Dear Target

Until I met my husband Luis, the happiest time of my life was during my son’s infant, toddler and preschool years. My first marriage had crumbled, but I was euphoric to be a mother. With Chris at the center of my universe, my life was finally in balance. I left our house and most of its contents to my ex and moved back into my old bedroom at my parents’. I had only a few material possessions and could not afford much more as I was working part-time at the public library. I enjoyed putting Chris in his stroller and walking for miles to the park, to the market, to the local Target for the occasional toy and everyday sundries or to the Salvation Army thrift store across the street from Target if we needed clothes. Life was beautiful.

Now Chris is grown and we are not hurting for money, but my frugality is intact despite our close proximity to the retail hub of Orange County, California. Our house is surrounded by a mall that is too chi-chi frou-frou for my thrift store sensibility, big name chain stores, acclaimed restaurants, theatres, the Performing Arts Center, hotels, a major airport, a venerated community college, the county fairgrounds, two freeways and the toll road my husband takes to work – in short, all the modern inconveniences. Life is better than ever although busier than ever and we do our recreational walking on the treadmill in the den.

I still enjoy the hunt for a bargain, so this weekend I made my weekly pilgrimage to Target, my absolute favorite store for more than two decades. I have been pondering the controversial decision by Target management to ban the Salvation Army from collecting donations in front of their stores in response to customer complaints. I am not one who would complain about the bell-ringers, as I search for them when they are not handy. In late winter I always see Girl Scouts selling cookies near Target’s entrance and, this being California, all year round petition carriers sit at tables there, soliciting signatures for ballot measures. I noticed that they are gone now as well. But I cannot recall any Salvation Army volunteers at the Target stores I have frequented in recent years. Luckily, I located my first two Salvation Army volunteers of the season in front of Wal-Mart last week and Big Lots discount store on Saturday, so they are out there if you want to find them and I hope you will.

‘Tis the season for employer-sponsored charity at work, where our annual tradition is to adopt needy families in our community to give them the Christmas they could not have otherwise. This year we are also collecting donations for Toys for Tots and I am serving as the United Way campaign coordinator for my building. United Way helps to support several charities close to my heart such as Goodwill Industries, which hires the handicapped shunned by other employers like my brother Richard who worked for them in the 1960s and 1970s; the American Cancer Society; the American Diabetes Association; the National Multiple Sclerosis Society; and the Salvation Army. Like many families, we give as much and as often as we can where we think it will do the most good.

When Chris was 8 years old and not as grateful for his blessings as I thought he should be, I took him to a church soup kitchen to help prepare a dinner for the needy. After he opened his Christmas presents, I made him pick one to donate to the children we saw there. We tried to help the homeless we met in our community, steering clear of those suspiciously clean and tidy panhandlers who seem to appear in shifts at bustling intersections throughout the county. Then we noticed a bedraggled looking man and woman with a shopping cart full of clothes, blankets and a cat hanging out regularly by the supermarket where we redeemed our cans and bottles. We were having our own rough patch but decided to donate our monthly recycling cash to the couple, along with some canned food items, which continued until they disappeared suddenly. I used to keep extra food in the trunk of my car in case we saw them again or others in obvious need. Clearly I am an impulsive donor, the kind upon whom the Salvation Army depends.

One day a few years ago during my lunch hour, I picked up some groceries we needed for dinner. The deli clerk was letting a man who seemed in a very bad way feast on a tray of sliced meat and cheese. I grabbed some canned fruit and vegetables to give him, but he left quickly before I paid for my purchases. The following evening Luis and I were dining out when I saw the man stop in front of our restaurant. He was wearing the same clothes, but his pants had holes that I had not observed the day before. With Luis’s permission, I wrapped our uneaten bread and baked potatoes in a napkin and took them out to the man.

As I walked back into the restaurant, I could not miss the disapproving looks I received from the hostess, the wait staff and other diners. "Everyone is glaring at me," I told Luis.

"You know why, don’t you?" he asked me. "They think you’re a Democrat."

Luis is not merely the wittiest person I know, but he is also the wisest. He is one of six children raised in poverty who had to share a bed and clothes with his brothers. By share, I mean that he and his brother would wear the same pair of pants on alternate days and those pants were a gift from some charitable organization. His father worked second and third jobs rather than ask for a financial handout. Luis made me understand that my naive act of human concern contributed to a public nuisance and likely perpetuated self-destructive choices by the stranger who needed more help than I was equipped to give. Of course, with Luis's support, I still react emotionally to those in need, but I try to be smarter about how I do it.

I know plenty of compassionate people who contribute generously to their pet causes but do not appreciate being accosted by strangers when they shop or dine or drive down the street. Do you remember one of the funniest scenes in the movie Airplane? The pilot Kramer, portrayed by Robert Stack, started punching solicitors who waylaid him as he strode through the airport. Donations for the Reverend Moon? Jews for Jesus? Read about Jehovah's Witness? How about Buddhism? Help Jerry's kids? Scientology? Avoid nuclear power? I understand why that elicits such therapeutic laughter.

Before Rudy Giulani became a hero of 9/11, he was lauded deservedly for cleaning up the streets of New York City, filled for years with panhandlers, garbage, and human waste that frustrated the natives and repelled tourism. In Southern California, the wandering homeless are not the common sight they were ten years ago. So where do the destitute go when they are swept off the city streets? To the Salvation Army and other rescue missions where souls are fed, too, that’s where. If we do not support institutions that can change the lives of those in the direst need, we will run into many more of the broken and hungry when we shop at Target and elsewhere.

So here I am sending a letter to Target, my favorite store, and Target Visa, of which Luis and I are dual cardholders, asking for reconsideration of this new policy, which will surely depress the size and quantity of impulse donations by holiday shoppers this year. If Target will not reconsider its policy nor make a remedial donation to the Salvation Army, I will have to reconsider my loyal patronage.

I Don't Know You but I. O. U.

When I inventory my blessings this Thanksgiving, the blogosphere will receive special attention. I am so grateful for this free and open venue where anyone can express their opinions without having to raise their hand or wait their turn. The talent and generosity of bloggers are awesome and every voice is welcomed. I may never meet any of you, but I am honored to share with you the community of ideas.

Admittedly, this has been a trying year for those of us on the center-right. I feel like I have been living in an unnatural state of suspended hope, always braced for the next dirty trick or unlucky break. This week and every week I thank God that President Bush was re-elected. Although many of us grew discouraged throughout the long, bruising campaign, especially after the first debate, Bush never seemed to. He possesses a constancy of spirit and faith in democracy, faith in us, which never wavered.

Except for my husband, no single person helped me maintain my faith in the wisdom of the electorate more than Hugh Hewitt. I listened to his Salem Radio Network show since its inception, but this year my world became very Hugh-centric. I think of Hugh as a modern day Don Quixote – not deluded but charmingly clueless sometimes about the mundane. In Generalissimo Duane, he found the perfect Sancho Panza to rescue him from cultural and grammatical gaffes. Hugh tilts at real windmills like corporate callousness (Target), partisan purging (Arlen Specter), and media misrepresentations (too many to itemize).

Through Hugh, I discovered the Northern Alliance of bloggers and their radio show. I always harbored a fondness for the Minnesota of Maud Hart Lovelace’s childhood (it’s a chick thing, I guess), but I never knew until this year that the land o’ lakes is our national clearinghouse for political analysis and humor. Captain Ed, John Hinderaker and Scott Johnson, Chad the Elder, Mitch Berg, James Lileks, et al, are among the most gifted writers of commentary today and I am so grateful they are on our side.

I still look to Kathryn Jean Lopez, Kate O’Beirne and their Corner homeboys at NRO for my daily dose of the truth without a hint of sugar. There you will find thoughtful conservatives of every prefix, including the brilliant Mark Steyn, and I benefit from their diversity of dialogue. I am no female chauvinist, but I appreciate the unique demands on our time that make blogging regularly a challenge for many women. Like me, Theresa Kiihn is a fledgling blogger who favors a personal style from the perspective of a wife and mother. She has been especially generous to me, as have Hugh and Chad the Elder. I am grateful for their many acts of kindness.

With the end of the election cycle comes a return to normalcy and I am relieved to dust off my CDs and books and sheet music and all the other wonderful blessings for which I give thanks to God. The intangibles that I prize above all are the love of my husband and family and God, the patient devotion of true friends, improved health, and all the advantages I enjoy as an American.

Now let's go eat some turkey.

I Can Hear Music

My husband, Luis, and I bonded over a shared appreciation for music and language. Our courtship song was Let the Cable Sleep by Bush (no relation). Luis is foremost a lyrics guy and favors songs that tell a story. I value music above all and consider appealing lyrics a bonus.

Obviously I adore language. I have been writing for my own pleasure (and discomfiture) since I was twelve. As I age (notice I didn’t say mature), I find that I enjoy writing more and talking less, but my inner voice is as active as ever.

I enjoy classical music, but popular music of the past hundred years is my particular passion, especially rock’n’roll. I don’t know how common this is, but I have a jukebox in my head that plays rock around the clock, although not necessarily that exact selection (guess what’s stuck in my head right now).

My invisible jukebox is triggered by what I hear, see, say and think. For example, the other morning I was pondering something Dennis Prager said that was typically optimistic and heartwarming. My inner voice pronounced it “the feel-good thought for the day.” So, for the next few hours, I had to listen to a couple riffs from Dr. Feelgood by Motley Crue. See how it works? During business calls, my friendly co-worker Steve sometimes plants a dreadful song in my head. What a brat.

My jukebox has been working triple over-time since Rolling Stone magazine released its latest list: The 500 Greatest Songs of All Time. The judges compiling the list include Brian Wilson, my musical idol, and I can sense his influence in some of the choices.

Musical taste is so subjective that it is pointless to second-guess any individual or committee who undertakes such a daunting task. The list could have been 50,000 entries long and still omitted songs that recalled a cherished moment in someone’s memory. I already perused the list in numeric order, but I decided to blog it alphabetically by artist instead. I’m picky, so I’ll limit my comments to the artists closest to my heart.

Abba: Dancing Queen, #171. I dare you to sit still during this song. Enjoying Abba was considered a guilty secret by those who disdained Disco, but their harmonies and production values evoked the uncomplicated joy of the Beach Boys’ early work.

The Animals: We Gotta Get Out of This Place, #233. I always preferred this song to House of the Rising Son, #122. But my favorite was Don't Bring Me Down, in which Alan Price’s performance on the opening and bridge proved that the organ can be gritty and soulful.

The Band: I think some of Bob Dylan’s work is admirable and some is too precious and precocious (“hey, ma, look what I can do”). But I find almost all of it musically uninteresting, even when backed by the Band. Out from under Dylan’s shadow, they wedded great musicianship with memorable lyrics. The Weight, # 41, is a true classic. The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down, #245, is the rare song whose remake is just as strong in its own right, although the lyrics were quite un-PC for the era.

The Beach Boys: Seven songs, including Good Vibrations at #6 and God Only Knows, truly a perfect song, at #25. Caroline, No was a welcome choice from Pet Sounds. Sloop John B was an unpleasant surprise from the same album, a jarring exception to Brian Wilson’s song cycle that was cynically inserted by Capitol Records management. I wish the judges had substituted Wouldn’t It Be Nice or I Just Wasn’t Made for These Times. I could go on, but I won’t.

The Beatles: Twenty-three songs (I appreciate their self-restraint), but no I’m Only Sleeping. Sigh.

Brook Benton: Rainy Night in Georgia, #498. Great voice, great choice.

Big Star: Alex Chilton of the Boxtops (The Letter, #363) and Big Star was always the critics’ darling, as were the Replacements who immortalized him in an eponymously titled single. Shockingly, the Replacements were omitted from this list. If you don’t know any of them, take a listen.

Blondie: Three songs, but not my favorite, Hanging on the Telephone.

Bobby Fuller Four: I Fought the Law, #175. A classic rock song in the genre exemplified by 1950s rockabilly, Creedence Clearwater Revival, and The Clash, who later remade the song.

David Bowie: Four songs, but not my favorites, John I’m Only Dancing, Sound and Vision and Stay. The Thin White Duke patented a chameleon-like cult of personality that the Material Girl copied on the cheap. Bowie's aspirations were arthouse while Madonna's were of a different house altogether.

Jackson Browne: Only Running on Empty made the list. I went through my Browne period and honed my teenage angst on his earlier albums, but in retrospect this seems about right.

Jeff Buckley: Only one, Hallelujah, #259. Hallelujah! I would have put Last Goodbye in my top 15.

Buffalo Springfield: Only one, For What It’s Worth, which seems paltry for such a seminal band. I would have added Nowadays Clancy Can’t Even Sing and Mr. Soul.

The Byrds: Only three entries for the band that made Dylan’s songs listenable. Like Buffalo Springfield, one of the most influential American folk-rock bands ever. Roger McGuinn’s 12-string guitar and focus on jangly chord strumming over melody lines were the inspiration for the 1980s guitar pop revival.

The Carpenters: My high school chorus teacher was their friend and we had the honor of singing back up for them at his church. Like Burt Bacharach, in recent years their catalog began to receive the respect it deserves, although it’s a crying shame Karen did not live to see it.

Johnny Cash: Three songs from Johnny Cash, but not Hurt, a testament to his enduring relevance. My husband’s happy anyway.

Tracy Chapman: Fast Car, #165. One of the best one-hit wonders ever. It always takes me back to November 1988, a special time.

Cheap Trick: Surrender, #465. Cheap Trick Live at Budokan and Heaven Tonight are great albums by the godfathers of power pop known for their unique visual gimmick (two nerds, two pretty boys). Check out On the Radio and then compare it to Big Bang Baby by Stone Temple Pilots.

Chic: Good Times, #224. Another talented band that avoided the stigma of Disco. The cleanest engineering since Pink Floyd and the Alan Parsons Project.

Eric Clapton: Tears in Heaven and Layla (credited to Derek and the Dominoes) are worthy, but why not Bell Bottom Blues? Trivia note: An uncredited Clapton played lead guitar on the Beatles’ While My Guitar Gently Weeps, #135, while an uncredited George Harrison played lead on Clapton’s The Badge.

The Clash: Five songs, including Train in Vain, #292. I’m happy.

Eddie Cochran: Two songs, including the legendary Summertime Blues, #73. See my comments about the Bobby Fuller Four.

Elvis Costello: Three great songs, Alison, Watching the Detectives, and Nick Lowe’s What’s So Funny ‘bout Peace, Love and Understanding. Excluding Accidents Will Happen and Pump It Up was a disappointment, but I could go on and on.

Cream: Three songs for Clapton, Bruce and Baker. Good enough.

Creedence Clearwater Revival: Four songs to put a smile on my husband’s face.

The Crystals: Three songs, classics all. Producer Phil Spector revolutionized studio craft and, with Brian Wilson, opened the door for artists to take creative charge of their product. He went from control freak to deadly freak, but he remains one of the few legends on this list who deserves to be called genius. Why is it that the artists who create the most amazing music for the masses tend to be screwed-up recluses?

The Cure: Two songs, including the aptly titled Just Like Heaven, #483. Purists prefer the earlier, more melancholy Robert Smith, but I like him happy and poppy, too.

Depeche Mode: Personal Jesus, #368. My husband prefers the Johnny Cash version, naturally. I sat in the Rose Bowl in the rain for the 1988 concert documented in the film 101. I would choose some of their others, Blasphemous Rumours and especially People Are People, which even a bleeding heart conservative can appreciate. Lyrical highlight: Now you’re punching and you’re kicking and you’re shouting at me. And I’m relying on your common decency. So far it hasn’t surfaced, but I’m sure it exists. It just takes awhile to travel from your head to your fists. I don’t understand what makes a man hate another man. Help me understand.

The Doors: Two songs, including the ubiquitous Light My Fire, which proved that Jim Morrison, like James Joyce, badly needed an editor. Oh, how I loathed interminable solos in the middle of songs. My sister gave me some Doors’ albums, which I got to play at our Lutheran dances. Our pastor actually let us hold dances inside the darkened church with strobe lights and 14-minute songs. Amazing.

Bob Dylan: A dozen. We own Don’t Look Back on DVD, which captures his charisma and arrogance. Shame on him for breaking Joan Baez’s heart. By the way, why wasn’t Diamonds and Rust on the list?

Earth, Wind & Fire: That’s the Way of the World, #329. One of my all-time faves. I’m a sucker for songs that start slowly but build to a thrilling finish, like The Whole of the Moon by the Waterboys, which should have been on the list, too.

The Five Stairsteps: Ooh, Child, #392. Another wonderful one-hit wonder with effective buildups and letdowns, plus a nice key change near the end.

The Four Tops: Four for four, including the epic Reach Out, I’ll Be There, #206. Levi and the boys were the class of Motown.

Aretha Franklin: Four for the Queen of Soul, too, but Natural Woman, my favorite, is missing.

Al Green: Four from the Reverend of Romance. I actually prefer the Talking Heads’ hiccup-y remake of Take Me to the River.

Guns N’ Roses: Sweet Child o’ Mine, #196. I liked this song better when it was called I’d Love to Change the World by Ten Years After, which is not on the list.

Jimi Hendrix: Seven cool songs, but not Fire, my favorite.

Buddy Holly: Five songs from the legendary Texan. In La Bamba, he was portrayed by Marshall Crenshaw, another talented singer-songwriter who disappeared too quickly.

The Isley Brothers: Three fine songs, with one glaring omission: This Old Heart of Mine, which I would have placed in the top 10 (another epic slow-build song).

The Jam: That’s Entertainment, #306. Paul Weller of the Jam and Style Council was one of the trendsetters of 1980s Britpop, the Ray Davies of his decade.

Jefferson Airplane: Two songs, a brief nod to the band that helped define the San Francisco scene. Surrealistic Pillow was considered one of the best albums of 1967. I really like their song Today, not on the list, although it reveals a band that took itself way too seriously and was due perhaps for its mighty fall as Jefferson Starship.

Billy Joel and Elton John: I play piano and always appreciated good piano rock, but Ben Folds, not on the list, does it better.

Joy Division: Love Will Tear Us Apart, #179. The song that heralded the advent of New Wave by the band that became New Order after lead singer, Ian Curtis, hanged himself on the eve of their first American tour. Foolish idiot.

Carole King: It’s Too Late, #469. To the women’s movement, the album Tapestry was the aural equivalent of Anne Morrow Lindbergh’s book Gifts from the Sea. Before and since, King has been one of our most gifted songwriters.

The Kinks: Three songs, could be more. The music speaks for itself, but the brothers Davies may have begun the tradition of public family dysfunction made notorious by Liam and Noel Gallagher of Oasis.

Love: Alone Again Or, #436. When I was in junior high school, my sister gave me a copy of Forever Changes. This song became one of my all-time favorites.

The Lovin’ Spoonful: Two songs, neither of which is Full Measure, my fave. Another influential folk-rock band my sister introduced me to when I was too young and naïve to understand naughty band names and lyrical double entendres.

The Mamas and the Papas: California Dreamin’, #89. John Phillips may be more famous for his ex-wives and offspring, but he was a legend on the folk-rock scene and the driving force behind the Monterey Pop Festival.

Joni Mitchell: Three entries, including my favorites, Help Me and Free Man in Paris, a song about David Geffen. Mitchell was a singer-songwriter known for her personal storytelling and quirky phrasing. She also served as one of the judges who compiled this list.

New Order: Bizarre Love Triangle, #201. One of my favorite dance songs from the 1980s. See Joy Division.

Randy Newman: Sail Away, #264. A haunting song about slave ships. Like Warren Zevon, Newman was considered a songwriter’s songwriter and achieved fame with a silly song, in his case I Love L.A.

Nirvana: Four songs from three years - should have been more. Kurt Cobain was a gifted songwriter, mediocre guitarist and foolish idiot. He went missing and was found dead of an apparently self-inflicted gunshot wound as my mother was dying slowly of kidney failure. Did I mention Cobain was a foolish idiot?

Paul Revere & the Raiders: Kicks, #400. One of the first anti-drug songs and a darn good one, thanks to ace producer Terry Melcher, who happens to be Doris Day’s son. The band known for their Revolutionary War era attire appeared regularly on Where the Action Is, Dick Clark’s weekday music show in the 1960s. [11-22-04 update: Today it was announced that Terry Melcher lost his lengthy battle with cancer on Friday, November 19. Melcher was one of the unsung heroes who performed with and produced some titans of rock music, including Brian Wilson, John Phillips, and Gram Parsons. R.I.P.]

Pavement: I consider this alternative band noteworthy only for the single Plant Man by their former drummer, Gary Young. Plant Man was surely the worst song and video ever, so I-can’t-believe-they-let-him-do-that awful that it has achieved cult status.

Tom Petty: Free Fallin’, #177. Petty lost me when he broke up the Heartbreakers, but for six years his talented band made the best American folk-rock since the Byrds. He deserves credit as a songwriter and for making the most of a pinched, whiny voice. His guitarist, Mike Campbell, is one of the best in the history of rock.

The Pixies: Monkey Gone to Heaven, #410. A musical tribute to the style of Neil Young and one of the most delightful surprises on this list. The Pixies was one of the most beguiling bands to come out of the 1980s, but I never understood their lyrics. Was this about an addict who overdosed? I don’t know, but I always crank up the volume when I hear it.

The Police: Two songs and a great career ruined by a self-important singer. Stewart Copeland may be the best drummer in rock history.

Elvis Presley: A founding father of rock who squandered his gifts. Like Rick Nelson, who did not make the list, some of his best work was with legendary guitarist James Burton. Paddy McAloon, singer/songwriter extraordinaire of Prefab Sprout (please check out all their recordings), included a suite of odes to Elvis on their Jordan: The Comeback album.

The Rascals, aka The Young Rascals: Good Lovin’, #325. They enjoyed a string of hits, all distinguished by professional vocals when the industry was dominated by charming amateurs. My favorites were A Girl Like You and Ain’t Gonna Eat Out My Heart Anymore.

R.E.M.: Losing My Religion, #169. Absolutely amazing song by a great folk-rock revival band with strong songwriting, arranging and harmonizing.

The Righteous Brothers: You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling, #34. Another Phil Spector Wall of Sound gem. I would add my personal favorite, Just Once in My Life, which was co-written by Carole King.

The Ronettes: Walking in the Rain, #266. Just ahead of Chrissie Hynde of the Pretenders and Shirley Manson of Garbage, I rank Roni Spector as the best all-time female vocalist in rock. Mix in great songwriting and Phil Spector’s trademark production values and you get a song that I would have ranked in the top 15.

The Shangri-Las: Remember (Walkin’ in the Sand), #395. If you want to know what great AM radio sounded like in the mid-1960s, this is it. I played my sister’s 45rpm copy of this song so often that I warped it. This was Shadow Morton’s response to Phil Spector’s girl bands.

Sly & the Family Stone: Six excellent songs from the first funky band to hit it big. Hot Fun in the Summertime remains a seasonal classic.

The Smiths: Only two songs from the most acclaimed band of the 1980s, William, It Was Really Nothing at #425 and How Soon Is Now at #486, which is shockingly low for a song whose influence I cannot overstate. Johnny Marr and Morrissey were treated by the British press as the second coming of the Beatles. At a minimum, I would have added There Is a Light That Never Goes Out and ranked them all in the top 100.

Bruce Springsteen: Three songs, with Born to Run registering at #21. I remember the jolt I felt the first time I heard the anthem, which was so chock full of musical goodies that it was almost too much for the scaled-back 1970s. I still think his first three albums were the best.

Tina Turner: River Deep, Mountain High, #33. A grand, soaring song that Phil Spector envisioned as his crowning achievement was a commercial failure. The effect of this disappointment on Spector’s mindset is legendary. Still Tina’s best performance.

U2: One deservedly at #36 plus five others. I would add Two Hearts and In God’s Country. Bono is only a smidge less self-important than Sting.

Dionne Warwick: Walk on By, #70. Burt Bacharach is one of our finest songwriters and no singer has benefited more from his largesse than Dionne Warwick. My favorites of their collaborations are Anyone Who Had a Heart and A House Is Not a Home, which choke me up every time.

Stevie Wonder: Four songs, not nearly enough for the wunderkind of Motown who dominated R&B in the 1970s. I would add If You Really Love Me, Golden Lady, Superwoman, Creepin’, Isn’t She Lovely, Knocks Me Off My Feet.

Neil Young: Three songs, not enough for my husband or any true fan.


Here are some artists omitted from the list and their songs that I would select for my list.

America: Tin Man

Tori Amos: Silent All These Years

Aztec Camera: Oblivious

Joan Baez: Diamonds and Rust

The Beautiful South: My Book, Song for Whoever, A Little Time, Let Love Speak up Itself, Old Red Eyes Is Back

Ben Folds Five: Where’s Summer B, Alice Childress, Underground, Fair, Brick, Don’t Change Your Plans, Army, Your Redneck Past, Jane

The Blue Nile: Downtown Lights

Bread: It Don't Matter to Me

Kate Bush: Running up That Hill, This Woman's Work, Sensual World

The Cardigans: Carnival

The Cars: My Best Friend’s Girlfriend, Just What I Needed, Bye Bye Love, Good Times Roll

Chicago: Questions 67 & 68

The Church: Under the Milky Way, Feel, Reptile

Jim Croce: Time in a Bottle

Crowded House: Don’t Dream It’s Over, World Where You Live, I Feel Possessed, Into Temptation, Never Be the Same, Love This Life, Sister Madly, Fall at Your Feet, Weather with You, Whispers and Moans, Four Seasons in One Day

Duran Duran: Save a Prayer

Ian Dury and the Blockheads: Sex and Drugs and Rock'n'Roll

Echo and the Bunnymen: Killing Moon

Walter Egan: Magnet and Steel

Electric Light Orchestra: Can’t Get It Out of My Head, Strange Magic

The Foundations: Baby, Now That I've Found You

Garbage: Special

The Grays: Very Best Years

The Guess Who: These Eyes

Richard Harris: MacArthur Park

Heaven 17: Let Me Go

Human League: Don’t You Want Me

Janis Ian: At Seventeen

Chris Isaak: Wicked Game

Joe Jackson: Right and Wrong, Steppin’ Out

Jellyfish: Bedspring Kiss, That Is Why, Ghost at Number One

Kansas: Dust in the Wind

King Crimson: Heartbeat

Nick Lowe/Rockpile: Cruel to Be Kind, I Love the Sound of Breaking Glass, Marie Provost, Switchboard Susan

Don McLean: American Pie

Rick Nelson: Traveling Man

Oasis: Wonderwall, Live Forever, Don’t Go Away, She’s Electric, Acquiesce, Don’t Look Back in Anger

The Outsiders: Time Won't Let Me

Pet Shop Boys: West End Girls, Love Comes Quickly, What Have I Done to Deserve This

The Power Station: Some Like It Hot

Prefab Sprout: When Love Breaks Down, Appetite, Horsin’ Around, Desire As, Life of Surprises, Pearly Gates, Tiffany’s, World Awake, Looking for Atlantis, Wild Horses, Machine Gun Ibiza, Jordan: The Comeback, Moondog, Ice Maiden, Michael, Mercy

The Pretenders: Brass in Pocket, Stop Your Sobbing, Message of Love

The Psychedelic Furs: Love My Way, Pretty in Pink

The Replacements: I’ll Be You, Alex Chilton, The Last

Todd Rundgren: I Saw the Light, Hello It’s Me, We Gotta Get You a Woman

Seal: Crazy, Prayer for the Dying

Siouxsie and the Banshees: Spellbound, Cities in Dust

The Smashing Pumpkins: 1979

The Smithereens: Blood and Roses, Only a Memory

Split Enz: I Got You, One Step Ahead, Message to My Girl, Dirty Creature

Squeeze: Tempted, Last Time Forever

Steam: Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye

Steely Dan: Dirty Work, Only a Fool Would Say That, Any Major Dude, Through with Buzz, My Old School, Doctor Wu, Any World That I’m Welcome to, Kid Charlemagne, The Fez, Haitian Divorce, Peg, Deacon Blues, Josie, FM

The Stray Cats: Stray Cat Strut

The Sundays: Here’s Where the Story Ends

Supertramp: Logical Song

Talk Talk: It’s My Life, Life’s What You Make It

The Talking Heads: Take Me to the River, Psycho Killer

Tears for Fears: Pale Shelter, Mad World, Change

10CC: Cry, I’m Not in Love, Things We Do for Love, Dreadlock Holiday

The Trashcan Sinatras: Only Tongue Will Tell, You Made Me Feel

The Turtles: Happy Together

The Waterboys: The Whole of the Moon

XTC: Dear God, King for a Day, Mayor of Simpleton, Cynical Days, Chalkhills and Children

The Yardbirds: For Your Love, Shapes of Things

Afterthoughts. How could I have forgotten?

Phil Collins: In the Air Tonight

Peter Gabriel: Solsbury Hill

Icehouse: No Promises

Kajagoogoo: Too Shy

k.d. lang: Constant Craving

Muse: Time Is Running Out

The New Radicals: You Only Get What You Give

Jimmy Ruffin: What Becomes of the Broken Hearted

Toad the Wet Sprocket: All I Want

Pete Yorn: Come Back Home

It's Turkey Time

In baseball, three strikes equal one batter out. In bowling, three strikes in a row equal one turkey. By sending Porter Goss and Condi Rice to clean up the CIA and State Department respectively, this week President Bush unleashed retaliatory strikes against two of the most reform-averse institutions obstructing our war on terror. If he goes after one more, and I have the perfect target in mind, Bush could bag a turkey that will make all the left-wing nuts cry fowl.

Here’s a clue: $3 billion.

According to a State Department report, “The United States is the largest financial contributor to the UN and has been every year since its creation in 1945. We provided more than $3 billion in contributions, both cash and in-kind, to the UN system in 2002. (In-kind contributions include items such as food donations for the World Food Program). The United States funded 22 percent of the UN regular budget, as well as more than 27 percent of the peacekeeping budget. Additionally, the United States provides a significant amount in voluntary contributions to the UN and UN-affiliated organizations and activities, mostly for humanitarian and development programs.”

That ain't chicken scratch. As the U.N.'s most generous benefactor, we are the golden goose that laid a rotten egg. We have been betrayed by our so-called allies there who feast on coq au vin and chicken Kiev, and all we got is this stupid bill.

The House International Relations Committee, chaired by my favorite old coot Henry Hyde, may have uncovered a connection between the U.N. oil-for-food program that feathered Saddam Hussein’s nest and the deposed despot’s multimillion dollar fund used to pay families of Palestinian suicide bombers in Israel. Regrettably, that other wise owl from Illinois, Phil Crane, will be flying the coop at the end of this term.

Daring to engage Secretary General Kofi Annan in a high-stakes game of chicken with his Senate Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations, Norm Coleman crowed to columnist Robert Novak, “In seeing what is happening at the U.N, I am more troubled today than ever. I see a sinkhole of corruption.” Coleman is the junior senator from Minnesota, the literary launch pad for the Northern Alliance, featuring Chad the Elder of Fraters Libertas who has generously linked to this blog and whose other nom de plume is Peeps. Their senior senator, Mark Dayton, has been certified as a cuckoo by Robert "Sheets" Byrd, the Senate's foremost authority on loony behavior. My state, California, is represented by two chicks, one of whom is a dovish dodo.

Don't expect the MSM to spend much time reporting these developments. The peacock network, NBC, is too busy rewinding their video and taking cheap shots at the Marines. Thus far Annan is getting a free ride from the press while ducking requests for cooperation from both committees and his hand-picked investigator, Paul Volcker, is parroting his line of resistance. Instead Annan went off half-cocked, sniping at Bush about Fallujah like an ostrich with his head buried in quicksand. Two can play that game.

Bush is in the catbird seat to grab Annan by the McNuggets and make him sing like a soprano canary or, better yet, a Soprano canary. The U.N. is long overdue for its day of reckoning and that will truly be a day for thanksgiving. As the Vice President might say, "Go flock yourself."

Capital Idea

Mr. Spellcheck and I have an uneasy relationship. I compose my blog posts in Microsoft Word, so I do need him, but he can be a petty critic. Lord knows I could use an editor, but it ain’t gonna be him (spellcheck that!). Actually, we get along much better when I write than when I edit. If space is really limited, I resort to what I call the DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles) method of editing, wherein I remove all vowels and the reader is left to decipher what looks like a personalized license plate.

After years of working together, he still objects to my use of the passive voice. Occasionally, just to humor him, I let him convert a sentence or two to the active voice, often to hilarious effect. This past week when I was feeling poorly, I was tempted to give up the fight and let him have his way with an extra long post, wondering if readers would notice any difference from my usual gobbledy-gook (a term with which apparently he is not familiar). Then I figured, let him get his own blog. Everyone’s doing it. We’ll see how many errors he makes.

One thing I don’t understand is his random use of capitalization. He likes to capitalize Internet and Web as if they are deities instead of commonplace tools accessible to nearly every home and workplace. Well, I think I have a better idea. Since my newly installed Sitemeter tells me I have a half-dozen readers and yet have received nary a complaint, I am going to spend the capital from my mandate to capitalize or not capitalize as I please.

Some very important things are capitalized, like Mr. and Mrs. Then why not Marriage, Family, Friends, Freedom, Democracy, Military, Soldiers, Troops? I would add Politics and Conservatism to that list, plus Reading, Writing, Music, Laughter, Work, Faith, Love. There is nothing more necessary to Life than Food and Water. At a minimum, Food should be capitalized in order of difficulty of preparation: Souffle, Mousse, Turkey Dinner With All The Trimmings.

I note that Tivo and its cable equivalent, DVR, are rightly capitalized. TV is capitalized, but what about Widescreen TV? Remote Control? Video Games? Recliner? Laptop Computer? Camera Phone? Mr. Spellcheck must lead a very ascetic life. He would capitalize none of these.

I don’t think he should be in charge of deciding what’s culturally important. I would leave e. e. cummings where he belongs but send him some company: michael moore, tina brown, e. j. dionne, paul krugman, maureen dowd, al hunt and judy woodruff. If it were up to Mr. S, the new york times, msnbc, cbs, abc, dan rather, mark halperin, paul begala, james carville, katie couric, chris matthews, and lawrence o’donnell would all appear more upstanding than they deserve. You can create your own lists, but be prepared for him to bleed red and green all over your document.

To those of us who paid attention during English class, Mr. Spellcheck can be a nuisance. To most of the world, he is the only connection to proper grammar and spelling. After all, he is simply trying to promote traditional standards of style that facilitate communication in a respectful way. The service he provides is honorable, conservative, and thankless, if my attitude is typical. By conservative, I mean paleoconservative.

I apologize for those other names I called him. I notice that they are not in his vocabulary. ’m I bad. He could teach me a few things.