Lettuce It Only (AKA “Schmeat It”) (Michael Jackson)

I can’t find this anymore because it was on a two-year old message board and predates Google Desktop, but a couple years ago I was reading a bunch of posts by Dino Stamatopoulos talking about working on The Dana Carvey Show; people were asking him about working with Charlie Kaufman, and he said:

Charlie’s a great sketch writer, unfortunately, very few of his sketches got on Carvey. The show was misrepresented to the writers and ended up being more of a primetime SNL, with long character pieces, rather than conceptual sketches.

Charlie had a great idea that would have been perfect for Dana though. It was Weird Al Yankovich’s brother, Weirder Al Yankovich. He would take Weird’s parody of “Beat It”: “Eat it” and make it even crazier: “Schmeat It.” Then, another brother would be introduced in the scene, Normal Al Yankovich. He would take “Eat It” and turn it back into “Beat It.”

[Sic] on the punctuation, and on the “Yankovich”; nerdchildren know there’s no ‘h’ at the end, and if you are reading this, you are likely ein Kindersonderling. Since the sketch never aired, we can only assume that “Weirder Al” Yankovic’s opus might go something like this (note the obsession with food seems to be a genetic trait); here is “Beat It” from the Dutch.

(I was going to do Greek for Dino, but the Greek/English translator was down. Sorry: memories aren’t made of this. I said that because your name is Dino. OK.)

N.B. The original board is long gone, but the above excerpt is from here, and Ed Page on the not-recently-updated-but-always-interesting Danger Blog has another excerpt here, for further reading.


-- Samantha

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

They did not tell him. You ever come around?
Here does not want your face, see? Disappears you better.
The fire in their eyes and their words are really clearly
this way. Lettuce, lettuce. Only you run better.

Do you improve what you do, not want? No, blood can see.
Are no macho people you tough?
Do better. What you, it is possible this way to beat.
But you, wants bad, is lettuce: it only.

Beat it, beat it, beat it.
Nobody wants, becomes, reports.
Showing how funky and strongly your fight is: important.
It are -- which are not found oneself or correctly it -- only,
Beat, beating it only, beating,

Beating, they must; from you, better leave.
Whereas you want to be, no boy can want you.
Get people! Be you living! Want remains!
Do better! What? You can beat it this way?
Only beating.

You must them show that you really do not do.
To be scared, you play with your life. This is no truth or dare.
They kick, you are, then they you to beat,
Then they, you honest are beat this way will tell,
But bad are lettuce. It wants you only.

Beat it, beat it. It beat nobody.
“Wants” become “reports”
Showing how funky are important. And strongly your fight? It is.
Which not found oneself or, correctly, “nobody wants to become reports”.
Showing how funky are important. And strongly your fight? It is.
Who, not found oneself, or correct is lettuce.

It only beats it, beats it, beats it.
Nobody wants become reports showing how funky are important and strongly your fight it is who not found oneself is or correctly it only, beat beating it, beating it, beat lettuce lettuce it, lettuce it, lettuce it, lettuce it nobody wants become reports showing how funky and strongly your fight is important
[...]

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

So, um, it goes on like this for another nine stanzas or so, so let’s just cut it short here, except to say: Help me, Normal Al Yankovic. You’re my only hope.

-- Smnth

All in the Place of the Relative (Radiohead)

Language: Italian

My evil grandmother (I also had a good grandmother, but she died in 1998) died last Friday, or possibly Thursday night, in her home, following several years of emphysema, which she never admitted that she had. The funeral was yesterday, August 29, so that's where I was yesterday, and what I was doing.

I'm not hugely experienced with funerals. I've been to basically three, all of which were for grandparents, and all of which were also sort of just as well: in this particular case, Evil Grandma had been more or less unable to do anything for a few years, as far as taking care of herself. Also her brain was maybe starting to go, towards the end: she forgot, a couple times, that my mom had changed her name when she got married. Which wouldn't have been a big deal if this had been a recent wedding, but my parents have been married since 1971.

Speaking of 1971 -- when my mom, and the other kids, were going through her house, they found a bottle of whiskey with that date on it. The speculation is that Grandma kept a bottle from my parents' wedding. Since there was no detail about how it tasted, I'm guessing that it was unopened. If the story stopped there, then you'd think, oh, that's kind of cute, or sentimental, or whatever, but Grandma also had several bottles of blackened, dry, eight-year-old ketchup: she just saved everything.

I was never really a big fan of Grandma, as you can probably guess from the fact that I call her evil. There's a certain oddness to that, since she's the grandparent I take most strongly after (neurotic, conceited, slightly OCD), but then, she also tended to be really pushy and bossy and only ever heard things that she wanted to hear, which meant that you couldn't ever really have a conversation with her about anything, and most of the conversations I did have with her were awkward and strained because she always seemed to be trying to manipulate me into doing or not doing stuff. So about every conversation I ever had with the woman went like:

GRANDMA: Don't you want a tomato for your hamburger, Jessi?
ME: No, Grandma, I don't like tomatoes.
GRANDMA: You don't like tomatoes?! Have you even tried one?
ME: Not lately, no, but I don't like them.
GRANDMA: Oh, well you should have a slice or two of these; they're really good. Put some salt and pepper on top, and --
ME: No, I don't want any.
GRANDMA: Come on, one slice of tomato isn't going to kill you.
ME: I don't like tomatoes.
GRANDMA: But you like ketchup, don't you? And ketchup is tomatoes.
ME: But it's different.
GRANDMA: How about I just put this slice of tomato on your plate, and I'll leave the salt here for you --
ME: I'm not going to eat it.
GRANDMA: Well why not?
ME: Because I don't like tomatoes, Grandma, I just said.
GRANDMA: You could at least try a bite or two of this one. It came out of my garden.
ME: Fine. Leave a slice on my plate, then.

And then I'd give the slice of tomato to Dad, eventually.

R. I. P.
L--- I. S------- (1928-2006)

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

To the right of kidskin, to kidskin, to kidskin, to kidskin,
of the all, all, all, all.
A relative in just the place,
a relative in just the place,
a relative in just the place,
the right of the place.

Yesterday I woke up sucking a lemon
yesterday I woke up sucking that lemon
yesterday I woke up sucking a lemon
yesterday I woke up sucking a lemon

All, all, all.
A relative in the just place,
a relative in the just place,
the right of the place.

There are two colors in my head,
are two colors in my head.
That's what you are, here. It tries to say that to you.
Which thing was it that you tried to say?
Tried to say, tried to say,
tried to say, tried to say.

All the relatives, just in the place.

You Pretend to be of the Moon (Future Bible Heroes)

Language: French

This wound up being pretty close to the original, which original song probably doesn't count as "pop" but is nevertheless a personal favorite, and since nobody reads this blog anyway I figure I can do what I like with it.

I read that one of the later Apollo missions to the Moon collected pieces of the Surveyor 3 spacecraft, which had landed on the Moon two and a half years previously, to bring back to Earth and examine for signs of wear from conditions on the Moon. The book in question¹ declined to say whether there were changes or not, but I'm guessing they probably found something. The Moon is a pretty extreme place.

Whether it's as emotionally manipulative as it's depicted in the song, I have no idea.

-Jessi

¹Astrobiology, by Kevin W. Plaxco and Michael Gross, Johns Hopkins University Press, 2006, p. 193.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You pretend to be the moon,
far – infinitely far,
and you'll always leave soon,
but what you want, you won't ever say.

You pretend to be the moon,
looking downwards on us all,
always having a bad opinion,
cold, blue-feeling, and small.

You saw that your friends die in love, and
the weepy ends, but you don't cry.
You recall when we would undulate goodbye?
At least I tested.

You pretend to be the moon,
with another secret face,
only passing through, always,
because you come from the outer spaces.

You pretend to be the moon,
large old man and of the stone facts,
but I saw that in nudity, you
thought you were alone.

You saw that your friends die in love, and
the weepy ends, but you don't cry
You recall when we would undulate goodbye?
At least I tested.

Boasted Blue Overcoat (Leonard Cohen)

Language: Dutch

I'm afraid I don't have much of a comment on this one. I'm not even terribly familiar with the original version.

This counts as the third and final installment of the Rain trilogy because the original song mentions rain. More accurately, a raincoat, but let's don't quibble. I actually wanted to do "Wicked Rain," by Los Lobos, but I couldn't find lyrics and it was easier to pick a different song than it was to track them down. I'm not terribly disappointed with how it turned out, though it seems a little rough to me.

Yesterday was my first exposure to the new job. It bears an unfortunate resemblance to the old job.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It's four in the morning, the end of December to me.
You write now only to see, or to improve.
New York is cold, but I love where I'm living there:
the musical "Clinton" is on the street by the evening.

I hear that you built your small house. Now, the desert deeply
keeps you living for nothing. I hope one or the other of you types up the report.

Yes, and Jane came with a lock of your hair;
they said that you gave it to her. Beyond
that is the night. You were going clearly of which plan?
Did you ever go clearly?

Ah, the last time we looked at you this way, you were more parental (which
your boasted blue overcoat was torn at the shoulder),
you'd try to ("have to") meet the mail. Each train has
Lili, and you'd come to the house without Marlene.

And you, my woman, lived your life. A treat, a flake of --
and then she returned: she was nobody, a woman.

Well, I see you within your cogs,
one thinner gypsy. The robber
increased there, I see. Well, Jane's awake.

They send regards to it,
and to what is possible. I told you, my brother, my assassin,
what can I say? Perhaps
I assumed that you miss me, or I you.
I am forgiving you, in my manner. She's glad.

If you ever pass Jane or me,
your enemy will sleep, and its woman is freer here.

Yes, and thanks for the eye problem you took from her.
I thought it was there for good, so I never tried that.

And Jane came with a lock of your hair;
they said that you indicated her
clearly that night, that you were planning to go.

Only Lucky If It Rains (Garbage)

Language: German

Unfortunately, the second song in the Rain trilogy isn't my best work, and the better parts of it are the ones where I diverged the most from the Babelfished text. While it's true that they can't all be gems, the whole lucky/happy switcheroo loses novelty fast, and I doubt this is going to inspire anybody to bump up the ends of the amusement. Maybe next time.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I'm lucky: it's only mine if
it rains, only if it's difficult.
I know that you can't estimate it,
which is only lucky for me if it rains.

You know the messages are bad. I love it! If
it believes thus, well, why believe thus? Sadly,
I'm only lucky.

Your misery rains down; you're pouring
your misery down on me; you pour
your misery down; pour
your misery down on me; pour.

Believe me, I'm only lucky if it rains.
Things only go that well if I'm wrong.
To the sad, sad songs you hear,
which are only lucky if it does not rain on me.

I only smile in the darkness,
which is my only comfort. Gone into the black night,
inadvertently, I explained that to you.
I'm only lucky, if

you receive the announcement: "Rain, until I'm through,
weigh me against myself, and if you
are lucky, I'll be alone."

Your misery rains down; you're pouring (you pour your misery down).
Pour your misery down on me (you pour your misery down),
pour your misery down (you pour it down, miserably),
pour your misery down on me (you pour your misery down),
pour your misery down (you pour your misery down),
pour your misery down on me (you pour your misery down),
pour your misery down

You can hold me so long (for company):
so how are you not interested?

You are lucky it liked me; I'm only over if
my new obsessions hear the rain.
I'll ride strongly after the deepest, lowest point,
which is only lucky for me if it rains. (You poured something -- misery? -- down on me.)

I'm only lucky if it is (You poured something -- misery? -- down on me.),
I'm only lucky if it is (You poured something -- misery? -- down on me.),
I'm only lucky if it is (You poured something -- misery? -- down on me.),
I'm only lucky if it rains, rains (You poured something -- misery? -- down on me.).

Here Comes Rain (Eurythmics)

Language: Spanish

That radar picture is moderately current, or at least it was when I began to post this. Iowa City seems to have had an unusually wet, cool, and stormy summer this year. I'm sure that's bad for somebody or another (farmers?), but I like it. In fact, it's pretty much what I look for in a summer.

This song has a bad tendency to get stuck in my head, particularly when it's raining for real. There's a whole set of them, actually:

Another Song About the Rain (Cracker)
Red Rain (Peter Gabriel)
Rain (Madonna)
Driving in the Rain (John Wesley Harding)
I Can't Stand the Rain (Tina Turner)
I'm Only Happy When It Rains (Garbage)
I Wish it Would Rain (Nanci Griffith)
No Rain (Blind Melon)
Purple Rain (Prince)

Which means probably we're looking at a Rain Trilogy happening. And that's good. There hasn't been a trilogy in a while.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

here comes the rain again
that falls in my head again, like a memory
that lowers my head like a new emotion
that desire to walk in the open wind,
a desire to speak lovingly
I wish to plunge myself in his ocean
I am he with whom you rain

loving me as a baby
so walk with me to it
as the lovers
Speak with me,
since the lovers do.

Here comes the rain, that rain again
in my head, like a tragedy that
tears me a new emotion to separate (like "Oooooh")
that desire to breathe in the open wind
desire to kiss me lovingly
I wish to plunge in his ocean
I am he with whom you rain

char it, baby, to me
so lovingly

Here comes the rain, that falls again
in my head like a memory, that
lowers my head as a new emotion.
(it comes here again, he comes here again)
That desire to walk in the open wind,
desire to speak lovingly:
I wish to plunge myself in his ocean.
I am he with whom you rain

Wished It (Human League)

Language: Italian

And I'm employed again. Mostly. Nothing official yet, but it looks like I'm going to be working for my previous boss, in a different location. Not cocktail waitressing (cocktail waitresses make better money), but a job nevertheless, so I can maybe slow down the skid into debt and abject poverty I've been doing.

I've seen someone on-line say that they think "You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar / When I met you" is possibly the best opening lyrics of any pop song ever. I agree sometimes.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Like a waitress in a cocktail bar, you weren't working
when I came to contact
you. I've selected you from outside.
I've churned them to, in, and on you, and turned you around to
transform you into someone new. The hour
I'll get the world to your feet happens five years later.
Therefore, it's been easy for you,
but he's forgotten that hour. Where is that? That's not me.
He puts them behind, and can drain them also.

Not, not wished for it?
You know I can't believe it when I see that you won't feel it.
Not, you don't wish it?
You know that when you say that, you don't have a lot of needs.
Much of the creed is delayed, too.
In order to find it, in order to think, an idea would improve them.
The changes behind it have not changed, or else you want both.

The child's not to wish it? Oh, it's not to be wished.
The child's not to wish it? Oh, it's not to be wished.

I was working like a waitress in a cocktail bar:
that's a lot to align.
I knew I'd find the best place, but then I'd have a uniform.
With or without you, five years of periods.
We have had to be so good and calm, but my task to love.
You've lived your life on my time; the fortune teller was right.
Who must own me in that hour?

The child's not to wish it? Oh, it's not to be wished.
The child's not to wish it? Oh, it's not to be wished.

The child's not to wish it? Oh, it's not to be wished.
The child's not to wish it? Oh, it's not to be wished.

The child's not to wish it? Oh, it's not to be wished.
The child's not to wish it? Oh, it's not to be wished.

The child's not to wish it? Oh, it's not to be wished.
The child's not to wish it? Oh, it's not to be wished.

The child's not to wish it? Oh, it's not to be wished.
The child's not to wish it? Oh, it's not to be wished.

Friend in a Coma (Smiths)

Language: Greek

I'm not in a great place, emotionally. Yesterday was difficult. So far today, I'm just kind of shut-down, so this was the logical choice for a song.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Friend in a coma, I know that.
I'm serious: I know.
Friend in a coma, I know.
I'm really serious: I know.

Years existed when I could
have them murder him.
(But, you know, I hate
something to happen in order.)

No! I don't want him to see!

You really think that it will pull straight?
Think that it will pull straight? Really?

Friend in a coma, I know.
I know that he is.
Goodbye, my serious baby, my my my, my my.

Years existed when I could
have him strangled.
(But you know, I hate
nothing to happen in order.)
You would request that I
allow him to see?

You really think that it will pull straight?
Really? You think that it will pull straight?
I'll allow last goodbyes. I whispered mine.

I know - he is serious.

The Original and Servant (Depeche Mode)

Language: Russian

This one just came out sounding kind of odd. But I'm pleased with the picture I found. Talk about your sexy, if somewhat androgynous, servants. Rrrowrrr!

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Which it will be much
it will be much
it will be much
it will be much
it will be much
it will be much
much as life

"New" will be a game,
which we love to play. We see you!
With added reality, the game
processes me as a dog. And you – you
got me down on my elbows.

We are his original cause and servant, by
which we cause her. (The servant was originally by us.)

Much as life will be,
between this game and the sheets
(with you on the upper part and I underneath),
I forget all about equality.

Let's play the original servant.
Let's play the original servant.

Much as life, it appeals, and
if you throw away that feeling you hate, the facts
are disposable. From the fun,
this one. Afterward, this

domination of the name game.
Life! In the same exact bed, or in both, they are the
exception. They are executed with you
at the end of days.

Let's play the original servant.
Let's play the original servant,
the original and servant.

It will be much
it will be much
it will be much
it will be much
it will be much
much as life.

Much as life, it
appeals, and if you hate that,
the fact is, you're it:
that throwaway feeling
from fun, the disposable
one. This, after this:

Let's play the original servant.
Let's play the original servant,
(repeats to end)

Superstition (Stevie Wonder)

Language: Russian

This is something that would normally spark lots of writing, for me, but I'm a little pressed for time, so I'll just say that if you're at all scientifically-inclined, and you've got time on your hands, even a little, that you might consider doing your part to help out science at the Stardust@Home website.

There's more detail there, but the quick version is:

In January, the Stardust spacecraft returned to Earth with a sample of cosmic dust. It is estimated that the collection plates (which are made of aerogel, which is very possibly the coolest substance that ever has been, or ever will be, created by humans -- if anybody is looking for Christmas present ideas for me, or even if you're not, click here.) hold about 45 microscopic pieces of interstellar dust.

Which is of course difficult to see, being microscopic and all. Searching for dust particles in the aerogel is not easily automated, so the directors of the project are seeking volunteers to look at photos in search of particle tracks. It's not really a distributed-computing project like SETI@Home is, because they don't care about your computer's specs particularly, but it's the same sort of concept, people volunteering time to complete a scientific task which would otherwise take forever to do. Check it out if you're at all interested. It does get to be sort of perversely fun after a while. And there are prizes, kinda.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Very superstitious writing on the wall:
very superstitious, lowered the ladder close.
The glass baby of 13 months was broken, looking old.
The 7 good years, into your past of bad-luck things.

When you believe you don't understand things,
you suffer in the After-This. That
superstitious road won't be it.

That hand is very superstitious, and it washes your side,
does everything. I can rid you of those problems.
Daydream, hold me, hold me strong: they goin' in.
You don't wanna make me preserves. Despondently, you will be my song.

When you believe you do not understand things,
you suffer in the After-This. That
superstitious road won't be it. Yeah, yeah.

Nothing is very superstitious – more to say –
very superstitious on his devil road.
The glass baby of 13 months is broke, looking old.
The 7 good years into your past of bad luck things.

When you believe you do not understand things,
you suffer in the After-This. That
superstitious road won't be it. No no no no no.

100-Song Statistics

Babelpop! statistics at the 100-song mark:

Language of translation:

Russian: 55
Spanish: 9
Dutch: 7
Greek: 7
Portuguese: 7
German: 6
French: 5
Italian: 4

Posted by:

Jessica: 90
Samantha: 10

Trilogies:

Road: June 9-10 2006, Jessi
Childhood country: June 14-19 2006, Samantha
Bop: June 25-27, 2006, Jessi
Morbid: July 6-7, 2006, Jessi

Artists:

10000 Maniacs
4 Non Blondes
AC / DC
Aerosmith
Alanis Morisette
Barbra Streisand
Barry Manilow
Beatles (2)
Beck
Billy Idol
Billy Joel (2)
Bjork
Bob Marley
Bon Jovi
Britney Spears
Charlie Daniels Band
Cher
Concrete Blonde
Counting Crows
Cyndi Lauper
Dee-Lite
Def Leppard
Depeche Mode
Devo
Don McLean (2*)
Elton John
Elvis Costello
Elvis Presley
Eurythmics
Flaming Lips
Garbage
Gimbel & Fox
Gnarls Barkley
Guns N Roses
Hanson
Indigo Girls
INXS
Janet Jackson
Janis Joplin
Jesus Jones
Joe Raposo
John Cougar Mellencamp
John Denver**
Kelis
Kenny Rogers
Laurie Anderson
Leonard Cohen
Live
Loretta Lynn
Lyle Lovett
Lynyrd Skynyrd
Madonna (2)
Magnetic Fields
Miami Sound Machine
nine inch nails (2) (3)
Nirvana (2)
Pat Benatar
Patsy Cline
Paul Henning
Pearl Jam
Peter Gabriel (2)
Pink Floyd
Poison (2)
Police
Prince
Queen
R. E. M. (2)
Rolling Stones
Salt-n-Pepa
Shania Twain
Sherwood Schwartz
Sheryl Crow
Siouxie and the Banshees
Sir Mix-a-Lot
Smiths
Soundgarden
Stan Jones
Starship
Sting
Suzanne Vega
Talking Heads (2)
Tina Turner
Toby Keith
Tori Amos (2)
U2 (2)
Whitney Houston
ZZ Top


* (Two posts, one song)
** (Actually Peter, Paul and Mary, I think, but I don't want to go to the trouble to change it)

Right Here, Right Now (Jesus Jones)

Language: Russian

This is Babelpop's one hundredth post. I had hoped to do something more, you know, special for the occasion, but I never got any very good ideas for what to do, and very likely wouldn't have had time to do anything if I had gotten a good idea. So here we are.

-Jessi

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A woman on the radio had a talk about the turn:
"When will it be?" It already is.
Bob Dylan didn't need this: he had to ripen.
(Which was about you.) Well, you know how it feels to be lively.

I awaited it after I was living, and
I was living, and I awaited it.
Right here, now this, right?
I'll be there, no other place.
I'm right (I want to be.).
Which rights are here now,
watching peace's wake? Get up, history.

I was inside the decade when it seemed,
"I'll blink my eyes: peace could change to
nothing." And, if that -- after this, here
is the sign thereof: your Times.

Afterward, I was living, and I awaited, as
I was living. And I awaited . . . this?
Right here? Right now?

I awaited it after I was living, and
I was living, and I awaited it.
Right here, now this, right?
I'll be there, no other place.
I'm right (I want to be.).
Which rights are here now,
watching peace's wake? Get up, history.

Will you straighten it, right now?
You are here; there is no other. I want this place to be . . . .
I have rights here (right now.)
Wake up from watching the history of peace!

Will you straighten it, right now?
You are here; there is no other. I want this place to be . . . .
I have rights here (right now.)
Wake up from watching the history of peace!

The Courtesy of Red, White and Blue Girls (Angry American) (Toby Keith)

Language: Russian

Interesting things happen when you do web searches for pictures of Toby Keith. Or at least you get interesting results, sometimes. The ickiest pages come up. I had one hit for a page that said it was written by a former KKK head and professional wrestler. One page seemed to be entirely about immigration and how Mexicans in particular were defective and lazy and short (?) and oversexed and etc., and the U.S. should do anything in its power to keep them the hell away from us. Just, gross sentiments, spoken by people who I'm sure fall a bit short of the straight-backed, high-cheekboned, blond & blue Aryan ideal themselves. (Not that the sentiments wouldn't still be disgusting if they were made by beautiful 20-year old Teutonic athletes, just less overtly ridiculous.)

Now, this is obviously not Toby Keith's fault. There's nothing in the original lyrics of this song that says that we should go kill a bunch of Mexicans. Even so, you'd think that having this sort of fan base would make any decent, moral person stop and think, gosh, what is it about my song that's attracting assholes?

The song is kind of a mishmash of symbols, angry gestures, and revenge fantasies. Apparently, the story is that it was written in 2001, following the death of Keith's father (in March) and the World Trade Center attacks (in September), and he had not intended the song to be released publicly. My suspicion is that maybe he hadn't originally intended to release the song because he knew it wasn't very good. But of course, "not very good" is what sells in Top 40 Country these days, so out on the radio it went, and the rest is history. I have to wonder, though, if there's ever been any second-thoughts about it.

Probably not. This is America, after all, "the good place of ass reasoning."

-Jessi

Photo of Toby Keith (c) Robert Deutsch of USA Today.

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American guys
will gush; it always stands upward,
and the good out-salute themselves.
He always learns when we see
the flag of the U.S.A set there, flying of glory.
We are people of corpses; therefore we can sleep:
in the world, on the night,
of our heads, when we lay down.

My dad served the army; in it,
he lost its right eye. Where
is the flag? Not outside in our yard. But to fly it
to the day he died,
he wanted my mother, my brother, my sister and me
in the earth. Grow up freely and live happily.

I love it now. This nation fell downward
and attacked a sucker, which is mighty. Punch arrived.
Flyin' from somewhere inside the tail end,
soon we could see the eyes clearly
through our large black man.
We illuminated your peace. Ya-oye! July went upward.

Hey: Sam's uncle
placed your list above his own name.
The liberty of statues, and
his fist, began shakin'.
Hell, man: your flies are gonna
start ringin', and when you hear of "eagle freedom,"
then bell the mother.
They feel the peace of rain as they go wide on you, and its whole
courtesy: they brought you downward to red and white.

Justice will be served blue,
and the battle rages.
These large wars dog it
when you tap. It's your cell
that you messed with, and you'll regret the U.S.A.,
the good place of ass reasoning. A boot into your
American road, of your . . .

Hey: Sam's uncle
placed your list above his own name.
The liberty of statues, and
his fist, began shakin'.
Hell, man: your flies are gonna
start ringin', and when you hear of "eagle freedom,"
then bell the mother.
They feel the peace of rain as they go wide on you, and its whole
courtesy: they brought you downward to red and white.

Livin' in Prayer (Bon Jovi)

Language: Greek

I've mentioned this song elsewhere, so I'm not going to try to say a lot about it now. Judging from my own memories of growing up in Iowa, and visiting often when I wasn't living here, Bon Jovi is like the State Bird or something (n.b.: It's actually the goldfinch. -ed).

Meanwhile, allergies. Lots of dust kicked up yesterday in the process of unpacking my CD collection, and I'm still reacting to it this morning, somehow. Or I'm reacting to something else. The new place has been very sneezy so far, and I'm not entirely sure what's causing this. The carpet is new, we've painted everything, the kitchen vinyl got replaced, everything's been wiped down to some degree or another, so the only thing I can think is that I'm having an allergic reaction to the dust that we've brought with us.

Also I'd like to note that most of the pictures lately have been posted through Photobucket instead of Blogger because Blogger has not been co-operating with me on the picture-posting at all, and it pisses me off. I'm not, like, a huge fan of Photobucket either, but it's a step up. Just so you know.

-Jessi

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A time and a no-time,
a long time before --

Tommy used the union in order to work the docks.
(The strike lowers the chances.) Being in
this is hard, so hard.
Gina is occupied in having lunch. She works all day
for her individual, brings her wage home
for the love, for love.

She says that what should've maintained
Him doesn't make a difference, because if He makes it or doesn't,
the other one has this a lot, and
gunfire will give Him love.

Whoa, is there half
existence in prayer?
We take the hand,
we have the other one, and this is a lot.
We'll give him the love of gunfire.

Whoa, we are half there
in a prayerful existence.
We take my hand,
and we'll put Him under oath: I'm making
an existence in prayer.

Tommy acquired six lines. That hock is
exploitation now, used in order
to make the discussion hard. So much of him
is hard; he dreams of Gina. This runs far,
then it shouts at the baby.
The night whispers that Tommy will be all right, someday.

Should we maintain what we have
because it doesn't make a difference? If we make Him, or don't,
(one or the other) He has a lot of
gunfire, for we will give Him the love.

Whoa, we are half there
in a prayerful existence.
We take my hand,
and we'll put Him under oath: I'm making
an existence in prayer.

We expect He should keep us above:
it's everything when you fight for life.
We will make Him take my hand under oath. I am put in a prayer;
I exist in a prayer.

Should we keep it above? Do we expect it, or no?
What do you live for when the fight is all you have?

Whoa, we are half there
in a prayerful existence.
We take my hand,
and we'll put Him under oath: I'm making
an existence in prayer.

I Finish it More Closely (Indigo Girls)

(looking at the doctor and the mountains simultaneously, to save time)

Language: Portuguese

The first time I heard the real version of this song, I was in Woodway Baptist Church, in Waco, Texas, which is not the sort of place where you'd expect to hear it, as there is some Doubting going on. I would normally explain the discrepancy by noting that the person leading the college-age Sunday School class in question was a philosophy grad student, except that one of my good friends from school has subsequently gone on to be a philosophy grad student. He may or may not like the song, but he'd never try to claim that anything important or philosophically meaningful could be learned from it.

It's possible, I suppose, that teaching Sunday School in a Baptist church is what happens when philosophy grad students go bad. Though I think my friend may have done that too, at some point.

In any case. It's no "Hey Jesus," but it's a pleasant little song, and some nice things happened in the Babelfishing of it.

-Jessi

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I am trying to say something: on my life, who is
between white color and black introspection? Perhaps she gives the
better things that you've done: to me, and always for me.
My life must help me, seriously: to make less examination of
everything is only the afterlife, yeah.

He is insatiable. Hunger that has a good blackout
is hard of hearing, and lightness has a call that
involves fear. I mine blankets around myself as
security. I sailed until I sank my ship:
I'm down in, tracking its coasts.

I was the doctor; I was the mountains
that looked at the children. I drank of the sources.
I'm more than a reply to these questions here,
that point me in a bending line.
I look to my source, less for some definitive, more than . . .
(I look to my source, more or less.)
I'm next to the fine; I'm
next. I'm next to the fine.

I was to see the doctor of philosophy next,
with a poster of low Rasputin. One beard for his knee, and
that never married. See a film in the b-classroom, or if
he could see through my performance, then that classified me.
I said, "I spent four more years prostrate: to the raised mind,
I was free when I started my paper."

I was the doctor; I was the mountains
that looked at the children. I drank of the sources.
I'm more than a reply to these questions here,
that point me in a bending line.
I look to my source, less for some definitive, more than . . .
(I look to my source, more or less.)
I'm next to the fine; I'm
next. I'm next to the fine.

3 A.M.: I stopped at the bar for
a bottle to look into. A friend, or solace,
woke me up, and one headache (possibly)
met my head. With one above a plate of
times, I was more cloudy. The two nights before had been
in clarity, and I was looking for it.

I was the doctor, I was the mountains
that looked at the children. I drank of the sources.
We go to the doctor, yeah, we go to the mountains.
We look at the children, I drink our sources.
Yeah we go to the cross, we work out the Bible,
we over-read in the revival, and we are on the lookout for ourselves.
Are we more than a reply to these here questions,
that point me in a bending line?
I look a little to my source for some definitive:
(I look to my source, more or less.)
I am next to the fine,
I am next to the fine,
I am next to the fine.

The Proportionately Dressed Person (ZZ Top)

Language: Russian

I wouldn't say I'm "crazy" about the proportionately dressed person. Even "enthusiastic" might be going a bit far. But, you know, proportionate dress is better than disproportionate, I guess. Not counting Halloween, weddings, and other goth-centric occasions, of course.

-Jessi

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We do not know where to go.
Clean new boots, silk suit, and black connection,
I have reasons why. They come running exactly as rapidly,
because each girl is crazy about the proportionately dressed person.

The gold watch, the diamond ring,
I'm not missing a single thing.
Cufflinks, the knob stick;
when I take a step out, it goes inside.
I won't make you: they come running exactly as rapidly,
because each girl is crazy about the proportionately dressed person.

Upper coat, upper helmet, and we are not disturbed,
because of my fat. Black shadows, white gloves, the wallet.
I'm looking sharp, to look for the love. They come running exactly as rapidly,
because each girl is crazy about the proportionately dressed person.

Ascending the Stack of Life (Talking Heads)

Language: Portuguese

Spent most of the last two days being held hostage in the new apartment's "office" by a couple guys who were in to put down vinyl in the kitchen and bathroom, and laminate in a hallway. This is unpleasant by itself, but it's even more unpleasant to have to take everything out of the kitchen, bathroom, and hallway every day and then put it back again after they leave. I've gotten better at stacking things, but it's depressing, too, because there's no net progress from all of this work: always previously, when I've taken stuff from one place and stacked it up somewhere else, there was an overall net increase in the amount of usable space.

They're not done; they haven't actually even started on the bathroom yet, so there'll be more of the same on Monday.

-Jessi

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I tried that marijuana:
each time I start, I'm nervous
that he'll come to beat in the door,
because he's all, the eyes make that in me?
I don't want to know that he forgives,
and for me, pardon is
a sojourn for one.
Perhaps we never will, when that
finds another time.

I can see my stack of life, above that
return of the days. I can see the nights; I
can see that people in the street
open those windows.
One hundred wooden floors below me,
he piles up more of those houses. Above that,
they stack highly, higher, higher --
I can feel a back and forth
balancing. Building it more highly,
learning higher on this tower.

I started the harm:
pierced my eye (a pencil in that).
I can start for home backwards, or wait badly for
all that, because he is paranoid.
I only had the Scumbags' amusement,
and superstars say that their names
will make an appositive. That one
is the same as both.

I can see my stack of life above:
my bedroom reaches to the stars.
I can see the house where I was loaded.
When I was growing above that,
they say that I could never keep my trousers.
I remember that the days and nights were insane.
Are all the pirates in this ship? The people there
(if they're sober) are ascending;
the rest will have us shout, per the morning.

Shout, it cries out,
it's just you and I.
The taste of an automobile
with nobody in the wheels:
that control turns outside of the
road we are all on.
In our sexy machine
all the passengers shout of the shouting;
shout!

I can see the stack of my life above.
I can see that it is torn into pieces. That
was not an accident. It is all in.
I laugh to hear it opens its window above.

To go, "two, three, four, five,"
perhaps they go to the high one (the deep one?).
I am arresting too firmly on much of that,
and now I am growing above myself.
I started feeling funny.
Those houses pile up more highly,
they are higher, higher above the stack of
buildings. The stars of that road
turn music up . . . and
hey! I started earning a number.

Prevent X=X (Laurie Anderson)

Language: Russian

Probably not "pop" by any stretch of the imagination, but I've had this one for a while and wanted to get it out of the way. And it's a nice enough song. The picture is (I'm told) the album cover for the single.

My own personal associations with this song mostly center on the time when I first heard it, which was on a return visit to see Stan in Waco, Texas. This was 1999, I think. At some point in the evening, following grilled peppers, wine, and kebabs of some kind (possibly), the conversation turned to old albums, as conversations will sometimes do, and Stan's s.o. at the time, who I will refer to as L., put the "Big Science" album on and the three of us listened to it all the way through. Aside from that one song she did with Peter Gabriel, this was my first exposure to Laurie Anderson. I subsequently returned home and bought a large pile of Anderson's work on CD.

It was otherwise not a great visit to Waco, though I suspect "great visit to Waco" is an oxymoron of some kind. I was having some problems of the he's just not that into you variety at the time, and though it was nice to spend time with L. and Stan, being introduced to Laurie Anderson was probably the main takeaway from the trip.

-Jessi

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I met this guy - and it looked like his power was of checking ice roller helmets.
In actuality, I turned outside in order.
I would say: oh. Right again, boy.
Prevent X=X.

You know, they could be you.
This will be the blue sky,
satellites out of the night.
Prevent X=X.

You know, I could write the book.
And in this book there would be sufficient thinking to stun oxen.
Because I can see futures, and there will be a place, about 70 miles east of here,
where it lightens.
You will linger further over here.
Got time?
Prevent X=X.

I obtained this postcard.
And it read, she said: Expensive Amigo - Dear Participant. It listens to, uh – I want to say exactly thanks.
So... thanks.
Thanks in all present moments.
Thanks for introducing me to the leader.
Thanks for dressing me in feedbags.
Thanks for going after everything outside.
Thanks for showing me your Swiss army knife, and uh - thanks for preventing me from autographing your casting.
Hug and kisses. XXXXOOOO.
Oh yeah, P.S. I – I feel – I feel as - I - in the burning building - and I have to go.
Reason - I feel – I feel as – I'm located - in the burning building - and I have to go.

Help! (Beatles)

Language: Russian

No picture for this one, because I didn't have a good one to begin with, and the connection keeps timing out on me besides.

So I had, over the weekend, the worst moving experience of my life so far, despite the fact that the move was less than a block away. It had all the requisite elements for misery, though: high heat index (which was worsened by the fact that the route we were forced to take to get to the new place included three spots where exhaust from one or more air conditioners blew directly on us), sleep deprivation (I was up for about 30 hours), bitchy hovering apartment manager, nausea (from the heatstroke), and far far more crap to move than had been anticipated. My parents drove up to help with the move, but even then we were running hours behind schedule. Much of the cleaning had to be dispensed with, which means reduced deposit return.

Also, the air conditioning wasn't working in the new place, which now makes three consecutive moves for me where the air conditioning hasn't been working when I moved into a new place during July. I suspect this means something, but the only thing I can guess is that God just hates me, which I had suspected anyway.

Also there was no refrigerator, the promised new carpet was unfinished, and the promised new linoleum wasn't even being gestured at. Two of these things (AC and refrigerator) are working now, but even so. The high-speed internet connection that the husband and I were to be using is failing to work properly so far, the local channels on our DirecTV are coming in only in two or three second bursts between extended periods of darkness (and there aren't nearly as many non-local channels as we'd been led to believe, when you eliminate the sports channels and the shopping channels), the ceiling above the showerhead was water-stained, moldy, and partly peeled-off, and we were only able to move freely from room to room as of about yesterday. So there are plenty of things yet to be dealt with.

Not only the worst moving experience of my life, but there's not even any serious competition. My parents, who have had some relatively nightmarish moving experiences themselves, concur. Worst. Move. Ever.

Posting forecast: continued light and patchy.

-Jessi

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Help! Aid me, someone!
Anybody! Aid!
Someone who knows me: aid!

When I was too young, so much younger than today,
anybody never (necessarily) soaked in any road.
But these days went; therefore, I'm not convinced of my own personality,
now I find myself thought over and revealed, up on the doors.

Help me if you can, then. I feel down
around, and I appreciate you.
You get my rear feet on the earth. Do you help me,
if you please? Will you please help me?

And my life has now changed many roads. Oh, it seems that they disappear in
my independence, in the haze,
but I feel insecure after each, therefore, and now this.
I know that I never exactly made it as you, earlier.

Help me downward if you can, then. I feel you,
and I appreciate you around.
You will my rear feet onto the earth. Help me obtain you.
You will help me if you please, if you please.

When I was young, so much younger than today, I
never soaked anybody in any road, necessarily.
But now the days aren't convinced, therefore their own personality is gone. I
thought it over, and now I find it revealed to me, up on the doors.

Help me downward if you can, then. I feel
you around, and I appreciate it.
Help me, you will obtain my feet rear on the earth, you
if you please, will if you please help me, help me, help me, oh.