Salt my wounds, chlorine my eyes, I�m a self-destructive fool
It felt like summer today for the first time all year. To celebrate, and prolong my procrastination in other areas, I started a mix CD of seasonal songs that starts with The Swimming Song by Loudon Wainwright III.
It�s truly more of a beginning-of-autumn song, a wistful look back on the swimming he did over the summer. Picture a kid riding in the back of a family sedan, gazing out the window as the car drives away from the beach, back to town and the real world and the start of school. In a sense, I could congratulate myself on getting an early start to my Labor Day Weekend Mix �07. Do you see how this simple mental game allows me to recast my failures as successes? Take note, beautiful friends, and follow my lead.
I ran into Loudon Wainwright III a few days ago, almost literally. He was coming around a corner I approached from the opposite direction. He is not someone I know, but I recognized him. It was a magical encounter, which I will now recount for you in the form of a play, which you may feel free to act out using finger puppets or civil servants as cast members:
Loudon and Me: A Love for All Time
Two figures approach a corner from opposite directions. Loudon Wainwright III, a man, is wearing sunglasses, a floppy hat and casual clothes. Violet, a lithe and sinuous brunette of startling intensity overlaid with elegance and hottness, is dressed in a white bikini and gold Pucci platforms, carrying a caipirinha and a hardbound copy of Ashley�s Book of Knots.
The two figures nearly collide at the corner.
Violet: (smiling) Hello!
Loudon Wainwright III: (smiling back) Hello.
Each continues on his way.
End Scene
Give it a couple of tries, see how it plays. I will tell you that, having been there, this re-creation reads VERY real. The dialogue is dead-on.
I don�t want to give too much away, but a couple of producers have expressed interest in it, so I�m exploring my options.
Or, I will explore them, at some point.
No sense rushing things.
Star of the day. . .Alan Lomax