They look like rhythmically challenged white people to me. It’s probably a good thing their clapping and snapping wasn’t included in the sound recording!
Yesterday’s _Times_ brought the seemingly-endless obituary of George Jones, together with a feature story in which Michael Buble took his backup singers down into the subway at Lincoln Center to fill a guitar case with tips and literally “build traffic” under a new album. It should be possible to bridge a blog comment between two pillars like that, but I feel as dry as a watering hole in late August. Oh, yeah: the caption said that Buble was wearing a “tuxedo,” but it looked like one of the skinny-tie concoctions I had to wear back in the ninth grade. What’s happening to sartorial vocabulary? And I liked that twin-necked guitar!
Excellent and appropriate use of the word “dude,” though, koshembos! (A “dude” in cowboy terms is an urban easterner who likes to come out west to play cowboy at a “dude ranch,” for example.)
Theodore Roosevelt was a dude. The historian Francis Parkman was a dude, too. Most of our movie and teevee cowboys qualified as dudes as well.
I’m a dude too! The first time I crossed the Hudson River there was a farmer milking a cow–out in his field!!!, beside a two-lane highway, without any barn–and silver-sided formica diners, and Burma Shave signs, and I know not what else. I’ve been entranced with the west, in that faux-gothamite sort of way, ever since!
Being a Texas writer, I’m not entranced with the West, but I do enjoy the way country music makes you want to smile, almost against your will, even if the lyrics are sad. There’s an undertone of self-mocking humor only found elsewhere, maybe, in Cole Porter?
Historiann 
I used to have a Phil Ochs album with this on it. Brings me back!
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Who the fucken fucke are those assholes standing behind him pretending to clap or snap their fingers!?!?!?!?
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They look like rhythmically challenged white people to me. It’s probably a good thing their clapping and snapping wasn’t included in the sound recording!
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Yesterday’s _Times_ brought the seemingly-endless obituary of George Jones, together with a feature story in which Michael Buble took his backup singers down into the subway at Lincoln Center to fill a guitar case with tips and literally “build traffic” under a new album. It should be possible to bridge a blog comment between two pillars like that, but I feel as dry as a watering hole in late August. Oh, yeah: the caption said that Buble was wearing a “tuxedo,” but it looked like one of the skinny-tie concoctions I had to wear back in the ninth grade. What’s happening to sartorial vocabulary? And I liked that twin-necked guitar!
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Mystery for naturalized dudes.
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Excellent and appropriate use of the word “dude,” though, koshembos! (A “dude” in cowboy terms is an urban easterner who likes to come out west to play cowboy at a “dude ranch,” for example.)
Theodore Roosevelt was a dude. The historian Francis Parkman was a dude, too. Most of our movie and teevee cowboys qualified as dudes as well.
Indyanna, never fear: May is almost here!
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I’m a dude too! The first time I crossed the Hudson River there was a farmer milking a cow–out in his field!!!, beside a two-lane highway, without any barn–and silver-sided formica diners, and Burma Shave signs, and I know not what else. I’ve been entranced with the west, in that faux-gothamite sort of way, ever since!
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Being a Texas writer, I’m not entranced with the West, but I do enjoy the way country music makes you want to smile, almost against your will, even if the lyrics are sad. There’s an undertone of self-mocking humor only found elsewhere, maybe, in Cole Porter?
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