Planning Ahead for the Umbrella of Outrage!

Dave Ripp and I decided to take a Hawaiian vacation together, but, as usual, we had a slight disagreement. He wanted to go to the Big Island and I wanted to go to Kauai, so we compromised. He's going to the Big Island and I'm going to Kauai. This way Hawaii will be big enough for the two of us! If we were closer, say Oahu and Maui, all hell might break loose. Paradise Lost, so to misspeak.

But enough about Dave and Kauai and vacation planning. Here's what I've been thinking about day and night for the past two months: How my hatred of Neil Diamond promotes my overall happiness and well-being. I've had a natural antipathy for all things Neil since I first heard his syrupy, sickening voice warbling out of my 8-transistor Sony radio in the otherwise delightfully insane summer of 1966. Everything about Cherry, Cherry made me want to vomit. I thought this Diamond dork would be a one-hit wonder, but no, his ugly Brillo-Pad® head kept popping up, year after year, song after song, complete with a cadre of rabid, irony-free fans.

"Now how can this be healthy?" asks the Little Rhetorical Man In My Head.

"I'll tell you in a second, Little Rhetorical Man In My Head," I answer. "But first, let's review some of the hits of '66. The two bands with the greatest names of the era, Sam the Sham and Pharaohs and ? and the Mysterians, had hits. It doesn't get much better than Sam the Sham and Question Mark."

Okay, I don't really need quotation marks when I'm talking to myself. And what better example of talking to oneself is there than a blog? But I digress, regress, and all the other pernicious gresses. Other hitmakers in '66 include greats like Carla Thomas, Percy Sledge, Dusty Springfield, Wilson Pickett, and B.J. Thomas. Okay, I included B.J. just to see if you, my imaginary reader, are still paying attention.

Now, back to Neil. It all came to a head on New Year's Day 2013, when I was running with a beautiful Peruvian girl by way of Petaluma, who took umbrage when I happened to say something rude about Neil.

I have to interrupt this stirring meander to announce my Totally Awesome and Bitchin' Word of the Day™ -- umbrage. I have no idea what this word really means and I have no intention of looking it up. I'd guess that it has something to do with either an umbrella or outrage, but here's what makes this word way cool: One always "takes umbrage," but one never "gives umbrage." So this umbrella of outrage is always there for the taking, but never for the giving, although I'd like to believe that I've given a lot of people umbrage by ripping on Neil Diamond.

My beautiful Peruvian friend and her hunky boyfriend both asked me if I'd ever seen Neil Diamond in concert. What a question! Have I ever seen Sonny and Cher in concert? The Grass Roots? Johnny Rivers? Jan and Dean? Paul Revere and the Raiders? Sadly, I've seen all of them in concert, at package shows at the Cow Palace, at Monterrey Pop, and unbelievably, Neil Diamond at the greatest concert of all time: The Last Waltz at Winterland. When Neil appeared on stage after the Band and before Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, and Van Morrison, I thought I was having an acid flash-forward. There he was, a lot shorter and uglier than even I would have expected. I closed me eyes. I closed my ears. The nightmare eventually passed.

So, back to the reason that hating Neil Diamond is good for my happiness and well-being. I am, like all other living, breathing humanoids (including saints like the Dali Lama, the Pope Emeritus, and the Father John Misty), bubbling over with misanthropic feelings brought on by this blissful experience we call living. Now I could aim my anger and disgust at the moron in the car in front of me who has been driving for seven miles with the turn signal on, but I prefer to channel this vile pile of bile in the direction of Neil Diamond, who isn't an actually human being -- although he is a life form that seems to have been replicated in a rather Bizarro fashion in the personage of one Justin Bieber. What I'm trying to say is that my rants against Neil Diamond can't hurt him. Bigger fish have tried to fry Neil with absolutely no success. So, when I'm feeling the anger ready to erupt, I let it flow in the direction of Neil Diamond, that unscorchable member of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Okay, back to vacation planning. Now really, why plan ahead? It's supposed to be vacation. A vacation from planning. I have a plane ticket, I think. It's sometime Monday. Oakland, if I recall. I'll just head over there on Monday and hope that Cherry, Cherry isn't playing on the terminal Muzak.