(In the spirit of bloggy music criticism ...)

My friends and I have this running gag. At some time late in the night, usually at a drunken house party, one of us proposes that we go to the Lake. What's the Lake? Lake of the Ozarks, whose Party Cove is the "oldest established permanent floating bacchanal in the country." Not too far away is Branson, Missouri, featuring Silver Dollar City and the "Strip." Located on the Strip are such places as the Baldknobbers Country Jubilee theater, Yakov Smirnoff, the Welk Theater and Resort, the Osmond Family Theater, Andy Williams ... you get the idea. The Strip's all lit up like Vegas, but minus the gambling and scantily-clad showgirls. Wholesome family fun and "cornpone country." I guess Lake of the Ozarks is the Missouri analog to the Wisconsin Dells, or the South Jersey Shore, or Lake Winnipesaukee.

Anyway, this running gag all started one night in St. Louis when my friend Brian was dead-convinced we should all just drive down to the Lake that very night. Everybody thought it was a great idea, save for the sober person among us, Brian's wife Kelly. Fortunately she prevailed, else one of those tragic after-school type specials would have happened. But still, to this day, if we are all hanging out at somebody's house in St. Louis, and perhaps a little bored with the city, somebody half-seriously proposes that we go to the Lake right that moment. And most people half-seriously agree with that proposition.

Mark E. Smith and the Fall basically is my favorite band. One thing that's awesome about him is that his lyrics tend to be about everyday kind of things. Well, he has a song that's about "going to the Lake."

Hit the North

Hit the North
My Cat says eeeee-ack
Hit the North
95% of (hayseeds or corn-pone), guaranteed
Computers infest the hotels
Cops can't catch criminals
But what the heck, they're not too bad, they talk to God

Religioussssss
Hit the North
Manacled to the city, manacled to the city
All estate agents alive yell down nights in hysterical breath
There's no lights so pretty
Those big big big wide streets
Those useless MPs
Savages...
Hit the North (Manacled to the system)

From the back third eye psyche, the reflected mirror of delirium,
Eastender and Victoria's lager, the induced call, mysterious,
comes forth - Hit the North
(Savages)
Hit the North