This one
kinda bookends with 30-It’s Money That Matters, another Randy Newman opus. It
comes from 1979’s “Born Again” album, the one with Newman on the cover behind a
desk in a business suit, with green hair, white clown face, and green dollar
signs over his eyes.
It has a
rollicking boogie-woogie beat that I love, with delightfully funny, pointed
lyrics.
“They say that money
Can't buy love in this world
But it'll get you a half-pound of cocaine
And a sixteen-year old girl
And a great big long limousine
On a hot September night
Now that may not be love
But it is all right”
Can't buy love in this world
But it'll get you a half-pound of cocaine
And a sixteen-year old girl
And a great big long limousine
On a hot September night
Now that may not be love
But it is all right”
Newman sings many songs from an extreme viewpoint (“Rednecks”,
“Short
People”, “Political Science”) though it’s obvious it’s for satirical purposes.
It reminds me of 1979 when I was
finishing up my M.A. and came back to Accutronics as a Production Supervisor,
though I was soon to become the Process Engineer/QA Manager, making around $20K
a year. It was the year I purchased the only new car I’ve ever had, a 1979
Mustang, for which I paid $5600 cash, loaned to me by my grandmother, who I
slowly paid off over the next 6-7 years.
I had that car for 7-8 years, sold
it for $2500 cash (the most I’ve ever held in my hand), surviving a crash in
1981 when I was drunk. Luckily, I was not found out, which is an interesting story…
In 1981 I played 12 inch softball
with a bunch of guys from Accu and some friends of friends. After one Saturday
game I went to a teammate’s house to drink beer and swim in his parent’s pool.
After several hours of drinking I
decided to head for home, after stopping at the long-gone Pizza Stop for a “Pollish
ssauagge wi’ mudstardpigglesandunyuns”. As I sat at a red light, waiting to
make a left turn, a 16 year old kid in his brother’s new Corvette, made a left
turn in front of me, onto my street, flooring the ‘Vette, losing control and
slamming into me right at the driver’s door, pushing me into the right turn
lane.
The window was rolled down and glass
flew out of the smashed door. My polish and fries were also flying about the
car. My head bumped the bent door frame and I was slightly bleeding down my
forehead.
My inability to walk well when I
crawled out the passenger side door was taken to be the result of the bump, not
the 10 beers I had downed. After the police came and ticketed the kid, who had
no insurance, they let me drive home.
At the time I was renting a house
from Mr. M, my boss (see also: 7 – I Won’t Let You Down), and as I pulled into
the driveway I saw Mr. M in his yard next door. Since the driver’s side door
was bashed in and inoperable, my only way of exit was by the passenger door.
After I pushed open the door, I
somersaulted backward out the door to my feet (pretty good trick for my drunken,
6’5”, 230 pound frame) and I told Mr. M the whole story.
Ahhhh, youth!
