Tag: George Michael – Freedom! ’90

Quick Quark…

Dear Reader, this has been my last week of…

freedom.gif

*No, Clicky… /rolls eyes… of unemployment…*

…And to celebrate, I have spent it doing… */thinks* … erm, fuck all really…

you go girl

*Ah, I always appreciate your encouragement, Clicky… /pats snout…*

Yesterday, I took time out to watch three old movies from the 80s – one I’d never heard of before called ‘Back to the Beach‘…

https://youtu.be/ari4qYQXAHc

*Completely mad, Clicky… that Song featured in Cade’s last missive…*

…and two old favourites. The first, a detective love story…

*”Be careful among them English” …Ah Witness… I love that film…*

witness look

*Yeah, yeah I saw ‘Wallace’ in the wiki entry too, Clicky… /sigh… Look, it’s not exactly ‘freedom’ if your significant other has to work extra hours ‘cos you’re not paying your way…*

*Er, Thoughtful Man is not a prostitute! And his ‘for hire’ sign is not red, it’s orange… /slaps forehead… Oh yeah, Clicky, the other film…*

… And the second movie, a romantic comedy, starring Steve Martin…

In 1963, when I assigned the name “quark” to the fundamental constituents of the nucleon, I had the sound first, without the spelling, which could have been “kwork”. Then, in one of my occasional perusals of Finnegans Wake, by James Joyce, I came across the word “quark” in the phrase “Three quarks for Muster Mark”. Since “quark” (meaning, for one thing, the cry of the gull) was clearly intended to rhyme with “Mark”, as well as “bark” and other such words, I had to find an excuse to pronounce it as “kwork”. But the book represents the dream of a publican named Humphrey Chimpden Earwicker. Words in the text are typically drawn from several sources at once, like the “portmanteau” words in Through the Looking-Glass. From time to time, phrases occur in the book that are partially determined by calls for drinks at the bar. I argued, therefore, that perhaps one of the multiple sources of the cry “Three quarks for Muster Mark” might be “Three quarts for Mister Mark”, in which case the pronunciation “kwork” would not be totally unjustified. In any case, the number three fitted perfectly the way quarks occur in nature.

irony

*Well, quite… But chuck in a white coat…*

*About time for a final Song eh, Clicky? …/squints… And don’t even think of giving us Alanis Morisette… not a single line in that Song is ironic…*

Have a wonderful Bank Holiday weekend, Dear Reader. Have a Song…

I’m Possible…*/dreaming…*

Dear Reader, a Song has been going around my head for days now…

The other night I even had a dream about it, except… Well, it wasn’t George Michael singing it but another dead crooner, Frank Sinatra…

pink-news-sinatra-letter-to-michael

*Oh, I remember seeing the headline at the time, Clicky, but I hadn’t read the letter… Shall we?*

Dear Friends,

When I saw your Calendar cover today about George Michael, “the reluctant pop star,” my first reaction was he should thank the good Lord every morning when he wakes up to have all that he has. And that’ll make two of us thanking God every morning for all that we have.

*Calendar? Hmm… I’ve posted about a Calendar recently, Clicky…*

*Well unlike a standard calendar, it did have 13 months, Clicky… /wink… Come on, back to the frank letter…*

I don’t understand a guy who lives “in hopes of reducing the strain of his celebrity status.” Here’s a kid who “wanted to be a pop star since I was about 7 years old.” And now that he’s a smash performer and songwriter at 27 he wants to quit doing what tons of gifted youngsters all over the world would shoot grandma for — just one crack at what he’s complaining about.

*Oh, in a musical mood are we, Clicky? …/furrows brow… I don’t know about ‘moving’ so much, the letter does seem kinda pointed…*

Come on, George. Loosen up. Swing, man, Dust off those gossamer wings and fly yourself to the moon of your choice and be grateful to carry the baggage we’ve all had to carry since those lean nights of sleeping on buses and helping the driver unload the instruments.

*1990… /tilts head… Maybe Frank’s words did hit home, then…*

And no more of that talk about “the tragedy of fame.” The tragedy of fame is when no one shows up and you’re singing to the cleaning lady in some empty joint that hasn’t seen a paying customer since Saint Swithin’s day. And you’re nowhere near that; you’re top dog on the top rung of a tall ladder called Stardom, which in Latin means thanks-to-the-fans who were there when it was lonely.

*/smiles… The lad from Hobo Ken did have a point…*

Talent must not be wasted. Those who have it — and you obviously do or today’s Calendar cover article would have been about Rudy Vallee — those who have talent must hug it, embrace it, nurture it and share it lest it be taken away from you as fast as it was loaned to you.

*Yeah… Seems George did manage to turn ‘the tragedy of fame’ into something else…*

Trust me. I’ve been there.

*Ahh… Thanks, Clicky! …/shakes head… Wow! You’ve managed to knock the song-worm out of my head…*

*/pats snout… Have a Song…/:D…*