Cops Zap Naked Intruder

…blared the title of a front page story in my Thursday News & Messenger, the newspaper of record for central Prince William County, home of two major Civil War battles and Lorena and John Wayne Bobbitt. The online version (under a different title, byline, and date) can be found at:

http://www2.insidenova.com/isn/news/local/article/naked_intruder_tased_in_manassas/39917/

The short story is, a guy busts into an apparent stranger’s house in his birthday suit in the wee hours of the morning. He proceeds to awaken a man sleeping on the couch with a disjointed and profane soliloquy, whereupon the formerly sleeping man requests that he leave and summons police. The police arrive to find the scene as described, only with the naked, Tourette’s-suffering orator locked outside on the back porch and still in a pet. The police see fit to tase him into submission, whereupon they arrest him on numerous charges. He is currently lodged in the Prince William County jail, clothed, and being held without bond pending an 8 September hearing.

The print version of the article was more interesting, as it cited other stories of naked intruders and similar capers, introducing the topic expansion with poignant clarity: “It’s not often that law enforcement agencies in the region have had to tase a naked man…” One charming story told of a naked man in Florida (go figure) who defecated in, then slept in, a stolen truck, and was awoken and tased by police. I’m picturing young cadets nearing graduation from Police Academy: “Please, dear God, don’t let them assign me anywhere in Florida!” Another, somewhat more complex situation unfolded in New York, in which a naked man on a ledge 10’ above the ground fell to his death (ten feet?) after being tased by police. Good thing they didn’t shoot him! But it’s okay, the article seems to imply, as the man had exhibited suicidal behavior earlier in the day.

But let’s get back to our local naked intruder. So many questions left unanswered!

Like, which body part did the police tase? And did it cause shrinking or swelling?

What combination of drugs, alcohol, and daytime TV talk shows led him to this behavior?

And where was General Butt Naked? Where is General Butt Naked now, anyway? And what about Neil Patrick Harris?

First the easy one: Neil Patrick Harris (former child TV star who played Doogie Howser, MD in a show by the same name) currently lives in the Los Angeles area. He has been acting in plays and movies of late, and performing as an amateur magician. I last noticed him playing a sleazy party animal in “Harold and Kumar go to White Castle,” a ribald 2004 buddy movie. He hasn’t been in anything real big since “Doogie Howser,” and occasionally makes appearances at various entertainment industry events, his gay lover at his side.

General Butt Naked

Joshua Milton Blahyi was never formally commissioned as a General in any legitimate armed force. Therefore I encourage you to use air quotes when you cite the word General in the psuedonym that he adoped for himself as a militia leader during Liberia’s 1980’s and 90’s civil war.

General Butt Naked led his Butt Naked Brigade of ragtag teenaged mercenaries against various warring factions on behalf of Roosevelt Johnson, one of Liberia’s many warlords vying for power following a coup that ousted President Samuel Doe in 1994. I may be playing somewhat fast and loose with the historical details, but believe me, after the next few paragraphs, that will be the least of your concerns.

Liberia’s coups and civil wars have seen numerous self-appointed Generals, many of whom tended toward extreme behavior and sported colorful names, but none were quite as memorable as Joshua “General Butt Naked” Blahyi. Blahyi applied a combinaiton of African superstition and psy-ops in his battle strategies: He would engage his enemies wearing nothing but tennis shoes, believing that nudity would protect him from harm. Likewise his militia, when not naked themselves, would fight wearing garish and absurd women’s clothing, including bridal gowns and party dresses, sporting colorful wigs and dainty purses which they had looted from recently-attacked villages. They fought fearlessly, believing that this dress would confound the enemy (no kidding!), and even confuse their bullets via their mixed identities.

[note to sensitive readers: it gets ugly at this point]

But this was no powderpuff football cheerleading squad. A hallmark of any successful (i.e., not all dead) African militia is exceptional violence and ruthlessness, and the BN Brigade excelled in these arts. Before a battle they would attempt to appease Satan, under whose protection they believed they were fighting, through human sacrifice and cannibalism, usually of a young person from a nearby village. The Brigade often abused the bodies of their fallen enemies, notably using their heads for soccer balls, and once even placing a human head as the centerpiece of a table set in the middle of a major intersection in Monrovia, the capital of Liberia.

Blahyi believes that he was summoned at age 11 by the Devil himself, by telephone, to live a life of violence and bloodshed, including human sacrifice, a ritual in which he purportedly engaged regularly between the ages of 11 and 25. Prior to leading a band of mercenaries in the mid-90’s, Blahyi operated as a tribal priest and armed robber, and claims to have killed more people than he can count.

[okay, you can open your eyes again now]

During a battle in Monrovia, while dressed in full (lack of) battle regalia, the General had a “road-to-Damascus” experience. He claims that God spoke to him directly, informing him that he was a slave to Satan and requesting that he make the switch over to His team. Blahyi is reported to have confessed his sins and repented in a refugee camp in Ghana in 1997, and now preaches the Gospel, clothed, in Monrovia and works with ministries to educate and care for young former soldiers.

I wish I could report a similarly happy ending for our other 3 aforementioned nudists, but, at least for two of them, while there’s life, there’s still time and space for redemption! Perhaps the Prince William County lockup could stand a visit from the former GBN himself next time he’s in town.

Thank You for Making it Easy

I want to take this moment to publicly thank gay activists and their supporters in the mainstream media for the Chick Fil-A controversy. Thank you, thank you, thank you, although I’m sure that’s not what you had in mind.

I’ve never been a big fan of CFA. While I appreciate the corporation’s unflagging adherence to Christian principles even to the point of giving up lucrative Sunday business, their food just never moved me. I greatly prefer other fast food restaurants’ chicken products, but when circumstances dictate my dining there (the rest of the immediate family of Bruck are big fans), I usually find their salads least objectionable. Their breakfasts, if somewhat sparse, aren’t too bad either.

A few weeks ago, the controversy blipped onto up on my radar screen when I learned that the Jim Henson company severed its business relationship with CFA, due to their disagreement with the owner’s position on traditional marriage, which was apparently revealed in a Baptist church publication (The Jim Henson company reads the Baptist press? Who knew?). So, no more gay-marriage-supporting muppets in the CFA happy meals.

I then learned that around the same time, the mayor of Boston, MA, was attempting to apply government pressure against CFA opening up a store there, in fact quite outspokenly. He has since, apparently, received legal advice and has backtracked from this egregious and potentially criminal position. Not so with the mayor of Chicago, however; Rahm Emanuel, President 0bama’s former Chief of Staff, has voiced his opposition to CFA’s expansion in the Windy City, indicating that he will use the force of government to block it, citing CFA’s lack of adherence to “Chicago values.” Aside from the flagrant illegality of such a move, the irony is spectacular – CFA’s integrity and adherence to biblical principals certainly would be foreign concepts in the city that raised political corruption to an art form!

In the interest of fairness, I should point out that, while he supports same-sex marriage, New York mayor Michael Bloomberg publicly stated his opinion that it’s not the government’s business to ban restaurants based on political positions. Good understanding of the First Amendment, sir, now can we talk about the Second?

So anyway, what’s all the fighting about?

The media narrative is that this is about gay (same-sex) marriage, an innovation opposed by a majority of Americans, as shown by its repeated failure across the country when put to a vote. But let’s take a closer look at that, shall we? Up until his views “evolved,” a couple of months ago, the president himself publicly opposed same-sex marriage, and we heard nary a peep of opposition.  Likewise, Rahm Emanuel himself gives lie to this, having publicly partnered with Nation of Islam leader Louis Farrakhan, another outspoken opponent of same-sex marriage, and Chicago restaurateur to boot. For that matter, I’ve never seen, nor heard a word of protest against any Muslim-owned business for their owners’ opposition to anything homosexual, least of which same-sex marriage.

The only other thing the CFA owner said was that he subscribes to biblical, Christian values. By process of elimination, I have to conclude that that’s what’s got everyone’s shorts in a knot.

As I’m sure you’re aware, the controversy has become nationwide news (hey, let’s talk about anything besides the slow motion train wreck economy during the election season), with voices from all corners weighing in on the subject. Wednesday, 1 August was unofficially designated Chick Fil-A Appreciation Day, in which countless supporters (hundreds in the Chicago location alone) of free speech and CFA’s moral positions expressed themselves by showing up and eating mediocre chicken. Counter-protests were planned for that same day, until the protestors and the media realized that (1) they’d be overwhelmingly outnumbered, and (2) any media coverage would also show the vast numbers of CFA/free speech supporters. Instead, they planned Friday, 3 August protests, which pretty much fizzled. I read one story on the protest, in which 20 (Katy bar the door!) demonstrators showed up at a CFA restaurant in Georgia.

So, Bruck, why are we thanking them?

Aside from the rare opportunity in the voting booth, those of us who support free speech and Christian values, and disagree with the gay agenda have relatively few realistic opportunities to express ourselves. We don’t protest. At least  most of us don’t. Nothing wrong with it, but we are, by and large, not political activists. And we’re sure not going to show up at a “pride” rally or parade – I’ve seen the videos, not going anywhere near that.

We don’t own newspapers or TV stations, and very, very few media personalities are on our side. Any coverage we get from these media is certain to be negative and presented as a minority opinion.

Likewise, although I can’t prove it, I strongly suspect from the bottom of my heart beyond a shadow of a doubt till death do us part that congressmen only pay attention to letters from constituents that agree with their own positions. Not saying you shouldn’t write to your congressman; just saying you’d get better results urinating toward a fan.

So basically our hands are tied, or rather, our voices are silenced. That is, until now. Now it’s easy to voice our opposition to the political-media complex. All we have to do is buy a meal from CFA. And we don’t even have to eat it.

So thank you to the gay activists and their water carriers in the media for making it easy for us members of the silent majority to take a stand for free speech and the right to hold opinions, religious, political, or otherwise, contrary to the established narrative. We couldn’t have done it better ourselves!

Expansion of the Bruck Empire

Although I do not intend to impose any immediate changes in government, either its form or representation, nor do I intend to change any laws regarding taxation, zoning, property rights, nor for that matter civil or criminal code in the fair state of Georgia, I would like to announce to the residents of that state that they are now living in the sovereign territory of Bruck (see this recent column for explanation the basis of my claim).

A young relative recently got married in a suburb of Atlanta, and I stepped away from the rehearsal dinner party late last Friday evening, under the guise of making a phone call. I staked my claim during a dry thunderstorm, which was a little unnerving, as I was repeatedly being exposed, as it were, by frequent “flashes” of lightning.

I suspect that Ted Turner will be a tiny bit miffed at my laying claim to the state that he thought he owned, and so I would like to offer an olive branch. As I mentioned above, I do not have any plans for the foreseeable future to alter the legal or economic makeup of the state, therefore he should encounter no resistance to his plans for using Atlanta as a beachhead for world domination; I only have one dictum, and I really think this is a small thing to ask, and that is to alter slightly the state symbol of a peach to include a portrait of Bruck. And carve it into Stone Mountain.

Really, Georgians should be thankful. After laying claim to Minnesota two months ago, I have changed the University of Minnesota’s new mascot from the Golden Gophers (I’m sure they’re all grateful to be relieved of that ridiculous sobriquet) to the Brown Brucks, preserving the alliteration and adding a degree of sophistication. Oh, and Duluth’s new name is Bruluck.

I’m really on a roll of late: as of this weekend I also have both Carolinas in my back pocket, and of course my claim to Virginia is renewed on at least a weekly basis, so along with Florida, I now own, along with key portions of the midwest and southwest, the entire southern portion of the eastern seaboard.

You might well wonder, how long is my claim going to last, with plenty of others similarly endowed and disposed to make their own claim on my territory? I have considered that, and would like first to clarify the “claim” business, and secondly to propose a confederation.

1) To be valid, a claim must be accompanied by commitment and intent. Blithely spilling one’s fluid offal in a back alley in the garment district does not automatically anoint one to occupy the desk of the Mayor of New York; the claimant must consciously intend to make the claim, and must be willing to honor the commitments pertaining to ownership and government of said claim.

2) The stickier issue is that of competing legitimate claims. Unlike the Homestead Act and the San Francisco gold rush, it’s the most recent claim that’s enforceable, not the first. Therefore, you could go claim Minnesota or Georgia or any other component of Bruck’s portfolio of sovereign territories, and then I’d have to come back and re-claim, a process whose logical conclusion is exhaustion and failed kidneys - a fool’s game at best! Let me propose this instead: if you are inclined to claim territory for yourself, and by all means I encourage this, instead of canceling each others’ claims, why don’t we share them, sort of like a modern-day Caesar’s triumvirate? Of course we’ll have to work out some details later, but do we have a deal? Great!

Okay, I know what you’re thinking, those of you not blessed with Y chromosomes… This little game is stacked in favor of men, who are more adequately equipped for convenient claiming of territory, putting women at a substantial disadvantage. To that I reply, tough bananas. Seriously, you already have near complete control over me as it is! Now you want me to gather my pants about my ankles, squat down, and balance on my heels while enlarging my realm? Forget it!

First You Cry / Brass Management

 We said goodbye to Gordon* for the last time in late June 2025, and we won’t soon forget him. I say “we” as I think I’m speaking for all of us who knew him as a colleague, friend, family member, or some combination thereof. A colleague at our former mutual place of employment once asked someone who worked for Gordon’s preceding employer, do you remember Gordon, to which he laughed and replied, nobody who’s met Gordon can ever forget him. Amen.

*rule 17 doesn’t apply here, i.e., I think in this case it’s okay to use someone’s real name without their prior consent; see his obituary for more detail: https://storkefuneralhome.com/storke-funeral-home-obituaries/?id=2283

I could write a lengthy tribute to Gordon, but I won’t tire you with that – his obit did a perfectly good job. Instead, I’d like to offer a few unique encounters from which we might all gain something. But first, I’ll ask Percy Sledge to help set the mood:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oCMdjgaTLDs

I played this for Gordon once at the office when we were testing the audio on a computer. He loved it. During his military career, he had a side hustle as a DJ at the officers and enlisted clubs, and therefore was familiar with a wide range of pop music, but he said the old school R&B that he grew up on was his favorite genre.

Brass Management

Many firearm enthusiasts at one time or another entertain an interest in handloading ammunition, i.e., assembling their own cartridges rather than buying commercial ammo. Various motivations may apply, including, (1) saving money, (2) customizing for accuracy, (3) recycling, (4) a hedge against commercial ammo shortages, (5) the satisfaction of craftsmanship, (6) making ammo for obscure calibers, for which ammo is expensive or difficult to find, and (7) there are probably other motivations that haven’t occurred to me. Let’s discuss 1-6 for now.

1)     Saving Money – somewhat valid but for most calibers it would be at least a few years before you break even.

2)     Customizing for Accuracy – this is valid, but again, you won’t see results overnight. Takes a while to get good at assembly and experimental techniques.

3)     Recycling – not really valid; the only thing that gets recycled is the brass. More on this later.

4)     Hedge Against Shortages – somewhat valid but handloading supplies and components, and equipment as well, suffer the same economics as ammunition. The only winners in this game are those who stocked up on components when they were more readily available.

5)     Satisfaction of Craftsmanship – this is my big motivator, i.e., a creative hobby with practical application. Plus #2 and #4 above apply for me as well.

6)     Obscure Calibers – valid for some handloaders. Ammo for vintage or obscure calibers can be expensive or hard to find. I only own/shoot the “normal” calibers myself, but I do know guys who have some esoteric ones.

Back before Gordon retired, he picked my brain clean on reloading (BTW, reloading means assembling cartridges with used brass; handloading just means doing it with new brass). He had, among scores of other firearms, a 50 BMG sniper rifle which was prohibitively expensive to shoot at ~$5/cartridge. So he wanted to learn to reload, thinking he was going to make inexpensive cartridges for that behemoth. I offered what paltry wisdom I could supply, which was basically, you’re going to spend way more on equipment than you could ever hope to save, and you don’t have the borderline OCD personality necessary to succeed at such an undertaking in the first place.

The other siren song for Gordon was the production rate of the progressive presses (I use single-stage presses myself, for reasons I won’t bore you with). In a progressive press, several things happen with each pull of the ram, and a complete cartridge pops out the end each time. With single-stage, only one or two operations happen with each pull. My point here for Gordon was OK, the progressive press does assemble ammo very efficiently compared to single-stage, but that’s only a tiny percentage of the time you put into the overall process. The biggest time suck is brass management.

Let’s step back a bit for now. Gordon was a retired Army E9 (Sergeant Major), with experience mainly in infantry. Therefore, he was around guns and firing ranges a lot, with a couple of key outcomes: (1) he suffered hearing loss and (2) he loved guns.

Due to the hearing loss, Gordon spoke rather loudly, which initially unnerved me. Apprehension abated when I discovered that the voice was not accompanied by the anticipated overbearing personality. He did have a strong presence but not to anyone else’s particular detriment.

He once asked me, why do people say I’m intimidating? Is it because I’m black? (We were rather candid with each other; my office was unofficially designated the non-attribution zone.) I said no, I think most people around the office are pretty level-headed about race; I think it’s your loud voice and command presence (Gordon was once a drill sergeant in military life as well). We discussed what he might do about it; my general guidance was to just be aware of it and try to not scare people.

Speaking of race, it came up in a different context in 2016 during the presidential campaign. Politically, Gordon was a staunch republican/conservative, but said to me, I don’t think I can vote for Trump because he’s a racist. Personally I tend to avoid politics around the office, but I could see he was distraught, so I advised him to research the topic himself, as the only things I’d heard about Trump’s supposed racism were from the DNC and the media, neither institution being reliably objective during a heated political race. About a week later he came back and said, you’re right, Trump’s not a racist. He’s had many senior-level black employees, and supported black businesspeople. And a bunch of other things – he really did his research!

Getting back to brass management, there are several steps between picking warm brass up off the floor and assembling a cartridge from it.

1)     Cleaning

2)     Inspecting / sorting

3)     Annealing

4)     Resizing

5)     Depriming

6)     Trimming

Cleaning – some reloaders consider this unnecessary; I do it to remove the toxins (part of the attached soot is lead fulminate from the primer), to facilitate inspection, and aesthetics. Two methods for cleaning with which I’m familiar are vibrating and tumbling. Vibrating happens in a hopper filled with crushed walnut shells or similar media with a light coating of cleaning goop. I used to employ this method, but switched over to tumbling when I started getting concerned about lead exposure. Tumbling basically uses a rock polisher filled with water, soap, and polishing agent. Tumbling doesn’t work as well for aesthetics, but is better for removing lead residue, as you rinse everything away at the end.

Inspecting / Sorting – the reloader should inspect every case for cracks or deformities, and of course discard the offenders – you can’t repair a case. Sorting – if you’re trying to maintain optimum consistency, some reloaders will just use one headstamp (brand of brass) per batch.

Annealing – brass becomes harder and more brittle when worked. The neck of a rifle case, from continued expansion and contraction, will stiffen and lose its ability to be crimped to grip the projectile. To restore its strength, it must be annealed, which takes the form of heating it up (just the neck, not the whole cartridge) to a faint glow, and letting it cool slowly. This doesn’t have to be done very often; full disclosure – I’ve never had to do it.

Resizing and depriming – treating these together as they’re usually done with a single die. The ram of the reloading press pushes the brass up into the die to restore it to the proper diameter and squeeze out any nonuniformities. A pin in the center of the die pops the old primer out the bottom, at the top of the ram motion. The reloader should then clean (scrape or brush) the primer pocket with a handheld tool.

Trimming – brass is a “soft” metal, relatively speaking. During the firing event it expands and stretches within the chamber, and then shrinks upon cooling, but not necessarily completely or consistently. Sometimes it stays a bit long (it rarely gets shorter) and needs to be trimmed to a uniform length. A tedious detail beyond the scope of today’s discussion – the importance of trimming depends on the type of crimp you intend to use, which depends on… well let’s stay out of that rabbit hole for now.

Note – some (most?) reloaders do resizing and depriming last; I do trimming last, as the process of resizing can lengthen the brass (the extra metal from squeezing the sides has to go somewhere).

After all this, the brass is ready for reloading.

I won’t go into the rest of the reloading process in this level of detail but will instead just mention the basics: install a new primer, charge the case (put in the powder), install the projectile, and crimp the neck around its base or crimp groove. Voila, a shootable cartridge!

 

Is that all there is to it? Yes. So how do you get “good” at it? Good ammo is safe, has the correct ballistics, and is consistent. To get there, you must (1) get it right, and (2) control the variability. (1) means use a recipe within safe tolerances; (2) means understand the sources of variability introduced by each step of the process, and endeavor to control it.

Needless to say, when I dragged Gordon through all this detail, I think I pretty well talked him out of attempting to reload ammunition. He was plenty intelligent, but attending to the above details was definitely not in his temperament.

One more Gordon story: he worked for the US Army as a civilian, after retiring from active duty, and had a passion for developing a certain type of system for use in the field. He did not succeed at the time, and came to our agency to continue to pursue this goal. He and his team worked valiantly on it for years, but alas he was aging out. He wanted to retire, and had the means to do so, but really wanted to get this system fully developed and fielded. He expressed this frustration to me, and was essentially conceding failure. I said no, you’re not a failure. Your contribution was developing people, not systems. I proceeded to enumerate all the team members and colleagues that he coached and mentored, both in professional and life skills, and how much they had grown as a result. I further advised that others will pick up where he left off, and they’ll get the system fielded. With this, he said thanks, he could now feel good about retiring.

Which he did in March, 2023.

The big tragedy was that after decades of hard work, saving, and investing, he only got to enjoy a couple of years of retirement. His family is well taken care of, but I’m sure they’d rather have him around, as we all would.

So my message to Gordon, if they’re allowed to read the internet wherever he is: don’t worry, your team members and former colleagues will continue to pursue your legacy, and I’ll take care of the reloading. For the rest of y’all I say this: it’s good to have life goals, but don’t let them get in the way of living!

Dear reader: did you know Gordon, and if so, do you have any good Gordon memories to add? Please leave them in the comments. Note, your comments won’t appear immediately; I have to filter them for spam first.

Please Come to Boston

…is a pop song by David Loggins which some of you might remember from your youth, that is, if your youth and the 1970's intersected at any point. Otherwise your exposure to it is limited to the occasional airing on the oldies station. It was Mr. Loggins' only big hit, and I'm sure he feels not just a little bit overshadowed by his considerably more successful cousin Kenny Loggins. In fact, I would hazard a guess that when I mentioned David Loggins above, your first reaction was, "don't you mean Kenny Loggins?" Nope, David Loggins.

I hadn't given the song much thought over the past few decades, until I heard it emanating from the bedroom of young David, son of Bruck, a few weeks ago. It was being covered by country music bad boy David Allan Coe, to whose music young David has taken a recent liking. BTW, by "bad boy," I'm don't mean to place him in the same strata with the current gaggle of CMA makeup- and ponytail-wearing plush toys, but serious no-class, politically incorrect, offensive, heavily-tattooed, in and out of reform school and prison bad boy. At any rate, DAC did a very respectable cover of Please Come to Boston, at least the studio version. He claims in an interview (CoeFan, September 1997) that it's his favorite non-original song.

A song's lyrics are important to me, even for instrumentals - I can't really like a song if it has bad lyrics, no matter how catchy the tune is. For your edification, below are the lyrics for Please Come to Boston. And for all of you campfire entertainers out there, the chords are pretty simple - I, IV, V, & VIm; you can figure out where they go. I do the song in A; DAC does it in D; the First Amendment to the US Constitution secures your right to play it in whatever key you wish.

Verse:
Please come to Boston for the springtime
I'm stayin' here with some friends
 and they've got lots of room
You can sell you paintings on the sidewalk
By a cafe where I hope to be working soon
Please come to Boston, she said no, boy,
 you come home to me. 

Chorus:
She said hey ramblin' boy
  why don't you settle down.
[Boston | Denver | LA] ain't your kind of town.
There ain't no gold and
  there ain't nobody like me.
I'm the number one fan of the man from Tennessee. 

Verse:
Please come to Denver for the snowfall
We'll move up into the mountains
 so far that we can't be found
& throw I love you echoes down the canyon
And then lie awake at night
  till they come back around.
Please come to Denver, she said no, boy,
 you come home to me. 

Bridge:
Now this drifter's world goes round and round
 and I doubt it's ever gonna stop
Out of all the dreams I've lost and found
 and all that I ain't got,
I need to cling to. Somebody I can sing to. 

Verse:
Please come to LA, we'll live forever.
The California life alone
  is just too hard to take
I live in a house that looks out over the ocean
And there's some stars that fell from the sky
 livin' up on the hill.
Please come to LA, she said no, baby,
 you come home to me.

So, what's it all about? At first blush, it would appear to be a Mars/Venus song about a man who has an egregious mix of wanderlust and loneliness, in love with an equally lonely woman with a strong homing instinct and interest in family and security. The song ends with the conflict unresolved; we're left to supply the missing puzzle pieces from our own imaginations.

I think there's more to it, however. Whether or not he intended it, I believe Mr. Loggins may have written the Great American Epic. Or at least a pretty good American epic…

Let's do some deconstruction, shall we? First, if we turn up the magnification, we can see that these aren't just disconnected points in place and time, but actually the course of a man's life, and the changes that take place over time.

Verse 1: The singer is in Boston, looking for work, presumably young and idealistic. Staying with friends, offering spurious opportunities, these appear as the hallmarks of adolescence and young adulthood. Meanwhile, he recognizes that he is missing something by not having his loved one with him.

Verse 2: The singer has made it as far as Denver, and presumably is in at least a good enough financial position to choose where he lives, and is not expressedly tied anywhere geographically. He wants to retreat from people, so far up the mountain that he can't be found, but he doesn't want to be alone up there either. To me this indicates themes and emotions of middle adulthood; retreat from the superficial world, having grown weary of chasing the rainbows of one's youth. So basically, he's growing up, but is still lonely.

Verse 3: The singer is now in LA, and is apparently now reaping rewards of a successful, productive life, living in oceanfront property among Hollywood stars. His introversion seems to be replaced by feelings of invincibility, a perspective more often found in successful people in the AARP age range. But still, even in the paradise of the southern California coast, he realizes that his lonely life is incomplete.

Chorus: The singer is always being called back home throughout his life, by his presumably would-be bride who seems to hold the answer that the singer is looking for, that true wealth and happiness lies in being with her, at home in Tennessee. Verse 3 somewhat gives lie to this, however, as the singer seems to have struck it rich to some degree, indicating that perhaps her definition of wealth is larger than just material riches.

Okay, fine, Bruck, nice analysis, but I took high school English too. What's this "epic" business then?

Well, the main thing that tipped me off was the geography. When I first started hearing the song, even as a youngster in the mid-70's, I wondered why would a woman from Tennessee, or at least one with a jones for Tennesseans, be interested in a man from Boston? Or, why would a Tennessee man be in Boston voluntarily (recall, he's not even working yet), and why would he entertain the preposterous expectation that a Tennessee woman would want to follow him there? It's cold in Boston. Southerners don't like cold weather. And they don't serve grits there. And it's chock full of yankees, the kind of yankees that other yankees don't even like.

Answer: Boston represents the American Revolution for independence from British rule, and is also one of the economic mainstays that supported our country in its infancy. Note that two of the three middle lines of the first verse are explicitly economic, and hopeful. Presumably things worked out for the singer in Boston, as they did for the fledgling republic, at least well enough to get him to Denver.

Next question, same as the first: why would a man from Tennessee want to go to Denver, of all places? Again, no grits, lots of yankees, and even in the 70's, when the song was written, Denver was a little more "fruits 'n' nuts" than your typical southern man would be interested in.

Again, the answer is geographic and historical: Denver symbolizes the western expansion of the young United States. Intrepid pioneers pushed west in pursuit of greater opportunity than what the eastern states offered - gold, oil, industry, land, independence. And in these pursuits, they endured great hardship and deprivation, facing the snowfall and mountains without benefit of Thinsulate and Chapstick.

Southern California, where LA is the most prominent city, represents the culmination of American culture, the fulfillment of The American Dream. It's a place where we as a country can enjoy the fruits of our labor, and focus our energies on creative, aesthetic pursuits, rather than war and conquest.

Wait just a minute, now, you may be thinking, what about the girl? What's this business about always being called back to Tennessee? I believe Tennessee represents "home" in the spiritual sense, i.e., the religious foundations of the colonies and young republic. Wherever we go as a country and a nation, we are always being called back to our roots, and our denial of same results in the gnawing emptiness that no amount of physical or material wealth can satisfy.

And note again that the conflict is not resolved; I would hazard a guess that this is a mirror that many of us see ourselves in, both as a nation and individually.

So, what is it, cheesy pop song or Great American Epic? Top 40 fluff or window into the American soul? Like the unfinished story in the song, it's up to the listener to supply the last word!