Margaret is a-Musing

I so could kick myself for not thinking of that pun until long after I had created this blog and captured my blogspot URL. Oh well. (That's a deep subject.)

Puns are on my mind at the moment, not just because I think myself a-musing. I read a book today (a sure sign I am procrastinating about something else. In this case, it is a talk I am to give in a week.) The book is Maybe. (Maybe not.) by Robert Fulghum. (The same guy who wrote All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. Also a Unitarian minister.) I recommend this book highly. When I wasn't laughing, I was in tears. (Good tears.)

Anyway...in one chapter he talks about a friend playing a trick on him and signing him up for all these weird organizations (which really do exist). One of them was the International Save the Pun Foundation.

Well, that got my attention! I joined right away. (I think I joined. It's hard to tell.)

I submitted my first pun, which by the way, is original and created while on our first trip to Cape Cod. Here it is:

Q. What did the Language Professor wear when she went to the beach?
A. Why, a diphthong, of course!

I submitted it in the name of the "Original Pearson Punster," Hal Pearson. (Easter Sunday was the 5th anniversary of his passing.)

OK, so my next pun is (thought of today):
Q. What do you call a liaison with a mental health professional?
A. A psyhchia “tryst.”

Groans are expected. It's just as good as applause to punsters.

Good day. Have a pun weekend.

Thanks, Dad.

The (little) Free Things in Life

I'll add to this list as life goes on. But here are a few things I love:

• That first moment of a hot shower.
• That steam facial when opening the dishwasher.
• The first sip of beer on a hot day.
• "Beer ice" when you put beer into one of those frozen mugs.
• That moment in Yosemite Valley as you drive in when you can see both sides of the walls at once and it takes your breath away. Even when you work there and you see it 5 times a week.
• Daffodils blooming in February. They just seem so optimistic.

What's on your list?

Musing about Monkee Music

I am no expert on music, but I've been enjoying it quite a lot lately, especially since I have discovered iTunes, taking individual songs from "old" CD's already in my collection and burning my own "mix" CD's. Yes, I know it took me a few extra years to be finally "in" the 21st century. Better late than never.

Today's musing is about the Monkees. The "Pre-Fab Four." Yes, the "Hey, Hey We're the Monkees!" Monkees. You didn't think I had misspelled the other kind of monkey, did you? (SpellCheck thinks so.)

I am a true child of the 60's. Meaning, I was a child in the 1960's. My older sister and I raced home to watch Dark Shadows, and we didn't miss The Monkees, The Partridge Family or Lost in Space. (Or the Smothers Brothers if Mom and Dad let us stay up that late. No wonder we're all Democrats now! Butterfly alert: I have been personally kissed and hugged by Dick Smothers--in full view of my husband and elderly parents, I might add.)

Back to the Monkees. For years, I was in love with Davy Jones. He was little, cute and British. What was not to love? I was little, cute and, well, American. His instrument of choice (after his voice, that is) was the tamborine--something I imagined, that I, too could play. I swooned over the song I Want to be Free. It was pretty, had the word bluebird in it, and of course, Davy sang it. What more could an eight year old want? Well, when I heard it again as an adult (and actually listened to the lyrics), my whole image of Davy was shot straight to heck. I realized what a schmo he was being. Wanted a girl to be there for him, and yet wanted his "freedom" too, eh? Geez, what a loser. Girls, run from this kind of schmuck, please. Who buys the cow when you can get the milk for free, huh? (Such an ironic phrase for me to use considering I'm a vegan and I hate referring to women as cows. Maybe "Why buy the soybean field when you can get the soymilk for free? Or...Why buy the vineyard when you can get the wine for free? or... Why grow the wheat when you can get the seitan for free?" I think you get it. I'll have to work on getting those into the popular vernacular.)

So, my love affair from afar ended with the little guy. My thoughts turned to Mike Nesmith, the only purported "musician" in the bunch. But really, he held no interest. (Sorry, Mike.)

There there's Peter Tork. Poor old Peter, always a befuddled look on his face. Always a few steps behind his Monkee-mates. And the rumors that he had gotten into drugs. But in reality, this was the best and classically trained musician of the group. Yes, he had taken a turn into drugs and alcohol, which got him into trouble. Seems he's out of it now and has been for years. In an interview he said he was most proud of "Riu Chiu," sung acappella by the four in a Christmas special. See it below for a real Monkee-treat.

But really, start listening to Micky Dolenz. A wonderful voice and another true talent. In the Davy-shrouded fog of my youth, I didn't realize that Micky sang lead vocal on so many of their songs. (Last Train to Clarksville, Pleasant Valley Sunday) Yep. Micky's my favorite to listen to now.

In my research for this essay, I ran across a petition to have the Monkees inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I signed it. Will you?

Even though Davy fell out of my favor all over the lyrics to "I Want to be Free," I still love these guys and I know that each one of them is a real talent. We can thank the Monkee's producers for their creation (Bert Schneider and Bob Rafelson), who according to Peter, bankrolled the movie "Easy Rider" with Monkee-money.

Go figure. Only in America.