Paint colors and the Y chromosome

Like most men, I have a limited grasp of colors. Blue, red, yellow, green, purple, and orange have always done just fine for me. Throw in black, white, gray, and brown, and I am a virtual expert on all the many nuances of color. With a little more qualifying, I have increased my palette to at least triple as I can now identify "light blue" and "dark green". I can go further by mixing two shades, such as "red-orange" and "yellow-green". Thank you Crayola.

However, being a married man, I have learned that these adjectives are inadequate. For example, the walls in my room are not "green", simpleton that I am. No, they are "sage". This problem promises to manifest itself even more acutely as we move into our new home in about three weeks and I am forced to make the dreaded trip to Lowes so that we can purchase paint the hues of which are named "desert tumbleweed" and "creamy mocha". Personally, I like the already "tan" walls, although women would probably call this color "taupe" or "beige".

What occurred to me today, though, is that calling a "sage" wall "green" is not incorrect. This is true because the color of a thing is never called that thing's name. For example, while my wife might be duped into believing that our green walls are sage, she can only say that because she knows the color of the herb. But, if I held up a bunch of sage at the store and asked my beloved to identify the color, she would be forced to admit they were green. Consider these other examples:

• Lemon
• Tangerine
• Ruby
• Eggplant
  

Of course, much like the English language, this rule is broken a couple of times. The most obvious is "orange". I suppose they didn't have a better word to describe it when it became necessary to assign its name. Some of you doubters out there are probably thinking "violet". I'll give it to you, but I will always prefer "purple".

I don't know if we need our own civil rights group to fight for our right to call "ruby" "red" or "lemon" "yellow", but I would venture a guess that men are the only ones so afflicted by the inability to "properly" identify colors. At least most men can tell the difference between "pliers" and "wrenches".

Coming out of the closet

The other night, I was driving my friend's truck while moving some furniture. He has on his sun visor one of those CD holders that allows you to store up to 10 discs for easy access while driving. Because of how far in the CDs sit in the holder, you can't see the labels very well, if at all. And yet, a cursory glance revealed enough of a label to allow me to accurately assess what one of the compact discs was: ABBA Gold.

ABBA is perhaps one of the schmaltziest pop groups that has ever been. Despite this sad but true fact, owning one of their CDs is not considered the least bit strange. Not only that, but for some unexplained reasons I hear that many women request "Dancing Queen" for their wedding receptions--a dubious distinction indeed. But this is no wedding reception; it's my buddy's Ford Ranger! Has he no shame?!?

Predictably, when confronted about his CD selection, he blamed it on his wife. "She took my truck to the mountains," claimed he. Since he knew how lame an excuse that was, he called her over from across the room.

"Who's ABBA CD is that in my truck?"

"It's mine. I took his truck to the mountains," was the reply. Either they had gotten their stories straight for just such a time as this, or they were telling the truth. She continued, "Did you look inside the CD player?"

My friend confessed before his wife told. "Hanson!"

I could only shudder.

I guess any guy that will admit to listening to Hanson in his very manly, beat up, Ford pickup truck has no reason to lie about an ABBA CD. He clearly has more to lose by admitting that he likes Hanson. Besides, who doesn't love "Waterloo"?

My friend's boldness confirmed in my mind something that I have kept hidden for a long time.

All of us like sappy music in one form or another. Burt Bacharach has made a career creating the stuff. We all empathized with David Spade and Chris Farley as, with tear-streaked faces, they sang along with the Carpenter's "Superstar" in the movie Tommy Boy. And who doesn't love singing along with Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline" when the DJ spins it at that company party or wedding? I believe that secretly even the most manly of men loves a good, sappy pop song. Something they never would have admitted to in high school. Something that would have brought shame in college. Something even their wives would like in adulthood. And so, with this post, I will open and step out of the closet for the world to read.

I like John Denver.

There. I said it.

To take it further, I don't even just love his old stuff, either. I even like the stuff he did in the mid to late 80s. I have liked his music my whole life, and I was seriously bummed when he died.

It must be a generational thing. My mom and dad loved his music, and now so do I. This must be a much more common thing than I realized at first. Obviously, if my parents listened to music that I grew to love, certainly there must be all kinds of people out there that have the same experience.

Then I remembered an article I read a long time ago about a bunch of tribute albums where some of these artists' songs were covered by alternative bands through the 90s. I guess I should have paid closer attention. Consider the following:

• If I Were a Carpenter
• Take Me Home: A Tribute to John Denver
• A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit Neil Diamond
• Tribute to Barry Manilow
• ABBA - A Tribute: The 25th Anniversary Celebration

As of this posting, there are no Hanson tribute albums out there. But, to my friend that inspired this post, don't give up hope. Maybe someday some indie rockers will think back to their roots, to their parents' CD collections, and to the great influence of "MMMBop" on their sound. In the meantime, I will travel down those country roads with John Denver, one of the great under-appreciated singer/songwriters of all time.