![\"Mea](\"https:\/\/ayearofsongs.org\/ayearofsongs\/images\/blogimages\/ItsNotRaining.jpg\")
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I was a college drop-out, working in a rundown, inner city self-serve gas station where the prices were usually so high the only customers we sometimes had were people limping along on fumes. They’d sputter into the gas station, put a buck’s worth of gas in and drive a block or two down the street to get some cheap gas at our always-busy competition. I’d often stop in there on the way home from work, myself.<\/p>\n
My GF at the time was a smart, pretty girl who grew up in Bel Air (you know, where Reagan lived after he left the White House?)<\/p>\n
She was in law school most of the time we were going out (though she had dropped out during the brief period we actually lived together… it must have been her bohemian period) and she often bounced what she was learning off me. So I found myself picking up a fair amount of legal jargon and half-digested theory and doctrine. (One man’s seamless web is another’s jumble of disassociated bits and pieces.)<\/p>\n
Probably no phrase or piece of jargon from that era has come in so handy, over the intervening years, as the snip of Latin, mea culpa, <\/span>which, of course, means my guilt<\/span> — or in the stunted vernacular of our head-shrunken era, my bad.<\/span><\/p>\n It seemed to cry out for a song. A nice little song about doin’ wrong.<\/p>\n But, in those days, I just couldn’t seem to write a nice simple song about someone doin’ someone wrong, oh, no<\/span>.<\/p>\n