Monday, October 30, 2006

Let Us Dance To It (David Bowie)

Language: French

On Saturday, I went to a Halloween party being thrown by my boss and his wife. This is the good, immediate boss, not the evil1 ultimate boss. Just so we're clear. I was, alas, the only person from the store to show up, which made me a little sad. But perhaps I get points for attending.

I went with a costume idea I've threatened for a long time but never actually had occasion to pull off, stolen from Lorrie Moore, in her book Anagrams2. In the book, Gerard suggests that Benna, for her Halloween costume, should "make a belt out of old spice tins and go as a waist of thyme."

Which was more or less what I did, though the thyme was in two plastic containers, tied together and looped over my shoulders. It wasn't enormously practical, but at least I never lost track of thyme. And I could take a thyme out whenever I wanted. (There were a million thyme puns, each worse than the last.)

No real dancing to speak of: it wasn't that kind of group so much. (The choice of song here is just 'cause I didn't have anything else ready that's party-ish. Though I did hear Talking Heads at one point, which is very danceable.) The husband and I wound up, somewhere around midnight, in the apartment of someone named Courtney, whom we didn't know, drunk enough to not be all that clear on how we got there, in the company of another former cashier who I'd never met before, who was dressed as a Republican and who had been handing out Jim Nussle3 and Jim Leach4 stickers all night.

So, so, so very hung over the next day, though. I haven't been that drunk, or that hung over, in years. Which is why there was no post yesterday morning: typing was too loud.

But it was worth it. I'd do it again. I had a good thyme and all.


1Really not so much evil as just really type-A and at least moderately narcissistic.

2Anagrams was a huge influence on me, and remains one of my all-time favorite novels. I've probably read it a good twenty or thirty times. I'm thinking of getting some t-shirts made up that say "Lorrie Moore is my homegirl."

3Who is presently running for Governor of Iowa, and who bears a striking (to my mind) physical and political resemblance to the Democratic candidate, Chet Culver. I'm having a difficult time justifying to myself voting for either of them.

4Who is, for a Republican, not especially evil, and who did something, some time ago, relating to the Iraq War that I found principled enough to be noteworthy even if I can't recall specifically what it was. Still voting for the other guy, though.

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

Dance: put your red shoes above
the blue dance, and

dance with the song
which they play on the radio.

while the color lights the top of your face.
Let us balance,
swinging with empty space by the crowd.

You said to race: I ran with you.
If you said the skin will hide us,
my love for you
would break my heart in two.
You fall into my arms as if
a flower, and tremble.

Dance for the fear
that your grace should fall;
let us dance, for this fear is all of the evening.

Balance: you could look in my eyes.
Balance under the moonlight.
(Serious moonlight!)

You said to race: I ran with you.
If you said the skin will hide us,
my love for you
would break my heart in two.
You fall into my arms as if
a flower, and tremble.

Dance: put your red shoes above
the blue dance, and

Dance with the song
which they play on the radio.

Balance: you could look in my eyes.
Balance under the moonlight.
(Serious moonlight!)

Saturday, October 28, 2006

Cigarettes of Chocolate Milk (Rufus Wainwright)

Language: French

I suppose technically it's not too late, but I feel a little bit bad that I haven't been being more seasonal. I mean, I could have done "Monster Mash," or something by The Cure, or maybe "My Heart Will Go On." Something. I'm just never quite prepared for these things. I suppose this means that I should get working on some Christmas carols now.

But, even if it's not a Halloween song particularly, this is still a nice song, and it came out well enough. I'll try to do something scary by Tuesday.


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

Milk of cigarettes and chocolate:
those are a couple of my cravings, right?
It seems that I liked that a little thicker,
a little more extreme, a little harmful to me.

If I buy soft candies, then I
must eat them all while resting.
They seem a little larger than I like:
a little softer, a little harmful to me.

And then there are these other things
that we will not mention, for several reasons.
It's a little stranger about them, all
a little harder, a little mortal.

It makes a share
of pain so sorry.

Always rest here to remember.
The city, to me, is a shoe made for the
show. The places disappear just ahead. My song is about
the weak boys in the city, with whom the general faces have raced.

Wireplay, with prodigals of much
sentiment (catch the valiums!).
The world is ragged, but it's yours. Andy cannot expect that
while you're running everything on a vacuum
(a little headstock, with a wrinkling of the ol' eyebrows).

You maintain, obtain, in the
mystic reserve I play, all while facing ahead.
A lesson in the tightropes suggests a reading of
Kansas or "Adios, Surfer" or On High Hopes.

It's not very smart;
tends to make a share
of pain so sorry.

An exposure there; on my back. It still does not have
friendly holes or intervention.
I am a little Irish heiress, a little right turn, a little
Pisa. Of all the times that I see you,
I'm satisfied if you are pleasant. So that's a disorder.

Milk of milk, cigarette of cigarette,
and chocolate. And chocolate.

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Of My Sharona (Knack)

Language: Spanish

I don't really follow Israeli politics, but I have the impression that I'm not a big fan of Ariel Sharon. I don't, however, know where this impression comes from, specifically.

Possibly it's just all the time I've spent looking over and over the lyrics, but even though I can't figure out what it might mean, the repeating bit about "the tact of the youngest class" seems to me like it really wants to mean something. I don't know where that feeling comes from either. Maybe it's just going to be that kind of a day.

In any event, if someone has a guess about what the tact of the youngest class might be, let me know. I'm open to theories.


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

Enough, my little one, oh my pretty one:
when are you going to give me Sharona some of the time? Is that you?
Oh, my motor works: my weapon's operation does that.
Sharona never leaves the motor line. Who is he?

The elasticity is going to stop
upon a dirty mind, so he
always gets it over
the tact of the youngest class.

My my my my my, whoa,
my Sharona.
He comes a little nearer.
Will you, huh, huh?
Enough closing of the eyes, Sharona. Watch me.
Who guards them is a mystery:
the thighs of Sharona get me to it.

The length is never under the works.
My elasticity is going to stop upon
a dirty mind, so he always gets above
the tact of the youngest class.

My my my my my, whoa,
my Sharona.
When are you going to obtain me, obtain me?
Is it a question of the time? Sharona, as soon as
it's destiny, it's destiny.
Or is "right" a game in my Sharona's mind?

Never going to stop -
elasticity upon
a dirty mind.
My Sharona
always gets it above
the tact of the youngest class.

My my my my my, whoa,
My my my my my, whoa,
My Sharona.

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Give a Discontinuance To Me (R. Page and J. Graydon)

It’s the fourth Monday in October which means it’s time for Themesong Friday, and at any rate this made me think of this:

It’s a mere six years since
The Jeffersons, and “piece of the pie” has been transformed to “piece of the cake” as the new catchphrase to connote “sassy” (the late 20th century version of “uppity”). No fish is safe from the sucking, opening credits stizz.

This show has an interesting connection to the number nine hundred million.

Nine hundred million is:
  • The number of police roles played by Dolph Sweet (“The Chief”) in his career
  • The number of times Nell Carter says “Gimme a Break” at the end of the song (twelve million in the Shep Pettibone remix)
  • The show’s average Nielsen ranking
  • The total number of characters named “Joey” played by Joey Lawrence in his lifetime (Gimme a Break marked his four-hundredth)
  • The score I hit on the Surprise-o-meter when I was reminded that Jonathan Silverman was on this show toward the end (he married Julie!).
    (Hm. Jonathan Silverman also played a character named “Jonathan”. Wait, and Matthew Lawrence’s character was named “Matthew” and Nell Carter played a character named “Nell”… WHAT THE SNOT?!)

This show is also the show that taught me what an IUD is (Katie has to go to the hospital to get one removed or something) and once featured Joey Lawrence in blackface in order to teach us all a lesson about something that escapes me now.
Oh yes, “Don’t hire Joey Lawrence.”

Now here is a joke that the writers missed by not being as clever or pretty as me in the Joey Lawrence in Blackface episode:

JOEY: But everyone else in the house was talking about their minstrel cycle, so I thought…

See, writers? You could have scored big with that one, but instead you moved the show to New York. Boo, writers.

I punish you with Dutch.

-- Samanth~

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

Give a discontinuance to me.
Certain, I it deserves.
It is time I to the upper part made it.
Give a discontinuance to me.
Ahead I look,
Recovers me, appetite each end.

I want a happy end,
I have been tired of claiming,
Will not let them the bests of me get.

Whoawhoa of Whoa,
Give a discontinuance to me!
The game is overlevering!
My arrival gives a discontinuance
, and plan me!

Me, gives a discontinuance
For the importance of the sky!
What happened to my piece of the cake?

Give a discontinuance to me!
Me gives a discontinuance!
Oh, give a discontinuance, me!
Me gives a discontinuance!
Hey, give a discontinuance to me!

[repeat nine hundred million times]

Sunday, October 22, 2006

The Dance Of Safety (Men Without Hats)

Language: French

Have yet to see a credible theory for what this song means. According to, it is either about nuclear disarmament or slam dancing. Not many things in this universe could plausibly be about both of those at once. The abovelinked discussion is surprisingly contentious.

The new lyrics alternate between sections which are remarkable either for their fidelity to the original (" . . . 'cause they don't dance, and if they don't dance, well, they aren't friends with me.") or a Victorian primness that appears out of nowhere ("O fortuitous dance of safety, taking everyone!"). This may be a side effect of having done this through French, which has not otherwise been a common Babelpopping language.1


1No particular reason. Italian isn't getting much work either.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


We can dance, if we want, with
your friends. We can leave behind
your friends, 'cause they don't dance, and if they don't dance,
well, they aren't friends with me.
I say, we can go where we want,
(a place where they'll never find us?)
and we can act like we come from out of this world.
Leave the truth far behind, and we can dance.

We can dance, if we want, with
your friends. We can leave behind your friends
'cause they don't dance, and if they don't dance,
well, they aren't friends with me.
We can go where I want us,
a place they'll never find,
and we can act like we come from out of this world,
and we can dance far behind truth.


We can go when we want.
The night is young, so I am.
We can equip our feet with our truly-ordered hats,
and astonish the supporting end with a cry of victory.

I say we can act if we want; if not, nobody will.
True, you can act coarse and completely removed,
and I can act like an imbecile.
I say that we can dance, we can dance all out of order.

We can dance! We can dance! We did it, we can dance wall to wall!
We can dance! Everyone, glance with your hands!
We can dance, we can dance! O fortuitous dance of safety, taking everyone!
Yes, spout out the well of safety dancing! The dance of safety!


We can dance if we want, with all the life and mines that we have.
We'll maltreat time, never going to lose it (as long as it's not
well-established). Everything will be up to me.
Say, we can dance if we want. Leave your friends behind,
'cause your friends do not dance, and if they do not dance,
well, they are aren't friends with me anymore.
I say that we can dance, we can all dance out of order:
wall to wall we dance. We can dance,
we can dance, we can make it dance. Everyone, glance with your hands!
We can dance, we can dance, yes, everyone's taking the well
of safety! Oh, the chance of – ah, the dance of –
Oh, the dance of the well of safety!
Oh, the dance of the well of safety!
Oh, yes, the dance of safety!
Oh, the dance of safety!
Oh, yes, the dance of safety!
That's it: the dance of safety!
It's the well of dance,
of safety: it is the dance.
Oh, it is the dance of safety!
Oh, it is the dance of safety!
Oh, it is the dance of safety!

Saturday, October 21, 2006

Ave Maria (traditional)

Language: Portuguese

This third song in the virgin trilogy was of course a bit more translated than usual: I was working off of what I'm told was a relatively literal English translation of the song. So the chain is, Latin to English to Portuguese to English.

My primary association with this song, not having been raised Catholic, is a pop-cultural one: I don't recall the context particularly, but I remember that Nell Carter, on "Gimme a Break," once took a ridiculous (considering how much airtime costs) amount of show time to sing it once, and it was very pretty the way she did it. That may well have been the first time I'd heard the song, and it's still kind of the way I expect to hear it, when I hear it, which is not very often.1

The photo is from the Ugly Duckling car dealership in Clearwater, Florida, in 1996. There were apparently similar streaks on the building's other windows, but only this one looked like a figure in a hooded robe. The likely explanation is that the sprinkler system was throwing oil from the palm trees adjacent to the building up onto the glass, building up over time and forming rounded interference patterns. I think it's pretty, in an odd way, though not supernatural.


1Carter's is kind of a tragic story, by the way. Check out the Wikipedia link.

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

They hail Mary of grace,
Mary, completely full of grace.
Hail Mary, full of the grace:
hail you, Sir. You are blessed with
women; you enter,
and bless, and bless,
the fruit of its womb
(of its womb).

Hail Mary de Jesús! Pray
so that we will pray for them (sinners).
Pray for us sinners
now, and in the hour of death,
and the hour of our death,
and the hour of our death,
and our hour of the
death of Mary. Hail!

For My Expectation (Rebecca St. James)

Language: Russian

Well. I didn't wake up this morning thinking, hey, I should do a virgin trilogy on Babelpop! today. But I guess it stayed on my mind, and now here we are.

This is also, I think, the very first CCM1 song I've ever run through, and as such it's kind of special, I guess. The video (link) is harmless enough, as these things go. Basically trying to be Shania Twain but without all the sluttiness, and I suppose I don't mind that too much. I mean, if you can get past the idea of wanting to be Shania Twain, then wanting to be a Christian Shania Twain isn't really that big of an additional step.

Nevertheless, there's something kind of not right about this song, and this video. I think Babelpopping has actually led to something slightly insightful here: it's not about waiting, it's about expectations. Probably specifically, male expectations of deflowering a virgin, and patriarchal expectations that one's little girl is keeping herself pure for somebody (is it symbolic that Ms. St. James is being kept in a box, or just a bad pun?). And speaking of the box, isn't it a little strange that she's more or less being equated with decorative objects? I mean, those are the only other things in the box. And what's up with the ending? I mean, if they've been waiting for one another for the whole song, shouldn't they at least kiss? Or make eye contact, or talk about Jesus, or something?

That said, I have to give Ms. St. James points for being prettier than Shania Twain. We should all be blessed with such skin. (Actually, the guy is prettier than Shania Twain too, when you get right down to it. I mean, if we're going to be giving out points for physical appearance.) It's not an uncharming video, all things considered. But the message is kind of ooky.

Also, before you ask -- I have no idea where the "mole" in the first verse came from.


1(=Contemporary Christian Music)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Darling, you know that
I dream about you:
your eyes in view
when we meet for the first time.
Darling, you know that I'm it,
(about your mole . . . )
which you will hold. (that mole . . . )
Content, your loving eyes for me,

I only wait to
pray for you, darling.
For my expectations, too,
I await you in proportion to myself. The expectations for me
I await. To me, they are
to pray for you, darling.
Expect it from me, too.
Expect it from me: I await you in proportion.
The expectation of a darling

life together. You knew about my darling dream;
(knowing they'll be forever:
I will be yours and you will be mine)
and darling, when I say I'll
make death part us, it will.
I intend it with all of my heart,
accurately, now and always to you.

I only wait to
pray for you, darling.
For my expectations, too,
I await you in proportion to myself. The expectations for me
I await. To me, they are
to pray for you, darling.
Expect it from me, too.
Expect it from me: I await you in proportion.
The expectation of a darling

error. I know you can complete it now.
But there will be forgiveness, and the second chance,
therefore: my expectation for a darling,
my expectation,
my expectation.

As a Virgin (Madonna)

Language: German

Well, a few good lines here and there. I think "like a virgin / all affected during the first time" came out nicely.

Does true love, in fact, wait? It's been my experience that the answer is not so much "yes" or "no" as "yes, but:" as in, "Yes, but not indefinitely, and it still makes plans."

One concept that's emerged in the last ten to fifteen years that amuses me is that of "secondary virginity." Secondary virginity is the way that the Christian evangelicals try to make girls anxious about losing their virginity when they've already lost it: methods vary, but the most basic idea is that, having already lost one's virginity, it can be partially reclaimed by the decision to just not have any more sex until marriage, which in some spiritual realm or another restores the virginity. This is also known as the "Once, Twice, Three Times a Virgin" method of abstinence, and I don't expect it ever to be particularly mainstream 'cause it's so silly. Though I've been wrong about the mainstream's tolerance for silly before.

Boys are not so much into the secondary virginity thing, as a rule.

I'm not really sure what to make of the picture above. Apparently, while true love is waiting, one gardens.


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

I formed it in the wilderness.
Somehow, through it I
couldn't form. I was lost
until I was you.

The impact,
is which. I had became incomplete;
I was blue, sadly,
but you educated me to feel
formed and shining. You feel me? Yeah.

Like a new-found virgin,
who was all affected during the first time.
Like a virgin,
near my –

My whole love is going to be given, boy;
your heart impacts my fear.
You're fading fast, saving it, which can all last for you.
Only a "love cause,"

it is so my form, and
my form is fat-strong: yeah, it's fine.
Oh, their love thawed out,
yeah, their love thawed out,
what was frightened of cold weather.

Like a virgin,
all affected during the first time.
Like a virgin,
with your impacted heart near my –

Oooh! Oooh! Oooh!

And thus you are mine. (Are you, finely,
until the end of the time?) I did not form it, which
formed you. I caused a feeling for
you. Yeah, I'm believing myself:
I have to hide anything.

Like a virgin,
all affected during the first time.
How does a virgin
impact, with your heart near my –

Believe like a virgin,
ooh, ooh like a virgin.
So if you hold me inside: good,
and your heart impacts, and you can love me.

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
Ooh, baby.
You mean the heart didn't impact
to hear, all during the first time?

Thursday, October 19, 2006

The Other One Bites the Substance (Queen)

Language: Dutch

Working with two serious handicaps this morning, which may affect the quality of posting, or at least proofreading. The first is that my monitor, after a few weeks of randomly expanding and contracting the view of my desktop by small amounts, yesterday decided to shrink the whole thing in half horizontally. (The monitor would be the "other one" referenced in the title, which "bit" the "substance.") So to me, as I type this, all these letters are very very small and skinny and difficult to read. A new monitor is en route, even though I can't really afford to buy one, and this is depressing.

Handicap number two is that I have gotten sick, again. In some ways this wasn't surprising, since I get a cold- or flu-like thing in September or October every year, and since people are remarkably indifferent about covering their faces when they sneeze or cough in a checkout line, I didn't have much hope of avoiding illness through lack of exposure. Which just so you know: cashiers are people too, and if you wipe snot on your hands right before handing dollar bills to the cashier, you really shouldn't be surprised when the tomato sauce goes on top of your eggs and bread. You deserved worse.

So I feel like crap, is the point, and I can't really see what I'm writing.


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

Steve runs warily below the street,
below with the manner of the low-drawn edge.
No sound sounded, but his feet ain't
machine guns, or ready.

Are you ready,
are you ready for this?
Are you on your edge, or the seat that
hangs the balls from the opening? By
the sounds, it cracks to the beat.

The other one bites the substance,
the other one, the substance.
And another one goes to be bitten, and another one goes,
and the other one bites the substance.
Hey, am I gonna get you also?
The other one bites the substance.

You are happy, you are satisfied:
how long will you can the heat?
Be yourself, from opening the door's balls
to the sound of the crack beats.

The other one bites the substance,
the other one bites the substance,
the other one bites the substance,
the other one, the substance.
There is an abundance of you people. Manners can bite, hurt,
and bring them to the ground.
You can beat him badly,
you can deceive him,
you can treat him, and he'll leave
when he has something below,
but I'm ready: yes, I'll manage for you.
I'm myself, on my own two feet,
opening the door from the balls
to the repeating sound of tearing beats.

Monday, October 16, 2006

It Inscribes the Sandman (Metallica)

Language: Portuguese

Bought a plant yesterday. Actually it was two plants, but now, because I potted two plants into the same pot, most people would call it one plant. So in some ways you could say that I made a plant disappear yesterday, by buying it.

I've also recently read Wittgenstein's Mistress, by David Markson, which may show up in the style of this entry.

Although in some ways Wittgenstein's Mistress is "by" its narrator, Kate.

It occurs to me that Kate, despite being fictional, is now known to quite a few people, probably more people than I, Jessi, am known to, and is therefore, overall, more "real" than I am. If by "real" one means things that can be talked about among people.

Certainly one made two plants disappear, from the perspective of the other plants in the greenhouse, who would not be aware of places outside the greenhouse. And from the perspective of my other plants, I made either one or two plants appear, in my home.

Metallica, of course, is known to even more people than Kate or myself, and would be even more "real" by the definition that things are real when people know about them.

But maybe this is not the definition one should be using, then.

Certainly a thing could be real even if it were never discussed at all. A particular cloud, perhaps, could go completely unremarked from the time of its formation until the time of its dissipation, and yet it could still block sunlight and possibly rain and do all sorts of other real, cloudly things. Even without anybody ever saying, "Look, there is a cloud."

The point being, obviously, that things do not need human observation in order to exist.

There being a good deal of evidence of this from astronomy, where one can infer that planets and the like existed even before human beings noticed them.

Although we are told that sometimes in physics things are in indeterminate states until detected by a human observer.

On my honor, people sometimes say this.

Like Schrodinger and his cat, which was both russet and non-russet, depending on the outcome of an atom's radioactive decay.

By which I hardly mean that the cat was, say, streaked with russet, or russet-spotted. One was given to understand that the cat was of a uniform color, even if the non-russet alternative was never specified.

One feels that surely this whole emphasis on human observers to determine the states of things has been exaggerated somewhat, however. Or misunderstood. Which is frequently the case when dealing with quantum-mechanical things.

The plant that I made to disappear was a Monstera deliciosa.

Sometimes I felt that Metallica in general, and this song in particular, was a bit over-played. On the radio.

I suppose Metallica wanted to be as real as possible.

I did not like their songs about Napster and file-sharing and how musicians deserve to be able to make a living, however.

Though possibly these were not songs, but were press releases.

Also yesterday, I saw another episode of "Metalocalypse," a show which I've mentioned previously on this blog.

James Hetfield, the lead singer of Metallica, has done a guest voice at least one time on "Metalocalypse," and possibly more times than that.

One could argue that James Hetfield's hair could be called russet, if that were the sort of word one used for hair.

One could also say that James Hetfield can make a Monstera deliciosa disappear, though, even though one has never seen him do so.

The point obviously being that one can say a great many things.


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

The small one says its prayers:
don't forget, my son,
to include inside
you all the warm folds, inside
you the sin of free sustenance.
Until the sandman comes, he
sleeps with the one
eye firmly open, arresting his rest.

The exit light
enters, taking my hand: the night
fills with earth. We must never, never be outside.

We're closed today: something's wrong.
The night clears the heavy thoughts,
and they aren't white.
The war dreams, dreams of the snow, dreams of liars,
of the fire of dragons
and the things that will bite --
the sleep opened firmly, with one
eye arresting its rest.

The exit light
enters, taking my hand: the night
must never never fill with earth. We're outside the

sleep place, now. We ourselves bring
Mr. Soul, and remain to pray.
I've woken up, if I die before
the examination. Pray, Mr. Soul: to make my
small babies hush, to say the word. We never do the
noises, and not if he (who you heard) occupies that
bed. It's the crossbows under that, it's
the closet in his head.

The exit light
enters. The grain of the night
exits the sand. The light
enters, taking the night.
We must never, never fill my hand with the outside earth.

Friday, October 13, 2006

There Was a Lucky Lady (Frank Loesser)

Language: Russian

I've never seen "Guys and Dolls," the musical from which this song comes, but I don't think that means I can't still use it here. I think I've heard Barbra Streisand sing it a time or two. Or somebody parodying Barbra Streisand.

It's been some time since we had any real Babelpoppy wisdom, but I think this sentence breaks the trend:

A lady does not wander everywhere,
and does not screw on the blow of a certain other guy.

It's hard to imagine truer words.


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

They were called by the lucky lady,
but there was room for doubt.
From time to time, you've run
a very un-ladylike road outside.

Your date was with me,
pickings were lush,
and yet before this evening is over, you could give me a brush.
We could forget your means,
you could refuse to remain,
and so I must pray that I can make it better . . . .

There was a lucky lady tonight, there was a lucky lady tonight.
You were always by a lady; if it was necessary to begin by luck,
then there was a lucky lady tonight.

I was longing to see luck in order;
you can be like a good friend
with me, sister. They arrived, so you put one inside me;
you'll be a lucky lady with me.

A lady does not leave her escort:
it isn't valid, it isn't glorious.
A lady does not wander everywhere,
and does not screw on the blow of a certain other guy.

Thus, let's hold politely to the party.
Never get out of my sight;
knob with me, sister.
I arrived (that is, I've a gallon inside):
you'll be by a lucky lady tonight!

No lady flirts with strangers.
She'd have a heart; she'd have a soul.
A lady wouldn't make a little sneak of your eye,
not when I bet my life on this bank.

Thus, let's hold to the party politely.
Never get out of my sight;
knob with me, pal.
I arrived inside; that is, that gallon will be your reason.
There was a lucky lady...
was a lucky lady...
was a lucky lady tonight!

Of Jaque, and of Diane (John Cougar Mellencamp)

Language: Portuguese

Just so you know: this is the first picture that comes up when you do an AOL picture search for "Jack and Diane." They look like nice folks. He might want to consider shaving, though. Amish beards are so 1998.


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

A little song on Jaque and Diane.
The heartland grew two small Americans, who were above it:
Jaque, who's gone to be a backseat debutante; and
Diane, the star of Jaque's football car.

Sucking in freezing chili dogs is tasty;
Diane sits that down in Jaque's lap.
Jaque's words have her on hands and knees;
Diane left us outside. (Hey! The functions
of the tree are: to be shady, and to dribble behind.)
Bobby has those brooks outside, that
leave me to make what I please,
and Jaque says,

Go in the life of the oh-yeah;
later, that emotion of livin' is long gone.
The life of the oh-yeah goes in;
later, that livin' emotion is with them, on a long walk.

Jaque sits down backwards, stops, risks his thoughts for a moment, reflects:
his head and his dean made James better. Well, more of that --
that . . . Diane. You know, we ought to be the whole function of the
city! Diane says, "Baby, you aren't lacking nothing, you
word of Jaque."

You go in the life of the oh-yeah;
later, that emotion of life is long gone.
Oh yeah, it goes in;
later, that emotion of life is long gone.

I'm left balancing,
left rolling.
The leather strap of the Bible left me
low, came on to
my soul. Hold the exceptions
for much time as you can, so the sixteen
changes that come in return soon. The real
in them make the women and men.

A little song on Jaque and Diane:
two small Americans who can make more, better.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Constant Thirst (k. d. lang)

Language: Russian

This could have gone better, I suppose. K. d. lang doesn't often offer one a lot of words to work with.


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

Darkest through the flat section,
be it thick or thin,
someone marches bravely, always
under my skin. Here it is.

(to thirst constantly, always)

The largest possible magnet draws
out all truth to the showers,
or, possibly, life will be
very giving of wisdom.
It will be, to the youth.

(a constant thirst)

Always to thirst, to thirst:
ah-ha, it's always constant.

It's constant thirst; it
is constant thirst, always.

To always thirst, to thirst:
ah ha! It's constant, always:
always always always always always. . . .

Sunday, October 08, 2006

Dude, Viewed as Lady (Aerosmith)

Language: Russian

I'm not actually a fan of Aerosmith at all, really (I kinda like "Janie Got a Gun," and I would like "Crazy," "Cryin'," and "Amazing" except that all three are the same song, with different lyrics.1), but their songs are very co-operative when Babelpopped. I'm not sure how (or whether) to explain this.

A cursory search of the internet reveals two main theories behind the "real" meaning of this song.

1) One of the band members almost had sex with a man dressed as a woman, by mistake. (1a - or not by mistake. 1b - actually did have sex. 1c - more than one band member.)

2) The song is making fun of another musician. (2a - Bret Michaels, lead singer for Poison. 2b - Vince Neil, of Motley Crue. 2c - both. 2d - neither.)


1Listen to the choruses back-to-back sometime.

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

That, that, dude regards the lady
Which, which, dude regards the lady
Who, that, dude regards a lady
Who, that, dude regards a lady

Cruise on the coast into the rod.
Its image graced door grime,
it'll be a bite longer than love, lost on the first baby.
Which possibly you're incorrect, but you know you're entirely right;
that will be the the first rights, which –

Backstage we will have time
in our real life. "As long as someone's opinion of time
doesn't seem from the line. Forgive me if I'm too . . . ."
Then, she shook up her gun! She attempted to blow me absentee!

Never judge the book by its cover;
say you're gonna love to be a lover of love.
Her love wisely assumed a disguise for me:
she had a Venus body.
Lord! My surprise present!

So baby, it prevented me from following you down
(prevent me from accepting an expensive peek).
Baby, it prevented me from following you down
(make me, make me, make me entire night).
Baby, it prevented me from following you down
(turn another expensive cheek).
Baby, it prevented me from following you down
(make me, make me, make me, make me).

Ooo, that funky lady.
Ooo, she loves it as that.
Ooo – it was a lady!

Dude, dude, dude, the dude regarded the lady,
dude, dude, dude, the dude regarded the lady,
dude, dude, dude, the dude, viewed as a lady,
dude, dude, dude, the dude, viewed as a lady.

Saturday, October 07, 2006

Fight for Your Right (Beastie Boys)

Language: Russian

I'm being kind of non sequiturish with this entry, but I wanted to talk about "Battlestar Galactica," the SciFi series, and this was the closest I could get to a song that was related somehow.

I've been hearing for a while now that "BG" is a good show. A few people have said best, even. Wasn't sure I believed this, what with "The Office"1 and "Dead Like Me"2 and "Lost"3 and "House"4 and "Metalocalypse"5 and so forth.

But. The husband and I ran across a clip show last week that was, I guess, supposed to catch new viewers up on "BG" in time for the third season, and it was, I guess, okay. I mean, nobody likes clip shows. But it wasn't badly done or anything. And then this week they had two new episodes, or possibly one two-hour episode, and they were pretty damned cool. One wishes that the show could be funnier. I mean, I get that the near-extermination of the human species isn't going to be a laugh fest, but an occasional dark, dry joke to break the tension wouldn't kill anybody, you'd think.

So anyway. If you haven't seen it, try to. It's worth checking out. And look at "Dead Like Me" and "Metalocalypse" too, while you're at it. And remember to party as circumstances permit.


1(NBC, Thursdays, 7:30 PM Central) It seems like maybe it's starting to run out of jokes, but they're good jokes.
2(SciFi, Tuesdays, 7 PM Central) Although this show has a tendency to precipitate existential crises for me, I still like it. It's a little like what "Buffy" would have been like if Buffy had been going around slaying people instead of vampires and demons and stuff. Funny, occasionally brilliant, and George is adorable. Worth all the existential angst and then some.
3(ABC, Wednesdays, 8 PM Central) I understand how there could be people who don't care for it so much. But it and "Battlestar Galactica" are the only shows that really hold my attention, and continue to hold my attention for a while after the show is over.
4(Fox, Tuesdays, 7 PM Central, plus whenever they have a scheduling hole to fill) Hasn't impressed me at ALL this season so far; I still like the characters, but I think possibly they need to do something different with the whole patient-of-the-week formula. Maybe one patient who stays sick for three nonconsecutive episodes? A whole hour devoted to clinic duty? Focus on somebody besides House? Something. 'Cause the forumla is getting tired. Also, have you noticed that they guess Wilson's Disease or non-Hodgkins lymphoma for everybody, at some point or another? Is this an inside joke? Should I get this?
5(Cartoon Network, Sundays, 10:45 PM Central) I have no idea what to say about this one because I have no idea why I like it. Nor can I think of anything illuminating to compare it to. It's very much its own thing.

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

Kick it!

You wake up late for man school, you don't wanna go.
You ask your mom, "if you please?" but she still says, "no!"
You didn't pass two types, or any homework,
but your teacher preaches as if you'll be a certain type of jerk.

You gotta fight! For your right! To attend the paaaarrrty!

They grabbed you smoking and he said, "Anyway."
That hypocrite smokes two men a day.
You will be living by your resistance: which house is this now?
Mom threw away your best bust mag!

You gotta fight! For your right! To attend the paaaarrrty!

Don't take a step from this house if clothing is worn first,
I will kick you from my house if you don't cut that, your hair.
Mom busted inside and she said, "Where's that noise?"
Aw, Mom, you know exactly which it is: it's Beastie Boys!

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Murder, Tonight, in the Trailer Park (Cowboy Junkies)

Language: Russian

This one also probably stretches the definition of the word "pop," but that's okay.

My apartment building was the site of a combination burglary / assault of some kind over the weekend. Neither a trailer park nor a murder, but close enough for Babelpop. Quoting from the paper here:

When he arrived at [location], he kicked in the door, according to a police complaint signed Sept. 29. . . . The extent of the victim's injuries was not released, but police allege they stem from [suspect] biting and striking the subject. [Suspect] now faces the class B felony charges of first-degree burglary causing bodily injury. If convicted, he could serve up to 25 years in prison.

Neither the husband nor I noticed anything in particular that night, but the husband was mysteriously moved to buy and attach a new door chain that afternoon, before any of this had happened.


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

Murder, tonight, in the trailer park,
Mrs. Annabelle Evans found darkness, her throat cut.
Her interior pockets turned;
outside, her dresser boxes turned down.
Anna's neighbor, the peg of the trailer park, determines a bodily form
from the hollow sounds it prevents.
Homicide connects yellow ribbons around her silver Airstream;
there will be the lashing into night, and upward, red cherries
cutting through cordoned crime places.

There tonight in the trailer park, murder.

Murder, tonight, in the trailer park packet.
Ann Marie, your things
will be our heading:
we'll go west to make a fresh start.
I was economizing pennies,
anticipating this day.
There's not any time for questions: you comin',
or you goin' to remain?

Crosstown on Waterton,
tall George Evans sits and is tight,
purchasing drinks for all of the permanent visitors
as they dance for him, and bragging about the bones.

Will there be murder in the trailer park tonight?
Kill a man tonight.

Faceless, the trailer park calculates the crumpled calculations.
Fights of the hotel neon.
A dark television in the angle:
the late-night news tells about murder.
He turns the sound down, he awaits the sports,
he only wants to hear, "I made it, I won, or I lost."

Tonight, there will be murder in the trailer park.
They kill tonight in the trailer park.