Do you guys think Paula Cole is attractive?

We were all sitting around on Heath’s porch when Where Have All the Cowboys Gone came blasting over his stereo and, elated, I blurted out that, “this song is the perfect song for any situation.” While other people who were there may have been enjoying the tune, they didn’t show it, and a chorus of naysayers rose up with barbed aggression. Amidst this chorus were a few curious features: everyone violently disagreed with my claim and one of the most loyal backers of my musical tastes raised her voice the loudest.

And so I’m faced with the task of defending a thought that never even entered my head but went straight out my mouth, guided into fruition by the pure joy of hearing this song, which in my opinion is defense enough, but not everyone experiences this kind of joy at the first round of sweet sweet Paula Cole’s du du du, du du du, du du du’s. One might offer that I could write off this claim to the flippant hyperbole of a man caught in jubilee and save myself the energy, but no, that wouldn’t be the right thing to do.

First of all, let me openly admit that I haven’t experienced every situation, so I can’t be 100% certain if this theory will pan out. It’s a bit tough to imagine Paula Cole’s voice ringing out during a funeral, for example, but that’s a really really tough situation so let’s back off on that for now. I remember hearing this song in only three situations, in fact, but sometimes triangles can give you the whole picture, so let’s say that if I can prove that this song is the perfect song for three situations, that the naysayers must rescind their snarls and beg forgiveness.

Situation one: a long time ago a wee lad named Jon offered Kuehnle fifteen dollars to go into his room and sing the title line into his computer microphone. Kuehnle refused despite intense peer pressure from everyone who caught wind of Jon’s plot. I was lucky enough to hear of the plan, and offered plenty of my own peer pressure. Hearing Kuehnle wail, “Where have all the cowboys goooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnneeeeeeeeeeeee” on repeat on Jon’s computer would have been one the greatest bits of entertainment of the 1990’s. One time Adrian and I spent an entire night recording funny tidbits into his laptop. They provided hours of entertainment. But none of them came anywhere even remotely close to how funny it would have been to hear Kuehnle sing this song, the perfect song for any situation.

Such is the power of Cowboys Gone. It promises pure humiliation to any man who attempts to sing to the chorus by himself into a microphone. Damn the chorus is just the beginning. Imagine anybody you know sitting down on the porch on a nice summer’s day having an iced tea and just unleashing these words:

Oh you get me ready in your 56 Chevy
Why don't we go sit down in the shade
Take shelter on my front porch
The dandy lion sun scorch,
Would you like a glass of cold lemonade
I will do laundry if you pay all the bills

The prospect is unthinkable. I don’t blame Kuehnle for turning down the offer. Everyone always talks about the nightmare of showing up to school naked, but imagine being trapped in the classroom and everyone else shows up to hear you belting out this song. Depending on how comfortable you are with your body, I think that the two are pretty close.

So this song is perfect for Situation One: Pure Humiliation. Next…

Situation Two: you’re driving down the street in your kick ass Jetta when you decide to pop in a mix your buddy left in your car a while back and you can’t remember what’s on it aside from a few songs by the Spinto Band and you’re all stoked to hear them. The Spinto tracks are all spread out, so you keep cruising, listening to what’s between them. How bout a little Guess Who? The Kinks? Why not some World Party? It’s all on there. And then wait, the fuck? It’s Where Have All the Cowboys Gone? YES!!!! Roll down the windows, crank the volume up, hold your middle finger out the sunroof, and start singing. Now take the same words that would have humiliated Kuehnle, or any respectable man, and you’ve got yourself the Lemon Chiffon Cake of in car sing-a-longing. Let’s look at the chorus in its entirety:

Where is my John Wayne
Where is my Prairie Song
Where is my happy ending
Where have all the cowboys gone

Ah listen lady it’s a pipe dream! Your John Wayne doesn’t exist and even if he did, he’d let you down! But you know this already. You’re well aware. You’re about to sing about it in verse three. Why’d you even write this song? This is like throwing a rack of ribs at your dog and they sail over his shoulder and into a fire. The ribs may be juicy and great but he’ll never know unless he wants to burn his hairy dog face off and even then they’ll be scorched and tasteless. This is Paula Cole style tragedy. It’s not Oedipus Rex, but it’s something, boy it’s something.

Singing along at the top of your lungs while cruising your neighborhood strip which ideally includes and old folks home, a Johnny Rockets, and health club is the perfect situation. I can’t think of anything sweeter.

Two down, one to go.

Situation three: you’re sitting at your buddy’s house with a bunch of your other buddy’s. You’ve eaten a lot of chips, a lot of dip, and drank either beer or some kind of liquor mixed with Coke. Then after that you ate a great dinner. Glasses were clinked together multiple times. All this to a great backdrop of some Pearl Jam and Paul Simon and then wack you just licked your fingers after your last bite and Cowboys Gone comes on. You’re feeling it, all the fraternal felicity, the glow of good times spent with good people, and this song helps smooth it all down, like a chaser after spicy ass gulp of 200 proof glee. No other songs inspires high fives and even more intense cheersing than this one. If you can make it through this song with your comrades, then you’ve made it, and you can make it anywhere.

So now that I’ve proved the three point situation theory, it’s time to question the “any situation” idea. See, “any situation” nuzzles up against the idea of perfection just a bit too closely, and that’s not good. Just ask the Tower of Bable or Icarus. Perfection is not for us. We’re mortals. And who knows this better than anybody, you ask? Socrates…NO! Plato…NO! Abraham Lincoln…NO! Paula Cole…YES!!! Just read on and feel the heartbreak…

We finally sold the Chevy
When we had another baby
And you took the job in Tennessee
You made friends at the farm
And you joined them at the bar
Almost every single day of the week
I will wash the dishes while you go have a beer

That’s right. Cowboys are fables, little imaginary nymphs just like the Windigo, The Boognish, and Ziggy Stardust. When we belt out that song, we’re crying out not just for cowboys, but for loss, sadness, and suffering through our own imperfection. I wish I knew where all the cowboys have gone, but I don’t and even more so I won’t and I can’t. I just can’t. But I can sing. I can sing all night.