One last post about songs about rain

Can you tell it’s been raining on and off all week in Nashville?

Anyway, I was thinking about how Waylon Jennings’ “Rainy Day Woman” and The Band’s “Up on Cripple Creek” are basically two takes on the same subject–the woman who takes care of you in rough patches, but who is not your main squeeze.

I love how Jennings is all like “You have been a friend of mine, rainy day woman.” Maybe it’s just seeing him sing in the Cowboy Jack documentary, but I have a little crush on him (no, my crushes know no bounds, not gender, not sexual orientation, not death).

But then I was thinking about The Band, going up to see Ole Bessie again and, damn if there’s not another kick-ass Bessie. Seriously, is that name guaranteed to turn a woman kick-ass?


Speaking of B names, when my mom was pregnant with the Butcher, we were all under the mistaken impression that he’d be a girl. Mom and Dad wanted to name him Becky, but the recalcitrant brother and I were wrangling for Bubbles.

That would have been great. I wish we’d won that fight.

3 thoughts on “One last post about songs about rain

  1. My great-grandmother’s name was Bessie. And while I’ve never really considered her “kick-ass,” she did live a really, really, really long time. Like 186 years or something. She always smelled like urine and coffee.


  2. When I worked at the newspaper, my boss made our editor cover the costume party at the local nursing home, which really pissed the editor off, because he was VERY IMPORTANT. Anyway, there was an ancient woman named Bessie there who went as a mummy.

    I always thought that was hilarious.

  3. I love that your crushes know no boundaries. I recently had a long discussion with a friend who was disappointed to learn that some actor she had at the top of her fantasy list is actually gay. She told me she had to cross him off the list, and I couldn’t believe it. My point was that it was her fantasy, and she had a right to keep it no matter what. For all she knew, the guys she fantasized about might hate blondes, or might be in such a fantastic monogamous relationship that even though they had the chance to sleep with a total stranger they’ve never heard of before, they might not want to do it. What difference did it make that this guy didn’t like women? She might be the one woman he’d want to try.

    I have no problem at all about dead people, either. I once wrote a poem called “I’d Like to Sleep With Georgia O’Keefe.” Have you ever seen those Stiglitz nudes of her? Yowsah!

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