I pulled out onto our busy road today, riding the motorino, rocking my hot pink fleece cuffs that my mother-in-law made for me, when I look to see in my rearview mirror a whole fleet of motorcyclists. What did that look like? I wondered. A pint-sized rogue on a scooter rocking the ladybug helmet, leading a fleet of Hell's Angels through the country roads of East Tennessee. "This way, boys! Y'all ever been to a Sonic? I just love their Cherry Limeade! What's more, we'll get there in time for happy hour!" ***
A friend recently told me Pasty Cline recorded "Crazy" in one take. I verified with NPR. Incredible. To deliver the most requested jukebox hit in the history of jukebox hits with one shot at the big leagues. That song is so raw, and it is not a simple song both in emotion and arrangement. I'm in awe.
Patsy Cline was 31 when she died in an airplane crash.
Oh. hah. I'm 31. I haven't recorded my "Crazy" yet. I suppose I've been busy. Leading Hell's Angels down country roads.
While fiddling on the compooper tonight, I was watching "Groundhog Day" in the background. The character of Bill Murray is egocentric, his "defining characteristic" says Andie MacDowell's character. He's given dozens of tries to get it right, to step outside his own self-serving needs to understand the root of joy is helping others.
I'm more "Groundhog Day" than I am "Crazy," is what I know for sure.
I'm also glad I wake up singing "I've Got You Babe" than "I Fall to Pieces..." or else I'd be in a really bad way. Maybe even riding caboose to Hell's Angels.