[Today’s run: 3.4 miles]
Last night I went to the tri-annual blood drive down near Brooksville. I sat in the waiting area with the farmers for awhile then had my turn giving blood. Afterward they gave me a great cinnamon roll and a glass of milk.
I think I’ve gone to that same blood drive three times a year for at least three years now, maybe four. They’re nice to me.
Today I wasn’t really noticing any ill effect until I got out and tried to run at noon. My regular 3.4 mile route probably took me half again as long as it usually does. I even walked a bit. Just no get-up-and-go. But it was a beautiful cool day and I didn’t mind.
An old friend on facebook made a post about a favorite song. It’s one of those rambling songs sung by a guy who mumbles over an endless and very small loop of the same chords on a guitar.
Sorry man, I just can’t get into that kind of song. I had no idea what the guy was even saying until I looked up the lyrics on one of those web sites. It was a sad song, fittingly, sung in a sad way not making it through my sad hearing loss.
I think this may be why I was never much for Bruce Springsteen. Some people can sing, others just stand at a microphone and make tonal grunting noises. Willie Nelson can sing. Bruce Springsteen not so much. I realize there is a tradition of “folk rock” which seems to require that the singer not enunciate. OK. I can understand country, I can understand blues, I can understand a lot of rock and roll as long as the vocal parts aren’t drowned out by the instruments being tortured to death. But I can’t handle marble-mouthed microphone mumblers.
To quote Clint Eastwood’s character in Gran Torino, “Get off my lawn.”
There you go, a bit of music criticism.