Today I chopped up an apple and tried to log into my “nutrition” app on my iPhone. It is quite difficult to determine exactly how large an apple a person has. (worst pickup line ever… :Hey baby… how big is that apple of yours?”) I weighed mine in grams. 262 grams, and that was after the core was sliced out. I know this much… I weigh as much as a bag of 560 sliced apples. The Lard is good to me. Johnny Appleseed would be so proud of that pun.
I was just thinking of the Disney film the other day. It was called Melody Time, and featured 6 or 7 stories. There was a video featuring “Little Toot,” sung by the Andrews Sisters. He was a tugboat with pluck. People thought he was too little, but he had courage. It’s a classic tale. “In a world where tugboats are scared by giant barges…” And Melody time had “Bumble Boogie,” based on a boogie version of Rimsky Korsakov’s “Flight of the Bumble Bee.” An animated bee ran away from scary musical notes and violent trumpet flowers. But mostly I remember Melody Time for the stories of Pecos Bill, and of Johnny Appleseed. “The Lord is good to me,” He sang. “And so I thank the Lord For giving me the things I need, the sun and rain and the appleseed.” It is an old hymn (Swedenborgian, if you know your early nineteenth century cults). I never knew that; I always thought Disney made up the tune. The singer pronounced the it Lard. Maybe it’s a midwest thing. They do tend to use lots of grease in their cooking…
Today promises to be a good day. I got up early and made my coffee. I fed the cat. Sliced up the apple, of course, and now I am sitting quietly, typing on the computer. Here is a little secret. Are you ready? Well, the secret is this: eating lots of fruit and vegetables will make you fart. OMIGOD I was a machine yesterday. They were, thankfully, the opposite of silent-but-deadly. Noisy but unproductive? Maybe the opposite. Anyway, think “Congress” and you will get a sure picture of how I, and my gas, were exceedingly obnoxious yesterday. I was lucky that nobody knew I was so, uh, productive in my un-productivity.
I work at 11 o clock today.
I was thinking of music that is so firmly planted in my head that I need only two or three words to get the song stuck in my head. I am sure you have that moment.
I often (and by often, I mean several times a day) hear a name, or a few words, and it will graft a melody into my brain, sometimes for the next hour or so. Seriously–how hard is it for you to hear the name Jenny without singing 867-5309? Or Cecilia? “You’re breakin’ my heart. You’re shakin’ my confidence daily.” I know one or two people named Michelle who hate that song. Not to say that I blame them. Only once or twice, someone has elected to sing the theme song to “Life of Brian” for me. I generally give them an awkward stare, and shout something like “Wolf nipple chips! Get ’em while they’re hot!” Then I will get an awkward stare back, and thereby win the awkward staring contest. I mean, the whole thing was a contest to begin with, right?
My mother and I were chatting about our family and music the other day. it started with reminiscing about my grandpa: “Boy could he whistle!” Followed by nonsense songs. Not nonsense like made-up words, but instead, the nonsense of finding a song for everyday tasks. My mother would often sing “Doin’ the dishes…” or some other equally mundane task, maybe to the tune of “Doin’ the Pigeon” (know your Sesame Street, people. Seriously…) and I do the same thing. My wife quirked an eyebrow toward me, a couple years ago, for inventing the lyrics “Beautiful balls, wonderful balls, wonderful balls of meeeeeeat….” It’s hymnic. And relevant. Some people have no taste for art. We determined that my mom had this habit, and so did I. So did her dad. Also, it turns out, so did my great grandfather. “Shopping for some shirts,” he would sing. Somehow, he made his day a little more delicious by singing about it. I barely remember my mother’s grandpa. I remember he shook a lot, and his jaw quivered when he wasn’t talking. He probably had Parkinson’s. I was 4 or 5 when he passed away. Neither of my kids do this, and it makes me sad, just a little bit. Even more so now, since I found out that four generations of my family have done the “singing-weird-tunes-about-everyday-events” thing.
Maybe a person just needs a certain kind of personality. Maybe that person needs a voice that is unafraid to sing out loud. Maybe the person need a devil-may-care attitude for the muse to strike.
Kind of like today. I mean seriously, how is writing today’s blog not like making up a song about mopping the kitchen in your underwear? Except for the singing, and the underwear, they’re practically the same mental exercise.
You people are so lucky to know me!
That’s sarcasm, people. Don’t delete me immediately. And on that note (Ha! Note! Get it?) I need to shower and work.