It’s Saturday night with absolutely no idea about what to write for my weekly entry, so I decided to just wing it. The laying down of an opening sentence for any essay turns out to be the toughest part. Once one is formulated, the literary juices begin to flow.
The thesis statement to this latest tirade reminds me of Billy Joel’s song, “Captain Jack,” with the beginning lyrics that say:
Saturday night and you’re still hangin’ around;
Tired of living in your one-horse town,
You’d like to find a little hole in the ground,
Andalusia, PA, where I live, isn’t exactly a one-horse town; and Philadelphia is directly on the other side of Poquessing Creek, which borders my apartment complex. It’s not like the area is lacking for things to do.
For a young adult, staying at home on Saturday night alone was a stigma of sorts, one which labeled a person as a loser if he or she were found out. Billy Joel implied that about the protagonist in his aforementioned tune.
So you go to the village in your tie-dyed jeans,
And you stare at the junkies and the closet queens;
It’s like some pornographic magazine,
And you smile.
The older one gets, the importance of such a dilemma diminishes proportionately, especially now with Social Media to keep a person company during lonely moments when he or she doesn’t feel like mingling with the maddening crowd. However, back in the day before we had the Internet, things were a lot different:
So you play your albums and you smoke your pot,
And you meet your girlfriend in the parking lot;
Oh, but still you’re aching for the things you haven’t got;
What went wrong?
I decided to make up a few verses to add as a present-day disclaimer for myself:
I’d like it to be known that I gave up smoking pot,
Put on too much weight, stuffing my face a lot,
Spending all my dough with nothing left to show,
While sitting at home all alone,
Completely surrounded by a cloud of smoke.
It’s fun dabbling in poetry once in a while;
Although, being a lyricist isn’t really my style;
So I’ll get back to my usual prose,
Rant, rave and try not to pick my nose;
And that’s why not much rhyme of mine appears here, you know?
Having mentioned Social Media, I find it to be a great subject, well-suited as fodder for any harangue, especially to end this week’s edition. As a whole, the Internet-bred networks can be addictive as any drug can be, perhaps even worse. I’ve tried to kick the habit but failed.
Even by trying to abstain from visiting such Websites as Twitter or Facebook, I find the entities themselves are enablers to my addiction by pestering me with e-mails, listing all the things I’ve been missing since having last logged on to their respective sites, as if they really miss me out of all the millions of minions subscribed to their services.
I must go now. Facebook has just notified me again after my not checking their timeline there for all of but one day, to state that a lot has happened since I last logged in: one message, one group invite and thirteen new notifications.
So, in closing, allow me to leave you with the final stanzas of “Captain Jack,” which seem so bitter-sweet and apropos:
And if you can’t understand why your world is so dead;
Why you’ve got to keep in style and feed your head;
Well, you’re 21 and still your mother makes your bed,
And that’s too long.
Captain Jack will get you high tonight,
And take you to your special island;
Captain Jack will get you by tonight,
Just a little push, and you’ll be smilin’…
Thanks for your continued support. Don’t forger to turn your clocks ahead before going to sleep. Hurray for Daylight Savings Time, we get to play outside an hour later.