Tag Archives: country songs

Snouts and such.

This photo makes me think of The Winter’s Tale — that whole statue come to life bit.  Art imitating life, life imitating art. Who knew surgical masks could be so ironic? It’s kind of like that Aerosmith video, too, in which the computer nerd creates and brings to life his perfect woman: Alicia Silverstone. 

Okay, it’s nothing like that.  But so long as I’m on the topic–I was thinking about this the other day: I’m convinced that watching hypersexual music videos on MTV and VH1 had an effect on me–particularly that *NSync one: “Baby, I can’t understand / Just why we can’t be lovers”.  Still deciding whether the effect was adverse or not…  (And before I switch topics again–I need to bring up Liv Tyler pumping gas in those leather pants.  Dear Stephen, your mouth terrifies me, but I like your scarves and I like your daughter…)

Okay, enough about my childhood.  I hate to admit this, but…thinking about the apocalypse gets me off.  It captures my imagination.  And it’s not just me–everyone loves a tragedy.  No one feels as alive as when the possibility of death is unignorably imminent (which must explain why Keith Richards is still kicking).  We spend so much of our lives ignoring our mortality that when it comes barking at the door, we’re not surprised–we send grandma to the store to grab some biscuits and a chew toy. 

So, yeah.  Swine flu.  Apocalypse next week?  Probably not.  But it’s still sorta fun to think about.  And it also puts the pressure on.  It brings to mind Tim McGraw’s “Live Like You Were Dyin'” in which the man with the two months to live diagnosis finally embraces life by going fishing and ditching his pride to grow a pair and tell people he loves them. 

Shit.  Country songs can be surprisingly profound.  What should I be doing with my existence?  Shouldn’t a possible apocalypse via pig-related pandemic be enough to open my eyes to the answer?  It’s gotta be something bigger than writing a blog post about Liv Tyler’s ass.  But then again, maybe it doesn’t.

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