Step right up I got a story to tell. It takes place in Old Florida near a wishing well. The names and places may be re-arranged. But what went down is more or less the same. It was midnight in Salt Lake when she got the fateful call about a missing footprint of a Texas Panther paw. It sounded so peculiar, she packed her bags and sent her money in for a Florida Cougar license tag. Turns out Tamiami’s too fast for our liking, gonna hafta ban all the cars and keep it to ten-speed biking, or use lots of ripple strips, you know they work just fine. Or how about painting a panther on a couple of signs.
It isn’t simple, there’s no easy plan.
First a hundred panthers, and how her.
She took The Plan deep into the woods. Panther got one look, he said – “This ain’t no good. We need a bridge that spans from here to “there, Route the traffic down around in boats, or fly it up in the air.” Whatever happened to living on the land? That got lost to development, it’s approved in The Plan. “You mean to tell me, there’s no place left to go? First they stuck me in the mud, next they’ll send us to the snow.” “Oh, you mean the glaciers? Yeah, they’re moving in, too. What once was dry land is seeping in my shoe.” “Hurry up and mix, we’ve gotta pour the plaster before that rain cloud fills the print up any faster!”
Florida is a force sort of like fate
“Would you like some raw hog head?” “No thank you I just ate.”
Story
This song was sung, and then didn’t get sun again for 20 years.
I was in twelfth grade. Cumbersome at first, and plodding. I didn’t much see the point. And then it clicked — and I was off to the races typing lightspeeds faster than I could write. The irony was in 10th grade, just two years before, my brother typed my American History paper (Topic: Should Eisenhower have crossed the Elbe River Faster?) for me. That makes me laugh because to this day my brother types with two fingers. It’s painful to watch, whereas I mastered using all eight fingers and both thumbs.
Fast forward three decades later I have to remind myself to even pick up a pen. And how quaint even now a typewriter seems in retrospect. Increasingly, I’m too lazy to even thumb out an email, let alone a text with ample impossible to interpret autocorrects — and even resorting to just audio transcribing into my phone to respond to texts and emails. What is the world coming to! Oh, and how the mighty have fallen. If my 18 year old self could see me now, I really wonder what he would say. Instead of reading books and handwriting long letters to distant friends, here I am lost in my thoughts of how things used to be. I’m not saying the typewriter was a slippery slope, but what I am saying is that this song stayed handwritten. It never got typed out or saved into a computer as a Word file.
The topic? My then boss was turning fifty, 2 years younger than I am now. At the time, he seemed so much older, but maybe that’s because everything is relative. What’s that saying: “Better late than never?” Final note: I couldn’t make the big event, but not wanting to be left out or contribute in someway, I wrote this song — and here’s the funny part: I recorded it on a cassette tape. No joke. I wonder if Ron still has that tape now, and if so, and probably the more impossible feat — If he has a tape recorder to play it on?
The only known antidote: Get up and brush it off. And I don’t speak from experience. I’m only saying it as a last resort. These past few months I’ve been going through a song-writing lull. The good news: I’ve seriously gone through my archive and put my songs to memory. I am now capable of playing any number of song sets. The problem is: I’ve left a lot of half-baked songs languish on the window sill. I’m not saying I’m not going to eventually get back up on the horse and gallop full speed ahead. But there are times I wish I was a full time nature-folk balladeer instead of doing the balancing act of being a hydrologist, every night campfire host, performing late night campfire concerts, maintaining a podcast and also trying to put the finishing touches on a fourth installment of a major literary work. Bogged down? Only to the uninitiated. There’s an old saying: If you want something done, ask a busy person. The corollary is: being bogged down is just a momentary state of finally breaking through to the promised land.
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What music genre is Bobby Angel generally known for?
Correct answer: B
Bobby Angel's musical inspiration is rooted in the trees and the natural world around him. His simple acoustic guitar approach, usually playing without a microphone and primarily singing to the squirrels is the hallmark of his craft. His songs are inspired form and intended to inspire people about nature.
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