10 • FEBRUARY 2016
www.desertexposure.com
LETTERS Musical Moments Editor, Desert Exposure publisher Richard Coltharp asked his readers, “What was your musical moment?” He answered his own question by confessing it was when he first heard the classic Beatles hit, “Day Tripper,” on vinyl. It happens to be one of my favorite Beatles tune too. My “vibrantly vivid” vinyl moment came when I was 13, officially a teenager. As soon as I heard tht opening lyrics of the Beachboys’ “Barbara Ann,” I got good vinyl vibrations. I was blown away. The year was 1965, the middle of the Cold War. My diplomat dad and family were stationed in the cold country of Sweden, courtesy of the U.S. State Department. My intermediate school was made up mostly of American State Department “brats.” That year my class went on a ski trip to Sweden’s frozen
winterland during Christmas break. We were Americans living abroad and missing the good ol’ U.S.A. The Beachboys “Barbara Ann” had just been released that November. A s soon as we heard the magic of that music being played at our Christmas party, we were all California dreaming and thinking summer. The boys in our group imagined being behind the wheel of a cool Corvette, Mustang or hot rod. We had warm thoughts of catching waves and babes in a surfing safari. Swedish girls look like their California counterparts, but without the sun tan. Beachboys music is totally joyous, mindless and beautiful fun, fun, fun. I’ll never forget singing and dancing for hours as “Barbara Ann” was played on-stop on a record player. The song is marked in my mind as indelibly as the deep scratch on that vinyl 45. I can hear it in my mind half a century later: BarBarBarBar, Barbara Ann ….
Paul Hoylen, Deming
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RANDOM ACTS OF NONSENSE • JIM DUCHENE
My Date With Taylor Swift
I
was listening to a news report about Taylor Swift’s latest boyfriend du jour, Mr. Insert Name Here. In it, the reporter named some of her former boyfriends. John Mayer. Harry Styles. Osama bin Laden. That last relationship, however, was tragically cut short by SEAL Team Six. Why Taylor Swift’s love life qualifies as news is beyond me, but I did smile in recognition when they mentioned she once dated a Kennedy. Conor Kennedy, in fact. You see, in prep school, I was hired to tutor him. Sadly, he never did learn how to spell the name “Connor.” Taylor was so smitten she paid $4.9 million to buy the beachfront mansion in front of the Kennedy compound. I’m sorry, that doesn’t sound like love to me. That sounds like stalking. The report reminded me of MY date with Taylor Swift. It was Valentine’s Day 2012. Between dysfunctional relationships, I was standing alone in the Walmart check-out line when I accidentally stepped back, bumping into her. “Excuse me, miss,” I apologized. “That’s OK,” she said, her voice light and playful. “I’m Taylor Swift.” “That’s nice,” I said, and looked forward again. By the time I got to the cashier, she had written a song for me. “Do you want to hear it?” she asked. “Not really,” I said. “Great! “Oh, I met him at a Walmart, “And my heart stood still. “I told him that I loved him, “And then I paid his bill. “Yippie hi yi diddy, dilly-oh, dilly-oh “Yippie hi yi diddy, dilly-oh” “That’ll be $173.73,” the cashier told me. She wasn’t impressed, either. Taylor threw a thousand dollar
bill on the conveyor belt. “We’re together,” she told the cashier, “and you’d better stay away from my man, if you know what’s good for you.” I got my cart and quickly hightailed it toward the exit. I could hear the skinny little singer coming up fast behind me. When we got to the exit, the elderly greeter pretended he didn’t see us and began wiping an imaginary spot on the wall with the palm of his hand. “Don’t mind him,” she told me. “That’s my old boyfriend. I don’t love him anymore. I even wrote a song about it. Do you want to hear it?” “Not really.” “Great! “Oh, I hate your heart! “I hate your head! “First chance I get! “I’m gonna kill you dead! “Yippie hi yi diddy, dilly-oh, dilly-oh “Yippie hi yi diddy, dilly-oh!” I walked to my car as fast as I could, jumping in without even loading my bags. She slapped the trunk of my car as I tore out of there, tires squealing. She was waving at me like a crazy woman. “Call me!” Shaken, I drove around, constantly checking my rearview mirror. Hours later, I had to stop for gas. The fuel seemed to take forever to fill my tank. I looked around nervously. Every shadow seemed ready to sing me a song. Something caught my eye. Son of a… She had attached an electronic tracer to my trunk when she slapped it. I pulled it off. So much trouble in such a little package. Just like Taylor. Walking over to a car with California plates, I attached the tracer to their trunk. Californians are used to that kind of nonsense. Back on the road, I began to feel sheepish. Maybe it was all a misun-
derstanding. It had to be. My internal logic was trying to solve a puzzle with pieces that didn’t fit. I pulled into my apartment complex. Walking cautiously to my apartment, I unlocked the door. “You’re late,” a voice said. Her voice. How had she found out where I lived? How had she gotten into my apartment? “Nice apartment complex,” she said, twirling the landlord’s master key in the pointer finger of her tiny hand. “I just bought them.” “You BOUGHT my apartment complex? How did you even know where I lived?” “Let’s just say I have an old boyfriend who owed me a favor and leave it at that. Oh, we’re going to have so much fun. Unless we don’t, and you wouldn’t like it if we don’t.” She looked at her watch. “My, my,” she said. “You’ve made me late. But, don’t worry. I’ll be back.” Her eyes sparkled insanely. “You want to hear a song I just wrote?” “Not really.” “Great! “Oh, I broke up with my boyfriend “On the night I met his mother “My dogs will sure eat well tonight “All because I met another “Yippie hi yi diddy, dilly-oh, dilly-oh “Yippie hi yi diddy, dilly-oh!” I stood there, numb. I couldn’t move. All I could do was watch her disappear into the darkness, playfully waving goodbye as she walked away. That’s when I got a crazy idea. I picked up the phone. “Hello, Conor?” I said when he answered. “Have I got a girl for you!”
Born and raised in the southwest, Jim Duchene is proud to make it his home. You can visit him at jimduchene.blogspot.com, RaisingMyFather.blogspot.com, or @JimDuchene.
RED HAT • DENNIS BEAVER College football, fun for players, coaches, fans and bands, lots of hoopla, cheers and jeers, all in the spirit of the sport. Then comes television, bags of money, advertisers galore, schools stand in line; more, more, more! Instant replay, ruined professional football, huge sums of money for winners, referees second-guessed on each play, when the referee says, “The last play is under review,” time for commercials and the cash register rings. Instant replay, nonsensical in college football, it even extends to the divisions that have “real” playoffs: and the cost of a mistake?
Is winning that important? Now comes the Man in the Red Hat, headset and microphone, innocuous, unless you know his job. steps onto the field of play – play stops, referees acquiesce – Media time out; television controls the game. He determines when play resumes. Games drag on from time out to time out. “We interrupt these commercials to bring you a few minutes of the game”; coaches over-coach, fans and bands are not such fun. The fun is gone. Solution: Shoot the Man in the Red Hat OR Send him to drink with the Red Hat Ladies.
Bring back the fun of college football.