Searching & Engines

https://youtu.be/xbv-7_LmIhU

Ah it was the summer of 85 when I declared my undying love for Tammy Phillips. Her family had recently relocated from somewhere in Florida (I wouldn't be surprised if there was an actual city in Florida named somewhere), and I was smitten. She'd come outside in her jogging shorts and halter top, sitting eyes peeled and painted. a la her little compact mirror. And she seemed so grown up. I'd sit on my porch, which sat almost directly across the street from her house and watch and listen to her scold her younger siblings, every so often diverting her attention to see if she still held mine. Indeed. Without recalling but knowing me, always the hapless and hopeless romantic, I'd sheepishly closed the gap, interacting more and more with her and her siblings until we'd eventually shared a step on what little of a porch they had. She was the first girl that dedicated a song to me. Looking back, it was more of conforming a ?? to me, you know when a song speaks to you in a way that seems to impel you to want to find its fulfillment in a person, yeah that. And I agreed and affirmed "The Search is Over." Then the bad news came. My parents began talking of road trips and family reunions. Plans were made to drive to Alabama, and more plans added involving dropping Ronnie, a childhood friend, off on our way in Georgia. I didn't even know they had Italians down in Georgia. Anyways to my disappointment and dismay those plans firmed up, and before I knew it, our adolescent broken hearts, Tammy's and mine, bid each other farewell. Suffice to say the trip was an adventure and after a mechanical break down in Harrisburg PA, and another mini adventure throughout a truck stop, we were on our way. Ronnie put me on to David Lee Roth as we rode. I thought about Tammy along the way during some of the still moments. And when we finally arrived I met my grandfather and long lost sister Ramona and other family and friends. I ate boiled peanuts and soaked in the summer heat. My cousin showed me off at the local Boys club and raved (before we knew any of its meanings) about my break dancing abilities, only for me to bang my leg against an ill-placed Foosball table on my first attempt at a windmill, rendering me unable to perform and reducing my cousin's remarks to panicked frustrated assurances of my greatness. Eventually I made it back home to Utica, and what I thought would be to Tammy. Only to find out that she had made out with my good friend Scott Crouse in my absence. I got over it, and some time later when the, as I once heard described, "sophisticated star 69" feature was introduced to landlines. I heard Tanya Felton, whose hazel eyes mesmerized me, declare her complete disinterest in me, contrary to her earlier remarks, as I listened silently and embarrassingly as Scott and her talked. The takeaway: I still dig Survivor. But if as a band your search is over, then why would you ever need the ?? of the ??? Sometimes the reality can be found in between the lines and the liner notes. Secondly, Scott, stay from round me. No but seriously I'm glad that you're a happily married man now. And as far as I go, my search is inadvertently and 'in'denialably over.