Eventually I cheated and Googled it, but I wish I hadn’t, since I am in the middle of reading through I’ll Take My Stand anyway and I would have eventually come to Mr. Young’s essay, pieces of which I have read before, obviously.

Sometimes I think having the universe at our fingertips courtesy of “Mister Google,” as my mentor here at The Firm calls him, cheapens life. I do know that I have tried to stop immediately going to IMDB every time I see a familiar face I can’t quite place on a TV show. The satisfaction of remembering that person from that bit part in that one Friends episode–you know, The One Where __________–is a small pleasure but a sweet one. Being able to find the answer in seconds doesn’t really improve my life in a meaningful way either. That said, I do appreciate being able to look up the safe cooking temperature for pork every single time I cook it because I have always forgotten, but then again, my best friend works for the USDA in DC, so I suppose I could always jsut call him and ask. Again. He’d roll his eyes (and I would be able to hear it over the phone), but he’s forgive me. I could also just remember. But who needs memory when you have it all stored in the Big Internet External Brain Drive?

Does it have anything to do with time’s sweetness? I’ll think about it when I sit down to hear Mr. Young out.

To be honest (for the second time in one post), I didn’t necessarily intend to take this in an anti-Information Age direction, but that’s just where it went. Not inappropriately, given the bent of the Agrarians’ manifesto that started the whole thing. Unless Oxford American did, in which case the appropriateness, or lack thereof, is not as clear.

She tried to hide it by the faded denim clothes she wore
But I knew she’d never been inside a bar before
And I felt like a peasant who just had met a queen
And she knew I saw right through those tight fittin’ jeans

I asked her, “What’s a woman like you, doin’ here?
I see you’re used to champagne but I’ll buy you a beer”
She said, “You’ve got me figured out but I’m not what I seem
And for a dance I’ll tell you ’bout these tight fittin’ jeans”

She said, “I married money, I’m used to wearin’ pearls
But I’ve always dreamed of bein’ just a good old boy’s girl
So tonight I left those crystal candle lights to live a dream
And pardner, there’s a tiger in these tight fittin’ jeans”

We danced every dance and, Lord, the beer that we went through
I’m satisfied I did my best to make her dream come true
As she played out her fantasy before my eyes it seemed
A cowgirl came alive inside those tight fittin’ jeans

In my mind she’s still a lady, that’s all I’m gonna say
I knew that I’d been broken by the time we parted ways
And I know I held more woman than most eyes have ever seen
That night I knew a lady wearin’ tight fittin’ jeans

Well now she’s back in her world and I’m still stuck in mine
But I know she’ll always remember the time
A cowboy once had a millionaire’s dream
And Lord, I loved that lady wearin’ tight fittin’ jeans

You know what I hate about that song? Not a damn thing. I love it.