As I write this, alone, past midnight on June 12/13, 2012, I listen to an endless replay of Coldplay’s Viva La Vida, a tear welling in my eye, as I see my life passing before me.
For a long time, the song that most defined me was Sinatra’s My Way. Not Paul Anka’s My Way, but Frank Sinatra’s. I know it’s a cliché, and I’ve asked my family never to play that song as an homage to life at my wake. I’ve asked that primarily because it’s a cliché, not because it’s not appropriate, or, at least, wasn’t appropriate.
There was something about Sinatra’s defiance that makes his interpretation of Anka’s lyrics so alluring. Even as a high school teenager, I found myself attracted to the song and, in particular, Sinatra’s stiff chinned version. Sure, I liked the eternal optimism of The Impossible Dream, but that tune, without a definitive version, had only the poetry of its Continue Reading “Ruling the World My Way”
I Could Never Live on Pacific Time
I used to brag about living on Pacific Time. Let me explain.
It’s been said that writer’s tend to do their best work either first thing in the morning or very late in the evening. I fall into the latter category. I don’t know if I consciously chose that category or if the category chose me. As many of you know, I have a fairly successful day job. This precludes the “first thing in the morning” category from my list of options as a Continue Reading “I Could Never Live on Pacific Time”