Daisies and Shit A Daisies and Shit Production

Burst of Whatnot

 

Yeah.. yeah... I'll never be a Famous Blogger™ if I don't learn to update consistently.  Thing is, working against one's nature is hard, and well... doing hard things without the promise of fabulous reward isn't really in my nature either.  Being casually insulting, however, is.  So... um... consistency is for pussies.

I digress.

I stumbled upon the Six Songs of Me project yesterday, thanks to The MikeLewpedia (a new blog, and clear finalist for Blog Name of the Year, written by a man I met at the recent Midwest Freethought Conference), and thought I might take a bit of time off from queer/atheism/critter championing to participate.

 

1. What was the first song you ever bought?

I haven't the vaguest of ideas.  I do, however, know the first song I ever owned - "Take the Long Way Home", by Supertramp.

I owned it as a 45 that I played on my plastic Fisher Price record player.  This one:

Not the crappy little music box sold to be drooled on by the infants of parents who didn't want to expose their spawn to "devil music":

 

2. What song always gets you dancing?

Blerg... SO. MANY.  I'm a former dancer, I did a little bit of everything - Jazz, Ballet, Tap, Contemporary, Ballroom, Broadway... moving to music is just what I do.  I will say, however, that Ska motivates me to move more than other genres, so I'm going to go with "Zoot Suit Riot", by Cherry Poppin' Daddies.

"Now you sinners know where your women come for love!"  Indeed.

 

 3. What song takes you back to your childhood?

"Popsicle Toes", by Michael Franks.  This one is on The Art of Tea album which is, in my opinion, the only Michael Franks album that should be legal to own.

Anyone familiar with the lyrics of this song is probably mildly alarmed that it reminds me of my childhood.  That it reminds me of my childhood for the sole reason that it reminds me of my father is probably more than mildly alarming.  There is, of course, a perfectly innocent explanation for this connection.

One of my fondest childhood memories is of my father and I dancing in jazzy circles, my tiny feet perched upon his, through our sunbeam swept living room as he sang the chorus of Popsicle Toes to me through my uncontrollable giggles.  I was maybe four or five and, for me, the song was about the frigid tootsies that I so enjoyed planting on my daddy's belly while he watched tv.  An action he dutifully rewarded with comical jumps and tickle-laden jokes about how I'd kill him with frostbite.

It wasn't until I listened to the song again as a teenager, armed with a map, that I realized just how pervy the song really is. Regardless, it still took Herculean restraint to not use it for the daddy-daughter dance at my wedding.

A close second, for very similar reasons, is "Thank Heaven for Little Girls", as performed by Perry Como.

I listened to this song perched on my grandfather's toes as we waltzed around the finished basement that once served as my great-grandmother's apartment.  It just doesn't sound right without the static and scratches that accompanied anything played on his old crank phonograph.

 

4. What is your perfect love song?

"Love Cats", by The Cure.

No real explanation beyond the fact that it isn't covered in syrupy, fantasy-laden bullshit like so many other love songs and has the added benefit of actually being enjoyable to listen to.

As an aside, the video linked above is from the German music video program Formel Eins because UMG, who apparently owns the rights to the official music video, has blocked it from being posted to YouTube like utter asshats.  Seriously, UMG, you lose nothing by granting YouTube distribution of a video from the 20th century.  Yeesh.

 

5. What song would you want at your funeral?

Seriously, I don't really know... whatever songs bring to mind favorable memories among those that gather there.  Less seriously, "The Ride of the Fucking Valkyries" by Wagner.  Yes, that's the only title for the song that I'll accept.

 

6. Time for the encore. One last song that makes you, you.

As much as I would love to be brilliantly academic or existentially deep here, nothing flatteringly pompus would be as honest as "Somebody Hates Me", by Reel Big Fish.

The realization that I actually have very little control over the opinions others will form about me, especially those that I only know tangentially, has had a more profound effect on the person I have become than just about anything else.

 

 

BONUS RANT!

For fuck's sake, people. If you're going to use your alcohol-sodden vocal cords to hoot, holler, or (gods forbid) sing over the band, don't bother posting the video of the musical performance you've so blissfully humiliated yourself to on your vapid YouTube channel.  I'm sure it was an awesome concert, especially considering how you screamed just how awesome it was at seemingly random intervals throughout the video, and you should totally keep that shit on your iPod to remind you of just how awesome it was, especially considering the long-term effects frequent binge-drinking may have on one's memory, but you're annoying the fuck out of everyone who's casually searching for a version they can actually, you know, HEAR.