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03-25-02 - 10:56 p.m. The essence of Simon and Garfunkel, really, is the fact that they recorded these soft, quiet songs in their little high-pitched voices which then end with these elaborate, instense outros that, no matter what the rest of the tune was like, leave you thinking, "Damn that was good." Example: "The Boxer," by Simon and Garfunkel (I giggle every time I say that) is a gentle little song about a boy's sad life. Then suddenly, at the end, you've got this full orchestra backing up the "Ly l-ly, ly l-ly ly ly l-ly" and it always makes me think of the SNL sketch where Artie and Paul sold their souls to Satan to become big-time recording artists. The same principle can be observed in "Bridge Over Troubled Water," as violins end the song and leave you feeling refreshed, like Paul Simon actually will be right behind, like a briiiiiiiidge over trouble wateeeeeer. Yeah so that was completely pointless. I love Paul Simon. There, I said it. I am a Paul Simon fan. All my friends think I'm weird. They just don't appreciate good music. People like Simon and Bob Dylan and James Taylor absolutely astound me. I was talking to Bryan about this earlier today as it occurred to me that, basically, Dylan, Taylor, and Carole King wrote every song EVER. Gaad...I'm such a music dweeb. It disturbs me that I'm always able to match wits with the Music Geek on Beat The Geeks. Tonight Adam sat down by my desk and thanked me for my dedication, adding that I shouldn't be straining myself as much as I am. I didn't think I was overworking myself at all, and I told him so. He replied that a pregnant woman's first duty is to her unborn child, and that means I should be resting and relaxing. "Are you firing me?" I asked him. He smiled his grandfatherly smile. "No," he said, "I just mean you don't need to stay here as long as you do. You're not staying here to avoid going home for any particular reason, are you?" For whatever reason, I felt suddenly defensive. "I live with two gay guys, a puppy, and a cat. What would I be avoiding?" "I just mean I know your mom is sick and you don't seem to be paying her much attention." "I called her last night." "And did you two talk about her illness?" "No." "Hm." "Is that all?" "You're fired." "And you're hilarious." "Does anything fool you?" "Not really." And so our conversation ended. And he went home. I stayed for a while longer, then stopped at my coffeeshop for, y'know, coffee, and came home. So I'm here. Resting. Relaxing. I'll call my mom.
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