Tag Archives: John Sacheli

There’s So Much to Talk About. . .

John Sacheli turns in a great – if highly verbose – rant, filled with observations on daily life.  But hands-down, this one’s my favourite:

» An observation of our society » Pissin in the Wind

They’re even pushing drugs on your kids now. If your kid acts out at school a few times they immediately jump to the conclusion that they need psycho-analysis and the need to be on temperament medication. Little kids shouldn’t be depressed enough to need a pill. Acting out on occasion doesn’t justify giving a kid Ritalin. Maybe some kids need that stuff but there’s a whole lot of them that really don’t. We are creating a society of numbed out legal drug addicts.

You know, maybe they should invent a pill for making you a good parent. Then your kids will turn out fine and maybe all the world’s problems would start to turn around. (Who am I kidding, there’s no money in that anyway.)

I guess goofballs and Ripple Wine don’t count as a drug that makes you a better parent. There goes my master plan. . .

Bruce Got Spirit

John Sacheli checks in with a post describing his growing ennui and why he’s sitting at home when Bruce Springsteen is playing.  I know how he feels, looking around and realizing none of the cool stuff you used to do as a kid applies to you now.  I think we both should probably make more of an effort; I know I’m getting a little antsy not playing music any more.

As for Bruce Springsteen, allow me to say that I think Bruce is kind of the Earnest Hemingway of rock-and-roll.  By this I mean:  I just don’t get it.  I know a lot of people whose musical and literary senses I admire – people whom I generally admire a great deal – who are just nuts about Bruce and/or Hemingway, and you would think that I would therefore have found the key to what they like, but nope.  Hemingway and Springsteen both embody something perhaps just a little too simplistically masculine for me to appreciate.

I’ve tried to understand.  I bought myself For Whom the Bell Tolls for my birthday once.  I don’t get it.  I’ve stopped trying.