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It is! Here's the Spoonful performing this song on Ed Sullivan: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GbQM7OXmFN4 You're up, WS.

New tune: We'll dance until morning 'til there's just you and me And maybe, if the music is right I'll meet you tomorrow, sort of late at night

New Author: When I had finished the bed, I caught myself looking at him in a fascinated sort of way. He was certainly a handsome man - beautiful in the masculine sense. And again, with never failing wonder, I remarked the total lack of viciousness, or wickedness, or sinfulness in his face. It was the face, I am convinced, of a man who did no wrong. And by this I do not wish to be misunderstood. What I mean is that it was the face of a man who either did nothing contrary to the dictates of his conscience, or who had no conscience. I am inclined to the latter way of accounting for it. He was a magnificent atavism, a man so purely primitive that he was of the type that came into the world before the development of the moral nature. He was not immoral, but merely unmoral. As I have said, in the masculine sense his was a beautiful face. Smooth-shaven every line was distinct, and it was cut as clear and sharp as a cameo; while sea and sun had tanned the naturally fair skin to a dark bronze which bespoke struggle and battle and added both to his savagery and his beauty. The lips were full, yet possessed of the firmness, almost harshness which is characteristic of thin lips. The set of his mouth, his chin, his jaw, was likewise firm or harsh, with all the fierceness and indomitableness of the male - the nose also. It was the nose of a being born to conquer and command. It just hinted of the eagle beak. It might have been Grecian, it might have been Roman, only it was a shade too massive for the one, a shade too delicate for the other. And while the whole face was the incarnation of fierceness and strength, the primal melancholy from which he suffered seemed to greaten the lines of mouth and eye and brow, seemed to give a largeness and completeness which otherwise the face would have lacked.

From this clue, I can pretty much figure out the name of the band. Never was a big fan though and there's only a couple of songs that I recognize - "School's Out" and "I'm Eighteen." So, no surprise, I don't know this one.

A British comedic author, and the quintessential butler, Jeeves : Is that P.G. Wodehouse?

The first two lines: Don't you ever be sad Lean on me, when times get bad

I remember the TV show also, and like you, I didn't watch it. But, I think it was a big hit. There was also a movie adapted from this novel, named, of course, Peyton Place. I watched it not long ago on, I believe, AMC. And yes, it is Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter. You're up, wrds.

I think it's time to move on: The author's name is Grace Metalious. All the above quotes were taken from her highly successful novel, Peyton Place. ----------------------------------------------------- New Author: But there is a fatality, a feeling so irresistible and inevitable that it has the force of doom, which almost invariably compels human beings to linger around and haunt, ghost-like, the spot where some great and marked event has given the color to their lifetime; and still the more irresistibly, the darker the tinge that saddens it. Her sin, her ignominy, were the roots which she had struck into the soil. Then, she was supported by an unnatural tension of the nerves, and by all the combative energy of her character, which enabled her to convert the scene into a kind of lurid triumph. It was, moreover, a separate and insulated event, to occur but once in her lifetime, and to meet which, therefore, reckless of economy she might call up the vital strength that would have sufficed for many quiet years. The very law that condemned her - a giant of stern features, but with vigor to support, as well as to annihilate, in his iron arm - had held her up, through the terrible ordeal of her ignominy. But now, with this unattended walk from her prison door, began the daily custom; and she must either sustain and carry it forward by the ordinary resources of her nature, or sink beneath it. She could no longer borrow from the future to help her through the present grief.

Dooj, thanks, I like getting book recommendations, since I'm always looking for a good book. I enjoyed The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, and now I'm wondering why I never followed up and read more of her books, which I usually do when I like an author. Now, I will definitely put A Clock Without Hands on my reading list.

Unfortunately, this author died at the age of 39, and never achieved the same success with her other three novels. But, this particular novel caused quite a stir; many people called for a book ban, and critics called it trash. She blew the lid off the 1950's "Leave it to Beaver" myth, and dealt open and honestly with incest, domestic violence (up to and including murder), adultery, and abortion. She also wrote scathing social commentary concerning the differences between the acceptable, upstanding citizens of this quiet New England town and the undesirables, who lived in the "shacks." It's a good read, I think you'll enjoy it.

Not Faulkner, and not a southern writer, although, now that you pointed it out, it does have that southern flavor to it. However, it is a woman author and some critics referred to her as "the Pandora in blue jeans." This novel was publishing's second blockbuster (the first being Gone with the Wind) and sold 60 thousand copies within the first ten days of release. It remained on the New York Times bestseller list for 59 weeks.

Happy, Happy Birthday!!!

The Hitcher Rutger Hauer Sin City

Nope, not Hawthorne. The following is quoted from one scene; I broke it up in order to improve readability: Lucas Cross slapped his stepdaughter a stunning blow on the side of the head. Selena staggered halfway across the room and fell heavily to the floor...Selena got up from the floor, and the coffeepot which she had not dropped when she fell now flew across the room in a direct line with Lucas' head. The coffeepot sailed past Lucas' head and crashed against the wall behind him. "You little bitch," he shouted. "You goddamn little bitch. I'll teach you!" He held Selena with one hand and slapped her face. Back and forth, back and forth went his big hand. Selena fought with all her strength. She kick and tried to get close enough to Lucas to sink her teeth into him. "You bastard!" she yelled. "Reglar dirty-mouthed little bitch," said Lucas. "Just like your old lady. I'll teach you, same's I taught her! Don't do no good to be decent to you. If it wasn't for me you'da starved to death, just like your old lady. I been decent to you just as if you was my own. Kept a roof over your head and food in your belly." Back and forth, back and forth went his enormous hand, striking another blow with every word he spoke. At last Selena managed to tear herself away from him. She drew back her fist and slammed it into Lucas' mouth as hard as she could, and the man yelped with rage..He grabbed at Selena and when she wrenched away from his grasp, he was left holding the entire front of the girl's blouse. Selena backed away from Lucas, her breasts naked and heaving in the light of the room's unshaded electric bulb, her shoulders still covered ridiculously by the sleeves of the faded cotton blouse... Lucas dropped his hands and stared at Selena. Slowly, he began to walk toward here while she, just as slowly, began to move backward... "Yep," said Lucas, "you're gettin' to be quite a gal, honey." Slowly, he raised his two grimy hands, and his forehead moved when he smiled his grotesque smile. Selena's scream ripped the stillness with a sound like tearing fabric, and from behind Allison there came another scream. It was Joey, running frantically toward the door of the shack. He almost fell through the door, and still he screamed. "Don't you dare put your hands on Selena! I'll kill you if you put your hands on Selena." The little boy stood in front of his sister, and like a horse swishing his tail, Lucas Cross swept him away. The child lay still on the floor of the shack, and Lucas said, "Yep. Gettin' to be quite a gal, ain't you honey." Clue: This book was published in the 50's.

Hello, hello. I'm at a place called "Vertigo" - by those lovely Irish boys - U2 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YhWZ7bpfQag ------------------------------------------------ New Song: Don't you ever be sad

A new search engine, billed as the world's largest and designed by former Google engineers, went online today. Its name is Cuil, pronounced "cool," which is an old Irish word for knowledge. Cuil’s goal is to solve the two great problems of search: how to index the whole Internet—not just part of it [like Google]—and how to analyze and sort out its pages so you get relevant results. (copied from the info page) I like the design/layout much better than Google's. Give it a try - http://www.cuil.com/ Cuil info page - http://www.cuil.com/info/ An article on Cuil - http://www.cnbc.com/id/25891590/for/cnbc/

Yeah, it's a song by Journey. :) So, can anyone name that tune? Or, should I just jettison it and move on? Edited to add: Dooj, must have been posting at the same time... Thanks for naming that tune.... You're up.

Another quote: "There goes Evelyn's boy," said Caroline Page to her sister. Charlotte came to the window and saw Norman hurrying down the street. "Little bastard," she said viciously. "No," sighed Caroline. "And that's the pity of it all. Better if he were a bastard than what he is." "He'll always be a bastard as far as I'm concerned," said Charlotte. "The bastard son of a whoring woman." The two sisters bit off these words as crisply as if they had been chewing celery, and the fact that these same words in print would have been an occasion for book banning and of shocked consultation with the church did not bother them at all, for they had the excuse of righteous indignation on their side.

That's it. Your up...

Tribute to Janis Joss Stone & Melissa Ethridge

I'm surprised nobody's got this yet.... "Little Wing" covered by Hendrix, Stevie Ray, Clapton, to name a few. New song: City girls just seem to find out early

Nope, not even really close.

New Author: Indian summer is like a woman. Ripe, hotly passionate, but fickle, she comes and goes as she pleases so that one is never sure whether she will come at all, nor for how long she will stay. In northern New England, Indian summer puts up a scarlet-tipped hand to hold winter back for a little while...Those grown old, who have had the youth bled from them by the jagged edged winds of winter, know sorrowfully that Indian summer is a sham to be met with hard-eyed cynicism. But the young wait anxiously, scanning the chill autumn skies for a sign of her coming. And sometimes the old, against all the warnings of better judgment, wait with the young and hopeful, their tired, winter eyes turned heavenward to seek the first traces of a false softening.

"Granualie's Dance" Celtic Woman "The Voice" Celtic Woman

Sounds like Russian angst - Dostoevsky?