I’m pretty happy about the start of the season for the Mets, but I’ve been here for the last three seasons – and I’ve been nothing but let down. I’ll save my excitement – if it’s still warranted at that point – for September. Happy Opening Day to all baseball fans, regardless of who your team is. (Except for the Phillies and Braves fans, if I’m really being honest.)
Anyway, here’s the 50th installment of my part of this project. And if you don’t know what this is about, check my full list here. Let’s get into it:
This is literally the third time that this track has gone up on this blog in the 14 months we’ve been at it, and both previous times it was also posted by me. I have an almost instinctual attraction to it; there’s a magical, sparkling feeling that surrounds it – not unlike how it felt to “be in love” at 13 and being entirely unable to express it in any useful manner.
The song doesn’t deal in the profound acts of love, but the stupid, breathless ache that afflicts us all when we finally find it. And I love that the title has “#43” in it – as if it’s just a random plucking from a rash of ill-advised sonnets – because that’s the type that is universally identifiable.
I don’t have a lot to say in support of my penchant for this track. I debated between this and another one from the same album – and I’ll probably add the second one to the list at some point too. This isn’t particularly noteworthy; it’s just a solid pop/rock song that reminds me of good times. And really, there’s not much more that anyone could ask of a favorite song than that, is there?