Wednesday, July 15, 2009
My Favorite Iron Chef Ingredient, and the Worst Song Dedication Ever
They're playing our song. Our venom-filled, gouge your eyeballs out, can't wait to spit on your grave, song.
Have you ever had a song dedicated to you? I have.
It was a magical moment that for the longest time has been lurking in the recesses of my mind, just waiting for the right instant to pop up and punch me in the kisser again.
So I’m in my car the other day, and this familiar song starts playing on the radio. I’m trying to figure out why it sounds so wrong, and yet so right. When it gets to the almost-chorus, it hits me. Below, taste the poison.
Words of the Almost-Chorus
Well, I don’t want to sing you guarantees
And I don’t want to cling to our use to be’s
So take your heart, take your soul
Just get yourself on out of here
Yeah, just take your hurt, take your pain
Just get yourself on out of here Yep.
That’s the song my on-again off-again college boyfriend “Bill” dedicated to me. (If you must know, it was during an “off-again” phase).
I know what you’re thinking. What did I possibly do to deserve such vitriol?
Looking back now, I can’t for the life of me remember the events leading up to the song. My brain gets a little squishy around the edges when it comes to things like memories. Ask Hubby. Whatever I did to deserve it, it must have been a doozy.
It kinda sucks that the only song I’ve ever had dedicated to me is a hate-song. But it doesn’t really really suck. In fact, I find myself snickering like Edward over it. Why is that? Maybe knowing that at some point in my life, someone hated me enough to dedicate a song to that hatred. It's so poetic. It's like the hate reached an ethereal level. I'm honored.
Just once, though, I want someone to dedicate some sort of Colbie Caillet, Jason Mraz song to me. Something about my body being a wonderland or something. I don’t know. I don’t really listen to that sort of stuff.
Anyone out there had a song dedicated to you? Do tell.
Preview of What I'm Reading Friday:
So, I finished "Everything is Fine" by Ann Dee Ellis, and now I am halfway through her earlier novel "This is What I Did." I'm actually dying to find out what it is, exactly, he did do. I should find out today.
But starting Friday, I will be resurrecting an important artifact from my childhood: my favorite book. I can thank (blame) it for making me the way I am today (kind of a dork.)
I haven't read it in at least 15 years, but I loved it as a kid, and I'm excited to see if it holds the same magic.
Since I'm a dork, I will leave you with this teaser quote (one that has stuck with me for years):
“Speaking of ways. . . there is such a thing as a tesseract.”
Can anyone name the book off the top of their head? Anyone care to read it with me? See if it stands the test of Time? Get it? Time?
I smell the wafting odors of a book club… Anyone else smell it? Anyone? Hmmmm. Maybe it’s just the Bangers and Mash I’m smelling.