I love James Taylor almost as much as I love bagels.

The other night after arriving late and unannounced to dinner at MEBs parents house we all got to talking about the upcoming James Taylor concert to which MEBs mom has invested a small fortune in purchasing tickets. (Four tickets to be exact…four tickets for six people.) Huh, I thought to myself, casually maintaining my “poker face”, someone is going to win here and someone is going to lose.  Like Myles to a hot dog I was in.  Suddenly James Taylor became that much more interesting.

Now a good competitor will always size up their competition or lack thereof in the case of MEB who has done nothing but ridicule my iPod Playlist since the day we met.  (Make fun of me all you want MEB but while you are sitting with the dogs I’ll be rockin’ it out to James Taylor with your mom.)  On the flip side, MEBs sister appears to be an obvious choice knowing all the words to “Mexico” and even scoring a signed picture of James Taylor in the past. (She also has the unfair advantage of being directly related. Kinda like if it was a contest to go with Ma Self to whatever she listens to I’d probably…nah, she’d probably win that too.)  Anyway, MEBs dad probably has this one in the bag just because “that’s how these things go” and besides, he has to drive.

This leaves my real competition: MEBs sisters’ really tall (with way bigger feet then me) boyfriend or “the boyfriend” for short.  For “the boyfriend” I feel it is more a case of who she likes better…..me? or “him”.  While he might have more facebook friends, better manners, take more showers and of course wear bigger shoes “the boyfriend” can’t play “The Pink Pamphlet” card. For that: Angela, +10. Eat that MEBSRTBF.

My love for JT (James not Justin) began back when I was just a kid.  It was a lonely time (back then) as I was an only child and my parents didn’t have cable.  Most days I would entertain myself by riding down the steps in a laundry basket or dropping my Cabbage Patch Dolls off the second floor balcony to see if they would bounce; once that became mundane I would retire to the family room (the one with the big aquarium where many a fish met their demise under the watchful eye of Ma Self) to talk to my imaginary friends Lamar, Sticky and Phantom.

It was during these quiet moments with my even quieter friends that I would practice what many would refer to as my “god given gift”, singing. (Sorry, I’m laughing even as I write this.) With a cute little antique car of a music box that my mom probably picked up on “the circuit” (a.k.a. Marshall’s) providing backup I would belt out that ‘ole James Taylor classic “Country Roads, Take Me Home” followed by a little “Rocky Mountain High”.  With my eyes closed I could quickly transport myself deep into those Rocky Mountains where I would be sitting around the campfire with JT. Well until JT would inform me that those weren’t actually his songs but John Denvers’.

Would make sense actually since if I was planning on going to a James Taylor concert he must still be alive and clearly John Denver isn’t. Eh, James, John same genre. Both start with the letter “J”. Honest mistake.

So yeah, uh, James Taylor, “You’ve got a Friend”? Right? Well whatever, he is ALL OVER my iPod and stuff. Totally.
I do believe I deserve the tickets though for taking the time to write this slightly inaccurate but totally shameless blog post. I will have no problem pulling out the lighter on my iPhone and swaying to all the James Taylor classics (while silently shouting “Country Roads” in the same way that many shout “Freebird”) and shedding a tear to “Sweet Baby James” or whatever its called.  Will it be a problem if we stop at Noahs’ for a blueberry bagel with nothing before we go though?

Hugs from your favorite of the people your kids are dating.

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