You Can't Lock Me In Your Penthouse / I'm Goin' Back To My Plow

I have two tickets to see Elton John in Memphis on November 4. I am about to die already. I have loved Elton since I was, oh, probably 8 years old. I still don’t know the words to lots of the songs I’ve sung of his over the years, however. I just make up my own lyrics and keep on singin’. Oh, sure, I’ve looked up some of the lyrics on kissthisguy.com and Emily recently told me about a new one, letsingit.com, but as soon as I hear one of the songs, I’m back to my made-up words. I have memories associated with so many of his songs, I couldn’t list them all if I wanted to. "Croccodile Rock" was our dance audition song for cheerleading tryouts in the ninth grade. "Philadelphia Freedom" kept me company on a portable radio as I sat in the back of the Winnebago on the way to Disney World one summer. “Your Song” or whatever its name is, was playing the first time Bubba Carter tried to suck my face off with his huge lips. I think it was the eighth grade. That boy could produce more saliva than anyone I have ever known. He looked like a blond Neanderthal, but he was a football player and his parents were always out of town and he threw the best parties in town. We would start them on a Saturday afternoon and have a rock band in the back yard, and party until the next day. I thought I was Joan Jett. Bubba is now a football coach in Yellville, Arkansas, raising three boys, one of whom is named Mason Dixon Carter. Ya just can’t make up something like that. Yes, I owe a lot of great memories to Elton and if he doesn’t play “Yellow Brick Road” on November 4 in Memphis, TN, he’s going to have to answer to me.