A Diamond — Which Is To Say, A Jewel — In The Rough

If Memory Swerves™, 'twas on this day in history (July 3, 2014) that blonde-maned, lone-monikered songbird Jewel announced to her half million Twitternet™ followers that she and rodeo cowboy husband Troy Somebody were going their separate ways, on horseback, one supposes. While the news would shock many, it did not come as a surprise to Yours Truly Dooley®. A chart-topping angel beloved internationally, yet loved only once monthly by a scrawny faux cowpoke who spent more time atop a cowbull than he did his married missus? Crikey! Those of us who'd followed the career of the buxom, dentally-challenge beauty knew their nuptials wouldn't last, but then, we knew her whole story: We knew 'bout the pioneering spirit of her grandfather Yule and grandmother Ruth, how they came to Alaska from Switzerland and commenced to pumpin' out toe heads on dirt floors like they were the bloody Swiss Family Robinson Crusoe. We knew about her daddy Atilla, pawin' 'way at mum Lenedra, and how Jewel — 'long with brothers Atz Lee and Shane — was raised in a homestead without proper toiletry, living off the land, riding horses bareback — which is not to say nekkid, though one can imagine it — and of course, yodelin' and, later, waitressin', livin' out the car in Santa Diego, buskin' for coins with a guitar strap over the bra strap on her back. What we didn't know then — nor now — is why she married this sharp-shooting rodeo clown. In her Twitternet missive to "her base," Jewel bravely talked of their "thoughtful and tender undoing" after six years of marriage and sixteen years together. Thoughtful and tender, my arse. At the time, I'd have liked to thoughtfully and tenderly administered a police-issued boot to his Wrangler®-panted backside. Alas, she would rebound — what with the record release parties, reality TV shows and the shaking of what the good Lorde™ gave her — and Atz and Leandra would return to the orders of their day — pumpin' the water, nursin' the suckling grandkids and huntin' down innocent moose like good pale-faced Alaskans. Note to the Kilchers: If there's anything we can do to help young Jewel in our official — which is to say, imagined — policing capacity, any gentle affection we might extend — don't hesitate to contact us at the station house.