Northbound

So here you are, a fisherman, living off subsistence wages in Bangladesh, getting up at oh-dark-thirty and trawling your nets around the Ganges, hoping to catch enough fish to support your family and make a decent living for yourself.  You do not know who is playing in the Super Bowl.  You have never heard of Britney Spears, or Barack Obama, or Raisin Bran.  And there you are, in your beaten-down tub of a boat, and you catch… man, what the heck is that thing?  And since you haven’t seen it before, or know what it is, you beat it to death, because that’s what your grandfather would have done.  Turns out, it’s a dolphin — and maybe you made the right call, because dolphins can be pretty badass.

But instead of dumping the carcass back in the river, your buddy Sanjay has the bright idea to take it to the museum, see what they can figure out, and it turns out it’s an endangered species.  It’s a slow news day, and some reporter finds out about it, and he does a story, and it shows up in the local paper.  And some guy at CNN headquarters in Atlanta, bored out of his skull, surfs over to the Bangladesh paper’s website, finds out about the story, calls someone at the World Wildlife Fund for background, and there it is, on the CNN website, the number one article, for people across the world to read about you and what you caught in your net.

And, as of next week, everyone will have forgotten about you, and you just go right on fishing.  That’s life on the Interwebs.

The Telegraph is my favorite British rag, and they reviewed the London production of High School Musical, and it was about what you would expect.    But about midway through, the reviewer… well… just read it:

This is so feel-good that it made some of us feel sick. That is the trouble with the melted cheese that gets poured quite liberally over cheap food in America: it turns the stomach of anyone accustomed to real nourishment.

Look, I have no brief for Disney, or High School Musical, or the more inane aspects of American pop culture.  But anyone who disses melted cheese is walking on the fighting side of me — especially a Brit theater critic who probably has never personally experienced the glory of a South Philly cheesesteak slathered with Cheez Wiz.  Come on over this side of the Atlantic, let me fix you up some nachos, and then say that.  “Real nourishment,” hmph.

This list (which is a work in progress, I want you to know, updated most recently in January 2008) is inspired by a 2005 article in The Guardian about the most depressing songs ever written, and mentions two — two! — country songs in the top fifteen (and one of those doesn’t count, because it’s Kenny Rogers). The other entry is:

15. Maggie’s Dream Don Williams (1984)

Nashville may have a rich heritage of depressing music but this hemlock-gulping country weeper will force listeners to throw themselves into a vat of possum poo. Over a soporific music track, Williams sings about Maggie, a waitress who’s spent 30 years working at a diner and never had anyone to go home to. She plays the saddest songs on the diner’s jukebox while lamenting how she’s destined to die alone. It doesn’t help that Maggie is the size of a whale. We’re never told this but, hey, waitress, truck stop, platters of fried food? You work it out.

Ha! That’s not even the most depressing Don Williams song there is. Neither one even makes my Top 40 list, which follows.

It’s divided into four sections, each ranked separately, because so much of country music is apples and oranges, and I don’t think it’s fair to compare older stuff with newer stuff, or the stuff you hear on Clear Channel radio stations with the sort of stuff that can dissolve the paint off your car. And I don’t care what you think about Keith Urban, he’s not on this list. Nobody who’s managed to marry Nicole Kidman can ever, ever, ever complain about being depressed and unhappy. No. One. Period.

The Clear Channel Division

10. Martina McBride, “Concrete Angel“:

Martina McBride has made something of a career out of stuff like this — “Broken Wing”, “Independence Day” — and I don’t blame her, not really. Everybody’s gotta eat. This one, though, this one will depress the living fool out of you. Here’s the ending:

A statue stands in a shaded place

An angel girl with an upturned face

A name is written on a polished rock

A broken heart that the world forgot

Through the wind and the rain

She stands hard as a stone

In a world that she can’t rise above

But her dreams give her wings

And she flies to a place where she’s loved

Concrete angel

The problem with this is not just that it’s a horrible, wretched child abuse story, but that McBride’s soprano on this is just so lovely and uplifiting. The contrast is what kills me when I hear this; it’s wrenching.

9. John Michael Montgomery, “The Little Girl“:

The bottom two on this list are about horrible things happening to children, and they’re lower-ranked because it’s just too easy to write about sick or abused kids in a depressing way. This one really ought to be lower, because it’s sentimental dreck of the worst sort — what the Snopes.com people call “glurge”, or what the Rascal Flatts people call “money in the bank”:

Her daddy drank all day and mommy did drugs

Never wanted to play

Or give kisses and hugs

So why is it more depressing than “Concrete Angel”? I think because it’s a worse song, but also because Montgomery does it in the worst way — depressed, monotonal, like someone’s making him eat vegetables.

8. Patty Loveless, “Nothin’ But the Wheel“:

And forty-one goes on and on

And the lights go winding in the dawn

The sky’s the color now of polished steel

And the only thing I know for sure

Is if you don’t want me anymore

Then I’m holding on to nothin’ but the wheel

‘Scuse me just a second. I’ll be okay, no, really. Let’s just move on.

7. Alan Jackson, “Monday Morning Church“:

It’s got one really awful rhyme in it:

And when I sit at your piano

I can almost hear those hymns

The keys are just collecting dust

But I can’t close the lid

Yeah, that’s not good. I like it, though, because it reminds me of that bit at the very end of the Johnny Cash video for “Hurt” (which we’ll talk about when we get to Johnny Cash in the next section), where he closes the lid on the piano, and smooths it with his hands, and then the screen goes dark and that’s the end, and we know Johnny’s about to die. Alan’s in a worse place; he can’t even close the lid, and that’s harsh.

6. Travis Tritt, “Best of Intentions“:

Mostly on the list because of the video, which shows ol’ Travis in prison, which is pretty damned depressing and adds another layer to the meaning. “Anymore” could fit right here, too.

5. Kenny Chesney, “A Lot Of Things Different“:

Chesney is the modern master of the bring-down, which is either very weird or very appropriate given his normal laid-back semi-Caribbean Jimmy Buffett wannabee style. There’s this, and “Who You’d Be Today”, which ought to be outlawed, and “The Good Stuff”, and “I Lost It”, and “That’s Why I’m Here”, which are all dark, powerful songs. This one, though, this one hurts:

She loved to be held and kissed and touched but I didn’t do it

Not nearly enough

Oh, and it gets worse:

And if I’d a known that dance was going to be our last dance

I’d a asked that band to play on and on on and on

I think we’d all do things a little different, there, Kenny. It’ll be all right. Really, it will. Say hi to Renee for me if you run into her again.

4. SheDaisy, “Come Home Soon“:

Your standard ordinary country song about longing, but there’s a little twist to it; it’s about a military wife, so the missing husband isn’t just down at the Texas Showdown Saloon on nickel beer night, or even driving a truck out on the lonesome highway; he’s deployed in some Godforsaken outpost with people shooting at him. And — this is just incredible — on the album, it’s between “Passenger Seat” and “Don’t Worry ‘Bout A Thing”, which are happy-snappy-sappy upbeat songs about how good it is to be in a relationship and how things are going to be all right, respectively. What’s up with that?

3. Brad Paisley & Alison Krauss, “Whiskey Lullaby“:

Brad Paisley isn’t the guy you count on for sad songs. Okay, there was “Who Needs Pictures”, which will make anyone rethink buying that digital camera. But he’s usually relentlessly upbeat and cheery and all that sort of crap. He and Alan Jackson did a cover of a Guy Clark song called “Out in the Parking Lot”, which is maybe the most cynical thing you ever heard in your life, and they made it sound like Six Flags on Friday night. This one, though, this one is world-class depressing, starting from the top:

She put him out

Like the burnin’ end

Of a midnight cigarette

That just lets you know, right off the bat, that you’re in for it. And then you get Alison Krauss in there, who has just the perfect voice for this sort of thing:

We laid her next to him beneath the willow

While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby

Come to think of it, I need a drink.

2. Trisha Yearwood, “The Song Remembers When“:

There’s a lot of sad Tricia Yearwood songs. I could have put “On A Bus to St. Cloud” in there, or “Walkaway Joe”, or “Down on My Knees”, all good stuff. This one is high on my list because it’s meta-depressing; you can plug in any sad song you like and it’ll have whatever impact you want it to have:

I guess something must have happened

And we must have said goodbye

And my heart must have been broken

Though I can’t recall just why

The song remembers when

And that’s the problem with all these sad songs, isn’t it? You hit them at the right moment, and they will destroy you. Don’t think that they won’t.

1. Dusty Drake, “One Last Time“:

The only one-hit wonder on the list, if you could even call this a hit. (Update:

This was written in December 2006. I just checked, and Dusty Drake has a charted single this summer, so he’s not a one-hit-wonder anymore, way to go.) It didn’t do any better than #36 on the country lists, and I believe that’s simply because it was just far too sad — and since it’s got a 9/11 theme on top of that, it’s really just piling it on. I mean, this makes the Alan Jackson 9/11 song sound like Natasha Bedingfield:

An’ she said:

“What about the plans we had?”

He said:

“This connection’s gettin’ bad.”

“Now c’mon baby, let me hear you smile,

One last time.”

I’m going to go put my wrist in a vise, douse myself with bourbon, and then set myself on fire.

The Legends Division

10. George Strait, “Let’s Fall To Pieces Together“:

Great, great, great opening lines:

Pardon me, you left your tears on the jukebox

And I’m afraid they got mixed up with mine

It gets better after that — there’s sort of a happy ending — but damn, that’s a depressing way to start the song.

9. Conway Twitty, “Hello, Darlin’“:

And if you should ever find

It in your heart

To forgive me

Come back darling

I’ll be waiting for you

That’ll keep you up nights, if you let it.

(Update: Having said that, they had a new Family Guy episode on the other day — new to me, anyway — and it concluded with three minutes of ol’ Conway singing “Hello, Darlin’” on the old Hee-Haw show or something like it, and he was wearing a pink shirt and a big ol’ toupee, and it looked like he needed dental work something awful. I can’t imagine anyone looking at that and saying, “Man, country music, I need to hear me some more of that.”)

8. Vern Gosdin, “Chiseled in Stone“:

If you’ve never heard of Vern Gosdin, shame on you:

You don’t know about lonely,

Or how long nights can be,

Till you lived through the story

That’s still livin’ in me,

And you don’t know about sadness

’til you faced life alone,

You don’t know about lonely

’til it’s chiseled in stone.

This is one of those songs that’s so depressing that the protagonist goes home to his wife and gets over his depression — George Strait had one like that, called “I Hate Everything”, and there’s “The Good Stuff” by Kenny Chesney, referenced earlier. This is the best of this particular genre, mostly because Vern Gosdin sounds like he just ran over his foot with his lawnmower.

7. Willie Nelson, “Blue Eyes Cryin’ in the Rain“: >

Well, of course it’s on this list. If you don’t understand why, listen to the damn thing a couple more times, then come back to me.

6. David Allan Coe, “You Never Even Called Me By My Name“:

The great Steve Goodman song, maybe the greatest country song ever written, but the rousing and defiant nature of the last chorus sort of makes it a bit less depressing than it might have been — that, and it’s so much a self-parody that it’s hard to get that depressed from listening to it. But the first stanza is as bleak as anything else out there:

Well it was all

That I could do

To keep from cryin’

That’s country, right there.

5. Hank Williams, “Cold, Cold Heart“:

Could have picked any number of songs here – shoot, you could do a whole list that was just Hank Williams if you wanted to. I chose this one because it sort of defines what lugubrious is — sad, slow, a little whiny. You could make the argument that country music is so depressing because Hank Williams was so depressed.

4. Merle Haggard, “If We Make It Through December”:

Now I don’t mean to hate December

It’s meant to be the happy time of year

And why my little girl don’t understand

Why daddy can’t afford no Christmas here

Tough. Real tough. (And of course, this isn’t really child-related; it has more to do with the protagonist, trying hard to get by but not being able to put Christmas presents under the tree.) It could be #1, but it’s really a hopeful song, isn’t it? If you can just make it to January 1, we can quit this job and move south and start over again, maybe even California, and we’ll turn the corner somehow. Great stuff, this. You could have a lot more Merle Haggard songs on this list — like “I’m Always On A Mountain When I Fall”, which was featured in Brokeback Mountain (although it isn’t on the soundtrack for some weird reason) and was the only good C&W song used in the movie. But I’m not really sure about that. Merle’s persona is just too American, just too regular-Joe workingman for real true depression; even really tear-you-up songs like “Silver Wings” have a lilt to them that redeems them from the truly depressive.

3. Lefty Frizzell, “The Long Black Veil“:

This is one of the songs that sparked this list:

She walks these hills

In a long black veil

She visits my grave

When the night winds wail

Heard this on the radio satellite o’ love the other day, driving down the road with my wife riding shotgun, and she changes the channel, because it’s too depressing. Well, of course it’s depressing, that’s kind of the point. What I did not know (thanks to Wikipedia) was that Dave Matthews covered it. I also did not know that the song was actually written by someone; I assumed it was a traditional song that Lefty just recorded.

2. Kris Kristofferson, “Sunday Morning Comin’ Down“:

‘Nuff said.

1. Johnny Cash, “Give My Love to Rose“:

Originally recorded on the Folsom Prison album, and then re-recorded on American IV, for which he won a well-deserved Grammy Award:

I found him by the railroad track this morning

I could see that he was nearly dead

I knelt down beside him and I listened

Just to hear the words the dying fellow said

And it just gets more and more pathetic. Good stuff. I could have put the famous cover of “Hurt” on here, too, maybe I should have, but this is the one that Johnny Cash wrote his ownself, and that deserves pride of place. You could put “Hurt” here at 1A and I wouldn’t mind.

George Jones Division

10. George Jones, “Choices“:

This is George Jones on the flip side, looking back at a great career, and living with regrets in every syllable of every line. Drinking, missing shows, breaking up with Tammy Wynette, it’s all there. Great career, lots of #1 hits, the greatest country song ever recorded (#2 on this list, as you’ll see) and it’s all been for nothing. Just shoot me now.

9. George Jones, “She Thinks I Still Care“:

Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt, baby. (The Anne Murray version may be even more depressing, because, you know, it’s Anne Murray.)

8. George Jones, “A Picture Of Me (Without You)“:

Nobody but the Possum gets away with crap like this:

Can you picture Heaven with no angels singing

Or a quiet Sunday morning with no church bells ringing

If you’ve watched as the heart of a child breaks in two

Then you’ve seen a picture of me without you

Lorrie Morgan did a cover version of this not too long ago, and it wasn’t half bad, but she should have known better. Nobody does this sort of stuff like George Jones.

7. George Jones, “A Good Year For The Roses“:

Most of these songs are gosh-darn articulate about sadness or depression; this one isn’t quite. The protagonist here is so depressed he can’t even express it, just has to talk in platitudes about the rosebushes and the lawn and suchlike as his wife walks out on him. I will now strip all the skin off my back with an electric hedge trimmer.

6. George Jones, “If Drinkin’ Don’t Kill Me (Her Memory Will)“:

I’m actually surprised that more of these aren’t drinking songs, really. You could do separate lists for depressing drinking songs and depressing sober songs, and figure out which ones are worse. This one is maybe a little less depressing because it’s got the really comic image of Jones lying drunk in his car and getting woken up by the horn. This one is maybe a little more depressing because you know that it happened, probably more than once.

5. George Jones, “When The Grass Grows Over Me“:

A prequel of sorts to our #2 song:

When you left I thought that I would soon be over you

Even told myself that I would find somebody new

Time and tears have come and gone but not your memory

But I’ll be over you when the grass grows over me

4. George Jones, “The Grand Tour“:

The Aaron Neville version is almost as good, for that matter.

3. George Jones, “The Door“:

To hear that sound

And to know its really over

Through tear stained eyes

I watched her walk away

And of earthquakes storms

And guns and war

Lord nothing has ever hurt me more

Than that lonely sound

The closing of

The door

I heard them interview ol’ George on the radio satellite o’ love a few months back, and he said he’s done concerts and shows around the world, and people yell out the songs they want to hear him play, and nobody, not even once, has said they want to hear this one, and that’s good enough for me.

2. George Jones, “He Stopped Loving Her Today“:

Yes. Number two. I know, some people will want this to be number one, and I can’t help that. It’s just so awfully depressing:

Kept some letters by his bed

Dated 1962

He had underlined in red

Every single I love you

Gets me every time.

Maybe this ought to be Number One. Maybe it deserves to be Number One. But I have it at Number Two, and I’m sticking to my guns.

1. George Jones & Tammy Wynette, “Golden Ring“ :

I think this is the hands-down winner.

In a little wedding chapel later on that afternoon

An old upright piano plays that old familiar tune

Tears roll down her cheeks

And happy thoughts run through her head

As he whispers low, “With this ring, I thee wed.”

What’s depressing about that? Well, you have to listen to it, listen to the way Wynette and Jones make it sound all mopey and depressing — right up to the bar of “Here Comes The Bride” that plays over the lyrics, sad and tinny on that old upright piano. And of course, the couple break up, and the ring falls to the floor, and then back to the pawnshop it goes, for some other poor set of saps to pick out. And there’s the subtext; Jones and Wynette would marry and divorce in real life, as if you didn’t know.

Why is this more depressing than “He Stopped Loving Her Today”? The thing of it is, the character in that song is, at last, dead. His troubles are over. Depressing? Sure, but it’s like going to a funeral — you go, you’re sad, and then you go home and have a nice dinner and you get over it. A nasty divorce, on the other hand, sticks with you a long, long time.

Lone Star Division

These are all from the Texas roots-country division of C&W — stuff Clear Channel won’t play, so you might not have heard of it. I have it here because this is really a quantum leap in depressing over even George Jones. I mean, okay, the George Jones stuff is like, I dont know, Jack Daniels – strong Tennessee whiskey, a little raw going down, but still smooth. Some of the songs in this section, if you listen to them enough, will beat you over the head and take your wallet and dump your unconscious body in an alley down in Del Rio.

10. Gary Stewart, “She’s Actin’ Single (I’m Drinkin’ Doubles)“:

Most of the rest of the songs in this section are more modern; this one isn’t, but it belongs here and nowhere else.

9. Lucinda Williams, “Greenville“:

Or, really, anything from Car Wheels on a Gravel Road. I’m not picky. (It just as easily could have been “Minneapolis” or “Words Fell” from World Without Tears. (Update:

Or anything off West, including “Mama You Sweet”, which is the worst name ever for a depressing song.) And you can’t just read the lyrics, you have to listen to Lucinda sing the durn song:

Don’t wanna see you again or hold your hand

Cause you don’t really love me you’re not my man

You’re not my man oh you’re not my man

Go back to Greenville just go on back to Greenville

8. Robert Earl Keen, “Blow You Away“:

A lot of the songs on the list are pretty songs; this ain’t one of them:

The cops have stopped 10 miles of traffic

They’re sorry for all the delay

No need for alarm as they’re waving their arms

But they’d just as soon blow you away

And it goes on like this. What I think is depressing about this song is that it’s totally creepy and paranoid; what I think is really depressing about this song is that it may not be creepy and paranoid enough.

7. John Hiatt, ““:

Actually, the Emmylou Harris version. “She came on to him like a slow moving cold front,” the song starts, and the metaphor just keeps getting stronger. Not the sort of thing you want to hear when it’s 28 degrees in Jersey.

6. Lyle Lovett, “Promises“:

Another one where the subtext is everything:

I offer no reason

I ask for no pity

I make no excuse

For the way that I am

And words are like poison

That sinks down inside you

And some things you do

You just don’t understand

It’s featured on the Dead Man Walking soundtrack; it’s from the perspective of the condemned man. Harsh stuff. (And it could just as easily have been anything else off of The Road to Ensenada, where it also appears, especially “Christmas Morning“.)

5. Guy Clark, “The Dark”:

A bit obscure; I couldn’t find lyrics online. But awful depressing, this is, about the dark, and how we’re all just walking around in it, maybe more than we know — in a dark so dark you can see Fort Worth from here.

4. James McMurtry, “Holiday“:

The highway patrolman

He stands in the rain

He just lets it run down to soften the stain

Of the blood on his pant leg

From working that wreck

And he won’t forget it

In time for the next holiday

I heard James do this song in Manhattan, in a little dive somewhere, right after Childish Things came out. The band was in between sets, so James just did this one by himself, just him and his guitar, and after awhile, he stopped playing, and did it spoken-word, and it was the spookiest thing you ever heard in your life. This one would depress the hell out of George Jones.

3. Terry Allen, “Queenie’s Song”:

Couldn’t find this online, either — Guy Clark’s version is on The Dark, where I heard it. Goes like this:

Some S.O.B. shot my dog

I found her under a tree

If I didn’t love that dog so much

It wouldn’t mean nothin’ to me

You son of a bitch

I’m gonna tell you what

I will not be deterred

I’ll find you out

And track you down

On that you got my word

Queenie’s getting buried

It’s time to dig the hole

New Year’s Day

In Santa Fe

Broke mean and it broke cold

If you don’t think that’s depressing, I’m coming to your house and letting all the air out of your tires and breaking all your shoelaces.

2. Townes Van Zandt, “Dublin Blues“:

I wish I was in Austin

In the Chili Parlour Bar

Drinkin’ Mad Dog Margaritas

And not carin’ where you are

Damn straight.

1. Slaid Cleaves, “Cold and Lonely“: (scroll down for lyrics)

Okay, maybe you never heard of Slaid Cleaves, but I mean, the man wrote the most depressing song of all time, you have to give him props.

Cold and lonely

I’m still on the farm

Cold and lonely

I never meant anybody harm

We lost children

It was too much for my wife

Cold and lonely

Living out a hopeless life

Cold and lonely

The winter hills were bare

Kathy’s crying

She’s got blood in her hair

Called the doctor

But the doctor says she’ll die

Cold and lonely

One more kiss goodbye

I mean, you take that, and some steel guitar, and… and… and… aw, hell.

It’s just depressing, that’s what it is.

Honorable Mentions

Since this was published, there have been a few new additions to the list – and there’s going to be a new website, one of these days, as soon as I get one or two more projects cleared away. These didn’t make the original list but are still pretty depressing:

Joe Nichols, “I’ll Wait For You“:

I will listen to most of these songs, really I will, but this one gets switched off every single time. I mean it. This one is bad because it sneaks up on you; it pretends to be something it’s not:

And she said:

I’ll wait for you

Like I did last year

At Christmas time with your family here

And your truck broke down out in San Antone

And the gifts stayed wrapped until you got home

Oh, this ain’t nothin’ new

Sweetheart, I’ll wait for you

That sounds kind of cute, doesn’t it? Your basic usual country song, about separation and longing and whatnot. But listen close; Joe Nichols sounds like his dog just died, for no particular reason. He’s setting us up for the ending, where the poor patient wife dies in the hospital, and it’s just awful, really it is. I change the station every time this one comes on if I’m driving, because it’s that bad. Almost Top 40 quality, but it’s on the same album as “Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off”, and that’s a mark against it.

Trace Adkins, “Arlington“:

If I ever get around to updating this (or turning it into a book), I might have a section just about war songs. “The Ballad of Ira Hayes” would be on there, and the Dixie Chicks “Travelin’ Soldier”, and other highlights of the genre. This one’s from the point of view of the dead soldier interred at Arlington National Cemetery:

Dust to dust

Don’t cry for us

We made it to Arlington

Hey, shut up, Trace Adkins. I’ll cry if I feel like it. (I also feel compelled to point out that this is on the same album as “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk”, which is probably the least depressing country song ever.)
Lyle Lovett, “This Traveling Around”:

This Traveling Around – It’s Not Big It’s Large

Off the new album. Haven’t heard enough of it yet to rank it, but dang if it isn’t depressing.

Patty Loveless, “Here I Am“

Yeah, this one is awful close to being on the list. It doesn’t start out that promising, just a generic country bleat about a woman pining over her lost drunken husband, but then you get to the bridge, and it just pierces you:

And honey, I got over
You passin’ me over
A long time ago
And my pride was stronger when I was younger
Now I’d rather have you to know
That here I am

That’s country, right there.

“My Elusive Dreams“

The commenter mentioned the Tammy Wynette – David Houston version; I’m partial to the Charlie Rich version. Either way, a nice song, about American nomads, until you throw in the whole part about the dead baby that’s just too painful to talk about. Ouch.

LeAnn Rimes, “Probably Wouldn’t Be This Way“

I don’t like LeAnn Rimes, I don’t own any of her albums, but this is a great, great song. It’s a reversal song — the lyrics mean one thing the first time you hear them, and then a different thing the next time — the reveal is that her former lover that she’s addressing is dead. (You oughta see the way these people look at me / When they see me ’round here talking to this stone.) And that makes a difference. I don’t know why it makes a difference — the song could be just the same if her lover had just abandoned her — but it does, and it’s powerful. Great song, and the ending is just crushing. Definitely an honorable mention.

Collin Raye, “Little Rock“

One of my all-time favorite songs, maybe one of the top songs ever in country music. If you wanted to boil all country music down to one phrase, it would be the bit where Raye sings “I haven’t had a drink in 19 days.” Good stuff. Depressing, yes, but hopeful — aspirational, even. The commenter brings up the question as to whether the protagonist’s hopes are doomed to be crushed — well, Lordy, I hope not, or else we’re all doomed.

Ray Price, “For The Good Times“

I ought to have put this on there; don’t know why I didn’t. I heard Ray Price his ownself sing this, just last week, at the New Jersey stop on the “Last of the Breed” tour, with Willie and Merle, and it was the last song, and Ray Price hasn’t lost a thing, vocally. Electric. Maybe it ranks a little below the rest because, well, the protagonist is at least getting lucky here.

You could do worse than reading this out loud a couple of hundred times:

We have a leading candidate for Game of the Year! What a wild contest in College Station, Texas on Wednesday night. Baylor was ranked for the first time in nearly four decades, and the Bears proved the rating was right. It took FIVE overtimes, but Scott Drew’s team came away with a big W over Texas A&M. It was an amazing game, with the Bears winning 116-110. Think about some of the numbers from that contest: Baylor went 11-for-11 from the foul line in the fifth overtime. The two teams combined for 17 ties and 20 lead changes. Baylor snapped a streak of 29 straight losses to ranked opponents. Four players logged 50-plus minutes. It was the longest game in Big 12 history.

Bay-bee!

And, of course, mad crazy props to my boy Scott Drew and the new-look Bears.  See you in the NCAA’s, fellas (because there’s no way you’re getting national TV love this year until then, at least not in NJ).

CNN:

A few months ago, Dr. David Golden says, he had to fire a patient for being obnoxious.

The patient had a cough. After examining him, Golden recommended a medication. But then the patient did his own research and became worried about side effects.

“He said, ‘But I read about this on the Internet, and I know this and I know that, and I know I’m right,’ ” remembered Golden, an allergist in Baltimore, Maryland.

Golden says he tried to explain why the side effects weren’t as bad as the patient thought, and why the medicine would take care of his cough. “But he wasn’t open to discussing anything. He countermanded everything I said. So I told him, ‘You know it all, so go take care of yourself. I’m not your doctor anymore.’ “

Go take care of yourself?  I’m not your doctor anymore?

Who says that?

I ran up against this my ownself, although in a much nicer way.  I had a blood test for something, and it was a bit high, and the doctor said, well, let’s get tested again and see if this is a blip or a real problem.  Being curious by nature, I looked up the substance in question on Wikipedia.  And, according to Wikipedia, one possible reason that this particular substance in my blood could be a bit high would be a specific kind of brain tumor.

Which my doctor hadn’t said was even a possibility.

Now, look.  I didn’t overreact about this.  I didn’t start wringing my hands, and I didn’t start acting all obnoxious.  I figured I didn’t have a brain tumor, and I was right (the second test came back normal).  I figured my doctor would tell me if it were a real concern, and that he didn’t tell me because he didn’t want to spook me — and this is exactly what happened.

What surprised me was that my doctor was surprised — that he hadn’t considered that I might look something up, and learn about the possibility.  And that, I think, speaks to our friend Dr. Golden — it’s not so much that his patient is an obnoxious git, it is that he hasn’t internalized the idea that patients can look stuff up.

(Let’s set aside for a moment the concept that a lot of stuff on the Internet is wrong — there’s as much medical nonsense out there as there is any other kind.  But there’s a lot of accurate stuff there, too, and you can search medical journals almost as easily as you can search Wikipedia.)

Patients are going to look stuff up, okay?  It’s a fact of modern medical life.  This doesn’t mean that patients shouldn’t trust doctors, or that doctors should go over every remote possibility of every test.  It does mean that patients are going to think for themselves and ask questions, and doctors should be prepared for that.  Branding patients that do think for themselves and ask questions as being “obnoxious” to the point where they are not worthy of care is wrong-headed at best, and callous at worst.

(Besides, anyone who’s ever watched an episode of House knows doctors can be just as obnoxious themselves.)

I am (well, sort of) working on a short story — not my favorite literary channel, but what the hey.  I’ve posted it here, so if you’re interested, give it a read, let me know what you think.  (It is very short, just over a thousand words, and it is meant to be light and funny.)

Of course, if you’re not interested, I can go back to complaining about Dallas-area sports teams and my own personal literary and weight-loss failures.  Because I know that keeps you coming back.

I used to be a movie critic — nothing big-time, but I had my own site (still do) and turned out a review or two per week.  Not saying I was a good critic, or that I deserved any more of a following than what I got (next to nothing), or that my reviews were especially well-written, but I enjoyed it and it was largely fun and I’m not any worse off for the experience.  I stopped writing reviews in 2007 and that was pretty much it.  I don’t even think about it anymore.  (I still do book reviews, and will be linking them to this site at some point in the distant future.)

But here’s the thing.  I read Roger Ebert’s review of Mad Money – mostly because I thought it would be a takedown, and those are the sort of reviews that he still does well.  But what he does is spend a large chunk of his review quoting from an unpunctuated mini-review by a near-illiterate poster on Rotten Tomatoes.

And what does Ebert say about this?  He applauds the “purity and directness” of the review.  And he says these words:

How can you improve on that? It’s worthy of Charles Bukowski.

I cannot stress to you how much it would have meant to me, back when I was actively reviewing, to have a review of mine quoted anywhere, much less in a Roger Ebert review.  I would not have cared if he had been critical, not really.  And if he had compared me — however sarcastically — to Charles Bukowski…  I mean, I would have been over the #$%&ing moon.

And he says this about some random idiot who paid full price to see a Queen Latifah movie in a theater, and who apparently can’t spell “portrayed” properly.

I am just sick about this.  Just sick.  Not Tony-Romo-horking-it-up-in-a-playoff-game-yet-again sick, but sick anyway.

I hate you with the red-hot fire of ten thousand exploding suns.

I’m not really all that fond of you, either, Patrick Crayton, so just shut your pie-hole.  And Andre Gurode, you can just move your fat ass back to Colorado if you can’t snap the damn ball on time.

And anyone who says the words “Jessica Simpson” or “Cancun” or even “Terminator:  The Sarah Connor Chronicles” to me out loud can kiss my fat ass.

Hmph.

Could be worse, though.  I could be a Niners fan.

As the NFL coaching carousel spins up again, it may be instructive to point out that there are basically three types of head coaching hires – the guy who’s been an NFL head coach, the guy who’s been a longtime assistant to somebody but hasn’t had the chance to be the head guy, and the guy who’s coming from college.  (Sometimes, like if the Falcons get Pete Carroll, you get all three.)

The basic rule is that if you just fired somebody, you’re probably going to hire somebody different the next time.  So the Cowboys go from Barry Switzer (college legend) to Chan Gailey and Dave Campo (longtime assistant) to Bill Parcells and Wade Phillips (retreads).  The Dolphins went from Jimmy Johnson and Dave Wannstead (retreads) to Nick Saban (college) to Cam Cameron (assistant).  The Falcons went from Dan Reeves (retread) to Jim Mora Jr. (assistant) to Bobby Petrino (college).  The Redskins went from Norv Turner (assistant) to Marty Schottenheimer (retread) to Steve Spurrier (college) to Joe Gibbs (retread).  The coaching carousel, you see, just has so many horses.

I figured it would be fun to chart all the Super Bowl winning coaches to see where they came from:

• Vince Lombardi:  Assistant, longtime coordinator with the Giants.  Went on to be a retread with the Redskins (for one season before cancer struck).
• Week Eubank:  Retread, won championships with the old Baltimore Colts.
• Hank Stram:  College, in fact, an assistant college coach, no less (which I don’t think anyone aside from the guy coaching the Raiders now has made that particular leap)
• Don McCafferty:  Assistant, Colts offensive coordinator who took over from Don Shula.
• Tom Landry:  Assistant, longtime defensive coordinator with the Giants (opposite Lombardi)
• Don Shula:  Retread, former Colts coach.
• Chuck Noll:  Assistant, with the Chargers and the Colts.
• John Madden:  Assistant, linebackers coach with the Raiders (and a college coach before that)
• Tom Flores:  Assistant, under Madden.
• Bill Walsh:  College (but longtime pro assistant coach)
• Joe Gibbs:  Assistant, with the Chargers under Don Coryell.
• Mike Ditka:  Assistant, with the Cowboys under Tom Landry.  Went on to be a retread with the Saints.
• Bill Parcells:  Assistant (but longtime college coach)
• George Seifert : Assistant, with the Niners under Bill Walsh
• Jimmy Johnson:  College, won championships at Miami, went on to be a retread with the Dolphins
• Barry Switzer:  College, went on to try to carry a gun through airport security
• Mike Holmgren:  Assistant, with the Niners under Bill Walsh (but some longtime college experience)
• Mike Shanahan:  Retread, previously coached the Raiders.
• Dick Vermeil:  Retread, previously coached the Eagles.
• Brian Billick:  Assistant, under Dennis Green in Minnesota.
• Bill Belichick:  Retread, previously coached the Browns.
• Jon Gruden:  Retread, previously coached the Raiders.
• Bill Cowher:  Assistant, several locations
• Tony Dungy:  Retread, previously coached the Buccaneers

So that’s seven retreads, four college guys, and the rest are all assistants on their first NFL jobs.  Note that the trend is going towards retreads, though, so good news for Wade Phillips.

But does that tell you who you should hire?  Probably not.  Look, for example, at the people who’ve worked for Bill Cowher in his long career — not a lot of playoff success for any of them.  Hiring a Bill Walsh protege worked out less than spectacularly for the Panthers with George Seifert and the Eagles with Andy Reid, not to mention Ray Rhodes and Dennis Green.  Jimmy Johnson proteges Norv Turner and Dave Wannstedt have been dismal in their jobs (although Turner has a shot at redemption this week).

Basically, the whole thing, it’s a crapshoot — in the same way that the draft is a crapshoot, which is what makes the NFL fun.

Did crying win the New Hampshire Primary for Hillary?  Bill Clinton thinks so:

“She was genuinely moved that in the middle of a political campaign another person would actually express a genuine level of concern for her,” he told Telegraph.co.uk after had she eked out a surprise two-point victory.   “It was quite touching. You know, people forget that the people that do this are human. She was just very moved by it.”

Of course, for the complete round of inane psychobabble, you have to go direct to the source:

There was a poignancy about the moment, seeing Hillary crack with exhaustion from decades of yearning to be the principal rather than the plus-one. But there was a whiff of Nixonian self-pity about her choking up. What was moving her so deeply was her recognition that the country was failing to grasp how much it needs her. In a weirdly narcissistic way, she was crying for us. But it was grimly typical of her that what finally made her break down was the prospect of losing.

Yeah yeah yeah.  I am not, here, asking you to go through and actually read a Maureen Dowd column, much less analyze it, but I do want to point out one thing.  Nobody who votes in the Republican presidential primary this year can’t say they didn’t have a choice.  There’s Huckabee, representing the social-conservative come-to-Jesus branch of the party, there’s Romney, the guy who represents the Buddy Garrity chucklehead sales-manager types, there’s independent types like Giuliani and McCain, Fred Thompson (who again proves that New Hampshire can’t stand a Southern accent), etc.  There are significant policy differences between the Republican candidates on security, economic, and immigration issues.

But when the race on the Democratic side narrows to Hillary and Obama, there isn’t an inch of daylight between them.  Both of them represent general, streetcorner PC lockstep liberalism.  Sure, HRC might keep troops in Iraq a little longer, sure Obama might do more outreach to Iran.  But (outside of policy-wonk debates on health care) there isn’t much to choose from in terms of actual philosophical differences.  (The vapidity of the debate on who represents “change” highlights this.)

So all you really have to go on, if you’re in the Democratic line at the fire station, is what you think of the candidates personally, and little things like HRC getting misty about the prospect of losing become important, far in excess of their actual value.

I don’t know what to make of this, exactly, other than to say that I’m glad to be a Republican.