Opening Lyrics: H.R. Pufnstuf, who’s your friend when things get rough?
H.R. Pufnstuf, can’t do a little, ’cause you can’t do enough
Once upon a summertime
Just a dream from yesterday
A boy and his magic golden flute
Heard a boat from off the bay
"Come and play with me, Jimmy
Come and play with me
And I will take you on a trip
Far across the sea"
But the boat belonged to a kooky old witch
Who had in mind the flute to snitch
From her Vroom Broom in the sky
She watched her plans materialize
She waved her wand
The beautiful boat was gone
The sky grew dark
The sea grew rough
The boat sailed on and on and on and on
But Pufnstuf was watching, too
And knew exactly what to do
He saw the witch’s boat attack
And how the boy was fighting back
He called his Rescue Racer Crew
As often they’d rehearsed
And off to save the boy they flew
But who would get there first?
But now the boy had washed ashore
Puf arrived to save the day
Which made the witch so mad and sore
She shook her fist and screamed away
H.R. Pufnstuf, who’s your friend when things get rough?
H.R. Pufnstuf, can’t do a little, ’cause you can’t do enough
Ending Theme Lyrics: Whoa, I got, you got, everybody do got
Someone who cares by the name of
H.R. Pufnstuf, where’d you go when thing get rough?
H.R. Pufnstuf, well, you can’t do a little ’cause you can’t do enough
A long, long time ago
I remember how the music used to make me smile
And I knew if I had my chance
that I could make those people dance
and maybe they’d be happy for awhile
But February made me shiver
with every paper I’d deliver
bad news on the doorstep
I couldn’t take one more step
And I can’t remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died
So Bye, Bye, Miss American Pie,
Drove My chevy to the levy, but the levee was dry.
Them good ole boys are drinking whiskey and rye,
singing This’ll be the day that I die
Did you write the book of love,
and do you have faith in God above,
Because the Bible tells you so?
And do you believe in Rock and Roll,
can music save your mortal soul?
And can you teach me how to dance real slow?
And I know that you’re in love with him,
’cause I saw you dancing in the gym,
you both kicked off you shoes
and I dig those rhythm and blues.
I was a lonely teenaged broncin’ buck
with a pink carnation and a pick-up truck
but I knew that I was out of luck
the day the music died
I started singing, Bye, Bye, Miss American Pie,
Drove My chevy to the levy, but the levee was dry.
Them good ole boys are drinking whiskey and rye,
singing This’ll be the day that I die.
For 10 years we were on our own
and moss grows fat on a rolling stone
but that’s not how it used to be
The jester danced for the king and queen
in a coat he borrowed from James Dean
and a voice that came from you and me
And as the king was looking down
the jester stole his thorny crown
the court room was adjourned
no verdict was returned
as Lenin(*) read a book on Marx
the quartet practiced in the park
and we sang dirges in the dark
the day the music died
And we were singing, Bye, Bye, Miss American Pie,
Drove My chevy to the levy, but the levee was dry.
Them good ole boys are drinking whiskey and rye,
singing This’ll be the day that I die.
Helter skelter in the summer swelter
Birds flew off with the fallout shelter
8 miles high and falling fast
and it fell on the grass
the players tried for a forward pass
with the Jester on the sidelines in a cast
the half-time air was sweet perfume
the sergeants played a marching tune
and we all got up to dance
but we never got the chance
The players tried to take the field
the marching band refused to yield
do you recall what was revealed
the day the music died?
And we were all in one place
a generation lost in space
with no time left to start again
Jack be nimble, Jack be quick
Jack Flash sat on a candle stick
Cause the fire is the devil’s only friend
And as I watched him on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage
No angel born in hell
could break that Satan’s spell
And as the flames climbed high into the night
to light the sacrificial rite
I saw Satan laughing with delight
The day the music died
I met a girl who sang the blues
and I asked her for some happy news
she just smiled and turned away
I went down to the sacred store
where I heard the music years before
but the Man there said the music wouldn’t play
And in the streets the children screamed,
the lovers cried and the poets dreamed
But not a word was spoken
the Church bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most
the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost
they caught the last train for the coast
the day the music died.
And we were singing, Bye, Bye, Miss American Pie,
Drove My chevy to the levy, but the levee was dry.
Them good ole boys are drinking whiskey and rye,
singing This’ll be the day that I die.
*According to Don MacLean’s site, that lyric should be "Lenin read a book on Marx" although numerous people have e-mailed me to tell me it’s "Lennon read a book on Marx." For an interesting interpretation of the lyrics, which Don refuses to explain, see The Straight Dope. Personally I believe it’s supposed to be “Lennon read a book on Marx”, since the song is supposedly set at the time of the death of Buddy Holly, which would have been in the early days of the Beatles, while Lennon was indeed experimenting with a lot of ideas, including socialism. I’m sure Lenin must have read Marx as well, but probably much earlier.
There’s dancing
Behind movie scenes
Behind the movie scenes
Sadi Rani
She’s the one that keeps the dream alive
from the morning
past the evening
to the end of the light
Brimful of Asha on the 45
Well it’s a brimful of Asha on the 45
And dancing
Behind movie scenes
Behind those movie scenes
Asha Bhosle
She’s the one that keeps the dream alive
from the morning
past the evening
to the end of the light
Brimful of Asha on the 45
Well it’s a brimful of Asha on the 45
And singing
illuminate the main streets
And the cinema aisles
We don’t care bout no
Gov’t warnings,
’bout their promotion of a simple life
And the dams they’re building
Brimful of Asha on the 45
Well it’s a brimful of Asha on the 45
Everybody needs a bosom for a pillow
Everybody needs a bosom
Mine’s on the 45
Mohamed Rufhi-45
Lata Mangeshkar-45
Solid state radio-45
Fer-guh-son mono-45
Bonn publeek-45
Jacques Dutronc and the Bolan Boogie, the Heavy
Hitters and the Chichi music
All India Radio-45
Two in ones-45
Argo Records-45
Trojan Records-45
Brimful of Asha on the 45
77,000-piece
Orchestra set
Everybody needs a bosom for a pillow
Mine’s on the RPM!!
From Benet’s Reader’s Encyclopedia
Accismus
Irony involving insincere modesty
Aesthetic distance
A term that describes the ability to objectify experience in art and present it as independent from its maker.
Argus-eyed
Jealously watchful
Beatrice
Dante’s symbol of Spiritual inspiration
Bell, book and candle
Used in the ceremony of excommunication.
Berserker
Wild, warlike being, possesed of supernatural strength.
Beidermeier
Social conservatism in thought and didacticism in style, capacity of quiet resignation – a sober, resigned attitude towards the world.
Bifrost
The Rainbow Bridge between Asgard and Midgard
Brocken Mountain
Peak of Harz Mountains, scene of the witches sabbath.
Brocken Specter
Shadows of the spectators projected onto the mists by the mountain
Cabal
Political Intriguers from the court of Charles II. Any group of friends on an internet newsgroup who are targeted by trolls and other hysterics.
Caesura
A Break or pause in a line of poetry, for rhetorical effect.
Caledonian boar
A Boar wounded by Atalanta and killed by Meleager
Candlemas Day
Feb. 2nd, blessing of all the candles used in the church for the coming year
Canute
A Danish King who rebuked flatters by commanding the waves to stand still–in vain, of course– to show the limits of his power.
Cassandra
Doomed by Apollo to know the fate of Troy, but to have no one believe her.
Cenacle
Literary and Political Group
Cento
a literary composition, especially a poem, of lines or parts from the writings of established authors, but with a different meaning
Cestus
Aphrodite’s girdle
Childe
Title of an apprentice knight. Other similar terms include infant, damoysels, valets, bacheliers.
Cimmerians
“Cimmerian Darkness” where the sun never penetrates. Homer describes it as beyond Oceanus, in a land of never-ending gloom.
City of Dreadful Night
Long poem by Victorial poet James Thompson. It describes and imaginary city of misery and horror created out of the author’s own sense of despair as, afflicted by insomnia, he walked through the streets of London.
Clerihew
A comic four-line verse made up of two couplets, invented by Edmund Clerihew Bentley. Often satiric or ridiculous biographies of famous people, the lines being a succession of non-sequiturs.
Clytie
In classical mythology, an ocean nymph in love with the sun god.
Sui Generis
Being the only example of its kind; unique: “sui generis works like Mary Chesnut’s Civil War diary” (Linda Orr).
I had a bizarre dream in which I had strung a clothes line from the gables of the roof of the house I live in now, right outside the kitchen window. And of course, I had just done laundry and hung all of my very favorite clothes, when a really violent storm blew up, and I frantically tried to get the clothes off the line before they all blew away.
Sorry to bore you with something that sounds so mundane, but it fascinated me because everything actually made sense except the clothesline. I had been worrying about getting my laundry done the day before. I had had a conversation about “favorite clothes” with some one. Earlier that day, there was a violent storm with high winds.
And the apartment was actually mine… You know how you will have a dream that your in your apartment or house, and you know it’s yours, but when you wake up, you realize, “that was nothing like my house, at all.” Well this actually was my apartment, my kitchen window, my gabled roof.
But where did that damned clothesline come from? And why am I so obsessed with my clothes? That really isn’t like me… Perhaps they represented something I was afraid would blow away…
In high school I got my first pair of contact lenses, that you can also order here. That was pretty unusual at the time; people didn’t wear them as much as they do now, and they were incredibly expensive. They also didn’t have disposable lenses; you had to clean them and care for them and hope they lasted for a year or two.
Because of the expense, my parents put the fear of God in me about taking care of my new contact lenses, so far from being the joyous experience it should have been, having lenses nearly gave me ulcers; I was terrified I’d lose them or tear them.
I started having reoccurring dreams about them, and in every dream they would change into something different, and I’d know there was something wrong with them, but I would still try frantically to put them in. I had a dream where they because little white shirt buttons. And one where they became large, blue, round jewels, like the Hope Diamond.
But in the dreams I had most often, they would still be lenses, but large, and cloudy. I worked at the library back then, and I had one dream that I had opened my lens case at work and that they had changed and grown huge; two inches in diameter. I still put them into my eyes, though, and tried to reshelve books, but I couldn’t really see them.
I had one of these dreams last year, when I was having too much trouble with my lenses and switched back to wearing glasses most of the time.
Since I was young, I’ve had a reoccurring theme show up in my dreams: mazes. It’s usually a familiar building; in high school it was the library I worked in; in college it was the dorm, since then it’s been various apartment buildings and the places I worked.
The building is familiar to me, but the layout is not; as I wander (or sometimes run, depending on being whether I’m being chased in the dream) through the rooms or halls, I discover passages I’ve never noticed before. I end up turning down them and quickly get lost. Usually the dream ends in a panic as I realize I’m trapped or so lost I’ll never get out.
A notable exception to the above is a maze dream I had about Jess Curtis, a very beautiful woman who sings locally here in Indianapolis, and a casual acquaintance of mine. In this dream, we’re in a house I don’t recognize, and she is leading me along, flirtatiously, always just one step around the corner from me, beckoning me onward. Eventually she climbs though a window, and I go after her. The window leads to another room in the house, where an old man sits, and he tells me which way to go to head her off at the pass. It works and I manage to grab her and hold her in my arms as the dream fades and I wake up.
In the dream, I went downstairs to the basement, which looking back now, I think was the basement on South East Fourth Street from my childhood.
Growing in the center of the floor was a plant; a weed, I thought, like a tiny tree. I went over to it to pull it up, I guess because I didn’t think it should be growing there. It seems kind of absurd; a weed growing in the basement with no sunlight. It had a reddish cast to the stalk, kind of like a rhubarb plant, but the stalk was round, rather than square like that plant. It had spiky leaves, and grew upward.
I went over to it and pulled on it, and it broke free of the ground pretty freely, and I was surprised to see that it was growing in sand rather than soil.
Then the ground started to shift beneath me, and I lost my footing. The sand started to fall into the hole I had just created, and I slid down with it. the sand quickly covered me, and I continued my downward slide.
My mind was racing, and I remember I thought, “if I can just stop here, I’ll be able to swim my way out to the surface.” But the sand swirled around me, and I kept falling farther. It dawned on me that I’d fallen perhaps fifty feet, and that I would never be able to get out alive.
And then I woke up, of course, have frightened myself half to death. And I am still wondering at the inner mechanics of my brain, and how I had constructed such a strange scenario with which to frighten myself. Because that dream still haunts me whenever I feel like I’m on unsure footing, both literally and emotionally.
I thought about it this summer when we all went to lake Michigan and laid out on the beach at Warren Dunes. It had been years since I’d been on a beach, and the sand had a way of sucking in around my feet that made my heart jump.
And we were walking across the rocks at The Falls, right here in Broadripple, where every step I took was on an unsteady rock that teetered beneath me, and paralyzed me to the spot, which made my friends laugh.
And I suddenly thought of it tonight, when the fears about my financial state and whether I have achieved what I should by the age that I am overwhelmed me when I laid down to sleep.
letter of August 1796, On arriving in London:
Here I am once more in this scene of dissipation and vice, and I begin already to find my morals corrupted.
letter of October 27 1798:
Next week I shall begin my operations on my hat, on which you know my principal hopes of happiness depend.
letter of December 24, 1798:
I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them a great deal.
You deserve a longer letter than this; but it is my unhappy fate seldom to treat people so well as they deserve.
letter of January 21, 1799:
I had a very pleasant evening, however, though you will probably find out that there was no particular reason for it; but I do not think it worth while to wait for enjoyment until there is some real opportunity for it.
letter of October 25 1800, On the weather:
We have been exceedingly busy ever since you went away. In the first place we have had to rejoice two or three times everyday at your having such very delightful weather for the whole of your journey…
letter of January 7, 1807:
You will have a great deal of unreserved discourse with Mrs. K., I dare say, upon this subject, as well as upon many other of our family matters. Abuse everybody but me.
letter of May 31, 1811, On the Peninsular War:
How horrible it is to have so many people killed! And what a blessing that one cares for none of them!
letter of May 31 1811:
I will not say that your mulberry-trees are dead, but I am afraid they are not alive.
It’s hard to remember exactly how this dream began, but I remember for some reason being on the top of a sign pole, out in the countryside. I was there with Hercules, him beiname of dodgeball with energy balls that could kill us.
Zeus
We were trapped, so we continued to do this for awhile, until Zeus came and rescued us; I can’t remember exactly how he did. Athena was with him, and we discovered that Zeus had lost some of his powers and couldn’t get back to Mount Olympus, and for some reason I was the only one who could find the way.
So I started to lead our little party off in the direction that I was aware held the answer… after we walked for awhile, I led us up over a hill, and there was the Space Shuttle. I knew right away that we needed to get on the shuttle to get to Olympus.
Shuttle
There were guards milling around, so we had to sneak on. There weren’t any ladders or stairs leading up to the shuttle, just glass blocks covered by wire mesh (I don’t know, don’t ask). But the mesh was too fine to get a grip on. So I looked at Zeus, and he managed to summon up enough energy to crimp the wire so I could get my fingers in and climb up. As I was in the process of climbing, I woke up, of course.
I have no analysis at all for this dream. I can’t even begin to imagine what made me combine ancient Greek myth and the space shuttle, which I think is nice, but not really interesting. I don’t remember what I ate, either. It must have been a burrito.
