A memory stays with me.
The lights are low and the music is loud. I’m with friends at one of their houses, in my late teens, in the military, essentially, an adult now tasting the spectrum of responsibility by doing whatever I wanted because I was now an adult, and adults can do whatever they want, aslongaswedon’thurtanyonebreakanylawsrulesorregulationsandshowupforworkontime.
I was a responsible rebel.
So this song, “Fox On the Run,” is playing. Someone asks, “Who is this?” I answer, “Sweet.” We shout to be heard.
He looks at me and says, “Sweet what?”
“Sweet,” I answer.
“Sweet what?” he asks.
Catching that he doesn’t understand as others laugh, I say, “The group is called Sweet.”
“Oh,” he says. “I thought you were saying sweet.”
“I was.” That fired a neuron onto a axon. From it, I proclaim, “We’re all always seeking the sweet spot.”
That gains laughter. “You’re crazy,” others agree.
“Probably,” I agree.
Here is “Fox on the Run,” from nineteen seventy-four. It’s by Sweet.