Over on the Whatever tonight, Scalzi asks, “What’s a song you love that you think no one else knows about?”

I scanned my brain for the most obscure old song I could think of and came up with a little ditty called “My Girl (Gone, Gone, Gone)” by a Canadian band named Chilliwack. This was one of the first 45s I ever bought way back in the early ’80s, right after “Jessie’s Girl” and “Another One Bites the Dust.” As my loyal readers can no doubt guess, I still have the vinyl, but I haven’t listened to it in years. (I keep thinking that someday I ought to invest in a phonograph again and give all my old platters a spin, just to remind myself of what music used to sound like; it’s been so long since I played an actual record…)
A couple of years ago, after much searching, I finally tracked down a CD compilation that included the song. It’s not quite the masterpiece my twelve-year-old self believed it to be, but it’s still got a dang catchy hook, and I love the early ’80s pop-rock sound. Those were the days, baby. And wouldn’t you know it, there’s a video for it on YouTube. Apparently, I am not the only person who knows about this tune after all. Oh, well… can’t win ’em all, I suppose. Enjoy a little blast from the past:

I don’t pay a whole lot of attention to current music — in the time-honored tradition of grumpy old farts throughout history, I tend to think it all went to hell after my teen and young-adult years — but every once in a while, a song comes along that’s so ubiquitous, it manages to penetrate even my indifference. There was such a song last summer, a sweet and catchy little ditty that I quite liked called “Hey There Delilah” by the Plain White T’s.

I found out today that there really is a Delilah, specifically a young lady named Delilah DiCrescenzo. Tom Higgenson, the lead singer for the Plain White T’s, met her several years ago and, in an effort to impress her, he promised to write a song for her. She had a boyfriend, so their romance went nowhere, but he nevertheless kept his promise. The song became the band’s break-out hit and has been nominated for a Grammy. And Delilah is finally going to go out with him, as his date for the Grammy ceremony. She still has a boyfriend so they’re going strictly as friends, but even with that little imperfection, I find this story simply charming. It’d make a good plot for a movie, actually…

Details are here, if you’re interested. And I’ll give a Stan Lee-style “no-prize” to the first loyal reader who can tell me where this entry’s title derives from…

How is it possible that Dick Clark, some 40 years older, debilitated by a stroke, and struggling mightily to make himself intelligible when he speaks, still has more zest and personality in his presentation than that human piece of melba toast Ryan Seacrest? I guess the old cliche is true: they really don’t make ’em like they used to…

You know how I said a few days ago that there are no good or memorable modern Christmas songs? I may have been wrong:

Ordinarily, anything with too much of a “support the troops” theme makes me very twitchy, because that slogan is all too often freighted with unpleasant political baggage (i.e., the idea that supporting the troops means stifling any dissenting opinions, and anyone who does speak against the validity — or even just the practicality — of the war must be an unpatriotic, traitorous, generally rotten human being who surely enjoys molesting kittens). But I think this song is just lovely, and it manages to sweetly (and apolitically) recognize that there are a lot of good people who are far from home and hearth this night, and we shouldn’t forget about them regardless of what we may think of the policies or the administration that put them there. In fact, I see this as a companion piece to one of the handful of classic holiday songs I enjoy, “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” That, too, was a cry of loneliness and hope that came out of wartime, and which in the end isn’t so much about the war as it is about simple human yearning to return to those we love. Yeah, I think this tune, unlike so many other attempts at writing a “new classic,” may actually be around for another Christmas or two (and no, it isn’t just because it was written and performed by my main man, Rick Springfield… although that doesn’t hurt).

Incidentally, Rick’s newly released Christmas album (of which “Christmas with You” is the title track) is great, a heartfelt, unexpectedly spiritual set that ends with a slam-bang version of “Deck the Halls” played Surfaris-style. I highly recommend it; buy it here.

And now my friends, I think I’m going to sign off for the rest of the night. If you’re still out there reading this blog — and if you are, you really should back away from the computer and go find some realspace friends or loved ones to interact with — I’d like to wish you all peace.

A Beatles tribute group doing “Stairway to Heaven” in the style of the Ed Sullivan-era Fab Four? It’s like a message from the Bizarro World, or that alternate universe where Spock has a beard; everything seems familiar, except it’s so very, very wrong… just watch it and tell me if this isn’t one of the stranger things you’ve ever seen and/or heard…

So, one of the songs on that list of my favorite Christmas tunes I put together a year ago is an obscure little ditty called “Christmas is the Time to Say I Love You” by arena rocker Billy Squier. Something got me thinking about that song earlier today, so naturally I thought I’d poke around the InterWebs and see what I could come up with. I found the following clip, a “live” performance of the song Billy gave on MTV along with “the MTV chorus,” i.e., anybody around the cable net’s offices who was willing to appear on camera. It’s a fun little video, full of genuine — if goofy — cheer, and if you remember the early days of music videos and the “vee-jays” who introduced them, you’ll no doubt recognize some faces in the crowd. I gotta say, though… that sweater that Billy is wearing… oy. You’ll never find a bigger apologist for the eccentric fashions of the Reagan Years — I love and miss that decade with a fierce passion, and I’d still have my mullet and Members Only jacket if I could — but that sweater goes beyond even my pale…

My darling Girlfriend loves Christmas carols. She also loves a cappella singers performing Christmas carols. Myself, not so much.

I try to restrain my inner grinch for her sake — I really don’t like making her feel bad — but it’s so very, very hard when confronted by a bunch of fresh-faced young men who have perfect harmony and really cheesy joke-writers. The genre just naturally tends to lead to cutesy-ism, and that’s something I cannot abide. The one time I gave in and went along with her and her mom to the annual holiday performance by local sensation Voicemale, it was all I could do to keep my nervous twitching from throwing me right out of my seat. (Sorry, dear, I really am… but then, you knew all this already and for some reason you still like me…)

It might not be so bad if all the a cappella groups out there would take a hint from these guys:

That’s the way you do it: cover all the favorites in a single arrangement, throw in a little Toto for good measure, then thank everyone for coming and to all a good night! Yeah…

My thanks to Greenberg for finding this.

Note: If for some reason you want to read more of my grouchy, anti-Christmas-music babble, revisit this classic entry from a couple of years ago…

So, I’m just plugging away at today’s stack o’ work in the New Proofreaders’ Cave as a cold front sweeps into the valley and paints the sky the color of lead. I’m listening to ye olde iTunes, a little of my man Rick, and I thought I’d share the one I coming back to:

I look around me and I see what I wanted and what I settled for
Yeah, I’ve got the heart of a Joan of Arc but the soul of a gigolo.
I’ve been good at snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.
Anytime I stopped to smell the roses they drew blood from me.
Do you know what I mean?
You never ever get away clean. But it’s alright,
Yeah, touchdown, turn around, flag on the play.
It’s always something, you know it is, it’s always something,
It’s always something, everyday, it’s always something.
When I was a kid the teachers and the priests said,
“Why do you let him run around like that?”
My father said, “If the boy wants to play guitar, I say we let him.”
Through the hard years he was my rock
when I just could not win.
So it goes y’know my father died
just before my leaky ship came in.
Do you know what I mean?
You never ever get away clean. Oh, but it’s alright yeah.
Down one, homerun, your dog steals the ball.
I step up to the table in the middle of my life
and I take my cards and I check them twice.
I’ve got a killer hand and I’m ready to stake my claim,
the cops raid the game.
…it’s always something

That’s a great song, “It’s Always Something” (sometimes rendered as “itsalwayssomething”), from the 1999 album Karma. It’s heavily autobiographical, and not nearly as melancholy as the lyrics alone probably make it sound. The image it conjures in my mind is of a middle-aged guy who’s been seriously knocked around by the universe but is still standing and somehow managing to soldier on. Which is what Rick Springfield is, and I guess it’s what I am, too, at the moment. It certainly seems to fit my mood this afternoon.

My day job has been slightly less overwhelming recently, but I’m still feeling pretty frazzled, and like I’m not accomplishing much outside of keeping the bills paid. Not much of any substance anyhow, as my recent blog entries no doubt demonstrate. There are so few hours in the day, and so many projects both at the office and at home that need my attention, and my attention span seems to be down to about a tenth of a second these days.

None of which anyone cares about, probably. Welcome to the grown-up world, Bennion. Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s a great song, anyhow. Give it a download, or whatever you kids do these days.