Bill's World

The second thing I do when I get ready to do a bit of writing is turn on my computer.

The first thing I do is turn on my radio. To 95.7, “The Ride.” That’s the Charlotte station that plays my kind of music. Is it Classic Rock? I’m not sure. It could be.

Right now, the tune is “Send Me Out An SOS.” They have been singing that line for at least a minute, one time after another. Send me out an SOS…send me out an SOS…send me out a SOS.

Once in a while, they’ll sing another line: “Message in a bot-tle…message in a bot-tle…message in a bot-tle.”

I have no clue what they are talking about. I really don’t want to know. All I know is that it is a good tune, has a good beat, and my “inner self” tells me that I like it.

Right now, they have moved on to something else. Has something to do with “walking in my sleep”…walking in my sleep…walking in my sleep.

There must be an unwritten law that requires an artist to sing a line three times, throw in a little jazzy music, and then sing it three more times. Then repeat a few times again. I’m not sure about all this, but it makes sense. If you get hold of something good to eat, you want to keep on eating.

Same way with music.

My alarm clock is music.

My car radio is music.

When I drive alone in my wife’s car, her radio is music. When I turn off the switch and forget to return the dial to her favorite station, my name is mud. (Not really. She is my Sweet Little Baboo, and sweet little baboos know the value of marital tranquility.)

A good friend sent me a computer program called “Juke Box.” It is a jewel, a rare jewel.

Select any year from the ‘40s to the ‘80s, click on that year, and the Juke Box pops up with 20 hits of that year. I just did that for 1970, and now I’m listening to “Ride Captain, Ride, on Your Mystery Ship.” A great song. It has been lying way back there in my memory, waiting like a virgin in a brothel.

The Captain rides his ship to the end, to be replaced by Lola – Lo-la, Lo-la. La-la-Lola.

I find little pleasure in listening to someone else’s boom box while we wait for the traffic light to change. With my windows up, however, I ease up the volume until I can feel the beat just this side of concussion.

I like a good combination of tone and rhythm. And there is plenty of it around. You don’t have to settle for drivel or mumbo jumbo. Chuck the muck and move on to something pleasing.

There it is now.

“Chattanooga Shoeshine Boy.”

I’ll be right back.

Gotta get my shoe-shine kit.

Gotta make that rag pop.

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