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Two babies were sitting in their cribs, when one baby shouted to the
other, "Are you a little girl or a little boy?"

"I don't know," replied the other baby giggling.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" said the first baby.

"I mean I don't know how to tell the difference," was the reply. "Well,
I do," said the first baby chuckling, "I'll climb into your crib and
find out."

He carefully manoeuvred himself into the other baby's crib, then quickly
disappeared beneath the blankets. After a couple of minutes, he
resurfaced with a big grin on his face. "You're a little girl, and I'm a
little boy," he said proudly.

"You're ever so clever," cooed the baby girl, "but how can you tell?"

"It's quite easy really," replied the baby boy, "you've got pink socks
and I've got blue ones."

SHAME ON YOU, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING???

Well, folks, we know that our hawkman is finished when we get a sweet baby joke.

We never know what to expect from you Boston Bob.

Before we sort through all the bio's, here is a Four Freshman song:

I have played this one before, but it is so lovely done a capella by those great guys, that I want to play it again:

This version by The Beach Boys. See what I mean Try?

There's a story told of a very gentle boy
And the girl who wore his ring
Through the wintry snow
The world they knew was warm
For their hearts were full of spring

As the days grew old
And the nights passed into time
And the weeks and years took wing (was, "wind")
Gentle boy, tender girl
Their love remained still young
For their hearts were full of spring

Then one day they died
And their graves were side by side
On a hill where robins sing
And they say violets
Grow there the whole year round
For their hearts were full of spring

Wow! that gives me chills

Beach Boys Lyrics

Goin' South Lyrics



I think of goin' south for the winter
It's getting mighty cold
I watch the fire glow
The moon shining 'cross the snow
Maybe Florida or Mexico
Is where I oughta go

Somewhere where everything is green
Oo the change of scene
Might do a me good
When the swallows go
When they leave Capistrano
Fly away so gracefully
Maybe that's for me

Snowdrifts blowing up against my door
Going clear up to the roof
I could be lying on some sun-washed shore
Truth is, don't know what I'm waiting for

Think I'm goin' south for the winter
It's getting mighty cold
I watch the fire glow
The moon shinin' 'cross the snow
Maybe Florida or Mexico
Is where I oughta go

South of the border
Think I'm goin' south
Get my life in order
Think I'm goin' south
For the winter
It's gettin' mighty cold

My goodness, Try. You keep coming up with new songs by the minute.

Love those lyrics, buddy.

Thinking of Ovid:




Morning


Already over the sea from her old spouse she comes,
the blonde goddess whose frosty wheels bring day.
Why do you hurry, Aurora? Hold off, so may the birds
shed ritual blood each year for Memnon's shade.
Now it's good to lie in my mistress's tender arms;
if ever, now it's good to feel her near.
Now drowsiness is richest, the morning air is cool,
and birds sing shrilly from their tender throats.
Why do you hurry, dreaded by men and dreaded by girls?
Draw back your dewy reins with your crimson hand.
The sailor marks the stars more clearly before you rise,
not raoming aimlessly across the sea;
the traveller, though weary, arises when you come,
and the soldier sets his savage hand to arms;
you're first to see the farmers wield their heavy hoes
and to call slow oxen under the curving yoke;
you rob boys of their sleep and give them over to schools,
where tender hands must bear the savage switch;
and you send reckless fools to pledge themselves in court,
where they take ruinous losses through one word;
the lawyer and the pleader take no delight in you,
for each must rise and wrangle with new torts;
and you ensure that women's chores are never done,
calling the spinner's hands back to her wool.
All this I'd bear; but who would bear that girls must rise
at dawn, unless himself he has no girl?
How many times I've wished Night would not yield to you,
the stars not fade and flee before your face!
How many times I've wished the wind would smash your wheels,
your steeds would stumble on a cloud and fall!
Jealous, why do you hurry? If your son is black,
it's since his mother's heart is that same color.
How I wish Tithonus could still tell tales of you:
no goddess would be more disgraced in heaven.
Since he is endless eons old, you rise and flee
at dawn to the chariot the old man hates,
but if some Cephalus were lying in your arms,
you'd cry out, 'O run slowly, steeds of night! '
Why should this lover pay, if your husband withers with age?
Was I the matchmaker who brought him to you?
Remember how much sleep was given to her loved youth
by Luna - and she's beautiful as you.
The father of gods himself, to see you all the less,
joined two nights into one for his desires.
I'd finished my complaint. You could tell she'd heard: she blushed;
and yet the day rose at its usual time.

- translated from the Latin by Jon Corelis

Beach Boys
Sloop John B Lyrics

We come on the sloop John B
My grandfather and me
Around Nassau town we did roam
Drinking all night
Got into a fight
Well I feel so broke up
I want to go home

So hoist up the John B's sail
See how the mainsail sets
Call for the Captain ashore
Let me go home, let me go home
I wanna go home, yeah yeah
Well I feel so broke up
I wanna go home

The first mate he got drunk
And broke in the Cap'n's trunk
The constable had to come and take him away
Sheriff John Stone
Why don't you leave me alone, yeah yeah
Well I feel so broke up I wanna go home

So hoist up the John B's sail
See how the mainsail sets
Call for the Captain ashore
Let me go home, let me go home
I wanna go home, let me go home
Why don't you let me go home
(Hoist up the John B's sail)
Hoist up the John B
I feel so broke up I wanna go home
Let me go home

The poor cook he caught the fits
And threw away all my grits
And then he took and he ate up all of my corn
Let me go home
Why don't they let me go home
This is the worst trip I've ever been on

So hoist up the John B's sail
See how the mainsail sets
Call for the Captain ashore
Let me go home, let me go home
I wanna go home, let me go home
Why don't you let me go home…

Not yet translated into English!

Heh! Heh! Love it, Try.

I promise, no J. Alred Prufrock.

How about a little afternoon music

Gonna find my baby, gonna hold her tight
Gonna grab some afternoon delight
My motto's always been; when it's right, it's right.
Why wait until the middle of a cold dark night?

When everything's a little clearer in the light of day.
And you know the night is always gonna be there any way.
Sky rockets in flight. Afternoon delight. Afternoon delight.

Thinkin' of you's workin' up my appetite
Looking forward to a little afternoon delight
Rubbin' sticks and stones together makes the sparks ingite
And the thought of rubbin' you is getting so exciting.

Sky rockets in flight. Afternoon delight. Afternoon delight.

Started out this morning feeling so polite
I always though a fish could not be caught who wouldn't bite
But you've got some bait a waitin' and I think I might
Try nibbling a little afternoon delight.

Sky rockets in flight. Afternoon delight. Afternoon delight.

Please be waiting for me baby when I come around.
We could make a lot of lovin' 'for the sun goes down.

Sky rockets in flight. Afternoon delight. Afternoon delight.

Beach Boys' interview…
Coming up now, ah, a very sentimental type Christmas song,
particularly for those who are away from home during this time of year
--"I'll Be Home For Christmas." Any, ah, thing particular about this,
this tune that you'd like to say, Brian?

Ah, well, I guess there's something very obvious when you hear the song.
It's, ah, there's a very definite influence of the Four Freshmen
on the arrangement as well as the delivery, and, uh, obviously
we all look up and admire the style of the Four Freshmen and,
uh, I feel this has been the greatest--one of the greater--
vocal influences, ah, in the world today.



I'll be home for Christmas
You can plan on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents on the tree

Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love light gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams

I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams.


Short and sweet.

My word, Try. That man certainly knew how to talk..ah.guess, er, that was a compliment. <smile>

Have that cd here somewhere.

For our Canuck friends:

Who is this J.D. Fortune?

Pretty Vegas
by JD Fortune

Fallin' asleep at the wheel again baby,
You're driftin' over the line.
You're hands are tied, but you're losin' grip quickly
Fix me, can you read the sign…

Thumbin' your way to Vegas, dirty
Dreamin' of the other side…
Save your tears and laughter because
It doesn't matter what you find

It ain't pretty
After the show…
It ain't pretty when the pretty leaves you
With no place to go.

So, if you think you need it,
Here's the place to feed it…
It ain't pretty.

When, everything that you do is wrong,
And you
Feel like you can barely survive…
When those around you
Are crumblin' downwards
Buried in the sunset of life.

Thumbin' your way to Vegas, dirty
And screamin' like a bitch from hell,

Save your dreams
Up your patience
Doesn't matter what you sell…

It ain't pretty
After the show
It ain't pretty when the pretty leaves you
With no place to go…

So, if you think you want it…
Here's the place to get it,
It ain't pretty

Yeah, yeah, yeah

It ain't pretty…

Yeah, yeah, yeah

Thumbin' your way to Vegas, dirty
Dreamin' like you're out of control,
Save your tears and laughter
Because this is the ride…
And this is the show…

It ain't pretty
After the show…
It ain't pretty when the pretty leaves you
With no place to go

So, if you think you want it
Just come in and get it

It ain't pretty…

Hiya Letty. Loved that Ovid. You just can't beat a piece of classical poetry.

I will bring you a more modern offering from England, in return.

Ah God ! to see the branches stir
Across the moon at Grantchester !
To smell the thrilling-sweet and rotten
Unforgettable, unforgotten
River-smell, and hear the breeze
Sobbing in the little trees.
Say, do the elm-clumps greatly stand
Still guardians of that holy land ?
The chestnuts shade, in reverend dream,
The yet unacademic stream ?
Is dawn a secret shy and cold
Anadyomene, silver-gold ?
And sunset still a golden sea
From Haslingfield to Madingley ?
And after, ere the night is born,
Do hares come out about the corn ?
Oh, is the water sweet and cool,
Gentle and brown, above the pool ?
And laughs the immortal river still
Under the mill, under the mill ?
Say, is there Beauty yet to find ?
And Certainty ? and Quiet kind ?
Deep meadows yet, for to forget
The lies, and truths, and pain ? . . . oh ! yet
Stands the Church clock at ten to three ?
And is there honey still for tea ?

For all the Brits:

Artist/Band: Miller Roger
Lyrics for Song: England Swings
Lyrics for Album: All Time Greatest Hits


England swings like a pendulum do,
Bobbies on bicycles, two by two,
Westminster Abbey the tower of Big Ben,
The rosy red cheeks of the little children.

Now, if you huff and puff and you fina'lly save enough
Money up to take your family on a trip across the sea,
Take a tip before you take your trip; let me tell you where to go,
Go to England, Oh;

Mama's old pajamas and your papa's mustache,
Falling out the window sill, frolic in the grass,
Tryin' to mock the way they talk fun but all in vain,
Gaping at the dapper men with derby hats and canes

England swings like a pendulum do,
Bobbies on bicycles, two by two…

McTag, that was beautiful. "...water sweet and cool, gentle and brown above the pool...."

Love that, Manchester.

ah, Try, I think my favorite Beatle song is Penny Lane. Who did that song, honey? The same guy that did, Dang Me?

I think Beatle McCartney was the singer on Penny Lane.
Love that Bach trumpet part.

Here's another, if you liked the Grantchester poem.
I like this one too, entitled Adlestrop

Yes, I remember Adlestrop--
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop - only the name

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.

Ah, McTag. Lovely, honey. Drinking in the name, Brit.

Enguland swings as a pendulum does
Bobbies on bicycles, called the Fuzz
Westminster Abbey, you queue to get in
At The Tower it's the same, likewise Big Ben

(like my version? No, thought not )

Wouldn't take a penny for those thoughts, McTag. <smile>

I can hear the Bach in my head:

The Beatles
Penny Lane

(Lennon/McCartney)
In Penny Lane there is a barber showing photographs
Of every head he's had the pleasure to know
And all the people that come and go
Stop and say hello

On the corner is a banker with a motorcar
The little children laugh at him behind his back
And the banker never wears a mack
In the pouring rain, very strange

Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes
There beneath the blue suburban skies
I sit, and meanwhile back

In Penny Lane there is a fireman with an hourglass
And in his pocket is a portrait of the queen
He likes to keep his fire engine clean
It's a clean machine

Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes
A four of fish and finger pies
In summer, meanwhile back

Behind the shelter in the middle of a roundabout
The pretty nurse is selling poppies from a tray
And though she feels as if she's in a play
She is anyway

In Penny Lane the barber shaves another customer
We see the banker sitting waiting for a trim
And then the fireman rushes in
From the pouring rain, very strange

Penny lane is in my ears and in my eyes
There beneath the blue suburban skies
I sit, and meanwhile back
Penny lane is in my ears and in my eyes
There beneath the blue suburban skies
Penny Lane

One of the Beatles confessed that one of those lines was a naughty reference. <smile>

Yes, listeners, the song was by Roger Miller. Ironic that the man died of throat cancer. Try as they might, some can't get it right.

Frank Sinatra -
A Nightingale Sang In Berkley Square Lyrics

That certain night, the night we met
There was magic abroad in the air
There were angels dining at the ritz
And a nightingale sang in Berkley Square

I may be right, I may be wrong,
But I'm perfectly willing to swear,
That when you turned and smiled at me,
A nightingale sang in Berkley Square.

The moon that lingered over London town,
Poor puzzled moon, he wore a frown
How could he know we two were so in love,
The whole darn world seemed upside down.

The streets of town were paved with stars,
It was such a romantic affair.
And as we kissed and said goodnight,
A nightingale sang in Berkley Square.

Oh, Try, you just played a telling song, honey. I love that, and the lyrics are to die for. Thank you, my friend.

the version of this one is done by David Bowie.

I was a stranger in the city
Out of town where the people I knew
I had the feeling of self-pity
What to do? what to do? what to do?
The outlook was decidedly blue
But as I walked through the foggy streets alone
It turned out to be the luckiest day I've ever known
A foggy day in a london town
Had me low and had me down
I viewed the morning with alarm
The British Museum had lost its charm
How long, I wondered, could this thing last?
But the age of miracles had'nt passed
For suddenly I saw you there
And through foggy London Town the sun was shining everywhere

No, I will NOT be lachrymose Letty.