You Made Me Read You
(Sung to the tune of "You Made Me Love You")*
The laundry piled up.
I didn't want to do it.
I didn't want to do it.
The dust and dog hair,
I didn't quite get to it,
Guess you could say I blew it.
I had three days off work and
Three new good books.
I wasn't thinkin'
How bad this ol' house looks.
Your words ensnared me.
I couldn't put the books down,
Just wouldn't put the books down,
Ignored the chores for fun,
More than one, not begun,
Completed none.
Give me, give me, give me,
Give me what I'm needin',
The self control
To not spend three whole days just readin'.
Three days and no work got done.
*Music by James V. Monaco,
lyrics by Joseph McCarthy
.
Showing posts with label parody. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parody. Show all posts
Monday, November 12, 2007
Saturday, November 18, 2006
School days, what-a-fool days
This morning, checking out Annie's blog, I read this post, which included a reference to a familiar song from my childhood:
I remember that song well, but not in a good way. I ruined any pleasant associations with it in sixth grade.
As I've demonstrated here, here and here, the genre of parody appeals to me enormously. It always has. Even as far back as sixth grade.
My sixth grade teacher was a large woman, tall and stout, with a cap of short, tight, gray curls and a stern demeanor. I can still picture her clearly, and I still remember how intimidated I felt in her presence. Mostly, I tried not to draw attention to myself in her classroom.
One day, for some reason I can't remember, I amused myself and a couple of other kids at lunchtime by singing them a parody I'd made up to the tune of "School Days." I sang it quietly and furtively, and we had a good laugh.
Unfortunately, I hadn't been quiet and furtive enough. Another student overhead me. A student, coincidentally, who (a) felt it was his moral duty to report such a breach of manners to the teacher, or (b) recognized a great opportunity to rat me out just because he could.
I finished my lunch, tossed my brown paper sack in the trashcan and headed for the playground. Just before I stepped out the door, Miss Engleking caught me by the arm and said, "Come here just a minute."
Uh-oh. "What were you singing?" she asked.
"Who, me? Um...I wasn't singing anything...I don't think."
"Oh," she said, "that's not what I heard."
"Well, I don't remember singing, so I don't know what song it could have been."
She wasn't buying it. "Someone told me you were singing a song about me, and I'd like to hear it."
With that, the jig was up. I ducked my head, turned red as a beet, and whined, "It wasn't really anything, it was just silly."
Drawing herself up to her full height (about eight feet as I recall), she said, "I want you to sing it. Here. Now. Loud."
So there I stood, next to the table where all the teachers sat and watched, and, voice quavering, sang this:
There was more, but I no longer remember it. There was something about her being fat (which I am now; karma is a bitch), and something about her being mean.
The other thing I remember, besides the horrible awkwardness and embarrassment, is what happened when I finished singing. Miss Engleking laughed, and then she encouraged me. She told me the song was "very clever" and that I should write more to develop my writing skills. Then she added one more bit of advice: "Next time, though, try to write something that will make someone feel good."
Miss Engleking, I think it would make you feel good to read that I took your words to heart.
* Music by Gus Edwards; Lyrics by Will D. Cobb, 1907
"School days, school days,
Dear old golden rule days,
Reading and writing and 'rithmetic,
Taught to the tune of the hickory stick,
You were my queen in calico,
I was your bashful barefoot beau,
And you wrote on my slate,
"I love you so,"
When we were a couple of kids." *
I remember that song well, but not in a good way. I ruined any pleasant associations with it in sixth grade.
As I've demonstrated here, here and here, the genre of parody appeals to me enormously. It always has. Even as far back as sixth grade.
My sixth grade teacher was a large woman, tall and stout, with a cap of short, tight, gray curls and a stern demeanor. I can still picture her clearly, and I still remember how intimidated I felt in her presence. Mostly, I tried not to draw attention to myself in her classroom.
One day, for some reason I can't remember, I amused myself and a couple of other kids at lunchtime by singing them a parody I'd made up to the tune of "School Days." I sang it quietly and furtively, and we had a good laugh.
Unfortunately, I hadn't been quiet and furtive enough. Another student overhead me. A student, coincidentally, who (a) felt it was his moral duty to report such a breach of manners to the teacher, or (b) recognized a great opportunity to rat me out just because he could.
I finished my lunch, tossed my brown paper sack in the trashcan and headed for the playground. Just before I stepped out the door, Miss Engleking caught me by the arm and said, "Come here just a minute."
Uh-oh. "What were you singing?" she asked.
"Who, me? Um...I wasn't singing anything...I don't think."
"Oh," she said, "that's not what I heard."
"Well, I don't remember singing, so I don't know what song it could have been."
She wasn't buying it. "Someone told me you were singing a song about me, and I'd like to hear it."
With that, the jig was up. I ducked my head, turned red as a beet, and whined, "It wasn't really anything, it was just silly."
Drawing herself up to her full height (about eight feet as I recall), she said, "I want you to sing it. Here. Now. Loud."
So there I stood, next to the table where all the teachers sat and watched, and, voice quavering, sang this:
"School days, school days,
Darned old golden rule days,
Reading and writing and 'rithmetic,
All put together they make me sick,
We are the slaves of Miss Engleking,
She doesn't look like a human being..."
There was more, but I no longer remember it. There was something about her being fat (which I am now; karma is a bitch), and something about her being mean.
The other thing I remember, besides the horrible awkwardness and embarrassment, is what happened when I finished singing. Miss Engleking laughed, and then she encouraged me. She told me the song was "very clever" and that I should write more to develop my writing skills. Then she added one more bit of advice: "Next time, though, try to write something that will make someone feel good."
Miss Engleking, I think it would make you feel good to read that I took your words to heart.
* Music by Gus Edwards; Lyrics by Will D. Cobb, 1907
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Losing My Prescriptions
If REM were to sing about my Saturday afternoon, it would go like this:
That’s me at the corner,
that’s me at the stoplight,
I’m leaving my prescriptions,
trying to keep up with bags
and I don’t know if I can do it,
oh, no, I’ve paid too much,
I haven’t bags enough,
I thought they were in my backseat,
I thought they were in my trunk,
I think I’m not too old to cry...
Here’s what happened: The last stop on my list of errands today was the Kmart pharmacy to pick up prescriptions. While I was in Kmart, I decided to shop for some other things and ended up walking toward my car with a cart containing a number of plastic shopping bags and other large items.
When I’d parked, I'd pulled through one parking space and into another so I wouldn't have to back out. Another car had immediately pulled into the space behind me. That would have been fine if I'd stopped after buying the prescriptions, but now I needed my trunk, which was no longer accessible. Not only that, but the cars that had parked next to me while I was in the store were so close I couldn’t squeeze the shopping cart through to reach my trunk from either side. I briefly considered putting everything in the backseat, but I'd have had to make a dozen trips, closing the car door after each one because of the narrow passage.
There was nothing to do but get in my car and pull it forward, even though that meant blocking one lane of traffic for a couple of minutes. I tossed stuff into the trunk as fast as I could, gave the (seemingly) empty cart a little push toward a group of others nearby, jumped back in the driver’s seat, and headed for home.
Fifteen minutes later, as I pulled into my driveway, it crossed my mind that I didn’t remember putting the bag of prescriptions into the car. I don’t normally put them in the trunk because of the heat, but I didn’t remember putting them anywhere in the car. The last time I’d seen that little bag, it was nestled in the kiddy-seat part of the shopping cart, right behind the big, solid-plastic flap that covers up the leg holes –- the only piece on the whole cart you can’t see through.
I took all the bags into the house, checked inside each one, then went back out to check the car again. I was mentally kicking myself all over the place. If I’d left the bag of prescriptions in the cart, I thought, they’d be long gone. No doubt some young punks trolling the parking lot would have found them and would be on their way to peddle them, pill by pill, to kids who wanted to get high. Kids who wouldn’t know the pills were for high blood pressure and high cholesterol.
I'm one of the 45 million Americans who don’t have health insurance, and those five prescriptions cost me $414. Trying to find a bright side to the situation, I reminded myself that there are a lot of people in worse shape than I am. I do have some savings. I could come up with the extra money if I had to. I’d call Kmart, and if nobody had turned the prescriptions in, I’d just ask the pharmacy to refill them and I’d suck up the loss. That’s a high price to pay for stupidity, money I certainly can’t afford to lose, but I'm old enough to know that some of life’s lessons are learned the hard way.
That train of thought was followed by another, more alarming one: it wasn't going to be that easy. All those medications were on the last refill. I’d called in for updated prescriptions a couple of times already. This time I'd have to go back to the doctor before I could get new ones. Well, I thought, maybe the pharmacist could call the doctor and get her to approve just one more refill of each medication. Surely they’d all understand the situation. But at nearly 5:00 p.m. on a Saturday, how much would they care?
I fumbled through the phone book. By the time I found Kmart’s number, I was in a state of high anxiety. In the high-pitched, whiny voice that I detest but can’t seem to control, I told the girl who answered the phone that I’d left there less than 30 minutes ago and had left a bag of prescriptions in the parking lot. She asked for my name. I gave it to her, and she said, “I have your prescriptions at the service desk.” That’s when I burst into tears. Thank God for good Samaritans!
I’d worry that this might have been a “senior moment” if I hadn’t done things like this occasionally throughout my life. I’ve left half a dozen umbrellas in restaurants over the course of the past 20 years. Usually, I’ve been lucky (knocking on wood here) and the more important items I’ve left behind have been found.
My self-confidence took a hit today, but there's no question in my mind that I got off easy. What will I remember most about this incident? No question about that, either; I'll remember the kindness of strangers.
That’s me at the corner,
that’s me at the stoplight,
I’m leaving my prescriptions,
trying to keep up with bags
and I don’t know if I can do it,
oh, no, I’ve paid too much,
I haven’t bags enough,
I thought they were in my backseat,
I thought they were in my trunk,
I think I’m not too old to cry...
Here’s what happened: The last stop on my list of errands today was the Kmart pharmacy to pick up prescriptions. While I was in Kmart, I decided to shop for some other things and ended up walking toward my car with a cart containing a number of plastic shopping bags and other large items.
When I’d parked, I'd pulled through one parking space and into another so I wouldn't have to back out. Another car had immediately pulled into the space behind me. That would have been fine if I'd stopped after buying the prescriptions, but now I needed my trunk, which was no longer accessible. Not only that, but the cars that had parked next to me while I was in the store were so close I couldn’t squeeze the shopping cart through to reach my trunk from either side. I briefly considered putting everything in the backseat, but I'd have had to make a dozen trips, closing the car door after each one because of the narrow passage.
There was nothing to do but get in my car and pull it forward, even though that meant blocking one lane of traffic for a couple of minutes. I tossed stuff into the trunk as fast as I could, gave the (seemingly) empty cart a little push toward a group of others nearby, jumped back in the driver’s seat, and headed for home.
Fifteen minutes later, as I pulled into my driveway, it crossed my mind that I didn’t remember putting the bag of prescriptions into the car. I don’t normally put them in the trunk because of the heat, but I didn’t remember putting them anywhere in the car. The last time I’d seen that little bag, it was nestled in the kiddy-seat part of the shopping cart, right behind the big, solid-plastic flap that covers up the leg holes –- the only piece on the whole cart you can’t see through.
I took all the bags into the house, checked inside each one, then went back out to check the car again. I was mentally kicking myself all over the place. If I’d left the bag of prescriptions in the cart, I thought, they’d be long gone. No doubt some young punks trolling the parking lot would have found them and would be on their way to peddle them, pill by pill, to kids who wanted to get high. Kids who wouldn’t know the pills were for high blood pressure and high cholesterol.
I'm one of the 45 million Americans who don’t have health insurance, and those five prescriptions cost me $414. Trying to find a bright side to the situation, I reminded myself that there are a lot of people in worse shape than I am. I do have some savings. I could come up with the extra money if I had to. I’d call Kmart, and if nobody had turned the prescriptions in, I’d just ask the pharmacy to refill them and I’d suck up the loss. That’s a high price to pay for stupidity, money I certainly can’t afford to lose, but I'm old enough to know that some of life’s lessons are learned the hard way.
That train of thought was followed by another, more alarming one: it wasn't going to be that easy. All those medications were on the last refill. I’d called in for updated prescriptions a couple of times already. This time I'd have to go back to the doctor before I could get new ones. Well, I thought, maybe the pharmacist could call the doctor and get her to approve just one more refill of each medication. Surely they’d all understand the situation. But at nearly 5:00 p.m. on a Saturday, how much would they care?
I fumbled through the phone book. By the time I found Kmart’s number, I was in a state of high anxiety. In the high-pitched, whiny voice that I detest but can’t seem to control, I told the girl who answered the phone that I’d left there less than 30 minutes ago and had left a bag of prescriptions in the parking lot. She asked for my name. I gave it to her, and she said, “I have your prescriptions at the service desk.” That’s when I burst into tears. Thank God for good Samaritans!
I’d worry that this might have been a “senior moment” if I hadn’t done things like this occasionally throughout my life. I’ve left half a dozen umbrellas in restaurants over the course of the past 20 years. Usually, I’ve been lucky (knocking on wood here) and the more important items I’ve left behind have been found.
My self-confidence took a hit today, but there's no question in my mind that I got off easy. What will I remember most about this incident? No question about that, either; I'll remember the kindness of strangers.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
The Garbage Man Can
You must be sick to death of me whining about my garbage can woes, but you're not half as sick of it as I am. Last night, once again, I couldn't move my lidless garbage can because it was full of rainwater, and I had to wrestle the can to the ground to pour the water out so I could take the garbage out to the road.
In fact, last night was the worst night yet. It rained almost every day this week, so the rain had steeped in the can for a few days and turned into a foul, sun-brewed, refuse tea. As I poured the vile stuff out, trying to keep it from running over my feet, it carried a few french fries and half of a rotten fish sandwich out with the flow. You can imagine how much fun that was to pick up.
I tried to call my "waste management company" again today. Once more, I waited on hold for an interminable amount of time and, once more, I had to give up to answer a call on another line. Of the times I've tried to call, I've only made contact with a human being once. Obviously, it's time to try a different tactic.
I've thought about writing a letter for a while now, but they must get stacks and stacks of them considering their recent service problems. What are the odds they'd draw mine out of the complaint lottery and respond to it?
Well, I think I am going the letter route, but outside the regular channels. Before I do something I might regret, read this, if you have time, and tell me if you think it might work:
*********
Unnamed (for now) Waste Management Service
Baton Rouge, Louisiana
Dear Person Who Opens the Mail:
Yes, that's right, I mean you, the mail-opening person. Can you help me, please? I've had a problem with my trash pickup service recently and can't seem to connect with anyone who has the authority to resolve this problem; therefore, I'm hoping to enlist you in my endeavor to get a new garbage can to replace the one that's been broken for weeks now.
I would deeply appreciate it if you, my new mail-opening friend, would direct this letter to the person in your office who has the best singing voice and/or the most guts, then persuade that person (and backup singers if there are any volunteers) to take it to the office of the Vice President in Charge of Who Gets Replacement Cans, then sing the enclosed song aloud to that V.P. I'd be grateful beyond words.
I look forward to hearing from someone representing your company within a week from the date of this letter. I've taken the liberty of posting this request online on my blog (without identifying your company at this point) and will be happy to post the company's response as well.
Thank you in advance for any assistance you can provide. I can be reached by phone at the numbers above.
Sincerely,
Velvet Sacks (Readers, I'll use my real name, of course.)
Here's the song:
In fact, last night was the worst night yet. It rained almost every day this week, so the rain had steeped in the can for a few days and turned into a foul, sun-brewed, refuse tea. As I poured the vile stuff out, trying to keep it from running over my feet, it carried a few french fries and half of a rotten fish sandwich out with the flow. You can imagine how much fun that was to pick up.
I tried to call my "waste management company" again today. Once more, I waited on hold for an interminable amount of time and, once more, I had to give up to answer a call on another line. Of the times I've tried to call, I've only made contact with a human being once. Obviously, it's time to try a different tactic.
I've thought about writing a letter for a while now, but they must get stacks and stacks of them considering their recent service problems. What are the odds they'd draw mine out of the complaint lottery and respond to it?
Well, I think I am going the letter route, but outside the regular channels. Before I do something I might regret, read this, if you have time, and tell me if you think it might work:
*********
Unnamed (for now) Waste Management Service
Baton Rouge, Louisiana
Dear Person Who Opens the Mail:
Yes, that's right, I mean you, the mail-opening person. Can you help me, please? I've had a problem with my trash pickup service recently and can't seem to connect with anyone who has the authority to resolve this problem; therefore, I'm hoping to enlist you in my endeavor to get a new garbage can to replace the one that's been broken for weeks now.
I would deeply appreciate it if you, my new mail-opening friend, would direct this letter to the person in your office who has the best singing voice and/or the most guts, then persuade that person (and backup singers if there are any volunteers) to take it to the office of the Vice President in Charge of Who Gets Replacement Cans, then sing the enclosed song aloud to that V.P. I'd be grateful beyond words.
I look forward to hearing from someone representing your company within a week from the date of this letter. I've taken the liberty of posting this request online on my blog (without identifying your company at this point) and will be happy to post the company's response as well.
Thank you in advance for any assistance you can provide. I can be reached by phone at the numbers above.
Sincerely,
Velvet Sacks (Readers, I'll use my real name, of course.)
Here's the song:
THE GARBAGE MAN
(to be sung to the tune of "The Candy Man")
1st Verse:
Who can take my trashcan,
(Who can take my trashcan)
empty out the load,
toss the can and leave it
helter-skelter in the road?
The garbage man can.
Oh, the garbage man can.
Just look at what he did,
holy crap, he broke the lid,
I need a new trash can.
2nd Verse:
When next I took the trash out,
(When next I took the trash out)
there'd been a lot of rain,
I couldn't budge the can until
I tipped it o'er to drain,
but the garbage man can.
Oh, the garbage man can.
He spied my broken lid
and he hauled it off, he did,
I need a new trash can.
Chorus:
No lid's on the bin;
rain keeps pouring in;
flies go in and out as they please,
crawl on spoiled tuna and cheese,
lay their eggs and spread disease.
3rd Verse:
I called your office number,
(I called your office number)
requested a new can;
the girl said she'd discuss it
with the manager man.
Oh, the garbage man can.
Yes, the garbage man can.
You have not returned my call,
and I'm begging now, y'all,
I need a new trash can.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Dumb-brained Melody
As sung by the Righteous Bloggers
1ST VERSE:
Oh, my head is trying
to conjure up a post
that's clever and smart.
My brain cells are dying,
my blog is surely toast,
I can't seem to start.
I need ideas,
I need ideas,
God speed ideas to me.
CHORUS:
Only stupid thoughts
cross my mind, cross my mind,
only stupid thoughts I won't write.
Where's that good idea
I can't find, I can't find?
Where's that good idea for tonight?
SECOND VERSE:
I could post more photos
of flowers or my dog,
I've done that before.
Those posts got no comments,
the folks who read my blog
are easy to bore.
I need ideas,
I need ideas,
God speed ideas to me.
CHORUS:
Only stupid thoughts
cross my mind, cross my mind,
only stupid thoughts I won't write.
Where's that good idea
I can't find, I can't find?
Where's that good idea for tonight?
THIRD VERSE:
Oh, I know what I'll do,
I'll write a silly verse
to fill up some space.
Might not entertain you
but I have posted worse
and kept a straight face.
I nee-ee-eed ideas,
I-I-I-I nee-ee-eed ideas,
Go-o-od speeeeeeed ideas to-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo me-ee-ee-ee-ee.
1ST VERSE:
Oh, my head is trying
to conjure up a post
that's clever and smart.
My brain cells are dying,
my blog is surely toast,
I can't seem to start.
I need ideas,
I need ideas,
God speed ideas to me.
CHORUS:
Only stupid thoughts
cross my mind, cross my mind,
only stupid thoughts I won't write.
Where's that good idea
I can't find, I can't find?
Where's that good idea for tonight?
SECOND VERSE:
I could post more photos
of flowers or my dog,
I've done that before.
Those posts got no comments,
the folks who read my blog
are easy to bore.
I need ideas,
I need ideas,
God speed ideas to me.
CHORUS:
Only stupid thoughts
cross my mind, cross my mind,
only stupid thoughts I won't write.
Where's that good idea
I can't find, I can't find?
Where's that good idea for tonight?
THIRD VERSE:
Oh, I know what I'll do,
I'll write a silly verse
to fill up some space.
Might not entertain you
but I have posted worse
and kept a straight face.
I nee-ee-eed ideas,
I-I-I-I nee-ee-eed ideas,
Go-o-od speeeeeeed ideas to-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo me-ee-ee-ee-ee.
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