Snot’s running down my nose.
Yeah, I’ll throw a Tull reference in, because that’s just how I roll (also, snot is running down my nose, both literally and figuratively: I’ve been sick with a badger scrotum of a head cold for three days and a mental cold for far longer). Anyway, even if the power-flute of Ian Anderson is completely over-the-top bombastic, and even if it’s hilarious to see old footage of him, leg up, calf swinging like Lord of the Dance on crack, bad facial hair and all, I’ve still been known to love me some triumphant Jethro Tull. The good triumphant stuff, not the crap triumphant stuff.
Bombastic though, the word that is, reminds me of an afternoon years ago when I was driving around listening to Yes, and was compelled to call a friend to say:
“Man, Rick Wakeman is awfully bombastic, isn’t he?” To which my friend replied:
“What tipped you, the cape?”
From lofty heights like those to head cold lows, now I’m stuck in bed feeling like shit while our realtor calls and asks for access to the house on behalf of the putz that put in a lowball offer on our short sale attempt that the bank will never accept, wondering if my nose will stop hurting, my son will stop farting, and this sentence will ever end. So far: no, no, yes.
I will say this though: the lyrics for Aqualung are really pretty nasty. Never noticed it before. Except for the snot part of course.