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It was a an early day and though a haze seemed to break the sunlight into a thousand intimate shards, a glow of beauty hung about the city as Dirk Benedict and I strolled along the edge of Central Park. Smiling gently, as he often does, he pricked an already yellowing leaf from a nearby tree. Instantly he identified it to me as a North American white oak, of the species Quercus alba.
Continuing our saunter in the direction of the museum, he spoke a bit on the subject of forestry and of conservation. Never one to preach or even cajole, Dirk Benedict instead told me of the beauty of Montana and as his words melted into the sweetest of poetry, I thought I saw half a tear form in the corner of his eye. Not a tear of sadness, but a simple illustration of how moved by beauty Dirk Benedict can be.
Tossing the leaf aside in his robustly casual manner, he began to sing a lovely song of the Old Country and we picked up our pace and bounded up the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. With his Diner’s Club card in hand, he of course offered to pay for my entrance fee, but I declined his ever-present chivalry, though he did smile and assist me as I struggled to clip the little orange pin to my lapel. We made our way right, toward the Egypt section. It’s been said that Egypt is the gift of the Nile. Well, I must add my own comment that enjoyment is the gift of Dirk Benedict’s company.
As we strode down each hall, he would point to various works of art and make their beauty and history come alive in his eloquence. Mere oils on canvas became living legends as Dirk Benedict explained their significance. His words brought alive the torture and pain of each artist’s soul. In the hall of armor, Dirk eyed each suit of glistening metal intently, as if he could look into the past and see the glory and pageantry of ages long gone. Breaking the rules, as independent spirits oft do, he patted one of the suits of armor, closed his eyes delicately and almost beneath a whisper, released the ancient soul to Valhalla.
Before we left, he made certain to pause by a portrait of George Washington, and as Dirk Benedict’s eyes met the portrait, he inhaled defiantly and then invoked the painting, with a simple wish that our nation never fail to live up to the standards and dreams of the Father of Our Country. For a moment, I turned, lest I interrupt this private tête-à-tête. But before I could even look away, Dirk came springing up behind me with a playful twinkle in his eye.
You see, Dirk Benedict had an idea and I couldn’t help but go along with him.
Leaving the museum he paused by the door to recycle our pins and then out into the sunlight we went, where, from a vendor’s cart, he procured a couple of ice cream sandwiches and we enjoyed their cool, creamy deliciousness all the way back to the train.
with Substitute Interviewer Tim Wright,
Sitting in for Regular Interviewer Timothy Wright (No Relation)
Just recently, I purchased the latest Assortment of Lackluster But Ubiquitous Music (ALBUM) by prominent rock & roll quartet Weezer, entitled Make Believe. I was highly disappointed by this CD’s general lack of musical quality, and it got me to thinking…what happened to the Weezer of yesteryear? The Weezer that delighted us with quirky acoustic ballads and whimsical rock concoctions? The Weezer that lit up the stage with soaring harmonies and awkward, geeky soliloquies? The Weezer that made us smile by taking home the gold for the US in the 2006 Winter Olympics Four-Man Bobsleigh and Short Track Speed Skating relay competitions? I missed the kind of music that I was used to hearing from Weezer’s first two albums, so I decided to track down lead singer and principal songwriter Rivers Cuomo and have a nice fireside chat with him to find out his perspective on the band’s musical development over the years.
I invited Rivers to what he thought was an interview for popular regional teen magazine Montsylvania Rox U!, a normally peppy and upbeat periodical that had just been the subject of severe government criticism due to the questionable employment practices of its X-treme Financial Services and Retirement! subdivision. Despite its recent troubles, however, I knew that Rivers still respected the magazine for its in-depth coverage of the Chef Boyardee spaghetti rebellion (and the ensuing processed noodle famine of 1998, which claimed over 170,000 lives in New Jersey alone), so I was sure that he would accept the invitation to sit down with me for a while.
However, when he arrived at our studio it became clear to him that he was going to be dealing with the uncompromising and nononsense reporting of this fine publication instead (one of the top three tractor repair and maintenance digests in the upper-Midwest tricounty area). He became slightly nervous, so I pulled up a chair for the both of us and offered him something to drink. Thus our interview began.
Me: Hi Rivers, would you like some coffee?
Rivers: Um, sure. Who are you?
Me: My name is Tim, but it’s only important that you know me as a somewhat disenchanted Weezer fan.
Rivers: Why do you say that?
Me: Well, I really liked Weezer’s early music, but these last few albums have just been…how can I say it…lamentable. What’s the deal, Rivers?
Rivers: I know, I know. Look, everybody loved our first two albums so much, and we were so busy touring, and…okay. This isn’t easy for me to say, but…
Me: You can feel safe here, Rivers. Have some more coffee!
Rivers: Okay. I haven’t told anyone this before, but something’s been happening to me these past few years when I try to write songs. I sit down, I pick up my pencil… and then Carlo starts screaming.
Me: Who?
Rivers: Carlo… My Sherpa manservant. He…he’s writing all of our songs now.
Me: What!? Your manservant? What are you talking about?
Rivers: I met him on the Pinkerton tour. We’re soul mates, you know. We do everything together. I can’t imagine my life without him.
Me: Let me get this straight. Your Sherpa manservant Carlo…is writing Weezer songs?
Rivers: Yeah, since The Green Album. He won’t let me write what I want to anymore. Every time I’m in the middle of coming up with an idea, he just starts yelling until I let him do everything his way. I still love him, though.
Me: You’ve gotta be kidding me.
Rivers: No, it’s true. Hey…this coffee tastes a little weir…
Me: …alright, now I really don’t regret what I just did to you.
Rivers: …what…what do you mean?
Me: That’s it? That’s your excuse for Weezer’s fall from grace? I can’t believe it. I don’t know what to say. I just don’t know what to say, Rivers. Other than this…
Rivers: …okay man, I wanna get out of he…
Me: I put three sugar in your coffee, you son of a bitch!
Rivers: … …
Thus our interview ended. I never found if Rivers was really telling the truth about Weezer’s musical decline or not, but he did drop his glasses as he ran out and I’m keeping them.
“Nail it to the Door in the Park”
During the Black Death the pilgrimages stopped
With half the folks dead, the land value dropped
As the priests could do nothing to stop the evil plague
Love for Mother Church hopped on its last leg
The Church’s legitimacy was basically gone
With one pope in Rome and one in Avignon
With bank accounts falling, his spirits were low
And the Pope figured he had one way to go
If good works could your sins wipe away
Instead of good works, why don’t you just pay?
Good works take time and since time is money
Just give the Church gold and everything’s sunny
Was paying gold for forgiveness what God had in mind
When the rules for good life He clearly defined?
One fellow in Wittenberg wasn’t quite sure
That writing a cheque would make your soul pure
So Martin Luther, the above-mentioned priest
Realized the sell of indulgences should be ceased
In 1517 on Halloween night
He decided that he should set this thing right
He nailed to the Wittenberg church’s door
Ninety five things that told them what for
German jaws dropped seeing this information
And thus began the Great Reformation
Soon after that Rome’s power did snore
And now Papal Bulls you can safely ignore