Lost in Translation

16 years ago my wife and I arrived in Britain on a temporary visa. While thinking about that this song popped into my head, if only because of the first line. When I looked up the lyrics — because of course it has its own Wikipedia page — I see that it was released as a single in late October 1978, when I was 12. Incidentally, the B-side was Señor (Tales of Yankee Power).

Much as I like Dylan singing his own songs, covers are more fun, at least when it comes to YouTubing. That’s a Polish woman apologising for not knowing all the words. Don’t worry, I want to tell her, Dylan probably changes them half the time anyway.

I have been tentatively diagnosed with pericarditis, which kind of sucks because it means that until further tests I’m not allowed to ride a bicycle. The fact that the tissue surrounding my heart is inflamed with something other than desire is of secondary importance. When you have seven bikes it’s a symptom that your body needs to be in the cycling position on a regular basis.

It’s more than a form of transportation, though it’s certainly that, as we live out in the country and have no car; it’s a big part of my life. I don’t cycle competitively, I do it for the pleasure it brings me. I listen to music, get ideas, exercise. It’s entirely appropriate that the Wright brothers were bicycle mechanics: I fly.

The Preamble has the power to yank a few tears from my eyes, decades after I first saw it sharing Saturday morning cartoon commercial breaks with Cap’n Crunch.

Unfortunately, these days it should be scored as a dirge. One of the reasons is the rise of the corporatocracy/kleptocracy,* prompting the Occupy protests which started on Wall Street. Here’s the London occupation at St. Paul’s, where Goldman Sachs CEO Lloyd Blankfein once preached.

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* At the risk of sounding like a hippy reading from cue cards. But you know, another world is possible.