Open letter to the lamp-post from 59th street bridge song (feelin groovy) by Paul Simon

Dear Lamp-Post:
It was a simple question, wasn't it? "Wat'cha knowin'?" Or was that too much for you? Yeah, you know what I'm talking about, lamp-post. Years ago, this guy, Paul Simon. You remember. Little guy, stoned off his ass, wandering the street, mumbling groovy this, groovy that, dooby dooby doo. Stared at your flowers, then asked you for some rhymes. You didn't answer, lamp-post, and now I've got this stupid song stuck in my head.

Oh, I suppose you found him intimidating, or were scared, and maybe I understand you not wanting to engage stoned folk-hippies with small talk, but really, lamp-post, it was the sixties. Everyone was like that. You could have spared me a lot of embarrassment by throwing out a little something. Like, for instance, "What am I knowing? I'm just sittin' here glowing!" Cute little rhyme, good answer, Simon loses his train of thought, the whole hook of the song is gone. Would have nipped the whole thing in the bud. Simon doesn't write the song, it's not stuck in my head, and I never tell a senior partner his sportcoat was 'groovy' and get the stink-eye of a lifetime.

Groovy, lamp-post. I said 'groovy.' Worse, I meant it. Now, I don't know about 59th street, but here at a prestigious accounting firm in the midwest, to an aging schmuck with hair-plugs like a Ken doll, NOTHING is 'groovy,' especially when it comes from a network administrator who's humming folk songs in the john instead of upgrading the email server, and what's the deal with those Word 2007 documents he can never open? Huh?

Thanks for nothing, lamp post. If I'm never on 59th street it'll be too soon.