Saddleback students highlight world hunger (OC Reg)
Several students at Saddleback College gathered Thursday at lunchtime to highlight the issue of world hunger during an event organized by the college's Helping Hands Sociology Club….
The SOUTH ORANGE COUNTY COMMUNITY COLLEGE DISTRICT — "[The] blog he developed was something that made the district better." - Tim Jemal, SOCCCD BoT President, 7/24/23
Friday, April 20, 2012
I just don't know what to do with myself
(Burt Bacharach, Hal David)
I just don't know what to do with myself
I don't know what to do with myself
Planning everything for two
Doing everything with you
And now that we're through
I just don't know what to do
I just don't know what to do with myself
I don't know what to do with myself
Movies only make me sad
Parties make me feel as bad
'cause I'm not with you
I just don't know what to do
Like a summer rose
Needs the sun and rain
I need your sweet love
To beat love away [to beat all the pain]
Well just don't know what to do with myself
I just don't know what to do with myself
Planning everything for two
Doing everything with you
And now that we're through
I just don't know what to do
Like a summer rose
Needs the sun and rain
I need your sweet love
To beat love away [to beat all the pain]
I just don't know what to do with myself
Just don't know what to do with myself
Just don't know what to do with myself
I don't know what to do with myself
Rebel Girl's Poetry Corner: "that dirt road voice of his"
The return of Rebel Girl's Poetry Corner marks the recent passing of Levon Helms with this sonnet by Tracy K. Smith. Poetry and rock 'n roll. Yeah.
ALTERNATE TAKE: LEVON HELM by Tracy K. Smith
I’ve been beating my head all day long on the same six lines,
Snapped off and whittled to nothing like the nub of a pencil
Chewed up and smoothed over, yellow paint flecking my teeth.
And this whole time a hot wind’s been swatting down my door,
Spat from his mouth and landing smack against my ear.
All day pounding the devil out of six lines and coming up dry
While he drives donuts through my mind’s back woods with that
Dirt-road voice of his, kicking up gravel like a runaway Buick.
He asks Should I come in with that back beat, and whatever those
Six lines were bothered by skitters off like water in hot grease.
Come in with your lips stretched tight and that pig-eyed grin,
Bass mallet socking it to the drum. Lay it down like you know
You know how, shoulders hiked nice and high, chin tipped back,
So the song has to climb its way out like a man from a mine.
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from the September 21, 2009 issue of the New Yorker
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