Thursday, April 16, 2009

Missing You, or Where The Girls Aren't

Well, Knox was apparently moving (will she still be "Knox" if not in Knoxville?), Freem had a baby (and a tea party) and Darcy chose this inopportune moment to selfishly go on a cruise. To, like, New Zealand or something. She'll probably come back with a kiwi for a boyfriend and an Austrian accident.

Without Ruth Anne dropping the occasional pun grenade, it'd be a tomb in here. (And I should note that Knox has stopped by and Freem is still tweeting a bit at odd hours.) Troop just finished (what he hopes is his last) tax season. And otherwise I've probably just not been very interesting.

But I got to thinking about the Loudon Wainwright, easily one of my favorite singer-songwriters, who wrote this song back when he was on M*A*S*H for the absent nurses:

And I wonder if they miss us,
Now wouldn't that be funny?
Now that we're without them
We can hardly stand ourselves.

But my fondness for the ol' Loudo has always struck me as odd, in that the guy's life has been almost at the opposite end of the circle from me. He's always been a ladies man, incredibly devoted to his mother but unable to keep a relationship together, whose kids have, shall we say, mixed feelings about him.

The trajectory of his life (as the listener can ascertain it, which is--one hopes--dramatized) has followed a sort of predictably sad path from cocky, angry, snarky young man to doubting middle-aged divorcee, to old man contemplating his fate.

And perhaps the appeal is in that trajectory. Despite writing very specific songs that no one else can sing (and reducing his commercial viability as a songwriter thereby), they do speak to certain universal truths.

And I see now that Althouse is talking about sad songs, which fits in with this message, sitting on my laptop for the past 6 hours. Loudon has written some of the most profoundly touching music about his parents since their deaths, and I was thinking about this song, "Missing You", which I believe is actually about his mother:

He don't stay out any more
No more staying out past four
Most nights he turns in 'round ten
He's way too tired to pretend

Sure you might find him up at three
But if he is, it's just to pee
Some nights he's awake till two
That's just because he's missing you
Just lying there and missing you

He don't sleep late any more
Up like a farmer half-past four
When that sleepy sun comes up
He's halfway through his second cup

And his day's work is done 'round two
That's when he starts in missing you
Quarter-to-three it's time to nap
He always says "No nap, I'm crap."
His motto is: No nap, I'm crap.

Guess he's just set in his ways
He does the same damn things most days
Seven twenty-fours a week
With lots of down-time so to speak

He hardly glances at a clock
Since his routine is carved in rock
Man's a machine what can he do?
Just keep on going missing you
Keep right on going missing you

His teeth fall out, so does his hair
But in his dreams you're always there
A jewel in his unconscious mind
A miracle, a precious find

But in the end he's all alone
He wakes up and his jewel is gone
There's a heaven and he knows it's true
He's stuck on earth just missing you
And it's hell on just missing you
Back where he started missing you

And here's a wan waif singing it a capella.


  1. I think one 'lobs' grenades and 'drops' bombs.

    And, of course, there's the tennis appeal to Darcy of 'lob'.

    So I got that goin' for me, which is good.

  2. Snap out of it man! Either that or grow some patience. I do relate to you though. :)

    Hey, just thought I'd let you know that we've ritualized the shooting in Saturdays, which you catalyzed. We've even double dipped by going on Sundays too, but that's going to stop because ammo costs are eating my budget.

    I got the daughter involved! Started her out on a .22 S&W revolver.

    Last weekend my son insisted on firing one of these, but it proved to have too much kick for daughter.
    Have I told you about the targets?

  3. Ruth Anne: I guess that depends on where the target is. In all those WWII movies, they climb up on the tanks, open the hatch and drop them in.

    But tanks for the lob anyway.

  4. CL--

    Your link goes to You sure you didn't mean that for Ruth Anne?

    Yeah, ammo's not cheap and it's not going to be getting cheaper, from what I've seen.

    How old is your daughter?

    And no, what about the targets?

    Glad I could help spark the idea. I'd like to have a more "good ieas" blog than a "piss people off" blog. Heh.

  5. blake- I didn't even notice the LOL! I just grabbed a photo of a bushmaster rifle off google. It should take you to a jgp of one-does it?

    Daughter is 9. I'm not sure yet if she really likes it, or if she's just doing it because daddy and her older brother do it. Anyway, she's a good shot. She’s in the family membership too.

    There's a choice of about 10 different targets, from different sized bullseyes, to animals, to life-sized humans. One of the more interesting human targets is one with all of the different internal organs mapped out, heart, liver, spleen, etc. One of the more humorous ones are "Shotgun man" a photo of a threatening looking guy holding a shotgun. Another is a douche-bag looking guy called "Wife Beater". Cool huh?

  6. Dude, you need more pointy breasts. That's what drives the traffic.

  7. I find it hard to drop a cogent comment when you do these mega long posts. I mean what do I know about that stuff. I am breasts and ice cream and cake and sandwiches.

  8. Eh, my traffic's basically up. But it's not as much fun without comments. You know how it is.

  9. Thanks, Dar! (Can I call you "Dar"? It seems so informal.)

    Now...get to commenting.


  10. Still up to my neck with the move. It's exciting, but I can't wait to get back to my routine! Hopefully by next week.

    chickenlittle, love the new avatar.

  11. Well, we eagerly away your return, knox.

  12. Hee. Of course you can, Blake.
    And yes, sir! :)

    Good luck with the rest of your moving stuff, knox.

  13. Thanx knox- I got tired of burgers.

  14. Thanks blake!

    Thanks, darcy, I need every bit of luck not to lose my mind! (sorry to complain about moving-- everybody has to do it and everybody hates it.)


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