can make you prisoner
And the plains can bake you dry
Snow can burn your eyes
But only people make you cry
Home is made for comin’ from
For dreams of goin’ to
Which with any luck will never come true

I was born under a wand’rin’ star
I was born under a wand’rin’ star

Do I know where hell is?
Hell is in Hello
Heaven is good-bye forever
It’s time for me to go

I was born under a wand’rin’ star
A wanderin’ wanderin’ star

Mud can make you prisoner
And the plains can bake you dry
Snow can burn your eyes
But only people make you cry
Home is made for comin’ from
For dreams of goin’ to
Which with any luck will never come true

I was born under a wand’rin’ star
I was born under a wand’rin’ star

When I get to heaven
Tie me to a tree
Or I’ll begin to roam
And soon you know where I will be

I was born under a wand’rin’ star
A wanderin’ wand’rin’ star

Sigh. Two kinds of people, them goin’ somewhere and them goin’ nowhere. Count me among the latter tonight. Maybe it’s an apt description for my whole life, for that matter…

Filed in: Uncategorized by The Great White Shank at 01:52 | Comments (0)
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