Golly Gee

Growing up, there were a handful of albums that were always stacked on the record player (I know. So old. Shut up.): Cat Stevens, Simon and Garfunkel, Godspell, Pippin, Sesame Street Fever and Come on and Zoom.

Remember Zoom?  I was never really into the show (it skewed older. I was--and still am-- a Sesame Street kid) but, man, I loved that album.  The cover opened up like a book and had the lyrics to the songs printed inside.  I spent hours listening to the music while studying the words and pictures (as I recall, the illustrations were amateurish and somewhat disturbing).

One of my favorite songs was a riddle called Fannee Doolee.  Fannee Doolee hates to read, but she loves a good book.  She hates to bake, but thinks it's fun to cook.  And on and on.  What's Fannee's deal? Why is everything about her a contradiction?  It's revealed in the reprise: Fannee only loves things with double letters.

I found myself thinking about Fannee Doolee the other day when forced to recognize the pervasiveness of a major contradiction within myself:  I won't back down from any argument but I shy away from confrontation.  Or, in Fannee's terms, I hate to pick a fight but I do love to battle.  

This is not a revelation.  What was surprising was the ridiculous way in which my little quirk manifested itself this past week.  The last time I was at our town's library (my favorite place in town), they told me I had two overdue books.

Impossible.

I take out at least twenty books for me and the kids each week, which-- as someone who hates to lose things-- I've always recognized as a potential disaster.  In order to keep tabs on the books in the house, the kids and I long ago established a system.  Okay, "system" is overstating it-- it's really just a reusable grocery bag (the library bag).  If a book is not being read, it is in the bag.

I checked to see if maybe they reshelved the books without checking them in.  Nope.  Hmmm.  A shadow of doubt crept in.  I scoured the house and car but no books.  Where could they be?  It didn't make any sense.

Unwilling to admit defeat or face the circulation desk, I renewed the lost books online.  And then.... I stayed away from the library.

So lame!  Is a lost book even a conflict?  What, exactly, was I avoiding?  Finally, today, I went back to the library, checkbook in hand.  But first I swung by the children's room one last time to check the shelf.  And there were my missing books. Hah!

I hate to gloat but I do so love being correct. 

I Am Yours, MRI, You Are What You Are....

I had an MRI today. (Weaselsnob caled it the hypochondriac's dream.... funny because it's true!)

Happily it was first thing in the morning so I didn't have time to get all worked up about it. Not the results, the actual MRI itself. I've always heard stories about people freaking out inside the machine-- which is why I suppose they asked me if I get claustrophobic (and whether I have any shrapnel in my body).

Fortunately, I answered all their mental-- and metal-- questions correctly and was permitted to continue. Liz, the very helpful and friendly tech, explained what was going to happen and what I should expect over the course of the next 40 or so minutes. She then gave me some headphones and asked what kind of music I would like to listen to.

My mind blanked. Liz started rattling off the options in their CD library: "Classical, Jazz, Light Rock, Classic Rock...." I chose Light Rock (Lite Rock?) figuring it was a safe bet and then made a nervous joke about how awful it would be to hear "Macarena" over and over. Liz parried with "Not as bad as 'Hot Hot Hot!'" I actually banned that song from my wedding. I could hang with this Liz.

Headphones, collar and head gear in place, I entered the machine. And the music started. A classic Crosby Stills & Nash song. Not bad.... about what I expected. I was happy with my choice. Then the next song came on. I didn't know it but recognized the CSN/CSNY harmonies. And then "Our House" came on. Oh good god. A whole Crosby Stills & Nash CD?!!!

I contemplated squeezing my Emergency Stop Bulb but decided to tough it out.

Excuse Me, Is Your Refrigerator Running?

I have always paid attention to song lyrics and, with some rap-based exceptions, am fairly adept at both deciphering and retaining them.

As an aside, it's practically criminal how the brain can hold on to some information like phone numbers and lyrics and completely void itself of useful stuff. I often wish my entire education had been set to music just so I could have a shot at remembering something actually relevant to my daily life and the questions my kids ask me-- as opposed to the year in which the Battle of Hastings was fought (1066).

My mindless focusing (oxymoron alert!) on the words I'm singing must feed into my enjoyment of those misheard lyrics roundups. You know what I'm talking about... "'scuse me while I kiss this guy" (Purple Haze); "I'm not talking 'bout the linens" (I'd Really Love to See You Tonight); "the cross-eyed bear that you gave to me" (You Oughta Know); and, of course, "Hold me closer Tony Danza...." (Tiny Dancer). I'm sure there are websites devoted to them. (Just checked. Yup.)

We may have a new entry.

Our family's song of the summer is Foster the People's "Pumped Up Kicks." Notwithstanding what I said about being good with words, I have practically no idea what they are saying during most of the song. The verse is sung through some kind of megaphone that distorts the sound, but then it breaks into a very catchy chorus that I love but which is still somewhat hard to decipher. Turns out that the words were being purposefully manipulated as a way of censoring them (the chorus references guns and bullets).

A second aside: The upshot of all of Tipper Gore's fist shaking all those years ago is that they garble "gun" and "bullet," meanwhile I have to keep my hand on the dial to navigate away from Rihanna singing about how she likes the smell of sex in the air and sweet little Bruno Mars' plans for after he does his p90x? It's like radio morality and censorship are in direct contradiction with what is deemed okay by the ratings boards/standards and practices for movies and tv. Can you all meet in the middle somewhere please?

On Sirius we can hear the song as written and it clearly says (in part) "all the other kids with the pumped up kicks you'd better run, better run faster than my bullet." Except my son hears-- and sings-- it a little differently: "better run, better run, faster than my oven."

He insists it makes perfect sense.

We're Ridin' Quattro

Our summer vacation plans required us to spend lots of time in the car. And, because, to my utter dismay, NOT ONE of the top car companies has seized upon my genius idea of installing a limousine-type partition between the front seat and the back, we figured we were in for our fair share of "don't make me come back there" type eruptions.

We were wrong. Two things soothed our savage beasts-- books on tape and the radio.

All of a sudden my kids love pop music. Taio Cruz, Katy Perry, Jason Derulo-- they sing along with all of it. My son's favorite is "Billionaire" by Travie McCoy because he gets to say the word frickin'.

"I want to be a billionaire so frickin' bad," he croons, heavily stressing what I assume he thinks of as the "F-word."

I let it slide (and blast the song) because I remember being a kid and singing along gleefully with Jim Croce: "bad, bad Leroy Brown, baddest man in the whole DAMN town..."

And as my sweet innocent little girl chirps about California girls (or gurls) being so hot they'll melt your popsicle I cringe a little bit; but then I remind myself that I missed every single dirty lyric as I sang along to Grease and that I didn't realize until I was about 30 that "Nights in White Satin" by the Moody Blues was spelled n-i-g-h-t-s and wasn't about a bunch of guys from King Arthur's court inexplicably wearing sheets.

Happy September!
Oh, and 1990's me wants to remind you all that tomorrow is September 2, 2010. That's right: 90210.

Author! Author!

I love my house.
I have two cats.
I have a couch under my bed.

And that's all there is. Intriguing, no? The brief work of a newly-published Kindergartener.

In our elementary school we run a Publishing Center-- the kids come in with stories that they have written in class, we (parent volunteers) go over the stories with them, and, ultimately, the story is typed up and bound into a very low-tech, often hideous, wallpaper-sample-covered cardboard book.

I really enjoy sitting down with the kids and going through their stories and illustrations with them. Some stories are completely random. Some are hilarious. Some just talk about which Wii games they like to play. And some stories provide a vivid peek into a child's life at home (let's just say that I don't have to worry that I'm the mom with the shortest temper).

Also a treat is the "About the Author" section. Kid authors are about all kinds of stuff. Exactly how old they are and what sports they play = very important. As are: favorite foods, favorite colors and pets (or the unfulfilled desire to have pets).

Today I read an "About the Author" that included this juicy gem: "He once got a dragon tattoo that lasted for ten days." How awesome is that? It kind of reminds me of when Dudley Pippin recites his kid resume to Naomi on Free to Be... You and Me: "and a ball of tin foil five inches across..."

If I ever write a book, I'm going to remember the Publishing Center when I craft my About the Author. Let's see... I like blue. And dogs. And cheese. And I hate eggplant. Huh. I may need to get some more pets to flesh it out.

Of Course I'm Sirius. And Stop Calling Me Shirley.

Our new car (now almost two years old) came with a free six-month subscription to Sirius Satellite radio. During those six months I figured that I’d sneak in a few minutes of Howard Stern here and there while the kids were in school and that would be that. What I didn’t figure on was Channel 116—Kids Place Live.

Kids Place Live plays fun, cool music for kids by bands like They Might Be Giants and Barenaked Ladies (and leaves all the HSM/Hannah Montana/Jonas Brothers stuff for Channel 115- Disney). The kids started asking for it, which meant no more Wiggles, no more Music Together cds, and—la la la hallelujah!-- no more Elmo’s Song.

The whole family quickly became hooked. We now pay for Sirius and even bought a receiver for the house.

Because I like music (and background noise), KPL is on most of the day. In the mornings we listen to Kenny Curtis and the Animal Farm, after school we catch up with Absolutely Mindy, and on the weekends we tune in to Robbie Schaefer. Each DJ has his/her own schtick and, for the most part, it works. They make us laugh. And they take requests!

The DJs—and the songs they play—have become part of our family’s shorthand. We reference bits and lyrics like they are common knowledge. Which, of course, they are not. I don’t think we know anyone who cares about satellite radio, much less Kids Place Live.

So, here we are, caught up in a whole little community that, to most people, doesn’t even exist. Like old school Snuffleupagus. Or Dragon Tales. Or Fight Club.

Oh well. In the words of Secret Agent 23 Skidoo, I gotta be me.

Video Jukebox

This is not new. But it's new to me. Did you know that VH-1 still shows videos every once in a while?

I still remember the pre-MTV days when my sister and I would be glued to the TV for the half-hour of HBO Video Jukebox. A mere 30 minutes. With credits and intros it was like six videos, one of which was always "Bette Davis Eyes." And that would have to sustain us for a whole month.

Now we have YouTube. But we still don't have cool spaceship cars like the Jetsons.

We@$el$not

Ke$ha's "Tik Tok" came on while I was in the car today.

I can't ever turn that song off because I just love the ridiculousness of the swagger/Mick Jagger rhyme. Can't you just picture the high fives all around when Ke$ha et al came up with that gem?

Anyway, I realized something. I haven't hit google with this because I don't want to find out that I'm actually the last person on the planet to have this mini-epiphany, but don't you think "Tik Tok" sounds just like (and is totally in keeping with the character of) Amanda on Ugly Betty?

<....crickets....>

Oh, that's right. I'm one of the only people who watched Ugly Betty. Nevermind.