We are watching a movie about the Irish Republican Army and the British legal system. As you know, the judges, barristers and solicitors in British courts wear powdered wigs. My wife says, “Culture is so strange. Would you ever wear a wig? How would you pick the wig you want to wear?” I look up at the screen, see the accused sitting in court, and reply, “What is the difference between a wig and a necktie?”
Frank Zappa once said to a concert audience, “Everyone in this room is wearing a uniform, don’t kid yourselves.” And so we are.
I really need to get some Simon & Garfunkel tunes:
Hang on to your hopes, my friend
That’s an easy thing to say, but if your hope should pass away
It’s simply pretend
That you can build them again
Look around, the grass is high
The fields are ripe, it’s the springtime of my life.
Ahhh, seasons change with the scenery
Weaving time in a tapestry
Won’t you stop and remember me
At any convenient time
Funny how my memory slips while looking over manuscripts
Of unpublished rhyme
Drinking my vodka and lime
I look around, leaves are brown now
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter
This song goes through my head as I work in the yard.