Spitting on Dan Fogelberg's Grave

This morning in my inbox, I found an alarming sort of critique from a stranger. A Mister Wenick wrote the following:

Profiteering from Dan Fogelberg's death by charging ridiculous prices for his CDs is sickening. You have no conscience, just a lust for money. You might as well spit on his grave.

My first thought was - this man is really grieving over Dan Fogelberg's demise.

My second thought was - what a weirdo.

Here's the backstory on this sad tale of musical avarice: I sell a few rarities on Amazon the way that other people have joined the Tribe of eBay. And yes, I got a little misty upon the news of Fogelberg's recent death and even watched a few sentimental performances of ol' Dan via YouTube. But then the practical girl within grabbed a mediocre early nineties Dan Fogelberg album - The Wild Places - and listed that sucker on Amazon. Surprisingly, the other sellers had priced their copies of The Wild Places in the thirty-forty dollar range. So I did too, and looked at this as a compliment to Fogelberg. Desirability is the name of the collectable game, right? To me, an opening price of one cent is sad. Now that's an insult to the music recorded on that CD.

Apparently I have offended at least one member of the Same Auld Lang Syne contingent of Dan Fogelberg mourners.

The point here is far more worrisome than one man's angry letter to a total stranger. It is the disturbing internet tendency to spew utter bile as often as possible. Look at message boards - most of the whiners are people who appear to wake up mad at the world with trigger-happy fingers on the keyboard, searching for an available target.

Some people need a seminar in gratefulness. When I read about starving babies being killed and dismembered in Darfur, for instance, I am so happy to be safe and warm and comfortable every day. When I hear about the houses reduced to rubble in Iraq, or the plight of Palestinians, or the continuing saga of the survivors of Hurricane Katrina, I think that most of us Americans should give thanks to the universe for an embarrassment of utter blessings. We don't have a whole lot to complain about.

Dan Fogelberg's music was so sweet, in that earnest seventies/eighties manner that I have grown to miss in these cynical, mean times. He never was a favorite of mine although I wouldn't turn the station if a song of his was playing. Not too long ago, it was okay to be sensitive; now we live in an age of snarkiness and anger. I sort of miss that kinder, gentler time.

Listen, I don't spit on anybody's grave. And profiteering? Mr. Wenick, I suggest you look up Halliburton or Blackwater on your computer if you are interested in current random acts of profiteering. I can't think of any used music dealers who park their Hummers next to their McMansions. It's odd how a person feels so comfortable insulting me and sizing up my motivation in order to allegedly defend a dead man who certainly seemed way too nice to care about the price of his used CDs on the internet. It doesn't make me angry so much as it makes me feel strange, as if a world full of pissed-off e-mailers is not the world I hoped to grow middle-aged in. But hey, I'm grateful. God bless America and all that.

And now, a few choice lyrics from Dan Fogelberg:

Capture the moment/Carry the day/Stay with the chase/As long as you may
Follow the dreamer/The fool, and the sage/Back to the days of/ the innocent age

NTD