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Saturday, October 28, 2006

Love song for the 21st Century 

The song "You're Beautiful" by British artist James Blunt is the perfect love song.

In many love songs, the "I" of the song is desperately beseeching Cupid (for some reason), making plans to do things, or something else equally futile/tiring. I cannot identify with behavior of this sort. What I can identify with, however, is staring at women while I am stoned on public transportation. Blunt has been the only one to dare to capture the love that dare not speak it's name.

Take these lines, for example:

Yes, she caught my eye,
As we walked on by.
She could see from my face that I was,
Fucking high

While I have never sought out the man who put the "bop" in the "bop sha-bop sha-bop"*, I have looked at boobs across a lightrail car after smoking weed. You may scoff at this love, but it lasts forever:

And I don't think that I'll see her again,
But we shared a moment that will last 'till the end.

Whacking it while you think about the chick later is part of the whole affair I'm pretty sure, but it's not in the song. Not that that matters to me. I don't do that. Uh - Anyway, while this Blunt is not even the smallest bit gangster, something something something [insert joke here].


*Clicking on the wrong link on the internet once I did indeed see the man who put the ram in the ramma lamma ding dong. It was disgusting.

-Miguel Sanchez  09:54 EST | |

About us:

This weblog is an ongoing, if periodic, effort by several friends to stay in touch, in reading material, and in ideas.

Lucky Luciano is a former Italian Stallion real estate hustler and Benedict Arnold CEO turned shady lawyer-to-be. He lives in Denver.

Ben is a Paramedic and would-be philantropist who lives in Denver. He knows everything about nothing.

Fuzzy Dunlop lives in Manhattan. He is more than capable of standing up to the stresses of a high crime urban environment.

Jess is a teacher. But have YOU given her an apple? No, you haven't. You should be ashamed of yourself. This crazy feminist currently rests her copy of Awakening in Jersey City.

Matt is a pariah, iconoclast, and professor of gambling living in Oakland.

Miguel Sanchez is not Lionel Hutz.

Daddy Brooklyn lives in Brooklyn. He hates Republicans, though he wouldn't mind being ensconced in the landed elite of New York City.

Paul just smoked my eyelids and punched my cigarette.

Ziggy Stardust has no past.

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