I was sitting near the back of the packed auditorium, when a young man in an aisle seat just a few rows in front of me was handed a guitar. He stood up and started to sing and play this song:
Work away today, work away tomorrow.
Never comes the day for my love and me.
I feel her gently sighing as the evening slips away.
If only you knew what’s inside of me now
You wouldn’t want to know me somehow,
But you will love me tonight,
We alone will be alright,
In the end.
Give just a little bit more
Take a little bit less
From each other tonight
Admit what you’re feeling
And see what’s in front of you,
It’s never out of your sight.
You know it’s true,
We all know that it’s true.
He was one of The Moody Blues — I couldn’t recall his name but his voice was as beautiful and stirring as ever. During the chorus, the audience (and I) swayed in our seats to its distinctive joyous canter — the feeling was magic and mesmerizing.
When the song ended, the singer walked back to me and said that I was sitting in his seat! I was surprised, but I thought quickly, and told him he could have his seat back if he sang another song. He said all right, and he turned back to the audience and began playing and singing again.
It was soon evident that the second song didn’t have the same magic as the first, and the thought entered my mind that maybe I should have given him back his seat.
• • • •
That’s when I woke up. It was about 2:30 am. I felt wonderful, and I immediately wanted to hear the song again, conscious this time. This is the first link I saw when I opened my laptop and searched for moody blues you know it’s true… (I’ll wait while you watch.)
I had never seen The Moody Blues in concert (or in videos for that matter), but this October 2008 performance of Never Comes the Day, by Justin Hayward at the Royal Albert Hall in London, was incredibly similar in sight, sound and feel to what I had just “witnessed” in my dream.
So now I have two questions. First, why did my brain play that song last night? I bet I haven’t heard the song in 10 years, if not 20, and it has been many months since I recall thinking anything at all about The Moody Blues.
That said, I did hear Lucky Man by Emerson, Lake and Palmer (1970) in a sports bar on Monday, and then Conquistador by Procol Harum (1972) in a waiting room on Tuesday. Maybe these songs served as synaptic triggers for Never Comes the Day (1969).
But my second and more pressing question is — why can’t all dreams be like this?




Now circulating on Facebook, yet another time-wasting, comment-harvesting post, titled: “Should cursive writing still be taught to kids?” This post has more than 215,000 likes and 28,000 comments, almost all of which are in favor. Now, I abandoned cursive long ago with no sense of loss or regret — after all, what cartoonist uses cursive? So I would rather talk about cursory thinking, or better yet, allow such thinking to speak for itself. Here then are some of my favorite (sic) comments from that cursed cursive thread:
“I can see that without learning to write cursive, eventually there would be no kiteracy either in the long run, then there would be a country that has gone back to the stone ages and slavery would be rampant. Keep the kids dumb and unable to get themselves out of poverty without the knowledge to get themselves decent deals, on labor or purchases of their life like cars and homes. definetly they need to learn to write cursive.”
Definetly. Because, before you know it, they won’t even know how to carve their names.
“YES, AND IT IS UP TO PARENTS WITH SCHOOL KIDS, TO IN ENFORCE THIS. THIS PARENTS HAVE THE RIGHT TO KNOW WHAT THE KIDS ARE TAUGHT.”
I agree, it would be good for many parents to know what their kids are being taught, and even better if those parents were taught it first. Perhaps we could start with the location of the Caps Lock key.
“Yes, they’ll need to know how to address a letter, write a check, sign a speeding ticket.”
This shows some people are thinking ahead. So are these commenters, who are counting on cursive to rescue us from the coming technology apocalypse:
“Absolutely! We must have a way to survive and communicate if the power grid fails.”
“Yes it should as all lectronics can have problems any time.”
“Yes for if there was no computers how write”
And when technology collapses, all that will remain is a few crumbling pieces of paper:
“All of our founding documents are in cursive. If people can’t read them how can they know their constitutional rights.”
“In order to be able to read many of the old historical documents, the younger generation will need to know how to at least read cursive so they won’t be mislead by the politicians who are out to ruin our way of life.”
“Yes I think cursive writing should be taught in school. However, we are on the cusp of a paperless society. Soon perhaps within the next few generations, people will not know what it is like to feel the grip of the pen in their hands.”
But thanks to our Second Amendment, we will always know what it is like to feel the grip of a semi-automatic weapon in our hands. So let’s remember our priorities — the Second Amendment beats the First, every time.
Meanwhile, I will have to look up those scientific studies that show how cursive writing improves human performance in all sorts of unexpected ways:
“It teaches kids how to have good art skills piano abilities, caligraphy, electrician skills, plummer skills, should I say any more?”
“Neurologically speaking, the fine motor skills required to write cursive are substantially located in a different part of the brain than those required for typing or tapping. We are literally reconfiguring our brains when we don’t learn to write cursive!”
Interesting — the next thing you don’t learn will be the thing that reconfigures your brain. Think about that. Or not. Because it’s too late. You’ve already been reconfigured.
I end this column with some of the few voices of dissent:
“I don’t think it’s important anymore. Using it ain’t needed in the workplace.”
“I can not imagine the first person to want to change our way of thinking and writing . leave things alone”
The last comment was so despairing, it made me want to call Cursive Services.