Your teacher never told you anything but white lies
Stumbling out of Flor's house the day after her going away party, the chilly air of the autumn Buenos Aires morning comes on like a shot of hard liquor. The small nagging regrets from the night before have been just about subdued and nearly disassembled by the overall hopefulness and happiness I'm feeling. Still drunk and lethargic, I put on my headphones as I plod to the bus stop, hit Shuffle on my iPod, and the first song that comes on is Elvis Costello's "New Lace Sleeves".
Bad lovers face to face in the morning
Shy apologies and polite regrets
Slow dances that left no warning of
Outraged glances and indiscreet yawning
Good manners and bad breath get you nowhere
Even presidents have newspaper lovers
Ministers go crawling under covers
She's no angel and he's no saint
They're all covered up with white washed grease paint
Damn you, iPod gods. Damn you to hell.
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I wrote a letter to my friend Peter, producer of The Jordan Rich Show, as I knew their show last night was going to be on the Great American Songbook. Listen to my letter being read by an authentic Bostonian by clicking the player below.
Bad lovers face to face in the morning
Shy apologies and polite regrets
Slow dances that left no warning of
Outraged glances and indiscreet yawning
Good manners and bad breath get you nowhere
Even presidents have newspaper lovers
Ministers go crawling under covers
She's no angel and he's no saint
They're all covered up with white washed grease paint
Damn you, iPod gods. Damn you to hell.
-----
I wrote a letter to my friend Peter, producer of The Jordan Rich Show, as I knew their show last night was going to be on the Great American Songbook. Listen to my letter being read by an authentic Bostonian by clicking the player below.