That evening found me pondering a question men have pondered for many years: Was it really worth two months' salary?
I have to be honest. It didn't seem likely. To put it in practical terms, that's a bunch of rounds of golf. Not to mention several beach trips. No matter how much you love someone or something -- and I do -- it just seemed like too much to spend.
You know, for a pair of football tickets.
But this was THE game. Bama. LSU. National Championship. In New Orleans. (Ironically, the site of the last time I proposed to a girl. Don't worry, I didn't know her name.) So I continued to look desperately for a better deal. There's this guy, Craig Slist (weird name, I know), who sells all kinds of stuff online. I was browsing his site when I saw it:
"Gordon Lightfoot - Alabama Theatre - January 15th"
What? Could it be? Was GLight coming this close? How could I not have heard about it?
It could. He was. And I had not. Perhaps I'm not as "in the loop" as I think? Nonetheless, I was going. (And yes, I'm just now writing about a concert I attended more than two months ago.)
This would be my first visit to the Alabama Theatre, located in Birmingham. Having looked up some info online, I found it was built in 1927. Not knowing anything about architectural styles, I think I can best describe the theatre like this: It looked like what I imagine the theatre where Lincoln was shot probably looked like.
Before the show started, several people were taking pictures of the inside of the theatre. It had a classy feel to it. To wit, there was one section of seats called a "dress circle," which I will confess I was afraid to purchase tickets in because I thought maybe the people who sat there were required to wear formal dress. I mean, would my Argyle be classy enough?
So we sat on the floor. Row 13. Even though I only purchased tickets the day before the show. I found that to be a little sad.
There was no opening act, which I have come to prefer in my late summer years as it has gotten difficult to sit for two hours without becoming stiff. Gordon took the stage with a simple four-piece band, and launched right into the set.
The first thing you notice is the voice isn't as strong. I suppose time and health issues have taken their toll. I remember reading he had been in a coma for six weeks some years back after suffering a ruptured abdominal aneurysm. And then five or six years ago, he had a light stroke.
He struggled at times with the high notes, and you had to strain to hear in a few places. But in a way, it worked to make the show more intimate. A small, half-filled venue. The audience quiet and focused on every word. All except for one (hopefully) drunken female who continually shouted in her native Southern tongue, "Yeeeaaah baybeeee!" and also yelled for "Freebird" once.
Lightfoot never missed a single lyric that I could tell, as he sang probably 20 to 25 songs from his abundant catalog. There were songs I'd forgotten about, such as "Early Mornin' Rain" and "Ribbons Of Darkness," which was a big hit for Marty Robbins. And of course, he did the expected favorites, "Rainy Day People," "Carefree Highway," and the still-haunting "Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald."
You couldn't close your eyes and pretend it was forty years ago. You couldn't. But you could open your eyes and appreciate the moment, and what you were experiencing. A prolific and phenomenal songwriter, and gifted storyteller, doing what he's done seemingly forever. And I'll always be thankful I had the opportunity to be there for it.
When he sang "Song For A Winter's Night," I thought of all the thousands of winter nights that song must have been listened to by some lonely soul somewhere. And not just listened to, but felt.
And in Bone-is-a-Wikipedia-nerd news, I'd read that Gordon's daughter had asked him to change a line in "If You Could Read My Mind" from "The feelings that you lack" to "The feelings that we lack." So I was curious to see if he still made that change. He did.
I also hearkened back to the first time I heard that song. In the car. At night. Far from home. And I remember wishing it wouldn't end.
That was the night I discovered Gordon Lightfoot. Back then, the thought of ever seeing him in concert wasn't even a possibility I considered. But maybe I was always meant to. It's funny how things like that work out sometimes.
As for the football game, I opted to save my money and watch it on TV. Guess I'll have to come up with something else to spend that two months' salary on.
What, I have no idea.
"Once upon a time, once upon a day, when I was in my prime, once along the way. If you want to know an answer, I can't turn your life around. For I am just a painter passing through the underground..."
Showing posts with label Birmingham. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Birmingham. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Tuesday, March 06, 2012
"Now I know how Jimmy Buffett feels..."
I've always considered myself and Jimmy Buffett to be kindred spirits. Let's take a look at the facts: We both love the beach. We've both blown out a flip-flop, granted with varying degrees of notoriety. He writes songs. I wish I could write songs. He's the son of a son of a sailor. I've.... been on a boat before. I think we can all agree that any more examples would only serve to cloud my point.
And so, when I saw he was coming to Birmingham, subtle hints were strategically dropped into everyday conversation.
Things like:
"Jimmy Buffett is coming to Birmingham!"
"Hint, hint, birthday, hint."
"That would probably make a really great gift for someone who has a birthday in February." (Ed.'s note: The "someone" in that sentence is really me.)
OK, so not so subtle. But it got the job done. Tickets were procured and a concert was attended.
I must say it was a little odd to be wearing a winter coat to a Jimmy Buffett concert. But temps were supposed to be in the thirties for once, and I'm just manly like that.
He, of course, came on stage in shorts and flip-flops. Then again, I'm fairly certain he didn't have to hike ten blocks to get to the arena. It's all about the free parking for me. It's more the principle than the cost, or so I tell myself.
This was my first Buffett concert and one of the curiosities I had was whether all the Parrotheads would also be potheads. Much like when I attended that Willie Nelson concert a couple of years ago, I wondered if I would experience a second-hand high. Or low. Or whatever you get. I don't know, I've never even smoked a cigarette.
Those concerns seemed to be unfounded. For I have walked amongst the Parrotheads, and maintained my inhibitions. Although after the show I did notice I scarfed down my food at Chili's like I hadn't eaten in two weeks.
Buffett, as comfortable on stage as he (or I) would be on the open sea, moved seamlessly through familiar favorites "Volcano," "Fins," "Come Monday," "Changes In Latitudes, Changes In Attitudes," and of course, "Margaritaville." There was newer fare, such as "Trip Around The Sun," "It's Five O'clock Somewhere," and "Knee Deep," which featured a guest appearance by a member of the Zac Brown Band.
He also sang several songs about Alabama, which is one of 3 or 4 home states claimed by the Head Parrot. There was the expected "Bama Breeze" and "Sweet Home Alabama" (replete with audience chants of "Roll Tide Roll"). But there were also a couple of songs I'd forgotten about: "Birmingham" and "Stars Fell On Alabama."
Then following an encore of three or four songs, the band left the stage again. But Jimmy stayed behind to do one last number, by himself, for the home-state crowd. Almost like he didn't want to leave.
After that, we went our separate ways -- he to his Hush-Puppy-wearing, island-hopping, sponge-cake-nibblin' ways; me to begin the ten-block hike back to reality.
The guy who wrote Wikipedia describes Jimmy Buffett's music as "often portraying an 'island escapism' lifestyle." Now there's an ideology I can embrace!
Yep, kindred spirits.
"I got a school boy heart, a novelist's eye, a stout sailor's legs and a license to fly. I got a bartender's ear and a beachcomber's style..."
And so, when I saw he was coming to Birmingham, subtle hints were strategically dropped into everyday conversation.
Things like:
"Jimmy Buffett is coming to Birmingham!"
"Hint, hint, birthday, hint."
"That would probably make a really great gift for someone who has a birthday in February." (Ed.'s note: The "someone" in that sentence is really me.)
OK, so not so subtle. But it got the job done. Tickets were procured and a concert was attended.
I must say it was a little odd to be wearing a winter coat to a Jimmy Buffett concert. But temps were supposed to be in the thirties for once, and I'm just manly like that.
He, of course, came on stage in shorts and flip-flops. Then again, I'm fairly certain he didn't have to hike ten blocks to get to the arena. It's all about the free parking for me. It's more the principle than the cost, or so I tell myself.
This was my first Buffett concert and one of the curiosities I had was whether all the Parrotheads would also be potheads. Much like when I attended that Willie Nelson concert a couple of years ago, I wondered if I would experience a second-hand high. Or low. Or whatever you get. I don't know, I've never even smoked a cigarette.
Those concerns seemed to be unfounded. For I have walked amongst the Parrotheads, and maintained my inhibitions. Although after the show I did notice I scarfed down my food at Chili's like I hadn't eaten in two weeks.
Buffett, as comfortable on stage as he (or I) would be on the open sea, moved seamlessly through familiar favorites "Volcano," "Fins," "Come Monday," "Changes In Latitudes, Changes In Attitudes," and of course, "Margaritaville." There was newer fare, such as "Trip Around The Sun," "It's Five O'clock Somewhere," and "Knee Deep," which featured a guest appearance by a member of the Zac Brown Band.
He also sang several songs about Alabama, which is one of 3 or 4 home states claimed by the Head Parrot. There was the expected "Bama Breeze" and "Sweet Home Alabama" (replete with audience chants of "Roll Tide Roll"). But there were also a couple of songs I'd forgotten about: "Birmingham" and "Stars Fell On Alabama."
Then following an encore of three or four songs, the band left the stage again. But Jimmy stayed behind to do one last number, by himself, for the home-state crowd. Almost like he didn't want to leave.
After that, we went our separate ways -- he to his Hush-Puppy-wearing, island-hopping, sponge-cake-nibblin' ways; me to begin the ten-block hike back to reality.
The guy who wrote Wikipedia describes Jimmy Buffett's music as "often portraying an 'island escapism' lifestyle." Now there's an ideology I can embrace!
Yep, kindred spirits.
"I got a school boy heart, a novelist's eye, a stout sailor's legs and a license to fly. I got a bartender's ear and a beachcomber's style..."
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Seven degrees... of something
It is 19 degrees here at the moment. That's one of two reasons I'd rather be in Pasadena. The low Friday night is supposed to be seven.
Seven.
Seven is a lot of things -- how old you are when you're in the second grade, the number of abominable sins, what George Costanza wanted to name his firstborn. It should never be a temperature.
I have the intention to do some sort of year-end post, eventually. Of course, the road to sparse blogging is paved with good intentions. I'll be the only person to do a decade retrospective in March. Apparently, I've resolved to procrastinate even more in 2010. And be even less productive. Sort of anti-resolutions, I guess you could say.
In the meantime, the new decade got off to a rousing start with the Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert in Birmingham Saturday night. Great balls of fire! No, I mean there literally were balls of fire shooting up from the stage, along with smoke, lasers, fireworks -- it was like a rock concert.
The best part of all? There was no opening act. TSO played the whole time! Two-and-a-half hours of auditory and visual delight. I wish more artists would take a cue from them. The ticket prices were reasonable. Granted, we had to duck to avoid hitting our heads on the ceiling of the arena, but still.
The only minor disappointment of the evening was that there was no "guest maestro" segment where they let a member of the audience come on stage and conduct a song. Is there any doubt I would have turned that mutha out on Mad Russian's Christmas?
Next up, we have the national championship game on Thursday night--the "other" reason I wish I was in Pasadena. I don't want to say anything else about that for fear of jinxing something. But combine those two events with the fact that I have signed up to run a 5K at the Nashville Zoo later this month, and I'm hopeful I may have finally found the formula to ward off the Januarys this year.
If that doesn't work, I'll just revert to my usual hibernatory self.
Also, I should probably take down my Christmas tree at some point. Ah, but those pesky anti-resolutions doth preclude me.
"I'd be safe and warm if I was in L.A. California dreamin' on such a winter's day..."
Seven.
Seven is a lot of things -- how old you are when you're in the second grade, the number of abominable sins, what George Costanza wanted to name his firstborn. It should never be a temperature.
I have the intention to do some sort of year-end post, eventually. Of course, the road to sparse blogging is paved with good intentions. I'll be the only person to do a decade retrospective in March. Apparently, I've resolved to procrastinate even more in 2010. And be even less productive. Sort of anti-resolutions, I guess you could say.
In the meantime, the new decade got off to a rousing start with the Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert in Birmingham Saturday night. Great balls of fire! No, I mean there literally were balls of fire shooting up from the stage, along with smoke, lasers, fireworks -- it was like a rock concert.
The best part of all? There was no opening act. TSO played the whole time! Two-and-a-half hours of auditory and visual delight. I wish more artists would take a cue from them. The ticket prices were reasonable. Granted, we had to duck to avoid hitting our heads on the ceiling of the arena, but still.
The only minor disappointment of the evening was that there was no "guest maestro" segment where they let a member of the audience come on stage and conduct a song. Is there any doubt I would have turned that mutha out on Mad Russian's Christmas?
Next up, we have the national championship game on Thursday night--the "other" reason I wish I was in Pasadena. I don't want to say anything else about that for fear of jinxing something. But combine those two events with the fact that I have signed up to run a 5K at the Nashville Zoo later this month, and I'm hopeful I may have finally found the formula to ward off the Januarys this year.
If that doesn't work, I'll just revert to my usual hibernatory self.
Also, I should probably take down my Christmas tree at some point. Ah, but those pesky anti-resolutions doth preclude me.
"I'd be safe and warm if I was in L.A. California dreamin' on such a winter's day..."
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Hermit, the blog
Saturday was the 5th Annual Festivus For The Rest Of Us at Bone's. This year's total of 15 Festivites surpassed by one the all-time high of 14, achieved in 2006 and previously considered untouchable. Not only that, we had almost as many females as males this year -- which we'd never even come close to before, it's like the three-minute mile -- with a 7:8 ratio. Let's face it, around here that's as good as it gets.
There seemed to be two main grievances against me this year. One was that I'm non-committal. ("Whenever I ask Bone if he wants to do something, he says 'I don't know, that's still three days away.'" Blah blah blah.) Well, duh. I believe I've already delved into that here, like three years ago. So try and keep up.
The other major grievance was that I can sometimes be anti-social. Actually, I believe "hermit" was the term that was used. Answer me this: What's wrong with hermit? Why is everyone so down on hermit? I mean, Herman's Hermits was one of the biggest-selling bands of the British Invasion. And what about the hermit crab? It is one of the most lovable, easy-to-care-for of all the pets. It just doesn't like to go out a lot.
There was one added feature to this year's Festivus. After we ate, aired grievances and watched the Festivus episode of Seinfeld, we played a game of Scene It Seinfeld. I think we all know whose team won.
A couple other thoughts on Festivus: I'm more impressed by "Silver Pole" with each passing year. When I composed it, I never dreamt it would someday be a centerpiece of the Festivus celebration. Now it's become like the hot girl you somehow scored a few dates with in eleventh grade. You have no idea how it happened and you know you could never attain such heights again, but it still feels good to say, "Yeah, I did that."
Also, when one endeavors to do a thing like host one's own annual Festivus party, one never knows if that thing will be a flop like The Chevy Chase Show or if it will be something that endures for many years and changes people's lives, like Farm Aid. Thus, I am continually surprised at its inexplicable success and thankful to all those who never let me get too high by constantly reminding me of all the ways I disappoint them year after year.
And while I think it may violate some Festivus by-law to mention Festivus and Christmas in the same post, I'm doing it anyway. Some Christmas gifts of interest this year included a houndstooth toboggan, the New Kids On The Block Christmas CD (I only had the cassette!), and tickets to the Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert in Birmingham this weekend. We're gonna party like we're back in the USSR!
I really only received one true head-scratcher this year:
Ah yes, it's a silver elephant ashtray... thingy. At least, it looked like a tiny ashtray. I was later told it was a spoon-holder that goes on the stove. (Oddly enough, I needed one of those.) I just can't imagine the thought process that occurs for someone to see this item and think, "Ooo, that'd be perfect for Bone!"
What's even better is that I have no idea where it came from because, you know, I've never seen anything like it in my entire life, so I can't take it back.
That's all from Hermit Central. I wish you a new year filled with good health and all the things that make you happy.
I, of course, have yet to make New Year's plans.
"Woke up this mornin' feelin' fine. There's somethin' special on my mind. Last night I met a new girl in the neighborhood. Whoa, yeah, somethin' tells me I'm into somethin' good..."
There seemed to be two main grievances against me this year. One was that I'm non-committal. ("Whenever I ask Bone if he wants to do something, he says 'I don't know, that's still three days away.'" Blah blah blah.) Well, duh. I believe I've already delved into that here, like three years ago. So try and keep up.
The other major grievance was that I can sometimes be anti-social. Actually, I believe "hermit" was the term that was used. Answer me this: What's wrong with hermit? Why is everyone so down on hermit? I mean, Herman's Hermits was one of the biggest-selling bands of the British Invasion. And what about the hermit crab? It is one of the most lovable, easy-to-care-for of all the pets. It just doesn't like to go out a lot.
There was one added feature to this year's Festivus. After we ate, aired grievances and watched the Festivus episode of Seinfeld, we played a game of Scene It Seinfeld. I think we all know whose team won.
A couple other thoughts on Festivus: I'm more impressed by "Silver Pole" with each passing year. When I composed it, I never dreamt it would someday be a centerpiece of the Festivus celebration. Now it's become like the hot girl you somehow scored a few dates with in eleventh grade. You have no idea how it happened and you know you could never attain such heights again, but it still feels good to say, "Yeah, I did that."
Also, when one endeavors to do a thing like host one's own annual Festivus party, one never knows if that thing will be a flop like The Chevy Chase Show or if it will be something that endures for many years and changes people's lives, like Farm Aid. Thus, I am continually surprised at its inexplicable success and thankful to all those who never let me get too high by constantly reminding me of all the ways I disappoint them year after year.
And while I think it may violate some Festivus by-law to mention Festivus and Christmas in the same post, I'm doing it anyway. Some Christmas gifts of interest this year included a houndstooth toboggan, the New Kids On The Block Christmas CD (I only had the cassette!), and tickets to the Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert in Birmingham this weekend. We're gonna party like we're back in the USSR!
I really only received one true head-scratcher this year:
Ah yes, it's a silver elephant ashtray... thingy. At least, it looked like a tiny ashtray. I was later told it was a spoon-holder that goes on the stove. (Oddly enough, I needed one of those.) I just can't imagine the thought process that occurs for someone to see this item and think, "Ooo, that'd be perfect for Bone!"
What's even better is that I have no idea where it came from because, you know, I've never seen anything like it in my entire life, so I can't take it back.
That's all from Hermit Central. I wish you a new year filled with good health and all the things that make you happy.
I, of course, have yet to make New Year's plans.
"Woke up this mornin' feelin' fine. There's somethin' special on my mind. Last night I met a new girl in the neighborhood. Whoa, yeah, somethin' tells me I'm into somethin' good..."
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
That time my nipple was on fire
Welcome to the Spring of Bone. The season of my shaven head, if you will. The past few days have been a whirlwind. Thursday was the Kenny Chesney concert. Saturday morning I ran a 10K. And Saturday evening, I had another engagement. Three events in three days! That's a lot, compared to my usual number of zero. Not to mention the season finales of The Office and 24. Plus, Michael coming out of a year-long coma on General Hospital. Whew! I think I need a weekend off to decompress.
Let us begin with the concert: the Kenny Chesney Sun City Carnival Tour. It was held at the Oak Mountain Amphitheatre in Birmingham, a perfect venue for an outdoor concert on a gorgeous Alabama night. It wound up just being the Darryls and me. Jamie was supposed to go, but she got two tickets from a radio station and ditched us. Can't really blame her, considering our tickets were on row V in the very last section. Not bad for 95 bucks. I'm pretty sure it was the worst seat I've ever had at a concert, except for that one year at June Jam when the actual curvature of the Earth itself prevented us from seeing most of the stage.
The opening acts were Lady Antebellum--who we missed because we were stuck in traffic--and Miranda Lambert--who we unfortunately did not miss. She was not very good. There was one highlight, however, when she brought Blake Shelton on stage and he sang a song. I texted my sister, "Blake Shelton just came out!" Well, I noticed she didn't reply for awhile. She told me later she forgot I was at the concert and so when she got my text all she could think was, "Nuh uh! I thought he was dating Miranda Lambert!"
Kenny's part of the show was excellent. He sang about twenty songs. (I have the set list if you'd like. I texted it to myself.) I don't think I realized how many hits he's had until we were on our way home and started naming off at least as many songs that he hadn't sang.
At one point during the show, LJ pulled out a disposable camera, aimed it in the general direction of the figure we thought was most likely Kenny Chesney, and started clicking. He asked me if I thought he'd be able to see anything in the pictures. Um no, not unless the word Hubble appears somewhere on the camera.
Saturday morning was my 10K race. That's 6.2 miles, which coincidentally, is just slightly farther than we were from Kenny Chesney. I got off to a terrible start, due largely to starting at the back and having to navigate the mass of bodies the first half mile. My one mile split was like eight and a half minutes. I picked it up from there and finished in 48:29, good for fifth in my age group. My time was fourteen seconds slower than last year, but that was kind of expected since I haven't been training as much. To have run a faster time would have been to cheat the very ideals of hard work, training and dedication. And also likely would have caused me to pass out and/or begin wretching.
Saturday night, I went to a dance recital, 'cause that's how I roll. I went to see Kywana Jr. in... umm... I keep forgetting the name of the program. Twelve Angry Men? No, there weren't that many men in it. The Princess Bride? Nope, no Andre The Giant. Dances With Wolves? No, but it was four hours long. Wait, I got it. Twelve Dancing Princesses! Yes, that's it. And it's even less exciting than the title would indicate, if that's possible.
Oh, I almost forgot! A bizarre thing did happen on the way to my race Saturday morning. My right nipple started burning. I mean, it was on fire! Have any of you ever had this problem? I examined it, but really couldn't tell much. I mean, what does it usually look like? I don't know. Anyway, that led to an odd, if not disturbing scene Saturday around lunchtime, as I stood shirtless in front of my bathroom mirror rubbing Neosporin on my nipples. I mean, if there is one microcosm I could give you to sum up my life, that's it right there.
You are currently experiencing the Spring of Bone...
"And I go back to watchin' summer fade into fall. Growin' up too fast and I do recall wishin' time would stop right in its tracks..."
Let us begin with the concert: the Kenny Chesney Sun City Carnival Tour. It was held at the Oak Mountain Amphitheatre in Birmingham, a perfect venue for an outdoor concert on a gorgeous Alabama night. It wound up just being the Darryls and me. Jamie was supposed to go, but she got two tickets from a radio station and ditched us. Can't really blame her, considering our tickets were on row V in the very last section. Not bad for 95 bucks. I'm pretty sure it was the worst seat I've ever had at a concert, except for that one year at June Jam when the actual curvature of the Earth itself prevented us from seeing most of the stage.
The opening acts were Lady Antebellum--who we missed because we were stuck in traffic--and Miranda Lambert--who we unfortunately did not miss. She was not very good. There was one highlight, however, when she brought Blake Shelton on stage and he sang a song. I texted my sister, "Blake Shelton just came out!" Well, I noticed she didn't reply for awhile. She told me later she forgot I was at the concert and so when she got my text all she could think was, "Nuh uh! I thought he was dating Miranda Lambert!"
Kenny's part of the show was excellent. He sang about twenty songs. (I have the set list if you'd like. I texted it to myself.) I don't think I realized how many hits he's had until we were on our way home and started naming off at least as many songs that he hadn't sang.
At one point during the show, LJ pulled out a disposable camera, aimed it in the general direction of the figure we thought was most likely Kenny Chesney, and started clicking. He asked me if I thought he'd be able to see anything in the pictures. Um no, not unless the word Hubble appears somewhere on the camera.
Saturday morning was my 10K race. That's 6.2 miles, which coincidentally, is just slightly farther than we were from Kenny Chesney. I got off to a terrible start, due largely to starting at the back and having to navigate the mass of bodies the first half mile. My one mile split was like eight and a half minutes. I picked it up from there and finished in 48:29, good for fifth in my age group. My time was fourteen seconds slower than last year, but that was kind of expected since I haven't been training as much. To have run a faster time would have been to cheat the very ideals of hard work, training and dedication. And also likely would have caused me to pass out and/or begin wretching.
Saturday night, I went to a dance recital, 'cause that's how I roll. I went to see Kywana Jr. in... umm... I keep forgetting the name of the program. Twelve Angry Men? No, there weren't that many men in it. The Princess Bride? Nope, no Andre The Giant. Dances With Wolves? No, but it was four hours long. Wait, I got it. Twelve Dancing Princesses! Yes, that's it. And it's even less exciting than the title would indicate, if that's possible.
Oh, I almost forgot! A bizarre thing did happen on the way to my race Saturday morning. My right nipple started burning. I mean, it was on fire! Have any of you ever had this problem? I examined it, but really couldn't tell much. I mean, what does it usually look like? I don't know. Anyway, that led to an odd, if not disturbing scene Saturday around lunchtime, as I stood shirtless in front of my bathroom mirror rubbing Neosporin on my nipples. I mean, if there is one microcosm I could give you to sum up my life, that's it right there.
You are currently experiencing the Spring of Bone...
"And I go back to watchin' summer fade into fall. Growin' up too fast and I do recall wishin' time would stop right in its tracks..."
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